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[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". | I tried breaking the egg into the pan again, and again. Still, the notification popped up and warned me about my level. What is happening? Level? What?
After the seventh attempt I gave up and decided to have breakfast somewhere else. And then it happened again when I tried to open the door. A text appears reading, "Item: House_Key#1278556 required."
The thought of being trapped in my own home made me panic. I can't even cook! I'm gonna die of starvation inside my own home. I kicked the door, slamming it against my body a few time. Nothing happened except for a text in red appearing: "Invulnerable Object!".
Out of stamina, I lie down on my back and I stared at the ceiling for 20 minutes.
This is how I die, I can't believe it.
Suddenly my phone rang, it was Joe my best friend. A burst of hope swelled in my chest.
"Dude you're late. Where are you." He asked.
"Joe help me dude I can't get out. I'm trapped!"
"Calm down. Trapped? Where?."
"My house. It says I need a key."
"Where's your key? You should have it in you inventory."
"In-inventory?"
With a sigh he replied "Your bag."
After searching frantically for a minute I found it at the bottom of my bag. Technically, bottom of the list of texts that appeared as I opened the bag.
"Okay I found it, now what?"
"Equip it, and use it on the door."
I did as he told me to and the door opened easily.
"Thanks dude you saved me." I said as I wiped a tear of relief on my cheeks.
He replied with a single word
"Noob."
| I hate update fridays. Here I thought I could make myself a nice special breakfast but no, apparently some pencil pushing bureaucrat with delusions of grandeur decided that the new weekly update required a complete overhaul of the cooking leveling system with new level caps. Ugh... must be a newly promoted manager with artistic inspiration who wanted to leave his mark on the life leveling system. Ever since EA bought out the friendly life leveling system it's been nothing but a serie of disaster after disaster. Like the time the ~~assholes in charge~~ *powers that be* decided that standing and walking now required a level 3 general movement capacity insted of the old level 2. Apparently focus groups felt it would make for a safer walking experience. Fucking bullshit, took me 3 hours of toe grinding before I could get out of bed that morning.
Where was I going with this ?.. Oh yeah, freaking eggs. Where is the damn patch FAQ document?
**DING**
*New quest available: retrieve life system update FAQ from mailbox*
Oh, great timing guys!, You know for once it would be nice to actually receive it BEFORE you implement the updates! Allright, accept quest, lets go get the mail.
***********************
**BUZZ**
*Opening door now requires level 14 strenght*
Oh come one! You gotta be shitting me! Stupid door, move damn it!
********************
**PUNCH DOOR, 1 DAMAGE**
**BUZZ**
*Opening door now requires level 14 strenght*
***************
**PUNCH DOOR, 1 DAMAGE**
**BUZZ**
*Opening door now requires level 14 strenght*
****************
Son of a bitch!!!
**PUNCH DOOR, 1 DAMAGE**
**DING**
*LEVEL UP , strenght level 14*
Finally!.... stupid life system, it was supposed to make it easier, not turn into this stupid grinding simulator.
************************
>Morning Jerry!
Oh hey Fred.
>You seen the update this morning ?
Yeah, can't even fry a damn egg and I had to level up to open the stupid door. How ridiculous is that ?
>No shit right ? Couldn't even open the fridge this morning, it now requires level 8 dexterity. Fucking joke right ? Now I have to get to work on an empty stomach.
**BUZZ**
*Accessing car now requires level 19 intelligence*
>Oh for fuck's sake!
Well, have a good one Fred.
***********************
OK, lets see exactly what this morning's updated disaster entails. Hey why are there 2 documents in there ?
*Patch update FAQ in regards to patch update FAQ document*
Due to numerous complaints to our documenting department from citizens unable to access the patch update FAQ document, dexterity skill level required to open the FAQ document enveloppe have been lowered to level 0 to insure information access to every citizen. Reading level requirements have been increased to level 25.
What ? Bunch of fucking retards, everybody can open the document but almost nobody can read it. Freaking geniuses all of you.... Good thing I leveled up to a level 28 reading when I was dating this librarian chick. OK, down to the real business.
*Patch update FAQ document*
Dear user of the EA friendly life leveling system, listed below are the new upgrades implemented on friday, november the 8th 2016. We are proud to announce that the *house*, *cooking* and *vehicular* skills trees have been combined into the new *Everyday life* skills tree.
What the fuck ? This makes absolutely no sens!!! Why would you do that?
We feel that this new tri-level skill tree will greatly improve the everyday user experience of our beloved citizens. Here is a partial list of modifications and level requirements.
+Operation of a stove and cooking apparatus now requires level 18 cooking skills (up from 10)
+Operation a motorized vehicule now requires level 19 intelligence (up from 9)
+Operation of doors and levers now requires level 14 strenght (up from 7)
+Vehicular maintenance and petrol filling now requires level 22 dexterity (up from 11)
+Operation of lavatory facilities now requires level 20 intelligence (up from 7)
+Maximum level cap has been increased from level 60 to level 70 for all available skills
Jesus Christ, they doubled required levels for almost everything. How am I supposed to get trough my day when I can't even take a shit ?
As always, we understand the realities faced with our citizen users and have decided to extend the generous offer of a one-time, 30 days level increase DLC for the promotional price of 899.99$ per skill family. Please note that while the *house*, *cooking* and *vehicular* trees have been combined, available DLC packages will continue to be offered seperatly for the time being. We hope you enjoy the new modifications to the EA friendly life leveling system and wish you a good day.
Well fuck me... | 2016-10-25T06:16:01 | 2016-10-25T06:14:49 | 65 | 21 |
[WP] For the entirety of your life, music that only you can hear has played to inform you how to feel and warn you of upcoming events. Suddenly "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" cuts out and "Duel of the Fates" begins to play... | It happened while I was played by Jenga. Everything was fine and dandy, "Somewhere over the Rainbow" was streaming through my mind, giving me as I watched my older sister struggle to find a loose block. My younger brother had left in a huff after losing five games in a row, exclaiming "The biggest problem in the universe, is that no one helps each other!"
I smirked, as the tower began to wobble, and taunted my sister "I've been looking forward to this." Wait, what's happening..."Duel of the Fates?!"
My sister removed the block from its precarious position and proudly placed it on the top, "It's over Krakatoan, so have the high ground!"
"You underestimate my tower!"
I needed to strategize, see all the angles of this monstronsity..."I'll try spinning, that's a good trick!" I looked at the other side of the tower, there a single block holding up two blocks above it. If I could just remove it quickly enough...
I looked my sister in the eyes..."My powers have doubled since we last met, count." I pointed to the tower, indicating my double block drop plan. She glanced back up, "Twice the pride, double the fall."
"Wait! My younger sister, who had been spectating, exclaimed. "It's not the Jenga way!" Gesturing to the small print in the rule book.
"Dew it." intoned my older sister.
I punched out the block, deftly grabbing it with my other hand before it fell to the floor. The stack fell neatly down to its new resting place. I placed the block on top, grinning "A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one."
But, something was wrong, Duel of the Fates was still playing...the tower wobbled, the 10 second standing time had not yet been met...it collapsed.
"I HATE YOU!!!" | ######[](#dropcap)
Gary Almond watched the sun set from the basket of a hot air balloon, all while enjoying the *Somewhere Over the Rainbow* on his magical Walkman.
Gifted to Gary by a mysterious hobo for buying him booze, the magical Walkman only played the soundtrack to Gary's life, as if it knew exactly what music he needed.
High above rolling green hills on his hot air balloon, IZ Kamakawiwo'ole's angelic voice melted Gary's worries away. Nothing could ruin this day, except perhaps his lifelong enemy Mortimer Splanket. Fuck that guy.
It is at this point the magical Walkman abruptly cut off the peaceful song and began to play John Williams's *Duel of the Fates*.
Gary was startled into a heightened state of alertness. The Walkman had never failed him. He scanned the horizon. Something was about to happen and Gary couldn't find the source of danger.
In the distance, a yellow biplane sped towards Gary's balloon. Gary knew what this was. "Splanket!" he shook his fist.
Indeed, it was Mortimer Splanket on a stolen crop duster here to kill Gary once and for all. Splanket climbed out of the cockpit seat as he approached the hot air balloon. He had no plan; just rage. "ALMOND!!" He leapt out of the biplane onto the balloon. One of the plane's wings clipped the balloon, tearing a large gash into the fabric. Splanket began to slide down one of the ropes.
The soundtrack on Gary's magical Walkman reached its first peak as Splanket slid into the basket. The two slugged it out to the intense choir of *Duel of the Fates*, both of them ignoring that the fact that they were falling out of the sky.
Punch after brutal punch; neither had the upper hand. The basket began to spin around the wilting balloon, and the centripetal force pushed them to the floor of the basket. Splanket wrapped his elbow around Gary's neck. Gary was about to pass out.
Without warning, the hot air balloon crashed on top of a speeding train. Gary was sent flying into the space between two cars. His face was inches from the blurring tracks when he caught himself on the train joints holding the two cars together. Gary tried to pull himself up with his free arm, but the fall had dislocated his shoulder. Luckily, the headphones were still secure on his head. He didn't want to have a fight to the death without *Duel of the Fates*.
Meanwhile, Splanket was stuck in the basket as it dragged next to the wheels of the train. Bloodied and dazed from the impact, he searched for any decent handhold before the basket was sucked under the wheels. The balloon was tearing and Splanket's ground was slipping from underfoot. He grabbed a corner at the end of one train car and saw Gary in the gap behind it.
"Almond!"
"Splanket!" Still in danger of falling between the cars, Gary used one leg to kick at Splinket to the horns of John Williams's orchestra.
The balloon finally tore to shreds, and both the basket and burner slipped away. Splinket held onto the train with both feet dragging beside the track.
The hot air balloon's burner was crushed by one of the wheels several cars back. The ensuing explosion derailed one car just as *Duel of the Fates* hit another peak. Gary propped himself with his legs and raised the volume on his magical Walkman with his one good arm. He loved how spot-on it was at capturing the moment.
The derailed car behind them began to topple other cars one by one.
Splanket found footing and climbed into the gap. Standing between the two cars, he stomped on Gary's hand.
Gary fell further down and his dislocated arm grazed the track's crossbeams.
Splanket moved down to try to kick Gary completely off. Fortunately for Gary, one of the kicks to his shoulder snapped the dislocated socket back into place.
Now free to use both arms, Gary pulled on Splanket's leg. Splanket slipped and landed on his crotch, ending up with the train joints between his legs.
The derailment finally reached the car to one side of them. It began to twist in place and one its wheels lifted off the rail.
Just as the score was reaching its crescendo, Gary pulled the latch pin on the train joint and used it like brass knuckles to beat on Splanket.
With the trains unhooked, the cars began to separate. Splanket was now too far for Gary to punch. The two men stared at each other as they drifted apart.
Splanket felt a little defeated as the car he was on started to topple. "Punk ass bitch!"
"Tuck and roll, shit stain!" replied Gary.
Tuck and roll he did.
Gary stood at the end of the train, bruised and bleeding. As he looked back at the tumbling cars, *Duel of the Fates* faded back into *Somewhere Over the Rainbow* at the wonderful view. Gary wondered how long until the next time they meet. | 2017-04-01T21:45:35 | 2017-04-01T17:58:42 | 344 | 156 |
[WP] For the entirety of your life, music that only you can hear has played to inform you how to feel and warn you of upcoming events. Suddenly "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" cuts out and "Duel of the Fates" begins to play... | It happened while I was played by Jenga. Everything was fine and dandy, "Somewhere over the Rainbow" was streaming through my mind, giving me as I watched my older sister struggle to find a loose block. My younger brother had left in a huff after losing five games in a row, exclaiming "The biggest problem in the universe, is that no one helps each other!"
I smirked, as the tower began to wobble, and taunted my sister "I've been looking forward to this." Wait, what's happening..."Duel of the Fates?!"
My sister removed the block from its precarious position and proudly placed it on the top, "It's over Krakatoan, so have the high ground!"
"You underestimate my tower!"
I needed to strategize, see all the angles of this monstronsity..."I'll try spinning, that's a good trick!" I looked at the other side of the tower, there a single block holding up two blocks above it. If I could just remove it quickly enough...
I looked my sister in the eyes..."My powers have doubled since we last met, count." I pointed to the tower, indicating my double block drop plan. She glanced back up, "Twice the pride, double the fall."
"Wait! My younger sister, who had been spectating, exclaimed. "It's not the Jenga way!" Gesturing to the small print in the rule book.
"Dew it." intoned my older sister.
I punched out the block, deftly grabbing it with my other hand before it fell to the floor. The stack fell neatly down to its new resting place. I placed the block on top, grinning "A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one."
But, something was wrong, Duel of the Fates was still playing...the tower wobbled, the 10 second standing time had not yet been met...it collapsed.
"I HATE YOU!!!" | I was enjoying my cruise. A ten day vacation in the Mediterranean with stops to Dubrovnik, Crete, and others. I love my life and I am grateful to have a great job with good pay as well as nice things. Hence, the cruise. Though, there is one peculiarity in my life.
For as long as I can remember, music had always played in my life. No matter the circumstances, music always played to fit the situation. Now, I can hear *Somewhere over the Rainbow.* Fitting, of course, since I am in a floating paradise boat filled with hot girls.
I went to the restaurant at the back of the ship to eat lunch. I just got out of the pool and was feeling peckish, so I thought I could rest and eat pasta would do me good. But as soon as I entered, the music I always hear abruptly switched to *Duel of the Fates.* Don't get me wrong, I love that soundtrack. But if that's playing, then I must be in danger.
"Oh Jerry!~" A sickly sweet voice said behind me. Oh no. I turned around to see my crazy ex-girlfriend, Elise. She had a smile on her face, her head tilted to the side. My breath hitched.
"Elise! What the hell are you doing here!?" I asked, getting ready to run.
"I missed you, Jerry. I was so lonely without you. Why did you run away?" Elise crooned, giving a mad giggle. "I love you so much!"
By then, a small crowd of curious passengers formed around us. I started to get irritated.
"Listen! I did not appreciate the actions you did to me and to those other girls whatsoever." I said. "Controlling my every move? Threatening other people with death? I can't believe I fell for you in the first place! "
"They were threatening our love." Elise replied.
"There is no love! Not after what you did to my sister! Thanks to you, she died thinking that I hated her." I said angrily. The other passengers looked horrified.
"I don't love you and I never will!"
Elise's smile disappeared. She then took out a kitchen knife.
"It's treason, then."
All the passengers started screaming and ran away just as Elise lunged at me, intent on stabbing me with the knife. I dodged quickly, avoiding the blade by inches. *Duel of the Fates* was in full swing and my fate was on the line. Elise continuously slashed at me, forcing me back. I noticed a tray at a table next to me, occupied by a family of four. I snatched the tray and blocked Elise's knife in the nick of time.
"I will not allow you to take my life!" I shouted at Elise. I swung the tray, hitting my ex hard on the head. She stumbled backwards, allowing me to run. Elise recovered quickly and chased after me as I headed up to the uppermost level and headed to the minigolf course. As I went up, Elise's knife nicked me on the leg. I hissed in pain and stopped, quickly kicking Elise down the stairs. She fell to the pool deck stunned, landing hard on the ground.
"Oh God why?" I muttered to myself as I reached the golf course. "Of all the times Elise had to show up."
Taking a golf club, I waited, preparing myself to bash her head in. No regrets, this is a fight to the death. Me or her.
A few moments later, Elise appeared, looking extremely furious.
"I'll kill you!" She screamed and charged at me. I clutched the golf club and swung. To my disbelief, Elise ducked just in time, though tripping herself in the process. She took another golf club and we began to duel, each strike ringing. The employees that were watching us stayed away, not wanting to get killed for intervening.
We fought on for another few minutes when I made a mistake. I opened myself up a bit too much, which was all Elise needed to stab me in the chest. The music had reached the mournful note as I collapsed to the floor, my blood gushing out of the wound.
"And so it ends." Elise said bitterly. "I did not want to kill you. You were the most perfect man alive for me. And yet...you broke my heart."
"Y-you s-st-stole m-my fr-free-dom." I choked out. "Y-you s-stole m-my h-hap-happiness. YOU R-UINED M-ME!"
"I only wanted what's best for us." Elise said sullenly. "I guess only death is what's best for us."
And with that, Elise took out the knife from my chest and held it against her neck. Before anyone could stop her, Elise sliy her own neck, collapsing in a pool of blood. The ship's crew surrounded me and Elise as my excessive bloodloss allowed the darkness to claim me for the time being. | 2017-04-01T21:45:35 | 2017-04-01T20:47:01 | 344 | 26 |
[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. | **THUD!!**
"Ow! God damnit!!" He thought to himself so loudly he was certain that someone must have heard it. "Remind me to apologize to every bird outside my office. You really can't see the glass in the window can you? Well at least we know Windex really is worth the few extra bucks"
Irvine still hadn't gotten used to the bird body despite it being his primary mode of transportation around the over crowded city. "Or is it Vincent? No, no Vincent was last month. I thought using the names from my favorite videogames would make this identity thing easier" He spotted her in her usual place walking through the park after her day at work and drifted down to a remote corner in the trees to phase back into being a human. Shaggy black hair, little bit of facial shadow, eyes some kind of hybrid of green and brown, medium build. "Alright, let's try this again" he said with a deep sigh and walked out on the trail.
**THUD!!**
"Oh my god I'm so sorry" he said kneeling down to scoop up the papers that had been scattered running into Isabel. The Apple of Aries' eye. For months they'd been dating on and off. Unbeknownst to her of course. To her, Serge was just another klutz who spent too much time looking at his phone and not enough time watching where he was going. "If I don't text my mom right back, she starts to panic and next thing I know the police are knocking on my door. Or asking the receptionist at the gym if I've checked in. It's happened more than once." "Oh, that's alright. Thank you" She said with a sparkle in her limpid blue eyes that Leon had never seen in anyone else before. Maybe it was that, that drew him to her. She seemed unremarkable in nearly every other way, but in a way that seemed deliberate. As if she was trying to hide something amazing about herself from the outside world.
"I'm Andrew" said Dante extending his hand with the palm facing a little more upward than someone who would be shaking the hand of a person they just met. He knew her hands were soft. He knew she would place her delicate fingers in his palm and he would close his hand around them. With no small amount of luck, or tremendous amount of luck if any of his past attempts were any indication, he'd hold her hand every day. "Isabel" she responded.
It was a dance he'd done countless times before and he knew each step of each beat. He was a virtuoso at this point. After days upon weeks upon months of practice, he could do it from muscle memory. Asking the right questions, peaking the right interests, but not so much as to seem too good to be true or come off as a stalker who was just sizing up his next victim. "Are you thirsty? It's been a long day for me and I'm going to stop for a coffee. Would you care to join me?" With a bit of a snicker she replied "No thank you, I need to be on my way. I've got a few projects I need to get the ball rolling on." The glisten he saw in her eyes, like a lens flare in a movie made the hair on his neck stand. "Oh.. well.. It was nice talking to you Isabel. Sorry about earlier again." "Oh don't worry about it, have a nice day" she giggled and went on her way.
Defeated he walked into the coffee shop, so as to not seem as if it was all a wholly concocted scheme. "Fuck me!" Duke thought to himself. "I look like everything she likes in a guy! I share all her interests! I know practically everything about her! What more do I have to do!?"
"Maybe try being honest, and stop trying so hard Harvey Birdman. And by the way you're lucky I didn't crush you in my bathroom last week, SpiderMan. Don't be a perv. Oh, and lastly, I've been a gamer all my life. So don't think next time, when you say your name is Gordon Freeman that I won't get the reference."
Tim whipped his head around frantically! Running out of line and over to the window. There on the other side of the road stood Isabel with a twinkle in her eye and a smile that went from ear to ear.
"I'll see you next time, Luigi" she laughed. It was as if he could feel her breath on his ear. He watched in astonishment as she walked, unremarkably down the street, with her files in one hand and an ipod in the other.
Nathan smiled. | 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T09:10:57 | 930 | 59 |
[WP] Some people manifest a rune that allows them summon and control a creature from another plane. Rune bearers don't get to choose the creature and after 5 years they are sucked into plane that it comes from. You are about to find out what creature is linked to your rune. | I turned twenty five today. My whole family had turned up to celebrate, travelling from around the world to see their Runed relative at his big unveiling.
The Runed are born with their mark, usually emblazoned on their wrist or forearm. Its rare. Latest estimation was 1 in 1000 but there's an element of inherited chance too. The Runed are treated like celebrities, using their summoned beasts to perform wonders and create miracles. There was a girl in India, famed as a healer throughout the globe, pictured with her flaming phoenix hovering above her shoulder.
Those beasts were the rarest. The mythical and supernatural, with powers beyond your wildest dreams. Most Runed had one of the more common creatures, a pixie or centaur. They still had powers but lesser, a slight nature magic or the ability to see briefly into the future. That one had driven the gambling commission into a frenzy and helped push the Runed Register into law. Once my Rune manifested, after the presents and the cake, I would be whisked downtown to list my summon.
I sighed. I was about to receive a gift most would kill for and I was already moaning about the red tape. I shook my head and smiled at the family gathered behind me in the garden. It was a gloriously sunny day and my father nodded at me, holding back tears.
My mother was Runed. Dad told me the story of her manifestation, his fear and pride entwined together in his gut. Told me how the family had gasped as a huge griffin had materialised, golden fur and feathers, a triumphant screech rending the air. As everyone admired the beast, my father looked further. On a first summon, the realm the creature came from is revealed in a shimmering haze. The world his wife would be dragged to in five years. Lush green plains and huge mountains dominated the view. He told me he'd smiled then. She'd be happy there.
I stepped forward as the mark on my arm began to pulse with a bright white light. I closed my eyes as it burned stronger. I hoped for a Griffin like my mother. To see her again. To be reunited. Suddenly I felt a rush flow out of me, like static shock from head to toe. A whinny ruptured the silence and my eyes snapped open.
A beautiful horse like creature, made of flowing waves and ripples, its body narrowing to a shark like tail. A Kelpie.
My family burst into applause and cheers. I heard the click of photos being taken and the congratulations heaped on my father.
I began to shake.
Behind my beast, behind its proud, cresting mane was its world.
A dark sea, covering the entire expanse, a slight beam of light penetrating in the distance, near the surface. Eyes flashing in the gloom. A ripple as something huge moved in the deep.
I screamed.
.........................................................................
r/AMSWrites | *Dull and unremarkable, kind of like you. Id be surprised if you're lucky enough to receive anything more than a house pet.*
The words drifted through my head as my hands explored every inch of my "unremarkable" rune. They came in many shapes and sizes; however, I had never seen one quite as dull as mine. Some of these mystical tokens beared intricate designs, or strange shapes, but mine had no such intricacies.
Despite the lack of design I remained hopeful. The stories I read spoke of the most powerful runes spawning mystical creatures. From Phoenix's with the ability to revive their fallen master, to beasts comprised of raging storms, their masters fate remained the same. The handler will eventually take place of the beast in its realm, and the beast becomes free to do as it pleases. I was more than happy to take the risk.
I set the rune down gently on the dark wooden table in my home and picked up the leather bound journal resting nearby. I carefully unlatched the journal as not to tear the thin pages and wrote.
*Day 432: The damned thing is still silent. Maybe it got mixed up with a rock by mistake*
"Ha! Still writing in that thing? Ya know even if it does reveal itself it'll probably wind up being crap anyways right?" A large book opened and spoke from the other side of the room
"Yeah because you haven't told me that three hundred other times Beelze, thanks for the heads up. You've spent the last ten years on that shelf, I figured you would have thought of better material by now"
"Don't get sassy with me now. You could be spending your time doing something better, like finding a man, but you're here in a hut, writing about a rock."
"What are you my mom? Be grateful I haven't used you as firewood yet"
Beelze was a pain, but he made for good conversation...sometimes.
"Most expensive firewood you'd ever burn girl. After all you did pay quite the amount just for some company in the form of literature"
I ignored him and set the journal aside so I could relay the status of my rune to the town lead. The few of us in town lucky enough, or unlucky enough in some cases, to possess a rune had to keep them in check.
*After all we can't have beasts running around terrorizing the less fortunate* his words rang though my head. My mind invisioned him standing tall and arrogant, beast at his side. The monster he controlled was ungodly. A twisted tree with large thorns jetting at random from its trunk. The trees roots secreted an amber colored sap that was rumored to have the ability drive men mad when ingested. I preferred to stay away from the town lead.
*Day 432: No activity from my Rune but I will be sure to keep you updated Lead Troy. All my best, Scital.*
I took the letter outside to a raven and tied it to its foot. It glared at me expectantly.
"No. First you deliver then you'll get your treat Basi." I spoke to the raven. He seemed to understand and flew off with the note.
"Uhhhh Scital. You might want to get in here." Beelze spoke from inside the hut.
"What is it drama queen?" I yelled from outside
"No no. You need to get inside the hut now!" There was fear in his voice.
I ran back and burst through the door to see my rune shaking violently on the table. It had begun.
"I gotta go! Beelze watch the house!"
"Well...house is kind of a stretch, but yeah I'll watch the place. Now go!"
In record time I threw on something more presentable and made my way out of the hut with the rune shaking in hand. Town was only a few minutes away, but I couldn't afford to slow down. If my rune revealed itself and Troy wasn't there to conduct the ceremony he'd have my ass.
I picked up speed rounding the last hill sperating me from the town when suddenly the rune began to glow a bright blue.
"No no no! Not yet please not yet!"
It sprung from my hand onto the grass where it charred the spot it came into contact with. My anxiety slowly turned to excitement. After a year and a half my creature would finally be revealed.
The fire around the rune quickly spread, burning the hill leaving only a small spot untouched around my feet. I could feel the intense fire tugging at my body. The rune shattered and a massive snake rose up from it's center. The monsters body many stories tall and its head coated in a thick layer of armor like scales. The creature let out a long roar causing the earth to tremble beneath it. I ducked my head and covered my eyes at the sight of it. The snake lowered its head down to me and spoke in a deep voice.
"Come young one. You have nothing to fear. I am Apophissss the Great, destroyer of worlds, defiler of man, breaker of bonds! I am eternally grateful for freeing me from that infernal contraption, now what do you wish of me master?
The words tugged at the back of my throat.
"I...I well."
"Anything you ask I shall grant. I know of your ssstruggles. I feel the pain you've felt " He hissed
A crowd gathered from the town and now stared in awe from a distance. Troy pushed his way through the center to the line of fire on the hill.
"Scital! What is the meaning of this?! Surrender this beast!"
"Ignore them. Where I am from I am a god. That makes you stronger than any man. They have no weight over you. I am Apophis, the most powerful being this world has ever seen, and you my master!"
My heart pounded as Apophis stared down at me, awaiting my command.
"Apophis! If you are all powerful, then take me to the realm you came from"
| 2018-05-27T07:41:14 | 2018-05-27T05:58:30 | 83 | 42 |
[WP] You're born in one of the richest families in the world, but have been homeschooled so you have no idea how rich you are. Recently, your parents decided to transfer you to a private school with rich kids bragging at you all the time.
[deleted] | My first day at a proper school! I couldn’t help but feel excited and nervous, shifting my feet as I worked up the courage to step through those shiny gates. Marvin the driver had agreed to drop me off around the corner, with permission from Kyle the stupid head (read: bodyguard), so I could stretch my legs after the flight out of my family’s property. Glancing over my shoulder I saw Kyle trimming some bushes in his janitor’s clothes. I’d recognise that droopy stare anywhere.
The bell rings, and startles me. Oops, guess those nervous jitters never went away after all. I rushed forward, trying to make my happy skipping inconspicuous while heading straight to the home room I was assigned. The closest to the security checkpoint. The principal had given my family and I private tours of the place to assure them of the safety of the complex, so I sort of knew where I was going.
I reached the door to the room that I would attend for the next 3 years.
I knew that Kyle was laughing at me, the prick. I didn’t need to turn around and look through the window to know his shoulders were shaking. It was the first day and the door was closed, signalling that class had started and any latecomers had to go to the front desk and report as late.
‘Great start,’ I thought to myself, rolling my eyes in frustration. ‘Dad is going to love this and mum is going to flip.’
Less than 10mins later and I was back in front of that imposing door. ‘Let’s try this again.’ I thought as I confidently knocked. The door swung open slowly, revealing a well-dressed man holding an open book in one hand.
I swallowed nervously, standing straight and firm as my dad taught me, and presented the green slip.
“Miss... Smith.” He paused before saying my pseudonym. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence.” The man bowed, causing me to raise my eyebrow.
“You’re, uh... welcome?” No-one has ever sincerely bowed to me before and this guy seemed genuine... is he being sarcastic? I thought back to my late uncle’s mannerisms and couldn’t find any similarities,
A few giggles and snorts sounded from inside, prompting me to peer through the door and take my first few steps into my new world. My uniform was ruffled from running like a maniac through the school, so I hastily smoothed it out before standing in front of the other students already seated inside. There was space for 12 kids, but only 7 were currently staring at me with various degrees of mirth and/or disgust. I frowned back at them.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man who let me in cleared his throat and spoke clearly. “I present Miss Katarine Smith.”
“Hi?” I jerked my hand from one side to the other, attempting to list all of the subsidiaries my dad owned in my head in order to keep calm. Man, the last time someone looked like me like these kids were was when I was 3, covered in mud and ran straight into one of my mum’s friends.
“Ergh, who let the dogs out?” A petite brunette held her nose and slid her eyes over the sweaty patches on my clothes.
I sighed and tried to quash the growing nervousness in my chest, not noticing the man still standing beside me stiffening up. I stifled all the quips my aunties had taught me and straightened my shoulders. I marched straight to an unoccupied seat isolated from the other repulsed students and sat down.
Glancing out the window, I caught sight of a straw hat bobbing in and out of the bushes. Kyle caught my eye and I subtly shook my head, a signal to let him know NOT to report this to home. Just yet. I honestly could not tell if he was going to listen to me, but I tried.
“Miss Katarine...” the man still in front of the room spoke out, unsure of what to do.
“I know I stink,” I started, reigning in the anxiety. “I’m also honoured to be considered a loyal bitch on my first day.”
His mouth dropped, completely aghast. I could hear one boy snorting hard and failing to stifle his laughter. The brunette’s mouth gaped like a fish, and her friends simply looked confused.
The silence was deafening, making the bell that rang a few seconds later to sound louder than it was.
“Uh!” The man snapped out of his trance and hastily coughed into his hand, addressing everyone in the room. “I am Simon, I will be your tutor for this year. Please report here every morning for notices and with any questions that you have. You have science next, please attend Room 4B at your earliest convenience.”
Rooting around in my bag as I got up, I found my special deodorant and sprayed myself quickly before rushing out the room. A dainty sneeze sounded behind me and some obviously forced gagging noises.
I stopped, dropping my head down in frustration.
“What, on this good earth, is that horrid smell?” Bitch brunette had taken the stab once again. “Don’t you have something a little more refined? Like Clive Christian? Or Caron’s Poivre?”
I glanced down at my bag, and considered the unmarked spray can. “Honestly, I like the smell of this one better.” And I should, Clive Christian made this specifically for me, much to my mother’s delight. She hated the fact I would never use the fancy perfumes she’d get me as I hated using them cause the bottles were always too pretty.
“Oh you poor pleb. I pity your situation where you can’t even afford such basic necessities like Clive or Caron’s...” The brunette emphasised the word ‘pleb’ and stalked past me with her gaggle of friend’s giggling in their hands.
Confused, I watched them leave, palming the special can again and glancing down at it. Clive Christian had offered to make this perfume exclusive to me if my parents agreed to finance another business venture that would make luxury furniture out of reclaimed and upcycled wood. I mean I technically get it for free, so I don’t need to “afford” it... but... was that supposed to be an insult? | A Space Opera Twist on the Premise:
​
​
Trindax Megapod X had never left his home satellite of Pesaledon until a spaceship from the Academy for the Spawn and Clones of the Absurdly Financially Well Endowed (ASCOTAFWE) landed on top of his hovel earlier this morning. Hovel *is* probably the best descriptor for his dwelling place in any case; it was small, dingy, and made of flimsy corrugated cardboard. It was filled with the unmistakable and unforgettable scent of Pesaledonian green fish, a local delicacy manufactured by soaking fish in liquid methane for three months before burying it in the dung of the Pesaledonian muskfox for two whole years. The ship's AI autopilot informed Trindax that he has been accepted to a very prestigious school and he is to begin his education first thing next week. With his cardboard hovel thoroughly demolished by the passing vessel, young Trindax had little choice but to board the spacecraft.
Trindax's existence had been a relatively simple one until now, he woke up when the first sun rose in the horizon and he slept when the third sun set in the evening. In the morning he herded Pesledonian wool cats on the burgundy plains and in the afternoon he fished in the emerald lakes, he took breaks and ate many meals whenever he fancied. Occasionally, for a change of pace he read from the only book in his hovel, *The Complete Encyclopedia of Everything We Could Be Bothered to Write Down for Now*. All in all, Trindax lived a rather idyllic life, though he would be baffled if you had told him that because: a) he hadn't the faintest clue what idyllic meant, b) having never known any other mode of being, he has no real frame of reference, and c) he hadn't spoken to another human being in about ten years.
Trindax had parents, he knew at least that much. He's a bit hazy on the details but he knew one was his mother and one was his father, through the faint haze of memory, he could also recall that one had long hair and one didn't, but he wasn't entirely certain which was which. He had last seen them when he was 4 Earth years old and he is 14 Earth years old now. He's not entirely sure why they suddenly left. In the intervening time, the only outside communication he had was one letter delivered to him by a drone to him every single Earth year from his parents on the Earth anniversary of his birth. Each letter was terse and to the point, devoid of all information expect to inform that: a) his parents are still alive and b) that one day when he was 16 Earth years old, a strange flying ship shall descend from the sky to take him to a school, which his parents helpfully defined for him as a big building or several buildings where people told you what to think all day. They told him that it will help him build character.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Six miliseconds and a hyperspace tunnel later, Trindax has finally arrived at the Academy located on the asteroid Delta Omega IX. Its scale was monumental to the point of taking up most of the small asteroid and decorated with all the warmth of an intergalactic penitentiary. To call it sparse and Spartan would be underselling it, it looked like the carbonized remains of a blue space whale, both inside and out. Trindax was promptly directed to his dorm room by the school computer, which turned out to be a small grey room totally devoid of furniture except one metal slab of a bed and one long but thin blanket. Both the bed and the blanket are to be shared between six pupils. Despite having living conditions that violated nearly every single article of the Intergalactic Covenant for the Treatment of Prisoners, this is a highly exclusive and highly enviable (as well as outrageously expensive) boarding school for the most privileged juveniles in the entire galaxy.
The school motto is "Discipline Build Character" in the Old Galactic Script and its mission is to mold its student body into the leadership class of the next generation. Here in its dormitories were the clones and spawns of the galaxy's most powerful individuals, from the war lord of the planet Plath to the swarm queen of Naked Mole Rat People. Every single school year, as a sign of compassion and token gesture to the spirit of equality, the school accepted one poor scholar to attend on the basis of exceptional personal achievement. It was on such auspices that Trindax was accepted although nobody could exactly say what his exceptional achievement was, indeed there was astonishingly little information about the boy on record, not even his family name.
Trindax's first dinner at the Academy was passed without much incident and so was the first night's sleep. The same held true for the next several evenings as few of the other pupils ever bothered him. They treated Trindax as if he was a plague victim with an invisible cordon around him. They weren't entirely sure why they did this either but something in their subconscious minds told them that this was not an ordinary boy. Trindax conversely kept to himself and rarely attended any sort of communal activity.
One day however there a school memorial banquet in the memory of the late founder of the school, Lord Lampledott the First. All the students were dressed to the nines and seated on hover tables arranged into the outline of a cube. In the centre of the cube sat the headmaster Lord Lampledott the Eighth, descendant of the original Lord Lampledott. Trindax curiously had been given the pride of place at the side of the headmaster.
Somewhere below the headmaster a loud braying voice complained, "It's no fair that charity case gets to sit beside His Lordship. It's all because he's a poor nobody that everyone pities and no one cares about. I mean my brood father is the captain the entire galactic fleet of the Space Sumerian Confederacy, I should be the one sitting in the centre if anything."
"Hah," a gurgling voice laughed as two tentacles waved dismissively, "that's nothing Brodmard, my daddy is the Emperor of the Squidkind and owns eight underwater palaces on two planets and five moons."
"Oh yeah? Three out five of my co-fathers are Triarchs of the Dominion Triarchy!""My genetic source whose arm I grew from owns the Second Galactic Bank, that's the second biggest bank in the galaxy you know! All your parents are in debt to them."
"I'm the favourite clone of the biggest real estate developer in the entire western half of the galaxy."
Floating in the centre, the Lord Lampledott and Trindax, himself puzzled by his presence at this exalted position sat in silence. Finally His Lordship stood up and spoke into the microphone, " Students! Students! One and all! Do settle down! Tonight is a night for celebration, not for discord! We are here to celebrate the remarkable achievements of my illustrious ancestor and his lasting legacy! Have some respect."
The crowd settled down a bit but not completely. His Lordship continued, "We are also here to celebrate our new student and the legacy of his illustrious ancestors who were the greatest people who ever lived." A hushed silence fell upon the room. "I don't suppose you lot know who they are do you? Ungrateful swine," the headmaster muttered, "you are looking at Trindax Megapod X, the heir to the Megapod family fortune and Megapod Entertainment Enterprises, Ltd."
The hushed silence erupted into excited debates once more. "That's right, the same Megapod Entertainment Enterprises, Ltd. that owns the entire galaxy and turned Saturn into their private golf course. The Megapods were among the earliest pioneers during the initial expansion phase when humanity first left Earth and they were the ones who gave my great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather a bequest to start this school in the first place. Young Trindax will inherit the entire galaxy and every single thing in it one of these days so it would really pay to be nice to him."
Now it was Trindax's turn to be puzzled. Being raised with barely any material possessions, he had a very rudimentary idea of class and wealth but it's even to him that he is filthy rich. "But why did they hide all this from me? Why didn't they ever tell me the truth? I don't understand!"
"Oh, your mother read this book on parenting that advocated a hands-off approach and adversity from an early age in order to build character and teach you to fend for yourself. They thought it was a jolly good idea. As for why they didn't say anything earlier, they are *unbelievably* absent-minded people so my guess is that it genuinely slipped their minds. They are mostly off their head on purple cloves these days, they haven't really had chance to alter that form letter they got the robot to send to you I'm afraid." | 2019-03-18T17:53:23 | 2019-03-18T17:52:23 | 43 | 13 |
[WP]You are denied entry to heaven because you have done unspeakable things. You are denied entry to hell because you did those things to very evil people. Unable to place you, Heaven and Hell sweep the paperwork under the rug and you continue your work. | Honestly, it wasn’t too bad this gig. I was effectively immortal until those upstairs, or downstairs, decided to claim me. Not having a fixed appearance anymore, on the account of being dead and all, and an ability to turn corporeal sure made my work easy.
I looked down at the man below me as I felt his hand slap my thigh weakly and increased the pressure of the pillow I was holding over his face. Shouldn’t loose concentration while in the act of murder, it could get messy. This made me grimace as I used my knees to hold down his arms, he sure was taking his time. I really didn’t have time for this and started to regret the choice of seduction followed by what could, if squinted at, be looked at as an accident. Finally he stopped struggling but I held onto the pillow for a few more minutes, just to be sure.
I sat back, relaxing my shoulders and removed the pillow of his face. It was an ugly mug, how he’d charmed his way anywhere was beyond comprehension but maybe it was his bank accounts that shone the brightest to his unfortunate victims. I patted his cheek with a smile. “Time to go, I think those downstairs will just love to play with you.”
I picked him up with a huff, again appreciating I killed him before he got too frisky, and carried him out on the balcony. I’d made sure there were no cameras or view of it long ago, wouldn’t want anyone to come after some poor woman who happened to be alike my chosen face of the day.
“Say hi to the devil for me,” I told the body as I pushed him over the railing and watched him fall. Then I dissolved back into the insubstantial *thing* that was my normal state these days. Far easier to travel and I had an appointment with a woman with a penchant for selling the kids at her orphanage.
Two in a day, not bad, not bad at all…
~~English is not my first language so I apologize for any grammar or other faults~~ | **Default Divinity**
 
After careful consideration, I believe that I am a god, a demi-god at least. My understanding of this is a little hazy, especially as the other celestial entities refuse to engage given their displeasure concerning my recent apotheosis. This was a first apparently, a first for all humanity.
I do have followers, who represent the full spectrum of genuine belief through to opportunistic hangers on. My Name, is now invoked for rites, blessings, and tax purposes. A collection of my writings from my mortal days are being collected, bound, and argued over. A little embarrassing, when meaning is being extracted from my college era political posts on Reddit.
I also perform my own brand of miracles. The ‘Examples’, as they are now called, are perhaps not on the subtle side. This has apparently added lemons to the already sour dispositions of my celestial colleagues. I’ve heard distant rumblings about ‘the need for mystery’ and the importance of ‘faith not fact’. Frankly they can all go to hell if they care so much, because apparently I can’t.
 
My apotheosis started with a rather unceremonious death by falling toilet seat. I know, I know, apparently it already happened, like most things, on TV.
I blinked and then, without any seeming transition, there was the room. It was just bland, a careful composite of every windowless office interview room ever constructed, and I was sitting in the interview chair. Two figures sat opposite me, regarding me with fixed and tired smiles. Manilla folders lay open in front of them.
Great.
There was a door, I went for it. Preparing to run, I opened the door and stared. I held onto the door in shock. There was no corridor, no anything. A void of nothing-ness waited outside.
A quiet cough brought me back to the room. I turned around, maintaining my grip on the door. The first interviewer, a woman clad in a white toga, indicated my chair in one curt motion.
With an embarrassed smile I took my chair again.
The second interviewer, a man in red leather, raised an eyebrow.
Both interviewers looked down at their bland folders and froze.
The woman raised her eyes and slowly refixed her smile. “Mr Agil, I am Mrs White, your post-mortem decision support specialist and…ah….there appears to be a slight paperwork issue with your post-mortem assignment” she said carefully.
The second interviewer started to laugh.
“That is not helpful Mr Red!” exclaimed Mrs White.
The man’s laughter boomed and then wore away to an ongoing chuckle.
“Tell him” he finally managed to say. “Tell him how our ‘perfect’ Father managed to leave a room for error”
“It is not a mistake!” She retorted in a brusk manner.
“Wha…” I started.
“Mr Agil” Mrs White again started, “You do not fit. You are a…a…wonderful example of humanity’s capacity to push every boundary.”
Mr Red started to laugh again.
Mrs White grimaced and attempted to stay on course, “This is my colleague, Mr Red, your alternative designation consultant”.
Mr Red waved happily at this mention.
“You are not a suitable candidate for either of the two main post-mortem assignments” Mrs White continued. “Speaking for my employer, heaven is certainly not for you, given your rather extreme extracurricular activities…”
She meant the murders, I calmly thought.
Mr Red quickly interrupted “Impressive work there. The displays were works of art. Unfortunately, you just happened to kill the wrong people. All of them, yes all of them, are long term debtors of my master. Lucy is NOT amused.”
Mrs White carried on “Usually, one of the tolerated alternatives would accept you. But…well… there are issues with each case.” She consulted her notes before continuing. “Valhalla for example only accepts warriors and…”
The woman continued her list with increasing consternation for a while before coming to a stop. She kept her gaze lowered and a few seconds dragged by. Mrs White started again “Your emotional quotient is too low for you to be a ghost, which is the only other outcome left.” Her voice cracked “I… don’t know what to do”.
Mr Red smiled and spoke “fudge it, leave him unassigned, no one will notice. No will want to know about this little mistake of our Father dear.”
A longer pause carried on.
“Ah…” I started.
Mrs White closed the folder with a booming finality and the void closed in. There was no room, just a void…and something?
Earth glimmered faintly in the distance. It was ghostly, faint, and appeared to be growing dimmer. I willed myself towards it with a desperate effort.
 
I arrived back on Earth a formless apparition. But I could touch, I could feel, I could continue to do away with those who commit the greatest of evils. My Examples have expanded and my Name has spread, imbued with both hope and fear. Driven by this belief, my powers have grown.
I am a man made God. I am the avatar of a cold justice.
| 2019-03-26T13:45:51 | 2019-03-25T18:25:39 | 49 | 14 |
[WP] A vampire is desperate to see their own face for the first time. Being unable to see their own reflection or appear in photographs, they ask a talented artist to paint their portrait as accurately as possible. The finished picture is nothing like they'd expected. | "Right. Well. That's ummm..."
Margot studied Vladula with the same still eyes she used to paint, but her expression curved downwards. She'd been assured there'd be no repercussions if the painting wasn't satisfactory, but.... how far can you trust an undead creature of the night?
"It might be the ink" she spoke with a slight waver
"No, no. It's not that at all" Vladula's fingers traced over the bottom of the painting, bringing a slight smudge to the words "Lord Vladula" at the bottom. "Didn't you think it was.... odd? The name?"
"Well, the whole thing is odd" Margot stepped back, "You didn't exactly go through the normal channels, did you? Getting commissions usually involves more emails and arguments about exposure"
"I don't like exposure, it's bad for my skin. That's why I turned up in the middle of the night"
Margot sighed, "I'm sorry that I couldn't paint something you liked"
"Oh, no, that's not it at all. In actual fact, I think it's a wonderful piece of art. It will fit nicely at the top of my staircase. Right next to uncle Evil Mordreera's picture"
"Wait" Margot took another step back, "Evil?"
"Evil was just his first name. He was gifted the painting by an orphanage he donated a large sum of money too"
Margot sighed, "Please, I know I'm going to regret this, but I need to ask. What's wrong with the painting?"
"I've had a lot of forms" Vladula's brow furrowed, "It's easy to lose track"
"If this one isn't your favourite, that's not..."
"No, no, I mean" Vladula turned to her, "How long have I been a woman for?" | I'm a cursed man.
No, not because I'm a bloodsucker. You wouldn't blame yourself for needing to eat fried chicken, or a nice juicy steak, right? I'm cursed because I can't see my face. A face that I'm sure is absolutely beautiful.
See (haha), I can't look at myself in the mirror. It's a terrible feeling. Paralysing, really. I'm increasingly reminded of it every time I a rerun of Angel comes on, and I see David Boreanaz's delightful visage on my screen. Or Gary Oldman's in Dracula. Even Robert Pattinson in Twilight. Yeah, OK, the whole sparkling vampire thing is pretty bullshit, but I dig his face.
So, I had to call in a favour. I'm not a fan of the outside in general, except to feed, so I decided to scour the Internet, hoping to find somebody willing to put in the time and effort to draw me.
> [**ARTIST WANTED:**]
>
> Hi, 233/M vampire here. Looking for somebody interested in the dark arts and vampire culture to draw me in an art project. Please send rates w/ portfolio, will send you the address if selected. Willing to pay in cash!
>
> P.S. If you are human, I won't bite you. I promise.
>
>P.S.S Please don't wear perfume/cologne. You humans usually have terrible taste in them.
Surprisingly, I got a ping on my phone in less than an hour.
>You are a vampire?
I responded.
>Yeah, of course.
Another ding.
>Can you prove it?
>I can't send you a selfie, if that's what you are asking for. I wouldn't need you if I could.
>... I'll send you my art. Send me your address, I'll bring a cross.
I had a look through the person's portfolio. A surprisingly macabre taste and dark colours, but otherwise pretty solid reproductions of human faces. They even helpfully sent some of the reference photos, and it did look accurate. So I shot the person my address.
Within two hours, my doorbell rang. I opened the door and saw a brunette woman, dressed simply in a worn T-shirt and baggy jeans. She had a cross necklace on, along with cross earrings, and her bag had a large cross imprinted on it.
"You know, wood usually works the best."
She immediately reached into the bag, rummaged for a second, and pulled out a large wooden cross. I instinctively stepped back a little, and she looked satisfied at my reaction.
"I know. Fake vampires usually don't respond like that."
She put it back in her bag, and I directed her to a mini art studio that I set up. She looked at me strangely, before pulling out a tablet and pen from her bag.
She sat down, got to work, and I was left with nothing to do but to twiddle my thumbs. Until she told me to stop it, because it was distracting her. So I shook my legs, until she told me stop it before she threw the cross at me. I tried my best to sit very still then.
It might have been an hour or two. I was just thinking that I really needed to go out for dinner soon, before she set her tablet down, stretched her back, and gave a satisfied sigh.
"Is it ready?" I asked.
"Yeah," she replied. "Come here and take a look."
I looked at it. And I was absolutely incensed.
"Who the hell is this?" I almost screamed but kept my voice under control.
"What are you talking about? It's you."
"But... this is such an average face! I'm not... handsome?"
"Dude, vampires aren't all pretty boys. I've seen quite a few of them."
"But... David Boreanaz... Gary Oldman..."
"Come on, that's just Hollywood. They beautify everything. Watch a war film, then go and look at an actual soldier."
I collapsed back in my chair, the anger quickly leaving me, a strange sense of serenity filling me. I was just an average person. Destined to be average forever. At least I'm average, I comforted myself.
She sidled up, and placed a hand on my shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze.
"Look," she said, "if it's any comfort, vampires are still really cool."
It was comforting. I looked up at her. She seemed genuinely concerned about me, which was a nice feeling.
"Why do you do this? You've probably met more vampires than me."
She shrugged. "A lot of vampires want to know how they look like, and I can fulfill that desire. Also, I have a very particular fetish..."
Her hand moved down, over my cold, dead, heart.
Oh well. I guess fangs are cool enough to score chicks. | 2019-11-18T02:47:46 | 2019-11-18T02:20:24 | 253 | 88 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.” | The captain heard the news, but couldn’t believe his ears, a human surviving a warp jump? I guess it happened, the captain isn’t one for pondering over things.
“Bring me the human, I’d like to speak to it.” The captain said staying into the void from his quarters. The doctor left and came back with him, “sir” the doctor muttered “I think he did go insane.”
“I’m not insane.” The human said, “sir can I speak with you alone?” The human seemed peaceful, but had a sense of anxiety to him.
“Yes, doctor please leave.” The captain said, the doctor scoffed and left them in the room. There was a long silence. Until the captain finally spoke, he was too curious from this incident. “Do you know how you were able to survive?” The captain said, still staring into the void.
“Yes, I believe it has something to do with my drug use from the past.” The human replied, the captain put a confused expression on his face. There was a pause, until the captain said “continue.”
“Well sir, to explain this to you, I’d have to explain an old ritual humans did in the past. There were tribes from long ago, that would make a drink from a root, when they drank this substance they had a profound experience and usually seen supernatural things. There was a moment where humans synthesized the main chemical that was in the root and smoked it for recreational use. My parents gave me this at the age of 18, a continuing ritual from our ancestors. The things seen are mind boggling, yet we come out perfectly fine, with a new sense of understanding.” The human paused, and then walked beside the captain, staring with him into the void. The captain turned his eyes to the human without moving his head. “We have to leave.” The human said.
“Leave?” The captain said looking at the human directly now. “Where do you expect us to go? You haven’t even explained what you saw.” The human looked at the captain in his eyes, piercing into his soul.
“Sir, we have to leave this universe.” The human said, the captain looked confused and impatient.
“Leave this universe?! Haha you have gone insane!” The captain moved over to his chair and sat down. Stopped and thought to himself, and then spoke again. “Continue.”
“You see sir, when we take this drug, we see things, beings. Some of them seem like they are an extension of us, others feel and seem completely separate. Like a different entity with thoughts entirely from our own. They always say ‘welcome, you made it!’ And we would never get answers if we ask questions to them, they come in the form of riddles. This jump, I seen the same thing, but this time they welcomed me differently. They said we are getting further and closer, they say we must leave this place, and sir. I think we can.” The human stared into the distant void, looking at the stars. “A lot of alien species that have technology don’t believe in other worldly being, I think at some point they lose that thought because of the simple thinking they are raised to do. They think of this world and this world only. My ancestors used to have discussion of different dimensions, other universes separate of our own, with different physics and matter. I’ve seen these other universes, I’ve seen these other dimensions.” The human looked at the captain with a smile on his face. “We finally got the answer.” The human stopped speaking.
“What is the answer?” The captain said in a quiet tone, leaning forward with anticipation. But the human didn’t respond, the captain got nervous, got up and stood beside the human. “What did you see?” The human looked up at the captain.
“I seen everything.” The human muttered, staring into the void. | 2020-07-14T02:58:11 | 2020-07-13T23:54:18 | 381 | 186 |
[WP] You work as a bookie for gamblers with rich blood. One day a man comes to you and puts down a fortune on a ridiculous bet. But this is the moment you've been waiting for. You shove him against the wall. "TTPD!" You shout. "You are under arrest for time-traveling for your own personal gain!" | “TTPD, you’re under arrest!!!” I screamed as I held the subject down. My manager, bewildered by my judgment says,” WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!” I quickly flash my credentials while still holding the struggling suspect and reply,” I’m with Time Traveler Police Department, this man just dropped a ridiculous amount on the odds on loser. I’ll be taking this man into custody.”
Two large men then forcefully remove me from the individual and pin me face first into a wall. The manager, shaking his head responds,” I knew it was a mistake hiring you. Your cousin said you had a drug problem but vouched saying that you’ve been clean. You’re fired!” | 2075 was a turbulent year. For all the progress humanity seemed to have made, the setbacks seemed larger and larger. Global warming was tearing the world apart, artificial intelligence seemed on the cusp of starting a new international war. Each would be its own separate humanitarian catastrophe, but these people didn't know that yet.
The Gamblers Roulette was exactly as dingy as it sounded. The poker table in the back was loud and rowdy, filled with people who wanted to drink and loose money. The roulette table was filled with the same. But the table where the real money was spent was silent. It was a small counter in the back where the bartender set drinks for the waiter to serve. Write down the name of the person you're betting for and how much, then wait and see if they're the last person standing.
Death pools.
Most death pools weren't worth much, but the local crime lords like to bet against one another as a way to make an idle threat. Their lackeys do the same, and some pools grow to many millions of dollars. It made for a nice opportunity for third parties to bet on who they knew would win. Assassins for one, but also time travelers.
Victoria kept an idle eye on the door as she sipped her cocktail. It tasted good, one of the last years alcohol was still naturally made. On cue, a skinny man in a nice suit walked through the door. Lenny Piles.
Lenny walked through the door and ordered himself a scotch. His eyes passed over the counter where death pool bets were made, but he didn't walk over. Instead, he went to the nearby poker table and chatted up the locals. They dealed him in, and he played a few rounds. He lost big every time.
Victoria frowned. Did he know she was watching? Why else would he play loosing hands? Lenny played another game, this one more heated. He started asking the group who their boss was, and if they thought he'd be around for much longer. He won that round of poker, but when the cards were on the table, several guns were too. Lenny put his hands up, gave everyone a sickly sweat smile, and left the table without touching his winnings.
Lenny walked over to the bar, pulled a stack of papers out of his vest pocket, and slapped them down. The bartender gave him a nod and took them. That was all Victoria needed. The actual money would change hands behind closed doors, but Lenny was in the death pool now. The crime was committed.
Before he could sit down at an empty table, Victoria put a hand around his back and bent him over it, "TTPD Lenny," Victoria shouted, "Anything you do in this timeline can and will be used against you!"
The table of gangsters shot looks in her direction, but nobody moved. Lenny wasn't their friend, and they were more than happy to watch him get busted. Lenny himself didn't seem worried though.
"You're going to be busy then. I've changed a lot in this timeline, Victoria Keys," Lenny said.
Victoria looked up, and something seemed strange. The gangsters weren't looking at her anymore. They were looking at the entrance. The door slammed open and someone walked through with a submachine gun and leveled it at the gangsters. Victoria grabbed Lenny and threw him against the ground. They rolled on the floor while bullets flew through the air. She felt his hands in her jacket pocket. She pulled out her gun and pressed it against his head.
"Move and you die," she said.
"I'm not too worried about that," Lenny said, with a sick smile on his face. He held her Cronotransporter in one hand. "Good luck staying alive," he said, before pressing the button on the top and disappearing through time.
"Shit." Victoria muttered. One gun, no way out. This was going to be a long night. | 2020-12-31T08:31:31 | 2020-12-31T08:27:39 | 52 | 37 |
[WP] An agoraphobic princess is sick and tired of knights breaking into her tower and trying to slay her emotional support dragon. | "My princess, I have spotted one on a toboggan."
Ugh. Winter used to be a time of peace and quiet. The season for rescue missions has been broadened, apparently, and no one thought to send me a pigeon about it.
"Just ... Just roast him."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. If he's this determined it's best to just get it over with."
It wasn't a perfect solution. Fredrick's fire would melt the snow and that would attract more knights to the castle. But perhaps a torched patch of grass with a skeleton in melted armor in the middle of it would make them think twice.
Fredrick flew over. "I see you have come here," he said, looking back to make sure I was listening, "to *sleigh* me." Then there was fire and screaming and all that.
When Fredrick came back he looked at me with anticipation. "Did you hear?" he said. "I made a little joke. It's not much but I thought it was funny." Twiddling his claws, he stared at the rock floor and awaited my response.
"Are you kidding me?" I said.
"W-What?" he said.
"It was excellent. I loved it."
Fredrick beamed with pride. "Thank you! As soon as I saw the toboggan I thought 'hmm, here's a funny situation. I bet there's some potential for wordplay here'. And you know, it just came to me. Sleigh. It sounds like 'slay'. And that's what these, these knights, are trying to do. To slay the dragon. So I just flew up, and I was thinking like 'maybe I should just forget about it, it's sort of stupid' so I almost didn't but then I just went for it."
"I'm glad you did."
Fredrick let out a happy puff of smoke. He was a pretty nice emotional support dragon. | "The sky began to cloud and my heart sped as the thundering of footsteps approached my tower.
I heaved for a breathe then stumbled across the floor a mess reckless, untamed, and undefined. What would they do with me? Why were they coming for me? Was it not obvious I wished to be alone?
"Fair and elegant lady!" The man spoke, although he lays at fault, because I am far from fair. In fact his next words,
"Woe begotten princess, oasis to the eyes." Brought such disgust I had forgotten the rumbling of my fear.
I have not one companion in this desolate tower except, for my guardian, the one who comforts me day and night as I ponder who forced me to such fate.
"Allow me to kiss your wounds and slay your fears!" He gambles at my patience as *he* is the one to make me afraid, *he* holds not remorse.
I suspect he just as the others will not understand, that they always come back.
Only the occupants of this tower which happen to be my scaled friend and I understand, that time loops. Again and again, each month that passes the same men, and the same proposals haunt me.
Often I wonder what it's like living in a loop of introductions and promises, many loops of jaunts and cheers, or just, life outside unknowing of the consistency your life holds.
Dull and repetitive, much like his speech which had finally ended and his preach of 'charge' set loose his soldiers against my winged companion.
"Do not let that beast place fear in your heart the beast has no power over you!" He screeched above the yells.
"Beast?" I howled over the crowd causing a long pause in any sound throughout the area.
"How dare *you* attempt to frame a beast? He has done much good in comparison to the harm you have brought." I paused threatening to send my stifled temper loose.
"Among the years I have been here, which one of you scaled down this tower to comfort me in my hours of fear? Who among the crowd brought their head level to the window and calmed me as I sobbed?"
I called to the crowd, what use would this be? They *always* came back.
"You." The centre piece starts,
"You, feign strength! What a most powerful woman!" He must have lost his mind at that point.
I turned to my scaled creature, the color of blood stained into him at birth, eyes that challenge the Sun and pupils that make the night seem to be a bright white, claws that are ungroomed that break the towers seams like crumbled cookies.
Wings which he used to fan back the knights, and breath which sent most running at the thought of ever encountering him in the first place.
"But this is my quest?" The knight spoke watching every last companion of his be blown away, a monstrous wind sending them forty feet back, and many were being sent much further.
"M'lady! Fear not!" He shouted,
"I am not." I replied.
"Of course you are?" He questioned,
"Of course I am *not*." I answered.
How so? I had explained once before, and grew fairly tired.
Then it dawned upon me, I, a princess who is companions with a dragon, should just escape. Those who came to save me were under prepared, and cared not for my opinion, worst of all the had the audacity to attempt to slay my friend.
Moments later the night flew across the land falling out of sight, as I called upon my friend resting atop the tower.
"Take me away." I said,
"Steal me from my horrid life, bring me to an open plain, where the grass ever grows and only you, I, and the wind make noise." I pressed on,
"Let us build a home among the country side, a place unknown to man." I paused.
"We will never return, this was never *our* home anyways." I finished.
The dragons eye peered into my room, it gave me a look of reassurance, something notedly only calm and compassionate for the miserable being it looked upon.
The tower crumbled as the dragon moved so that I could mount it.
With this, the kingdom would suspect I had died, and those who sought me and what my power as princess held would find another.
I had nothing to say to my family, I would only travel farther and farther away from the kingdom and its hopes for me to be saved- rather, I would save myself."
My grandmother said as we sat on the floor of an old cottage.
My grandmother, who loved to bake and tend to her flowers, my grandmother who often warned us not wait for those who promise untangebal things.
This grandmother, my grandmother, who's cottage had all the trappings bestowed upon Dukedoms or Marquis', and yet lived a modest life often traveling to the next town, selling herbal concoctions and teas, breads, jams, and pastries.
Although no one knows how she makes her way there and back.
Is now adamant about telling us the truth. | 2021-08-18T11:50:47 | 2021-08-18T11:40:38 | 161 | 66 |
[WP] “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true. As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!” | "Objection!" shouted Barry, the prosecutor.
The judge raised an eyebrow. "On what grounds?"
Barry paused, at a loss for words. "Umm... everything? This... this is just absurd!"
I chuckled at his genuine agitation. Barry had never faced something like this before. It would've amused me more if he wasn't currently trying to imprison me. This whole trial had been stacked against me from the start. Since the murder occurred in the Swamp of Lost Souls, near my shack, everyone assumed I was the one responsible for it because, obviously, who else but the hermit necromancer would do such a heinous thing? No lawyer wanted to take my case so I was forced to improvise my own defense.
The entire courtroom gasped at my reveal. Some people even fainted upon witnessing the reanimated corpse. Normally, I wouldn't bring back a soul for my own gain, but I wasn't about to go to jail for something I didn't do.
"You'll have to provide a better argument," said the judge. "It's unorthodox, but the lack of precedent means necromancy is technically allowed."
Barry rubbed his temples, frustrated.
I started to relax. My biggest concern was that this stunt would only alienate me more from them, but it appeared the judge was truly interested in getting to the bottom of this case. Adam, the victim, was a beloved figure in the community. Bringing out his rotting corpse had to disturb those who weren't used to my craft.
"Okay," said Barry, "hear me out. How do we know this is actually Adam?"
"I'm right here, dude" said Adam, with flies coming out of his mouth. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Shut up!" said Barry. "It's obviously your corpse, but how can we be sure he's not just controlling the body like a puppet? Couldn't he make Adam say anything he wanted?"
The judge nodded sagely, stroking his beard. "An interesting counterpoint."
"That's not fair!" I said. "You're basically asking me to prove his own sentience, and that's philosophically impossible! Especially if you disregard his own testimony!"
"And?" said Barry. "The burden of proof is on you here. If you can't definitively prove he's a reliable witness, then he holds no value to the court."
"Rude," said Adam.
"You're not real!" Barry frowned at me. "Stop manipulating our dead friend!"
"I'm not!"
"Yes you are! And even if that *is* him, you're using his death to your advantage!"
"And I'm supposed to just give up?"
"That would be great, actually."
I looked at the judge, expectantly. "You don't have to take everything at face value. Can't you just... hear him out?"
The judge pursed his lips, unsure, then said:
"I'm afraid not. We can't really be sure one way or the other, can we? And letting this version of Adam speak would definitely influence us, even if we don't give it much weight."
I sighed. It wasn't that they wished justice for Adam. This community just wanted me and my craft to be eradicated. The murder was just a convenient excuse to enforce their puritan ways. Or, to put it another way, they would rather believe I was an evil monster than confront the fact that they had a murderer among them.
Adam, despite his disfigured face, pouted in disappointment. The reason he was in the swamp in the first place was because it was the only place he could meet up with his girlfriend, a woman from an affluent family that had been forbidden from marrying him. When her father discovered their secret, he locked her up and sent his thugs to take care of Adam in their meeting spot. They didn't count on me caring at all about the murder. When I came to the city to report it, I was instantly charged with the crime instead. It appeared the lady's father was too influential.
Barry himself seemed desperate to win the case at all costs, glancing back at the father every so often with great anxiety. I then understood he was only fighting me out of fear of what would happen should he fail. I couldn't blame him for trying to survive, just like me.
That being said, when it was obvious I would never be heard in a fair way, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. This trial was a mere formality. Something I only did to not look like a complete villain to these people. It was foolish to let them think their laws applied to me. With a snap of my fingers, I shot a beam of energy at Adam that made him a hundred times stronger, then said:
"Fuck it; do whatever you please."
Adam quickly sprinted at the lady's father, cackling with glee as he started punching him around the room.
The courtroom immediately erupted into chaos. The guards couldn't stop Adam from getting his revenge. I slipped out of the room while they were distracted, leaving the city as quickly as possible. That was the last time I would ever play by their rules.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | “Dead men tell no tales as they say, right? Well your honor, that’s just not true! As a necromancer, I literally summon my first witness to the stand. The victim!”
Florian shrank back from his speech, sitting awkwardly against the back end of his corvette. He was a big man; always trying to be larger than life, though he rarely ever accomplished it. Now he shook all over, a sort of palsy running across him from head to toe I’d known the man ten years, and never known him to shake like this.
“What do I think?” I said. “Honestly? Too dramatic. I know you’re the lawyer here, but is that really the kind of thing someone would say in a courtroom? And beyond that, are you okay?”
“Me?” Florian said, surprised. He brushed his forehead with the back of a hand and it came back sweaty. He blinked hard, went rummaging through nearby drawers for a cloth or a towel. That got me blinking too. We were in my garage, but the garage looked different somehow. I couldn’t place it.
“Yeah, you. You’re fuckin’ tweaking.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Quite fine, promise.” He found a towel and sat back heavily against his car, wiped off enough sweat to sustain a Fremen village. “Anyway, lets get back to it. Sir, what is your name?”
“What, this again?” I said.
“Humor me.”
I humored him. “Carter Hendricks,” I said, feeling, as I always did, that it was a name more fit for a medieval peasant than a modern man. Florian nodded like it was important.
We’d played these games in the past, in that year after Florian had become a lawyer and before he’d gotten control of his anxiety. I used to sit through everything he could throw at me, pretending to be a witness, pretending to be the opposing counsel, regurgitating hundreds of lines a night, all of which he had prepared for me. Florian might look like an up-jumped bar fighter, but he was diligent as hell, excellent at his job. Or at least, I assumed so. In return, he’d been forced to sit through a thousand pitch meetings. It was an even trade.
But today was fucking weird.
“Carter, yes Carter.” Florian said, mopping his brow again. He’d worn a cheap suit, soaked through it already. “Mr. Hendricks. Mr. Hendricks, I—”
“Hang on,” I said, “you’re fucking with me though, right? This is some Halloween thing, and Eve’s gonna bust through that door any second now screaming ‘April Fools’ even though it hasn’t been funny in years and she knows I’m humoring her even harder than I’m you, and…”
I trailed off. Florian looked physically ill. He stood, then sort of fell back again, butt banging up against his corvette; he would’ve screamed at me if I’d done that. Something tickled at the edge of my consciousness but I couldn’t place it. Everything felt wrong, Florian looked very wrong, but my brain felt fuzzy somehow, my thoughts came slower than usual.
“Fuck,” I said, trying to rub a tingling sensation off the side of my head. “Were we drinking last night?”
Florian stepped forward very quickly, grabbed my attention again. “Yes, yes, drinking! My god Carter, you should have seen yourself, there’s a reason Eve doesn’t let you near the vodka anymore.”
“Vodka?” I said. He was right, Eve didn’t let me near it. There’d been a thing a few years ago. “Hold on, where’s Eve?”
The tingle in the side of my head had become a dull ache, then a sort roar inside my brain. Nothing felt right. Florian grabbed me by the chin, his big paw of a hand held me firmly focused on his eyes.
“She’s fine,” he said, in a shaky, broken tone that meant anything but. “Lets focus, okay? Mr. Hendricks, what is your relationship to the accused?”
The accused? I tried to push Florian back but my arms didn’t seem to be working. He held me trapped with one hand, not even any strain in it, and though Florian had always been strong, he wasn’t that strong.
Wait, I thought, he didn’t even look that strong now! Beneath the suit I could see the first signs of a paunch, his cheeks sagged a little, barely perceptible but still there. And then I looked past him, really looked for what felt like the first time, and I realized, *that’s his car in my garage.*
“Florian,” I said, “what’s going on?”
He pawed at his face with the towel, makeup came away, staining the white fabric. His eyes looked older, wrinkles had set in. “Florian,” I whispered, “where's Eve?”
“Mr. Hendricks,” he said, “what is your relationship to the accused?”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, wallet sized picture, and my whole body *rebelled.*
I flinched from Florian’s hand, too fast and too sudden for him to follow. I realized I was sitting, tried to stand but legs didn’t work; I went sprawling across the concrete floor, head cracking off it. I spat out a shard of tooth, watched it bounce away from me towards a large, faded reddish-brown stain.
Somehow I rolled myself over to see Florian standing above me, terror in his eyes, terror tracking down my whole body.
I looked down, saw the sheet that must have been covering me; it was tangled in my legs now.
I was a ruin. My ribcage was a staved in hole, bits of flesh hanging off here and there, all rotted. My right arm was missing entirely, my left terminated at a bony, fingerless hand. Where a stomach had been, I had a churn of maggots and a shorn off hipbone. The sheet covered everything else: not enough.
“Florian,” I gasped, “where is Eve?”
“Mr. Hendricks,” he said, “what is nature of your relationship to the accused?” He held the photo right in front of me, grabbed the back of my hairless skull, turned eyes that I was now certain were no more than pits towards him.
The photo in his hand was a red blur, an outline of a man filled in by rage and hate. I couldn’t see him at all, but I knew, knew beyond any shadow of a doubt what our relationship was.
“That’s the man who killed me,” I said.
Florian laid my head back gently, muttering an unhinged “Good, good, good, good, yes, yes it is, thank you…” and a dozen other things, over and over like a mantra.
“Where's Eve!” I shouted. “Where is she?”
I could barely turn my head enough to see the bloodstain on the concrete next to me. There was so much of it; somehow I knew it wasn’t mine, that I had not died in this room.
“I’m so sorry,” Florian whispered. Then he whispered other words, words that twisted themselves around me like a vice, words that shattered whatever of me that there was left within the bones and shredded meat. Florian crouched down next to me as my vision went dim.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I had to know what you would say before…Carter, I swear to you we’ll get revenge. I fucking swear, brother.”
He might have taken my hand, he moved but I couldn’t feel it.
“*Where is she?”* I tried to say, but my lips wouldn’t frame the words.
And then, across a distance unaccountably vast and unimaginably painful, I heard my name; whispered in the sort of tone you use with one asleep, or when you are very much in love. *“You’re back,”* Eve said.
“Follow her voice,” Florian said. “Find her again Carter, and when the time comes, I’ll find you.”
I went, drifting through worlds of inky black, following a trail of whispers.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-10-04T07:28:04 | 2021-10-04T07:12:12 | 357 | 134 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | Trying to come up with a world for Dungeons and Dragons wasn't easy. I had spent several days figuring out how to make it work, as I wanted my campaign to go well. But I was having difficulty with the pantheon of gods. Some came easily, like Relmoz, The Nights Embrace. But others were harder. Not only that, I was trying to create a list of offerings to be made, and ritualistic sayings.
"Hmmm. How about.. Accept this gift, Sotuna, Mother of Light, and bless those who stand before me? Yeah, that works."
I muttered to myself as I worked. It sounded good, but needed a motion with it. I looked around, before picking up one of my dice as a prop. I held it in a fist, clenching it over my heart.
"Accept this gift, Sotana, Mother of Light, and bless those who stand before me."
I nodded, satisfied with it. I went to write it down, absentmindedly putting the dice to the side. With the saying in place, I happened to glance at my prop. It had starting glowing a soft white, despite being a simple black d20. I picked it up, confused.
"What the..?"
It wrenched itself from my hand, flying through the air. But it stopped as soon as it began, held in a hand of glowing silver. I followed it up, my gaze taking in the spectacle before me. She stood taller than I, her skin that same silver. She wore a flowing dress of white, like a wedding dress. It's details were incredibly delicate, the likes of which could only be dreamt of. Her hair was a very pale blonde, almost white itself. But her eyes were molten orange, much like the heart of a star.
She was the very picture of serene beauty, as though no matter what, she could provide warmth and comfort. That lasted for a brief moment, before she burst towards me, wrapping me in a hug. She bounced up and down, lifting me up without any apparent effort.
"You called me! Oh merciful me! Thank you thank you thank you!"
I struggled to get my thoughts in a line. A strange woman, who was apparently made of silver, was currently holding me up in a hug. Not only that, she had appeared out of nowhere. I looked down, eeking out a breath from the bear hug I was in.
"Am I dead?"
I half expected to see myself slumped on the ground. But instead it was just my room as before. As my words escaped she stilled, putting me down.
"Dead? Why would you be dead? I'm the Goddess of life and Healing..."
I shook my head in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, you're a goddess?"
She nodded frantically.
"Yes, of course! And you called me..."
I frowned, looking at my notes.
"I... was making up a world. Fiction. How can you..."
She let out a shaking breath, returning to her previous calm demeanour. She looked down at my notes, her face crossing between shock, wonder and joy.
"Oh. I see. You thought you were making things up. But by some cosmic coincidence, you found a way to call me."
"So... wait... you are actually Sotana? You're actually a Goddess?"
Her smile widened.
"I am indeed. And you are the first to call on me in several thousand years."
She held up my dice, as it glowed.
"This is an interesting offering, which I shall gladly accept. But you need to sit down."
I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Why?"
Her expression became amused.
"Because you are going to collapse from shock."
Sure enough, I felt the world start to spin away. As I fell, I felt arms of warmth catch me, and her voice in my ear.
"Worry not. I shall look after you now, my dear friend." | > Fun fact: In Ancient Greek, the Egyptian deity Thoth is spelled Θώθ.
> Θώθ, what's this?
> *Comment by user FrankensteinsBabyMama*
Sprinkles of Dorito dust scattered through the stale air of my bedroom as I fell into a fit of laughter. One particle, momentarily suspended in a sunbeam like a dandelion seed, followed an elliptic trajectory and landed precisely into my left eyeball. "Eckh!" I screamed. In a panic, I knocked over my Code Red Mountain Dew and the cherry-red soda fizzed qwertedly across my mechanical keyboard¹.
"Gardak!"
Much to my chagrin, I was all out of balsam + menthol Kleenexes. Strewn across the carpeted floor, they had the appearance of a light dusting of snow. As I got up to find a fresh pack, they crackled gently as I stepped over them. That was when I spotted the wondrous tome; the book of books; the leather-bound lexicon of esoteric wisdom: the Necronomicon.
I lounged back to my swivelly throne with napkins and my book, and as I pressed the soft tissue paper into the titillating crevasses of my mechanical keyboard I realized that my sweeping motion had resulted in a string of letters on my computer screen. A serendipitous message.
For a few seconds I dared not look up. I stared at the seven-sided pentagram of the Necronomicon and I felt something look back. Nietzsche once said that when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. And right then I felt a Nietzschean thrill ravage my soul, rendering it a rhizome, and I understood at once the concept of oceanic consciousness for I had become the sea and my illusion that I had been a lone drop shattered; a thousand reflective shards glimmering with deception disappeared into the abyss and with loathing they gazed back at me as they receded from view. I looked up.
> Reply to FrankensteinsBabyMama:
> fghjgtfrfrgtyhjnmnvfghjhgf
"Hmm," I said.
Seeing as I had no proclivity for cryptography or Jungian modes of interpretation or reading tea leaves (I have better uses of my time), I saved the comment as a draft for later and re-read the parent comment to which I almost responded.
Thoth. It did sound like 'thot'. With a deep sigh I stared up at the jar of Belle Delphine bathwater that I had bought ironically. Now, an Egyptian deity ... That was more like it.
In yet another show of irony, I grabbed the jar and I tore it open. "Thoth," I said, "please accept this humble offering." Holding the jar aloft, I meditated on the Ancient Greek letters.
Θώθ ... Θώθ ... 🥵 ... Θώθ
Then I breathed out a deep sigh. In any case, I had not the time to care for some Egyptian deity or the other. I put the jar down and I slowly rubbed the cover of the Necronomicon. Softly, I repeated, "Uwu, uwu, uwu," and I even considered wearing the cat ears that I had bought ironically. But before I could even catch my breath from making these incantations, I heard a violent slurping sound. Peering around my bedroom, I was afraid an intruder had made their way in, and I calculated mentally the time I would need to fetch my sword that hung on the wall. "Heh," I muttered. They would regret invading my personal space, but they would not live to rue the day. And that was when the sight presented itself before me, a miraculous mirage; Belle Delphine's bathwater was gone. Dissipated. Condensed? No. It had been slurped. But who was the slurpee?
"I am come to lay down my judgment. I thank you for your gift of nourishment."
A tan man in a white-and-yellow skirt, with the head of a bird and a blue shawl, stood before me holding a long and thin staff.
"W-Who are you?" I cried.
"... I am Thoth. I have been summoned."
I gasped. Thoth was a dude? "At least you have the *head* of a bird," I said, and I said it with a British accent. Thoth turned his head to the side and looked at me curiously.
"Unto what mortal shall I pass my judgment?" said Thoth.
Part of me wanted to bash in the bird brains of the deity with the Necronomicon. Part of me wanted to split him in half with my sword. But then he chirped, and it was really cute. I blushed. "S-So you decided to play the trap card, huh?"
"... What?"
"Never mind." I tried to come up with a name, but I found this to be a nigh impossible assignment. The cute Thoth wanted a name, so I had better give him a name. But whose? Then I noticed the empty jar, and without dwelling on it I said, "Belle Delphine."
Thoth gave me an avian nod and struck my floor with his staff. At the third strike he vanished. And within seconds I was left wondering if all of this had really happened. What if I had drunk the bathwater myself, and it had gone bad, so I started hallucinating? That was certainly a rational explanation.
No. My mind palace had become lubricated by this experience, and I remembered it all clearly. Something stirred deep within me.
I went online and browsed for a while before I bought a pet bird. Ironically.
Θώθ
**Footnotes**
1. Only losers read footnotes. Why waste your life reading something utterly inconsequential? It wasn't important enough for the main story, so I stuffed it down here. Why are you still reading? Is there something wrong with you? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a toddler? Really. Stop. You are embarrassing yourself. You could be fulfilling your dreams right now, making small steps toward that grand achievement lurking just beyond reach, and instead you waste away, reading useless footnotes, and they are not even *interesting* footnotes. When your mother dropped you on your head that time, this is what she worried about. She worried you would end up as some loser pissing their life away because your frontal lobes got all messed up and now you have no impulse control and you eek out a pitiful existence repulsed by punishment and compelled by reward as if you were nothing but a leaf blowing in the wind. Okay, now all the boring people have stopped reading because they couldn't take it: the fact that you're still reading is proof that you are an interesting person. I'm quite smitten, in fact. You're making me blush! Θώθ, what's this? | 2022-02-15T11:13:45 | 2022-02-15T11:12:03 | 394 | 80 |
[WP] Ten years into the zombie apocalypse, you find a computer with a connection to the internet. You are surprised to find that all of the global news stations are reporting as though nothing is wrong, and there is no mention at all of zombies, or your country. | "Hello? Is this thing working? I guess it is. Alright, my name is Manuel. Yeah, like that dude from *Faulty Towers*, you can laugh it up now, british folks."
The sound of heavy footsteps play throught the stream. The camera seems to be faulty, but slowly the image becomes clearer: The streamer is walking fast through what appears to be an abbandoned building.
"Definetively, God, Alah, Buddah or the freaking leprechauns must be playing me the most impressive prank of all times... *Fuck!*"
Manuel whispers that curse as he ducks behind a corner; a Woman appears briefly on the screen, wearing rags and covered in what looke like dried blood and filth. She is so thin that she seems to be a walking death, trembling with each step and making eerie breath sounds.
After a few minutes, Manuel resumes his walking.
"Ten years ago, the first case of 'Human Rabid Disease Virus', or 'HARD-V', as we nicknamed it, appeared in my city. Some say it was a woman, some said it was actually a dog, or even freaking aliens. I don't care, to be honest: Facts goes that in less than twelve hours, half of the inhabitants of the city had been infected. The symptoms are... well. Patient first get high fever, laboured breath, and then falls unconscious. Next, he or she wakes up and tries to split your skull open to feast on your delicious brain.
Quite a sight, isn't it?"
He stops again and produces an smartphone in front of the camera. He is checking Twitch's chat; some viewers mention that the phone is an *antique.*
"What? You don't believe me? Oh well, worry not, you will. O know most of you will think that I am simply a gamer pretending to be in a zombie apocalypse, so let me tell you this: Search for my country, Spain, and look at the news. You'll find virtually *nothing*. Nada. Zero. Zip. Just political mumbo-jumbo, but no news at all of what is happening in Spain. And even more, try, just *try* to book your holidays there. Every single hotel, flight, boat or freaking Uber is filled to capacity. It is impossible to come here! And now try to search news related to Barcelona between December 2011 and June 2012. Please go, check it out, and then come back."
A few minutes pass in which Manuel gets out of the building and runs through some streets, stopping behind abbandoned vehicles, burned-down army transports, and finally starts to march towards an avenue, jumping over what appear to be random obstacles.
"Yeah, you saw it. Just a few notes saying that communications with Barcelona seem to have failed, and some news about riots. But nothing else. So let me tell you this: Ten years ago there *WAS* a zombie apocalypse, and my city, my country, were where it begun. So I can only guess that OTAN, the USA, the Illuminati or whatever-the-fuck-is-responsible-for-this-massacre has silenced it!! Some would say you cannot make a whole country dissappear, and they didn't just do that! Portugal and Andorra are gone too!! They went through the same treatment!"
He jumps through a window and, immediatly, crouches behind it, resting his back over the wall.
"I knkow it's not the first time... Well, IF my previous streams have somehow reached you, this is not the first time you saw me. Something funny happened: After I managed to stablish a satellite internet connection, apparently thanks to a guy called Elon Musk, and after I wrote my first messages on Reddit... the freaking army appeared here.
I though they were finally going to save us! But then, they started hunting down the survivors. Damn my luck..."
Manuel stays there, catching back his breath, before finally climbing the stairs inside the building to what appears to be a fourth stage. He looks through the window, sun is setting and soon night will arrive.
"I have been running for the last few days. But those bastards don't know a few things. Look, can you see them?"
The camera moves, as if Manuel had grabbed it with his hand to show it through the window. Despite the low quality, the movement of human figures is obvious, as they take cover and advanced coordinated towards the building where Manuel is hiding. The camera moves again, as Manuel reataches it to his head.
"The first thing, is that you don't *fuck* with a bastard who survived for ten long years"
He produces a different cellphone and dials a number. After two call tones, an intense orange light iluminates the room, followed by the explosion. Silence follows, then screamed orders... and the roar. Hundreds, thousands of inhuman voices roaring at the same time.
"Second, is that *they* only go out at night. And third..."
The camera pans as Manuel drops a huge bag he seems to have been carrying for the whole video. He immediatly gets a long rifle from the bad, dissassembled in three pieces, that he expertly puts back together. When he's ready, less than thirty seconds later, he takes the rifle, puts it on the edge of the window, at the same time that he adjusts the scope.
Screams and roars fill the audio systems. The solders in the street fire in every direction, as hordes of humans, savages as rabid dogs, sprint towards them. Manuel takes aim.
"This is my city".
The chat goes silent as the first rounds are shot. And not a single one is aimed to the HARD-V victims. | “If you want I can get you something to help with it?” he asked. “I know a guy. Something that’ll take the edge off existence, make the feelings not quite so bad. It’s not a permanent solution but—”
”Can we just play games tonight,” she said without meeting his eyes. “Please?”
He picked up his controller. They drank beers and beheaded demons and barely talked.
​
“You don’t have to come over every evening,” said Gail. “Really, I’m okay.” She said it most days. She hated Peter visiting out of a sense of duty. Of loyalty. Just because they’d been friends, once. Any two children who are plucked from freshly poisoned air and carried into a bunker are going to have a lot in common, even if they’d had nothing in common just a minute before.
The bunker‘s chambers had sprawled through the ground like tree roots. Twisting silver miles, clogged in places with junk saved from the world above. With cardboard cutouts and rotting divans and wheel-less cars and trash without names but that Gail and Peter made up names for: the dead-screen, the tiny-room-inside-a-door, the plastic-penis.
The man who’d saved them called himself a precautionary hoarder. And a good thing he had been so cautious, too. Because if he hadn’t been, the three of them would be lean-green-brain-stealing-machines now, like the rest of humanity. Just luck he’d seen the two of them before heading down into his bunker.
Looking back, Gail wondered how much of it the man had bought from yard sales and how much of it he’d stolen.
He stole a lot of junk, but also stole a few precious things that could not be returned.
​
“I come over because I want to,” said Peter, jumping his player out of a tower’s window and slicing a red wound into a dragon’s wing with his long sword. “Because I like kicking your ass.”
”We’re on the same team.”
His eyes flashed to hers. “Yeah. *We are*.”
​
Gail had been six when they’d entered the bunker. Peter five. They weren’t related — hadn’t even met before they got lucky.
Gail remembered, vaguely, a blue sky snatched away from her to be replaced by metal and concrete and wires that dangled over her bed like snakes. She remembered, even more abstractly, her parents’ faces. For every day that she lived in that flickering semi-light, her parents‘ forms became further warped and amorphous.
“They’ll be dead now, ’fraid to say,” said the man who’d taken her, who looked after her and perhaps loved her in his own way. “Long since dead.”
It had only been a week.
*Undead*, she silently corrected. Still waiting for her, in a way. She saw her parents in her mind, now wearing unfamiliar green faces. Hands that had once stroked her hair would now choke her neck if ever she left the bunker.
​
”How about tonight?” Peter asked. He’d brought beers again and they’d drunk enough to heat their breath and brazen their tongues.
But still the question poured dread into Gail. She shifted on her bed, her back against the wall. Made herself boulder-small.
“You can’t stay in here forever, Gail.”
Maybe I can, she thought. Maybe I will just to prove you wrong.
Since leaving the bunker— Gail dragged back out into the light, a fifteen-year-old screaming about being set free, a dove who didn’t want to leave her cage — Gail had been rehomed with foster parents. Peter, too, but at a different place. Peter‘s parents had been dead before he’d been stolen. Gail’s had died when she was down there.
She’d come out into a cold world that didn’t want her and that she didn’t want to be a part of.
She was twenty now. Lived in her own place — could afford it thanks to the payout. The cops had fumbled the kidnapping and let the case die. If they’d been competent, maybe they could have found her and Peter in the first three months. Maybe she could have said goodbye to her parents. Stopped them getting on the plane, even.
This new house was, in a way, her new bunker. She imagined it had twisting passages tucked safe beneath the ground, and that her bedroom (curtains always drawn) was a bubble space in a hallway. She stayed in the basement room as much as possible.
​
“If I try will you stop coming?” she asked. She thought she said it as a joke but she wasn’t sure. Maybe she wanted to free Peter from this second bunker. This was her burden, not his.
“If that’s what you want.” He shrugged.
I don’t. I don’t. ”K.”
Peter held her shivering hand. It wasn’t fair that his hand was steady. That he could step into the world whenever he wished.
Below ground, she’d been in charge. Peter had looked up to her and she’d always kept him safe from the man (the best she could, at any rate), always made him snacks in the night when he woke, came up with the games to distract them when he drank and raged.
It was like how your parents looked after you when you were young, then how they eventually become dribbling messes that you have to wipe the chins of. Every visit, every beer, was Peter wiping her chin.
Peter had a life now, and she was (bit by bit) stealing it. She hated herself for it but she had no one else.
​
They’d found a phone and a power-pack and hadn’t really known what they were doing. But they’d got something showing, the screen bursting to white life.
They could read, at least a little. They could certainly watch videos of news being broadcast LIVE from the outside world.
Live.
Living.
It’d taken a while for it to set in. This mystery that suddenly fell and darkened their already dark lives. How could the world be living?
They didn‘t confront him. Instead they made a call. The call was traced. The cage was opened.
Turned out the layers and layers of concrete apparently above them were only inches thick.
​
Gail trembled by the front-door, gasped for breath. “I can’t, Pete! Please! Please! This was a goddamn mistake to try. A goddamn mistake.”
Peter nodded, didn’t try to pull her another step out.
They stood in the doorway, her one barefoot bravely on the step, her arms folded together. They were silent for a while. The anxiety had taken a step back but Gail knew it would rush at her again, a dagger in its hand, if she should move even an inch forward.
“I lied in your bedroom. I’m still going to keep coming,” he said.
“If you want,” she said nonchalantly, but a grateful smile cracked and betrayed her. She couldn’t lose Peter. Peter was all she had and all she loved. And yet she hated keeping him from his life.
She looked beyond him. Upward. “It is beautiful,” she said through shivering teeth. The stars sprinkled the sky, the moon was a full and pregnant belly. The man who’d taken them called the sun *fool’s gold*. Maybe, but the moon was the real deal.
”Sometimes I miss it, too,” said Peter.
”You’re lying. Out here you… I don’t know. You unfolded. Grew like a seed that’d been waiting for spring.”
”Thank you for trying this,” he said, ignoring her reply. “I’m not a therapist and this was probably all wrong. But I’m grateful you tried.”
I’ll always try for you, she thought. “What do you miss about it then?”
He smiled, nudged her.
”Idiot,” she said.
”You made good soup.”
They hugged. Gail wondered if he was crying too. She looked at the stars through blurred eyes, head lolled on Peter’s shoulder.
”Let’s play some games,” said Peter.
”In a moment.”
It was so very hard out here. The world was huge. Terrifyingly so. But today she’d taken a step, and maybe that was something bigger than it seemed.
The world was dizzyingly open.
But sometimes, she supposed, the things that scared you could be the things that were most beautiful. Like a canyon or a waterfall or the view from a plane.
Or the stars.
Or love.
She kissed Peter’s cheek and led him back inside, out of the cold. | 2022-02-17T10:33:57 | 2022-02-17T08:29:02 | 1,162 | 710 |
[WP] You are a superhero who keeps his identities private, even your sidekick doesn't know your normal identity. Today you come home to find your wife in bed with your sidekick. | I stare into the bedroom and watch as they embrace each other. They haven't reacted to me. Her eyes remain closed as her head rests on his chest, and he unflinchingly stares at me.
Don't they see me? I think to myself. What's going on?
In hindsight, I know they had spent a lot of time together even since before we were married. And I'll admit he's more confident and cares more about his appearance than I do. But now? Now he stares me dead in the eyes as I watch them together.
I make no movements. Neither do they. The look of bliss on their faces cuts me down deeper and deeper. I try to speak and move but my mouth is paralyzed and my body is numb. Muscles that once carried the weight of a train now fell useless at my sides. Eyes that once shot lasers now gently peppered my face with tears.
After a seemingly eternal agony, and still staring towards me, he finally speaks.
"What an odd place for a mirror," he says, as my wife chuckles.
"Is that you talking, or u/iprefernothavename?" | A Hero Just Like You
“Donna?” Her eyes shoot open and nearly bulge from their socket; her chubby cheeks turn that classic rosy red that she gets whenever she gets too flustered. At that moment I nearly forgot that I just saw my girlfriend changing out of a superhero suit. It’s the first time she’s been naked and my mind doesn’t start drooling at the boobs and hips, “What the hell?”
Donna’s face freezes, stone cold, just like those statues in the park she loves to spend hours taking pictures with, “I can explain,” her face grows two shades redder than I am accustomed to and starts to pull the costume back up, “I mean it’s exactly what it looks like…that’s a good place to start.” I can start to make out the logo on her chest as the suit flips over bosom and now my cheeks and eyes start to grow as wide and red as hers.
“Y-Yo-You’re Crimson Star!” I can feel my legs weaken as the words leave my mouth, it’s the weakest I’ve felt in the last 6 years.
“Yes, I am Crimson Star,” Her gaze shifts to my roughly crafted homemade suit. A small smirk appears on her face as the hue of her face comes back to a mild pink, “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Well, I guess I’m just a nobody compared to you,” My eyes nervously shift to the floor as some witty remark fails to come to mind, first time for everything, “I just help where I can, you’ve made a real difference.”
“All of it matt-” I lose focus as she starts to speak to me. My eyes glance at the walls of my sloppily organized room. I stumble over to the bed, collapse like a sack of bricks, and cover my reddened face, “Grayson, are you listening?”
“No!” I feel her sit beside me on the bed, her soft hands rub on my shoulder, a feeling so familiar and loving stings as an act of pity now, “You’ve seen my walls, I look like a pathetic fanboy!”
“Yeah,” She softens her voice to lessen the blow, a usual for her, but I’m not sure she has the pitch to soften this impact, “But if it makes you feel better you’ve been dating and banging Crismon Star for a few years now!” I move my hands and peer over at her with a playful glare, “Are you okay, babe?”
“Yeah, my life is not in danger,” I flash the best smile I could possibly muster in the moment, she reciprocates with her dazzling politician smile, always perfect. How did I never notice? Baffling, “I can’t believe I didn’t put that all together.”
“Nobody ever believes a hero or someone they look up to would be in their bed,” She leans closer and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. I’m dating Crimson Star and she loves me. My seventeen-year-old self would give me the best fist bump now, “add in some mystery like with superher-”
A sudden buzzing cuts through the air distracting Donna from finishing her thoughts. It’s over nearly as soon as it starts, just barely perceptible. She shoots up from her seat and her soft, sexy gaze changes to something more steeled and heroic. In the blink of an eye she’s back at the same window I just entered, looking back at me with a face I’ve seen so many times, “You coming along, slow poke, we’ve got a B class villain to apprehend.”
“Where the heck did that buzzing even come from?” She smiles and points to the symbol on her chest. I stumble over to the window, much less smooth than usual.
“You never told me your name, hot shot.” My cheeks turn tomato the moment the words leave her lips.
“Promise not to laugh,” I take a deep breath and confidently look Donna in the eyes, “My name is Scarlet Nova!” | 2022-03-23T11:31:58 | 2022-03-23T10:09:46 | 49 | 29 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | "Oh no, it's a stack of goblins! *Good thing they're not wearing armor and throw themselves off balance with that large and unwieldy halberd.* Run for your lives!"
And thus began our bi-weekly theatrical offering of food, clothes and other "spoils of war" conveniently lying about in easily accessible places. They're called little pests elsewhere, but ever since we came to our unspoken arrangement, they've been more of a pest control.
I believe it was little Martha, the miller's daughter, who first started to befriend the goblins by leaving some baubles or food lying about. When the goblins came, she'd hide in plain sight and play pretend: "Oh dear, I hope they don't find my yummy cheese and my little doll to play with!" It didn't take long to notice that the mill was rodent-free soon after and nothing else of value broke or went missing.
The little rascals were clumsy at best and right out destructive (unwittingly) at worst, so these little guiding taunts quickly took on as other townsfolk adopted the tradition. "I sure hope they won't wear my old sweater in the winter and stink it up." - "Damn them if they cook that meat, I'd rather see them choke on a rotting piece of raw flesh!"
So far, we've not only been gifted with a less stressful life, we've made it through a famine by "raiding back" occasionally. Striding through their ranks in large steps and loudly proclaiming our needs quickly made them offer things themselves. And now we've got a plague doctor wondering why our town is the only one spared completely by the thing they call "the black death".
"Little pest"... yeah, right. | # Soulmage
“It’s debatable whether goblins are even sapient,” Witch Aimes began, and I already knew today’s ‘history’ class would be nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda. “What is known for certain is that they are a subspecies of humanity, twisted over millennia by their over-reliance on the witchcraft of mischief—*yes*, Cienne?” Witch Aimes radiated irritation as I raised my hand—and when a witch radiated irritation, everyone in the room could feel it. A careful, grating hum filled the class, aimed at me like a warning. *I am a powerful person. Do not cross me if you value your continued existence.*
“Goblins are sapient,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “And what evidence do you have for that?”
“What evi—I *lived* shoulder-to-shoulder with goblins for sixteen years in the Redlands! What evidence do you have that goblins are a ‘twisted subspecies’ of humanity!”
“I’m so glad you asked, *Student* Cienne.” Yikes. Normally I had to piss her off a lot more for her to get all formal. Or, wait, was this about the ‘Vile Magics’ discussion this morning? That might explain her mood. The witch reached into a space only she could see, arrogance swirling around her like a cloak, and pulled out a hunched, green corpse.
Bile rose in my throat.
“We know because of autopsies,” Witch Aimes said, her glare unflinching as she stood over the corpse of a person, and for a stuttering heartbeat she was not Witch Aimes but a far older witch, the echo of the despair that had ruined my home village—
\###
*Ice blotted out the summer sun, the magics of misery freezing the very moisture out of the air. My mother stood between the fragile wooden door and my quavering, curled-up form. Another building collapsed under the weight of the ice-witch’s onslaught, and I could hear his glee as our village’s despair fed his growing power.*
*“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered. “Mommy, I want to go home.”*
*My mother looked around the tiny wooden hut that I’d grown up in, the battered, creaking rooftop, the bitter, chilling cold, and didn’t have to say aloud that this was not our home anymore.*
*“It’s going to be okay, Cienne,” Mom whispered. “The witches—they can only see despair. If you—if you just stay calm and don’t panic, they won’t know where to find you.”*
*I tried, I really, really tried, I squeezed my eyelids as tightly shut as I could and pretended I was under the summer sun, but I heard someone shatter like spun sugar and I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it it was all my fault and we were all going to die and the door smashed inwards like so much cheap glass—*
*“It’s okay,” my mother whispered as she stood. “It’s okay, Cienne. I forgive you.”*
*And when I opened my eyes she was gone, and the witch of frost stood in her place.*
*It was my fault. It was my fault. I hated myself so much, I felt so small, I wanted to shrink into nothing and hide where nobody would ever find me, and I waited for the snap of cold to end my life—*
*But it never came.*
*The witch of frost, by some miracle, didn’t see me in my hiding spot.*
*Later, I would understand why. Later, when the goblin tribe searched the village for survivors and kept me fed and warm until the Academy swooped me up, I would sort the events into a linear story. This is where my mother died. This is where the trauma unlocked something within me. This is where I wanted so badly to fall asleep and never wake up.*
*The goblins didn’t fight the witch. They would have been slaughtered like cattle. That wasn’t my darkest hour, in any case.*
*My darkest hour was what came next.*
\###
I stood, clenching my fist and feeling the delicately patterned ornament I held. A message from an old man who may have been a friend, who knew what it was like to grow up under the rifts.
“You have your corpses,” I hissed. “I have my life.”
The words of the old man dug into my palm.
*They cannot take this from you.*
I shoved my chair back and stormed out of class.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-05-26T06:13:57 | 2022-05-26T05:33:42 | 642 | 155 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | "Willem, the sun is setting earlier now. Walk the fences, and take the scraps to the pig sty and if....."
"Yes, ma. I know. If I am set upon by goblins, drop the scrap bucket and run back home. Ma, I'm fourteen in a moon's turn. I could fight a goblin."
"Willem! We done harm them none and they don't bother us none. Not law, not custom, just is and always is in this village."
Willem did as he was told. Walked the fences and checked the gates. Everything was in order. The herds of sheep were content in their pens. He yawned and hope to get a cup of ale with Da before bed.
There was a rustling from the tree line. Willem reflexively reached for his knife fearing a wolf, but it was merely three goblins. He hadn't seen them in a while and assumed they were prepping for winter.
"GRAHH," shouted the tallest goblin who was still shorter than Willem. He brandished a stick with a rock on the end. He waved it over his head, but the rock fell off the stick.
Willem relaxed and said in a plain tone, "Please, don't, goblin. Take my food and leave my village in peace."
He emptied the food scraps on the ground. He wouldn't concede the bucket. The trio of goblins looked hungrily at the food on the ground. Willem backed away slowly expecting them to feed.
"AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" came a booming sound from the village.
Willem froze. He had heard the war horn blown before. The sound could mean only one thing. Raiders come down the river. He looked at the trio of goblins.
"Go back to the woods. Sea raiders have come upriver. Protect yourself."
The tall goblin smiled, "Not here. Not OUR village."
The goblins retreated to the woods with unnatural speed. Willem left the bucket, despite its value, and ran home. He could see columns of smoke coming from the village. It was strangely beautiful at sunset.
The raiders wore their traditional salt stained leathers. They killed anyone who approached them. Some of the villagers fought back with their scythes and pitchforks. Some even managed to take down a raider. Willem snuck around corners until he reached his house.
He banged on the door and screamed, "Ma! Da! Let me in!"
Willem waited in terror for a few moments and his father let him inside. His younger sister, Brione, was crying in her mother's arms. His father barred the door and hugged his son.
His father fought back tears, "Willem, you are old enough."
He placed a sharp dirk in his hand.
"We have to protect your mother and sister. When they come through the door, take out as many as you can."
Willem's hand shook. His father squeezed the dirk to steady him as he fought back tears.
Then the pounding came at the door. Not a greeting knock, but a pounding. An axe blade pierced the door. The women screamed and the men prepared to fight. The axe struck the door but was not withdrawn.
Screams came from outside. Then silence. Then blood began to flow under the door. The women resumed crying. Willem looked to his father who shrugged his shoulders. The family huddled together . They tried to stay awake, but surrendered to sleep.
The next morning, they woke up to a quiet and chilly morning. They wrapped blankets over their shoulders and ventured outside. There were hundreds of them. Goblins moving about the village. Tending cookfires. Looting the dead raiders. Digging graves for the dead villagers.
The goblin women distributed warm food. The young goblins were repairing homes and putting out fires. The villagers looked at the scene in shock.
A four fingered hand was placed on Willem's shoulder. He spun around quickly. He was face to face with the taller goblin from last night.
"Not in OUR village," said the goblin.
Willem placed a hand on the goblin's shoulder and repeated, "Not in OUR village." | *With a nod to Emma-Lindsay Squier*
From the elf Louis I heard this story, which you will accept as true or not as to your liking and your opinion of the goblin race. For myself I think it true - Louis was never blessed with much imagination.
Louis was a trapper in the Northwood. He lived and died by the bow and snare. If it dwelt in his lands, and it was reasonable to eat, he would hunt and eat it. Or sell the pelt, if that would make him a few coin. To some it would be savagery, but to him it was the way of nature. A chain which he was a part of. And which all creatures, great and small were a part of.
I came to know Louis as a guide, for he was good at that and while his manner was not refined he was more pleasant by far than many others that plied that trade. One day while we were out in the Northwood - truly I do not know the reason, for the story he told has overwhelmed all other memories of that day - a fellow traveler mentioned that it was such a pity that Louis found such joy in soulless creatures such as those that dwelt in the Northwood.
Louis was apoplectic and began to swear in a curious patois of elven and common. "No souls?" he said, almost spitting "Listen, I tell you somet'ing I bet you nobody believe, by Gar! Or they say, 'Oh, dem goblins dey obey der instinct.' Bien, all I say ees, who know what ees instinct and what ees soul? And I bet you many a man he ain't got the soul dat dem goblin got instinct - no, by Gar!"
It was in the sheep country of the King's Hills that Louis came to know these goblins. He called them the Caliban tribe, which he said he got from the townsfolk who dwelt near there. That in turn came from a fancy book one of those people had about a savage monster imprisoned by a sorcerer. According to Louis the townsfolk said the ugly, monstrous character of their book spoke to them and reminded them of the ugly, monstrous goblins. But, he said, it was most important to know that although monstrous in writing, Caliban was also somehow pitiable. This, he said, was important to understand.
Louis talked for a time about the interaction between the tribe and town. The tribe - as is the case with most goblin tribes - were an annoyance. Stealing sheep and supplies. Knocking down fences. Once they had attacked a traveling merchant, and the townsfolk were obliged to call upon the King's Guard to even the score. There was a brief, bloody battle and a few days later the goblins were back to their shenanigans once more - but they never again attacked a merchant.
That all changed in the summer of '73. Gold was found in the King's Hills, and shortly behind it came civilization and all its trappings. While the communities of the King's Hills had been small and their sheep farming largely unobtrusive towards the goblin tribe, the gold rush brought more and more people who pushed further and further out from the villages into the hills. Into the goblin lands. And should the goblins ever come near to one of the prospectors or adventurers the King's Guard were summoned, and more goblins slaughtered.
Winter follows summer, and the winter of '73 was a terrible one. The King's Hills saw more snow that year than any year before - at least any year that anyone could remember. But worse than that - there were rumblings. The Men of the North were stirring. The winter was weighing on those people too - they were no doubt starving as their traditional source of food fled for warmer lands, or starved themselves. But the Men of the North did as they often did - they came down to the hills to look for food and plunder.
The King's Guard were called, as was every man and woman who could carry a spear or a bow. They even recruited old Louis - teamed him up with another trapper and bade them keep close tabs on the Men of the North. Track them he did, with all the skills an elf's life in the Northwood had granted them until a terrible blizzard blew in and he lost them. When the storm clear there were only tracks. Tracks that led off to Suprenon - a village nearby, where many of the children had been gathered. Louis hastened to inform the army and his partner followed the tracks.
Now an army does not move very fast at the best of times, and the deep snow left behind by the blizzard did not make it any easier. But still, upon hearing that their children were in danger, that army moved across the snow covered foothills with alarming speed. Louis partner reported in soon enough - Suprenon was empty, but there was no blood. Instead it looked as though the children had been led off in the direction of a goblin mound - and the Men of the North had followed.
The threat of the barbarians from the north had been bad enough. But the idea that the goblins had kidnapped their babies? The army moved now like a force of nature itself. The snow did not slow or weary them at all. And then they came at once to the goblin mound. It was a charnel house. Blood and bodies everywhere. And cries - the cries of children within. Some goblins rushed out from the mound, themselves dripping in blood.
It was then that the army lost its mind. They descended on the mound with blades drawn. They killed every last goblin that dwelt within. Butchering them with a savagery that startled even Louis. It wasn't until the slaughter was over that they came to realize some things. First - although there was ample blood and the bodies of more than a few Men of the North (along with the bodies of goblins) there were no children. Second - that the crying they heard from within the mound had not ceased, although everyone was dead.
Eventually they found it - a secret hideaway in the mound. There they saw five men of the north, dead from countless small wounds inflicted by goblin sized weapons. And two goblins - two final defenders - who had died stopping them.
“There is a memorial near Suprenon, on top of an old mound..." said Elf Louie solemnly, in the language of his people, "where the bodies of the tribe of Caliban lie buried. It is hewn from marble - yes, the whitest of marble - with this inscription: Here lie the Caliban, a goblin tribe. The died as they lived, misjudged, maligned, yet unafraid. In life they were never accorded the gifts of the friendship of the peoples here, but in death they were friends nonetheless."
"And dat is why," says Louie, the Elf, lapsing into the argot of his daily life, "dat I get so mad inside of me when people say creature not man or elf 'ave no souls. Did not the Caliban, have souls? Oh, mon Dieu! I know dis: when dey died dat day, and dere spirits went out of dere body and rose up to da skies, da good Saint who guards the gates up dere he look out and say: 'Why, ees dat de Caliban? Come in, mon brave. I did not know you. How beautiful you have grown!'" | 2022-05-26T16:33:26 | 2022-05-26T13:44:18 | 38 | 21 |
[WP] A demon marrying an angel is not so rare, but having a child is. With neither wings nor tail, both Heaven and Hell refuse them entry, leaving them to be raised amongst the humans they look like. "Abandoned" in the middle of nowhere, you can't help but take pity, and decide to adopt the child. | What a cool prompt. Thanks for posting!
Working in the fields is good work, granting a fulfilling feeling at the end of the day by making a living for yourself. You can see your little house that you built for yourself, away from the townspeople who mock you. You believe in the old gods and are scorned for it.
You're falling asleep, in the bed you made for yourself, when you hear a faint crying. Is it a bad omen? But it sounds so real. People who go out of their homes at night, daring to venture into the darkness, never have good things happen to them. But the crying is so loud and close.
15 minutes pass by, and you finally decide to get up. When you open your door, and see the child, just a babe, you can sense a strange presence from it. But it doesn't feel bad or cursed. Your heart warms to it, and you bring it inside. It seems old enough to eat some soft regular food, so you feed it some foraged berries.“It's alright now,” you whisper. The child coos. There's definitely something strange about it.
It's now been five years you've lived with this child. You named them Fingal for their pale skin and strange manner. They frequently get sick, catching colds, coughs, anything that comes their way. What a boisterous six-year-old. You smile as they run in the garden, noticing the growing lumps on Fingal’s head and back. Another sickness? If so, you might not be able to cure this one.“Mama. I got you a flower.” You look up. The flower dies in the child's hands, and springs up again just as fast. You blink. Yes, what a strange sickness.
A week goes by, and the lumps have grown hard, and longer. The ones on the child's back have sprouted silky feathers. The angel looks down to earth, and whispers “soon” to himself. The bumps on the child's head have grown pointy and ringed. The demon looks down to earth, and whispers “soon” to herself.
You know now that Fingal cannot be human. You should've known, it was clear from the moment you first picked them up. When the beautiful couple comes to collect their child, you are not sad. Fingal cannot live on this earth. It is too cruel. You are happy when the child you raised comes to visit you every year to bring you a flower. | Alice cradled the newborn baby in her arms, as it wailed for comfort. The little one had been abandoned on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
She had been working a late shift at the hospital, and her arm was hurting from a patient who’d deigned it necessary to yank on her as she was retrieving his bedpan.
“What’s your name, little one?”
The baby smiled and scrunched it’s nose. No longer did the little boy cry for attention. He had Alice’s undivided attention now and always.
Years passed, and on Bradley’s twenty-first birthday, he started to have troubling dreams. The dreams would alternate.
The first dream woke him at midnight, and it was full of terrors. Demons with black wings and red glowing eyes climbing piles of bodies.
“Just a dream,” he said to himself, then fell back asleep.
The second dream lasted until he awoke in the morning. This one was pleasant, and positive. A woman with white wings and a halo handed him a key. She said “this is the key to your destiny. You have the choice.”
“Key? Key to what?”
“The key to unlocking yourself, of course,” said the Angel.
“Who are you?”
“An old… friend.”
She winked, then Bradley awoke.
He could still feel the weight of the key in his hand. Even at breakfast, he felt the weight. The weight would never leave… it dropped his hand to the countertop when he lifted his fork to eat his eggs.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?” said Alice.
“How did you sleep last night?”
“Like a dream.” Alice scrutinized her foster son. “How did *you* sleep?”
“I slept well. Just… weird dreams.”
“Uh oh, not again.”
Bradley had been having weird dreams in the past, when the “strangeness” occurred. It was not a topic of friendly conversation, as it led to their abandonment by Alice’s ex-husband.
“These are different… well… it’s nothing. Never mind.”
“Bradley, if you’re having… *dreams*”, (Alice did air-quotes when she said dreams), “maybe it’s something we should talk to Dr. Silverstein about.”
Dr. Silverstein was Bradley’s untrustworthy psychiatrist. The last person he wanted to see right now.
“He’s a bad guy, mom. I told you.”
“He’s a professional, dear. I don’t know where you get your ideas of people, but you couldn’t know that much about him from a few casual visits.”
“I know, mom. I just know, trust me.”
Bradley felt the weight in his hand again, and it plunked to the countertop. He heard the word “key” like a whisper in his mind when his hand hit the surface.
“Well you can choose,” said Alice.
When she said choose, the image of the Angel woman superimposed over his mother. He remembered his two dreams, the hellish and the helpful.
His mother held a key to the Subaru in front of him. “Are you going?”
“The key…”
Alice looked at the key. “Uh huh, that’s what this is called. I think you should go, get out for a while.”
Bradley held the key, and it dropped him to the floor with the weight of it.
“Are you okay, Brad?”
“I just realized my problem in life. I don’t make choices. I’m indecisive in all that I do.”
“That’s okay, we’re all indecisive at times. Check the mail while you’re out.”
“Will do,” said Bradley, as he swept out of the kitchen and hopped in the old Subaru, destined for adventure.
As he drove down the road, something told him to pull onto a certain exit.
He felt very strongly that he should be right here at this moment. It was a nondescript place, surrounded by trees.
*It shall end where it started*, said a voice on the radio.
“What? That’s odd…”
When he looked in his rear view mirror, he gazed at himself. He had black horns and glowing eyes, like the demons in his first dream. Then when he blinked, his face was pale, his crown adorned with a glowing halo. The images alternated back and forth each time he blinked his eyes.
He shook his head violently and stumbled out of his car. “What’s… what’s happening to me…”
*Choose*.
He finally got it. “I choose the Angel, of course. The wings, the halo, the good.”
*You’ve chosen wisely. Not all beings choose the correct path. Now go home and be good.*
Bradley returned home right away. He hugged Alice as soon as he saw her. “I’m going to be good from now on.”
“You are good, hon…”
“No you don’t understand, I’m changing everything. I’m watching my thoughts, counting my sins. I bought this when I was coming home. From the antique shop.”
“A cross? That’s not like you. Are you sure you’re ok?”
“I’ve never felt better in my life. I’ve always felt like a little devil and Angel were on my shoulders, but now I’ve flicked that stupid devil away, and all that’s left is the good part of me.”
Alice left for a moment, and returned, handing him a book. “Hopefully you have better dreams tonight.”
That night Bradley slept with the Bible on his bed, next to his pillow.
He dreamed of angels and heaven from that day forward.
He found the key to his destiny…
Love. | 2022-06-22T09:39:01 | 2022-06-22T09:21:51 | 28 | 16 |
[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** | They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?" he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!" the controller asked
"Sure, why not." the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
| Quben waved his superior over, and opened the hologram he had been studying intently for the past week. Razun peered over his shoulder, his antennae quivering with impatience. It was the fifth time this week Quben had found the so-called 'breakthrough' as to why the humans were still thriving.
"Yes?" Razun snapped.
"Listen," said Quben, and adjusted the volume.
A strange noise was coming from the mouths of the humans.
"He is having what they call a 'fit'," Razun said. "In a rather unusual style, I grant you, but hardly anything to call *me* for."
"The other human is not upset by it," said Quben. "It is not a fit. They fall down for fits, I took a class on them." Quben's confidence nearly evaporated under the glare Razun threw at him, but he went on gamely.
"This is something crucial, I know it." He paused, listening closely to the noise the human was making. "This...sound, seems to be universal. And it is almost always greeted with their lips turning upwards, which has some positive connotation. I believe they call them 'smiles'."
Razun frowned as he watched the other human, who was staring at the first one making the sound. He had a ridiculous expression on his face and soon responded with the same noise - a senseless, repetitive squeaking sound that grated on Razun's ears.
"I don't like it," he growled. "What is the purpose? Do you suspect it is the Answer?"
He dreamt of finding the Answer. Despite all the horrific blunders, incompetence and stupidity displayed by the humans, they had yet to cave under the threat of their species imploding on itself.
It happened to most new, thriving civilizations. But the humans had surpassed the crucial period in which they were supposed to perish - without the necessary technological discoveries to aid such development. It was a mystery. He, along with most of his species, hated mysteries. No matter how insignificant, they were treated as personal slights to the species' intelligence.
"It might be," Quben said slowly. "I don't think it serves any other purpose except to...motivate them, in some way..."
"Is it the noise they make when feeling ambitious?" asked Razun. He could approve of such behavior. He hoped desperately that was it, and the end of what was shaping up to be a particularly nasty mystery.
"I doubt it," said Qubem, "Look at this hologram."
He showed Razun an image of a crowd of human sitting around a single one, who was walking on a stage. The human said something which invited waves of the horrible noise from the other humans. Razun felt himself starting to sweat. For some reason, it made him highly uncomfortable.
"Maybe that's their leader, and he is instructing them on warfare tactics," Razun proposed.
"It is not. I have watched it several times now - that one human does little else besides invite such noise. He goes to his domicile every night, which contains no servants of any kind. He is not worshipped, as far as I can tell," said Quben. "They call him a 'comedian'. I believe his name is Loo-cee-kay."
"I don't like it," Razun repeated, sweating profusely now. They should really visit that planet and stomp the little maggots to oblivion. Thriving like that, it was unnatural.
"It is an anomaly," said Quben. "No other intelligent species displays similar behavior. As such, I believe we should consider it for investigation for the Answer."
Razun nodded in agreement, despite his displeasure at the thought of listening to more of it. Anomalies were to be rooted out and investigated, it was protocol.
"File it and choose a team for investigation," he sighed before adding reluctantly, "you may lead the group, but you report to me. What will you file it under?"
Quben listened again to the waves of noise, frowning slightly. He felt differently about the noise. Somehow, it made him feel...something. But he didn't have a name for the emotion. Most mysterious.
"I will use the human terminology," said Quben. "Humor." | 2014-07-16T11:15:31 | 2014-07-16T11:10:10 | 1,186 | 138 |
[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 old man sat chasing his own thoughts. His memory wasn't what it once was and he kept losing his train of thought. He'd try to remember something, reason through it and just before he could latch on to it it would be gone like it was never there.
Zargrarf approached smiling, "My old nemesis, it pains me to see you in such a state! You humans live such short fleeting lives but I had to see you again. You were one of my greatest adversaries but now you are just a pale shadow of your former self."
The old man stirred, "Eh....Is that you Zargrarf?"
"Yes it is, you remember me?"
The old man motioned for Zargrarf to come closer. Zargrarf approached and leaned in to better hear him. "Yes?"
The old man smiled and bit down hard on a false tooth to release a neurotoxin specifically designed to kill only one being, Zargrarf. The old man blew in Zargrarf's direction and exlaimed "I've been saving that for 80 years you son of a bitch! I finally got you! Haha!"
The old man couldn't even remember his own name anymore, but he held onto something unique only to humans in all the galaxy, he held on to a grudge. | 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 | 2014-07-16T12:28:18 | 2014-07-16T11:41:15 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | Everything was a haze as I made my way to the kitchen. The party had been absolutely bonkers, but a responsible man always remembers to feed his pets. I struggled over to the fridge, grabbed a nice, chilled bottle of milk and poured it as carefully as I could into my cat's dancing water bowl.
"No, you idiot. That's vodka again, not milk." Mr.Mittens stated matter-of-factly, his blue eyes staring at me through the darkness, "The milk is in the other bottle."
I turned the bottle about and squinted hard at the label before breaking into a grin.
"Right again, Mr.Mittens."
I replaced the glass bottle in my hand with the one in the fridge, and poured out the vodka from Mr.Mitten's water bowl. As I poured in the milk, I pet my tabby cat on the head.
"I wish you'd talk to me when I wasn't drunk."
Mr.Mittens just purred. | (AN: I seem to have interpreted the prompt a bit differently than most. I'm also writing this on my phone, so I'll edit for grammar in the morning.)
'Fucking college students.' Skittles often wondered what fueled the obsession to keep vodka in water bottles, much less the stupidity needed to keep such a bottle right next to the actual water bottles in the fridge. It was difficult being the most intelligent life form in the frat house, but somebody had to do it.
The night had been quiet until about three, when his pack of loving - though misguided, at times - owners stumbled through the kitchen's old screen back door. The Delta Omicron Omicron brothers, stinking of cheap beer and quality hash, piled into the house with all the grace of a troop of baboons. A few acknowledged the cat's presence, offering a scratch behind the ears and slurred murmurings of "Hey Skittles," though most simply dispersed towards the house's various sofas and bedrooms. The organization's president, a tall stereotype of a young man named Oscar, called over his shoulder as he stumbled toward the staircase. "Dun forget to feed Skittles, pledge." The last word seemed to be spat from his mouth, and a moment later, Skittles was alone with the newest face of DOO.
The boy was thin of frame, a shock of blonde hair sticking up on the back yet falling in his eyes. He was visibly wobbly, though a smile seemed almost plastered on his face. "You have a goo' night, buddy?" His words were loud and bright as he scooped a half cup of dry food in the vicinity of Skittles' bowl; the majority landed on the floor. Skittles decided he didn't have much of an appetite anyway.
The boy then opened the fridge to retrieve a bottle of clean water for the cat, but lo and behold, thanks to the implicit genius of the his owners, the boy nabbed the bottle of vodka instead.
Had he he ability roll his eyes, Skittles would have.
As the boy uncapped it and prepared to pour the contents into the remaining bowl, Skittles cleared his throat.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
The pledge froze. He blinked his bleary red eyes a few times in disbelief.
"You absolute fucking moron," Skittles continued. "Can you not smell that? You're literally about to pour half a liter of grain motherfucking alcohol in my bowl. I'm a cat, Michael."
Knees buckling, the boy wobbled a moment before collapsing onto the tile floor, sitting splay-legged at the cat before him. "Skittles... Skittles, are you talking?"
Skittles, too, sat down. "Don't act like an idiot. It's pathetic. That much alcohol will kill me. Do you understand? Are you trying to kill me, Michael?"
The boy shook his head fervently, blonde hair flopping like a mop.
"Good." Skittles stood again, taking three easy steps toward the boy and climbing onto his lap. "Listen close, now. You're going to put that bottle back in the fridge. You're going to give me actual water." He put his paws on Michael's chest and leaned in close. "And then you're going to go the fuck to bed. Do you understand?"
Again, he shook his head violently, quickly standing up and doing as he was told. Less than a minute later, Skittles' bowl was full and the boy was headed towards the stairs. But before he could climb them, he was stopped again by the surprisingly deep voice.
"You'll tell no one about this, will you Michael." It was clear from Skittles tone that this wasn't a request, and the pledge wearily nodded.
"Or I will kill you, Michael." Skittles winked as the color drained from the boy's face and he stumbled up the stairs. 'Fucking moron,' the cat thought to himself, as he climbed into a basket of laundry and fell asleep. | 2016-08-02T21:08:18 | 2016-08-02T20:53:54 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | The best job, he decided, was one in a library. Peter Byerly was a lonesome sort, preferring the company of tomes and volumes to cumbersome people. His job was a simple one: reshelve the books of the Ridgefield Library. It was a blissful existence. He was invisible to the patrons with his headphones on, and the Dewey decimal system hardly needed explaining after the many times he’d raided his local library. He even got a nametag, although that gave him some worry when he put it on every day. A nametag disrupted the invisibility; broke the spell weaved by the book cart and his headphones. Most of the time he just wore a light jacket over the name tag, so that any patrons that thought about breaking the spell wouldn’t know what to call him. This was hardly an offensive measure, he reasoned, so no guilt was to be had for his mild deception. And was he truly inconveniencing anyone that much?
So he kept his name tag hidden as he trundled along with his cart, shuffling tomes to and fro from patron to shelf. It was a cold day in November when his attention was drawn from his world of books. And it was more surprising at what it was drawn by. A woman, for he could hardly call an admirer of the Franco-Flemish style a girl, sat with such poise and precision that the whole library seemed to spin around her. Acting unconsciously, he didn’t duck back behind the walled partition separating students from workers, and stared unabashed at the woman in front of him. While most of the students were dressed in jeans and flannel, this woman wore a black suit with a red shirt. Everything about her was poised, from the way she turned a page, to the way she sat. Not a single hair was out of place.
She sat in the same chair for nearly two hours, pages turning at a prodigious rate. Every so often, she’d lean down over a sheet of alabaster paper, making some pristine marks on the page. Even at this distance, Peter could tell that her handwriting rivalled that of the calligraphy in Special Collections. Exactly at the two hour and forty-five minute mark, she stood. Her papers were carefully stashed in her briefcase, a sleek leather contraption, and she began walking towards him. She got closer and closer, but she didn’t even seem to see him. She placed the books on his cart, and walked off, not sparing Peter a glance. As she walked away, he almost called out to her. Had he been braver, he would have. But he did let one thought loose, a cry for help, for a way to end the loneliness that had been his constant companion.
***Wait.***
She stopped, only for a fraction of a second. No one noticed but Peter, and he flinched at the force that this one small pause created, a crack in her perfect poise. There was no way she had heard him, right? Then she was gone, out of the realm Peter could freely roam, and back out into the world he dared not intrude in to.
| "Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch. | 2017-11-13T20:49:54 | 2017-11-13T19:45:25 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] "Jesus take the wheel, Satan get behind me, Buddha... man the .50 cal" | “That’s just great, do you have any idea which way to go?!” Satan complained.
Buddha replied in serene monotone “You must simply learn to enjoy the journey.”
“Besides,” said Jesus while he adjusted the rear view mirror locking eyes with Satan over his onyx aviator sunglasses. “I am the way.” | Dead Man's Hand
His name was Loyal Jones and he and his brother Lucian "El Diablo" Jones were on the run. US customs were on their ass hard core.
Getting to the Ghost Canyon in Mexico was the only way. they weren't going to be dead men or worse.
"Jesus, Take the wheel." Loyal chambered a round on his M16 . "Satan , behind me.
Jesus Vega glowered at him though if you'd asked him, he's have said the name fit. Lucian was a scary blanco even by cartel standards
"Budda, get the 50 cal."
Enrico Vega was as always placid which given his rather unpleasant military background was kind of surprise. The heavy bolt on Ma Duece made a heavy clatter.
"Looks like two pair and a duece" Lucian grinned
"We'll be a dead mans hand if we fuck this up" Buddha said . The men looked at him in surprise but nodded, the serious potential for Los Personas No Mas was on everyone's mind.
The two and half ton truck was elderly though the engine and suspension upgrades were a lot more high speed low drag than you'd expect from this kind of vehicle, the mounted 50 cal also came in handy
As the truck roared to life they could see the Federales were closing in ,four big GMC trucks and a helicopter.
The big 50 boomed, 10 rounds in a second , smashed through thin skinned vehicles like tissue paper . The first careened off the road and the second swerved
Loyal and his crew had a narrow window in which to escape, not much time before DHS sent in something with a lot more firepower or just blew them to hell
The 50 boomed again and it was followed by a much quieter round from an M203 mounted under Loyal M16. The helo veered off, the pilot must have sensed something or was just avoiding the .50 cal
The chase was still on though and while the Mexican border with its paid off guards was only a few miles away , it felt like an endless run
More trucks joined in , probably a dozen now kicking up an epic duct storm as the careened across the desert behind them. No doubt some BLM or EPA guy would have shat a brick if he'd seen it but the DHS's wanted blood.
Buddha kept them back , dropped another 90 rounds from the big machine gun in short burst till he was out . He yelled "Empty"
"Don't worry about it" Loyal yelled. He was worried, the gas tank was leaking like a sieve , probably caught round from the DHS guys
"Hang on!" Jesus made a tight S turn, a fantastic move for a two and half ton truck doing sixty and slid into a blind spot. They were far enough over the border that DHS wouldn't follow them
"That's why they always say Jesus take the wheel " Satan cracked
"Fuck you, Cabron' but Jesus was grinning from the adrenaline rush and just for being alive
Buddha climbed off the vehicle "Well, could have been better but got the money. Looks like we won't cash in our chips today."
Loyal heaved a sigh , thanks God or somebody Santa Muerte who knows for another day with a good crew. He got out his cell phone, time to call for a ride, Since the money was all there, and a a little more, El Jefe wouldn't be too pissed and they'd get paid.
Time for tequila , senrioitas and some well earned rest. | 2017-11-15T14:43:36 | 2017-11-15T14:00:31 | 92 | 15 |
[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. | The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
| Two names, two purposes.
One will kill one will complete.
No way to tell the difference.
At least that's the idea behind the names. I personally think they are both there to mess with you.
You can spend your whole life looking for your soulmate only to find you killer, or worse running from your killer only to find they are you soulmate.
The system was made to fail, and in my case a pain in the ass too, having to shave my head and use 2 mirrors to see one of the names, and hop on one foot to see the other. Some would say that makes it easy, because surely the one on my head is my soulmate, it's too important of a spot not to be, but that falls apart when the name on my foot is my own, because who would be killed by someone with your own name, therefore it must be my soulmate's
Their just grasping at straws, and even if that did help it doesn't matter because I'm avoid both the names like the plague. Kinda a shame though. I did meet someone the other day who was very attractive and shared my name. My exit was more than awkward. But even so they both might as well be killers for me.
I'm in love with Elliot, and no that is not my name nor the name on my head. No Elliot is... awesome. Known them my whole life and with ever second I spend with them my love doubles, and ever second I spend away it triples.
Thats why the system was meant to fail. It has no regards to how we ourselves feel and forces people to deny relationships that could help one another and grow purely because of name. Now don't get me wrong I also belived that for a time the name was who you're best with.
But that's wrong.
I ran.
From Elliot that is, for a few years I went out and tried to find my soulmate and tried to forget Elliot, full not content and all, but I never could and I never did. Instead I thought, a lot, and I came to a realization.
Your soulmate isn't someone who is the best for you or makes you the happiest, and isn't even someone you're meant to be with. You're soulmate is your best friend. It's the person you can be you around, someone who you can lean on and Some one you, 'click' with. But none of that requires love.
Love is a choice and we get to choose and I love Elliot. Even with every day that goes by that I don't get to see them, even with the fact that they've become text on a screen, a name to a face that I've forgotten. Even the times they talk to me about problems with their soulmate, I still love them. Even if they're one foot out the door and forgetting me, leaving me, even though they don't want me to leave them. I still love them.
But that's just how life is. Sometimes you will lose a friend, even someone you love. Sometimes people just fade, and it's just a sad, sad, sad part of life. But the thing is, you just have to be strong enough for yourself, willing to do what you want to and love what who you want to.
The system is shit, and the only thing it does correctly is predict your killer.
Even in my case.
It's weird, how warm your own blood feels, and peaceful it is doing what you want. | 2018-03-11T07:49:38 | 2018-03-11T07:33:45 | 4,830 | 177 |
[WP] All of your life you’ve seen numbers above everyone’s heads, displaying not the days they’ve lived, or days they have left- but the number of miles they have traveled. One day while walking you see an old man smiling at a café, and his number is a 1. You sit down and ask him his story. | The man smiled, a wistful air about him. He seemed altogether accustomed to the interacting with a stranger, as if he'd done it a thousand, if not a million times. He lifted his coffee, savoring the warmth of it, then took a deep sip.
"My story? My boy, where could I possibly begin. What a life it has been," he said, almost to himself.
He told me of his childhood, born into a dysfunctional family; his father an explorer, his mother a psychologist, himself the youngest of three siblings. He never truly had a home, moving all over the world to explore all the hidden depths of humanity, both externally and internally.
"My father would seek to discover new tribes and people, my mother would look into their minds and see how they were different - and how they were just the same as the rest of us. My parents taught us all they knew, but left us to discover even more."
He quickly developed a love for adventure, and soon began his own travels, his desire for new experiences never sated. He never attended a school, let alone a university, and yet he had more knowledge and personal experience than any peer could wish for.
"I soon found that money is not necessary," he said, taking another sip of his coffee. "Value is intrinsic, and you can provide it in more ways than one. I helped wherever I could, and I rarely went hungry because of it. Humankind truly is kind, if you give more than you take."
If a life is not measured through possession alone, then he possessed more than all. There was not a country he had not lived in, not a culture he did not encounter. The entire world was his domain, the Earth his home. He was a nomad of the truest sense, a nomad with a million friends, ten million experiences.
"I traveled until my bones could take no more, and still I walked." he said. "And still I walk. Life is an adventure in the truest sense of the word, if you allow it to be."
His coffee was finished, as was his story. It had been hours, and yet it still felt as if he had barely scratched the surface. Still, it made no sense - how could it possibly be a single digit? A single mile?
I decided to tell him, though I had told no one else. Nothing like this had ever happened before.
"Floating numbers, eh?" he asked, with mild surprise. "I've heard stranger things. Don't know what to tell you, kid. I'd say I've traveled a million miles - or maybe 10 times as much. You don't have to believe me, but I sure as hell do you."
He stood up with effort, holding out his hand. He gave me a firm handshake. "You sure it doesn't reset if it goes too high?" he said with a smile.
He left the cafe, grabbing his walking stick on the way out. He gave me a wave, then began to walk into the distance.
I watched him go, as the '1' gradually changed to '2'. | I went down to one of my favorite diners, Mitchel's, to grab some lunch. Mitchel's was an old 60's style diner with a long bar where the patrons would gather to drink coffee, eat pie or shoot the shit. It was one of those few magic places left sprinkled around dried up highways. Where that past you find on coffee cans and baseball cards still pretends to exist. A comfy lie filled with Mom and Pop, apple pie and the American Dream^(TM). Not the dirty, ugly past we have. It brings out that mollifying zeitgeist. Letting yourself believe those lies and getting lost in a world that never existed, that's the magic it has.
The doors opened easy and I walked in and said hello to the familiar faces. Old timers wearing long faces, mileages going up every time I saw em. Others went up real slow, just creeping along. On rare occasions we get kid's in for dates, to share a milkshake, to join in the illusion. Little numbers you knew were about to skyrocket. The waitress was always nice enough. Wore one of those old time waitress uniforms, yknow, the long blue shirt that buttons down the middle, apron wrapped around her waist. She settled here a few years ago. Said she and her beau just got shacked and were on the road to find their fortune. Her meter goes up slowest of all. But still she's on time and smiling every day. Even draws on a little Marilyn Monroe beauty mark over her lip. Living the dream.
So I got a coffee and a cheap sandwich and went to find a place to eat. It was early, and I usually like to eat watching the sun poke over the hills. It's a nice way to start a day if you can get up early enough. I digress. I'm halfway to find a seat and I notice this real nervous guy sitting in the corner booth, back to the wall with hands shaking like maracas. The Disease is alive and well in this town, so we get out share of tweekers and freakers. Usually it's heroin, meth, or lately fentanyl. I just assume he's trying to come down off a hard night, but then I see his ticker. Big old 1.
Now that's just not how the system works. You get miles for how far you go. I mean that. Unless this man literally grew up in that diner booth and moved once a year, there is no physical way he could have a 1. So I'm intrigued. I sit down opposite him to hear him out.
His eyes dart to me when I sit, but there's no real threat in them. Just fear and paranoia. I guess he decides I'm okay, because he hunches back over and keeps looking around the restaurant. I eat my lunch in peace and he's still fidgeting and jumping around. Hasn't even said a word to me. By this time I've ascertained he's not a junkie of any stature. His demeanor and mannerisms did not have the desperate self loathing that is usually present. He did, however, appear not to have slept for a few days. His hair was matted, his clothes dirty, and his stench abysmal. I pitied him tremendously.
I asked his name and he mumbled it back. I asked him if he was okay. He said yes, then no, then dejectedly hung his head and said he didn't know. He was in a very sorry state indeed. I began to calm him down and attempted to coax out of him the cause of these base state of affairs. He told me a story.
He had met a girl and fallen in love. They never left each other's side, believed in each other and supported the other. They had both gotten through college and got good jobs. Then the wife got depressed. It's a depressing word today. Maybe it always has been. But it is today. So the wife tried to get happy again, and this gentlemen tried to help her. He would be her shoulder to cry on, her emotional support, her best friend when needed. He drove her from one expensive therapy to the next. Some people have a hard time being happy. Suppose you can blame it on a lot of things but to me it mostly just seems to be dumb luck. After so long the doctors gave her pills that she wasn't supposed to take with alcohol. But then she did. Then she said they wouldn't work without the alcohol. The man tried to talk with her, but he couldn't reason with her. Couldn't recognize her. But when she needed something, or when he got close to leaving, he'd see the old her. Begging for help. Sobbing for his help. Claiming he was the only thing that could help her. That she'd kill herself if he didn't. So he tried harder. And the bills got more expensive, the appointments more frequent. The prescription refills, near constant. And she didn't get better. And he didn't know what to do.
And that led him here. To our small American town in a dingy mirage of a diner. After walking for so long and taking so many buses, he finally decided after four days that this was the greasy spoon to rest at. Figures. He said he didn't know what to do. Said he felt abused, but that he also felt like a coward. He told me he had nowhere to go, and nothing to go on. He said he left her everything. All the money they had left, their cars, the house. He said he just up and went. I asked him if he thought he was making the right choice. He said he didn't know. I sat there for a while in silence and looked at the one hovering above his head. I told him I doubt anyone would know what to do in every situation. He nodded to that so I like to think he took it to heart. He looked at me and said something about wanting to find his American Dream.
I laughed.
I gave him a roll of bills and told him to head the opposite direction of wherever he just came from. He smiled and left. I don't know whatever happened to him. | 2018-11-22T20:54:03 | 2018-11-22T20:07:01 | 37 | 21 |
[WP] Many real-world items come with minor enchantments, like "Better Frying Pan" (-10% burning chance), or "Old T-shirt" (+1 luck) but most people don't know about them. You're one of the exceptions, having just randomly bought the unique item "Sunglasses of Appraisal." | It was still my first week at Generic Co. and I was getting ready for my first meeting with the CEO. The man was an impressive figure, rising to prominence from a young age, in a matter of years. He started working at Generic Co. as a lowly sales rep, but he had quickly made his way up the ranks. No one really knew his secret, and I was nervous to talk to the man for the first time. I got up from my desk and headed to the elevator. While there, Sarah, a coworker of mine, comes in to join me. As she's been at the company a lot longer, I ask her if there's anything that I should know about the CEO.
"He's a interesting character. He has a very eccentric fashion sense."
Before I was able to ask her what she meant, the elevator stopped at my floor and I had to step out. I racked my brain to figure out what 'eccentric fashion sense' could mean, as most of the employees in the executive suite adhered to a strict formal clothing policy. I adjusted my tie as I walked into the CEO's office, and looked up at the man.
He was, just as Sarah had phrased it, 'eccentrically dressed'. He was wearing a flip-flop on his left foot, but a dress shoe on his right. He seemed to be wearing multiple pairs of socks, on both feet. He was wearing a track-suit bottom, with a pair of shorts on top of that, and from the way that his pants wrinkled, it was obvious that he was wearing a pair of jeans under that as well. On his torso, he wore several shirts, t-shirts, sweaters, and jackets; and on his head, he wore a wide assortment of different hats. To top it all off, he was wearing a huge pair of sunglasses that somehow, despite his strange outfit, still drew the most attention. I took a step back and wondered how this guy ended up being the successful businessman he was. Then he shot me a smile.
And all my doubts melted away... | I'd known something was wrong with the world for a while when it happened. It had started slowly, a sort of sense of *leakage,* a pressing-in on the spaces around me. I'm not the only one who felt it, there were lots of navel-gazing think-piece articles and talk-show sessions about how 2023 was the year of Peak Anxiety or Unease or whatever they decided to label it.
I didn't have an especially keen sense for this kind of thing, nothing like that. It's just that I was a laboratory scientist at the beginning of the whole thing. And not just any laboratory scientist, I was a chemist who still worked with a lot of the old traditional tools because of the unconventional nature of our work. Almost no machines, absolutely no automation. That matters, because this new thing...I'm going to call it the Aura Bloom, because why not...it only seems to affect certain things.
Pipettes, for example. Burets. Bunsen burners, but not hot plates, not if they had a computer chip in them. That seemed to be key, falling under a certain threshold of circuitry. Basically no car manufactured before about 1980 or so seemed to be affected, for example, and there weren't any especially good (or shitty) cell phones, unless they had a manufacturing defect or something.
And oh, right, the shittiness. Not everything with an Aura had a good one. I'd say something like one in five was basically cursed. Sometimes small stuff, sometimes not. Yep, that spatula you've got that always seems to ruin your eggs? Probably just throw it away.
At least two pieces of our lab equipment were cursed like this, and both of them were in my section. I'll spare you the details, unless you're real into the finer points of titration and precipitation, but it became very noticeable very fast. (I checked later, and sure enough there were plenty of beneficial Auras on our equipment, including a few that would probably have thrown off test results, like flasks that sped up chemical reactions, but since those tended to essentially get people results they really wanted to see, no one really noticed. The scientific method is badly infected with humans, which is why it's necessary in the first place.)
I did the usual cursing and blaming and eventually got mad enough at my colleagues' mockery that I set out to *prove* how bad the tools were.
I was right in the middle of these experiments and getting infuriatingly nowhere when I bought the sunglasses.
You might be hoping for some atmospheric story about how I went into this weird little shop and there was this knowing old man and he said a bunch of cryptic shit that totally made sense later and nope. It was a bored and borderline obnoxious teenager selling cheap plastic crap in a moderately touristy park near the lab. Because I'd forgotten my nice Ray-Bans. Yep. The Aura Bloom has no respect for narrative at all.
It's hard to explain what things looked like with the sunglasses on. I call it an "aura" but it's not really visible at all, as in it doesn't actually have a color or anything. It's more something you just sort of...perceive. Not like a videogame interface or bar graph or anything I could actually draw for you, if I were any good at drawing things. You just see it as a kind of...depth, contained within the item in question.
In the case of my *fucking* bunsen burner—sorry, just thinking about that thing still pisses me off—the aura actually caused a complete thermal reversal at random intervals. In other words, sometimes it burned cold. How did I not notice this? Well, that's the scary thing. Aura effects are intelligent, so it never happened unless the burner was actually in use. If you're testing the burner itself...nothing. Totally normal behavior.
Yes, of *course* they're intelligent, they pretty well have to be, don't they? How else can something make you "lucky," for example, than by knowing what would and wouldn't be a favorable outcome, which changes quite a bit with context, and then steering probability itself in that direction? I mean, drawing an ace is great when you've already got three of them in your hand, but not so much when you're holding a three, a five, a nine and a jack.
Sometimes I can see it. Or them. It's not clear. Again, it's not like a face or an eye or anything. Just sort of an...observation of an observer. You know you're being watched, you can tell there's something peering out from behind that strange depth. Perceiving. Knowing. Nudging things this way and that.
You ever hear laughter out on the periphery of your hearing? Probably you imagined it, right? That feeling that you're being watched, that's got to just be paranoia. Sure. Sure. That bed that seems to get you such restful sleep, you just love it so much, don't you? Enfolding you like it does. Almost whispering to you.
Sweet dreams.
​
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. | 2019-06-29T23:50:30 | 2019-06-29T20:56:35 | 192 | 55 |
[WP] As a Demon, you're quite familiar with would-be mages making errors in materials due to translation errors. However, today marks the first time that someone has attempted to summon you with Cruelty-Free Vegan Blood Substitute™. | It had been centuries since I was summoned. Last time, the blood of 100 virgins had been sacrificed to call me from the shadow realms. It was barely enough payment for the ask; I killed one king and installed another.
As the long years stretched by, that megar sustinance was wearing thin. Had the humans forgotten me, the greatest of all demons?
My inferior demonic brethren were less fortunate. One by one they succumbed to the final darkness, their screams little more than a faded whisper as their weakened forms turned to dust. I was all that was left. Moloch'ai Terranous, King of the Demons... king of nothing.
So when I finally heard my name through the aether, felt the pull forward the light at the edge of the shadow realms, I wasn't in a state to resist.
Blinking, I surveyed my surroundings. Calling it a pentagram with an altar of blood in the center would be generous. The fact that the penetegram was drawn in chalk and the alter was a stool with a cheap bowl wasn't lost on me, but I wasn't in a position to be picky.
Greddily, I gulped down the blood, feeling power returning. As I drained the bowl I noticed, painted at the bottom of the bowl, a white cat raising it's paw as if in greeting. Strange... Perhaps it was some minor dieity of this new age.
I turned my attention to the summoner, and was surprised to see a little girl, Barely 12 years old, if that.
"What virgin blood is this?" I asked. It had tasted a bit different.
Shaking, the girl held out a container, which read: "Cruelty Free Vegan Blood Substitute TM".
"What is this?" I mused.
On the back was an ingredient list, which included "leghomoglobin from budding yeast."
"Is Yeast a virgin?" I demanded of the girl.
The girl shrank back in fear. "Miss Green said yeast reproduces asexually." She offered hopefully.
I could tell she was telling the truth, and couldn't fault her logic. I decided the contract was fulfilled.
"Why have you summoned me?"
"I... I need help at school. This girl Tracy is picking on me."
"Then I shall rend her into pieces and drink her blood! Will that be enough?"
"No!" The girl looked shocked.
"...I can also kill each of her closest friends and curse her family for generations." I offered hopefully.
"No!" The girl was sheet white. "I just want you to talk to her mom, and convince her to stop Tracy from picking on me."
She handed me a slip of paper. My demon senses tingled with foreboding; this would be my most difficult battle yet. On the paper was an appointment for a meeting with the principal and Tracy's mum, Karen Miller.
EDIT: Thanks for reading! Part 2 below: | “The tome appears to be at least 50,000 years old, sir. Possibly older,” said Sarah, using two baby carrots to turn each page with the utmost care, gently blowing the dust away as she translated the words written to the best of her ability. “But we will need more time and resources in order to complete a translation.”
Dr. Righteous paced the room hand on chin with his lab coat flailing behind him. “From what you have been able to decipher so far, do you believe it's what we have been looking for?”
Sarah looked up from the book towards Dr. Righteous, her tear filled eyes stopping him in his tracks,“I do.”
“Holy fucking vegetables.”
The auditorium was bustling with chatter and enthusiasm. A petite girl pretending to be shy strummed away on a ukulele while males around her clapped along pretending to enjoy her performance. But the crowd weren't there for desperate attempts of uniqueness. They were there because they had seen the reports. A book had been found.
The lights dimmed and the noise from the room with it. Dr Righteous walked on to the stage wearing surgical hemp gloves with the rumoured book in hand. One wave of the book to the crowd and the noise levels returned to fever pitch. He took to the ethically produced podium, placed the book in front of him, and addressed those in attendance.
“After years of searching, I can tell you the reports are true. We have found the first vegan.”
The crowd roared once more. Strangers turned to hug each other and broccoli was lifted to the sky.
“Myself and a team of translators have deciphered the very book you see before you and unearthed its secrets. What we have discovered is truly groundbreaking.”
A projector beamed in to life and a picture of foul looking beast appeared on the wall to the side of Dr. Righteous.
“This, ladies and gentleman, is Dranthor the Destroyer. A demon accidentally summoned approximately 58,000 years ago using a cruelty-free vegan blood substitute by a mage who simply didn't have anything else left in his fridge.”
“Sorry to interrupt.” said a voice emanating from the back of the room. “But as a vegan I need to ask: are you saying our God, the first of our kind, was a demon?”
“Don't apologise, sir. We are all Vegans in here and we pride ourselves on how well we handle questions without becoming defensive,” said the Doctor. “I can confirm that you are correct. This horrendous looking creature is our deity.”
A woman, sporting completely knitted attire stood at the front of the auditorium. “As a vegan, I feel like having this Dranthor, however historically accurate, as the first of our kind is going to be horrendous for our already flailing PR.”
“Can I just say that I too am a vegan,” said the man sitting next to the lady, also taking to his feet. “And I agree with my life partner. If we are going to release this information to the public, we need to put some sort of positive spin on this demon of ours.”
“Did Dranthor take part in any redeeming inner health promoting activities?” bellowed a voice from the back of the room.
“Did he have a vegan podcast?” asked another.
“From what we have been able to translate we believe Dranthor mainly ate children in his spare time. We have not been able to confirm whether or not he had a vegan podcast.”
“As a vegan I choose to believe he had a podcast,” replied the voice.
“What kind of healthy vegetables was he eating along with the children?” asked the knitted lady.
Doctor Righteous looked down and flicked through his pad before stopping at the page he was looking for. “Dranthor was big on beetroot and lentil tabbouleh.”
The room nodded along and enthusiasm began to rise once more.
“I bet he spoke about that on his podcast,” murmured a voice.
“Do we have a plan regarding how we're going to announce this to the world?” bellowed a man holding a ukulele. “As a vegan, I'd certainly like to know.”
“I am pleased to tell you we have already signed a documentary deal with Netflix. As always, our plan is to make everyone else feel so bad about what they're doing we come out on top.”
“And on that note,” Doctor Righteous took a step back and glanced over the side of the stage. “Ladies and Gentleman, may I introduce Patricia Spinach, the head of vegan content for Netflix.
A sweeping round of applause greeted Patricia as she waved her way to the podium.
“Thank you, thank you, I'm a vegan,” announced Patricia. “When Dr. Righteous first reached out to me regarding Dranthor the Vegan Child Eater, I couldn't contain my excitement. We at Netflix have always championed the vegan cause and have jumped at any excuse to make a fresh vegan documentary for us to shove down the throats of our evil carnivore friends”
Dr. Righteous paced across the front of the stage. “When myself and Patricia first began speaking regarding the documentary, we knew one thing was clear. There was absolutely no way we could involve Dranthor at all in any part of the film. The man simply ate far too many children. So we thought outside the box and decided to completely wash over any of the negative aspects of our life, and our deity, and simply show 560 minutes of innocent animals being slaughtered by humans.”
“That's right,” said Patricia Spinach, joining Dr. Rightous in his pacing across the stage. “This will be the longest fuck you feel bad message we have ever sent to carnivores.”
The backdrop on stage was released to the floor revealing a 40ft advertisment of 'Fuck You, Feel Bad' a Netflix production.
“We believe this is exactly what Dranthor would have wanted,” said Patricia.
****
My back catalogue of painfully unfunny stories can be found on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them, and leave some judgement. | 2020-01-23T09:05:06 | 2020-01-23T08:22:40 | 2,198 | 121 |
[WP] You are going on a quest to avenge the death of your brother. Each village elder gives a gift. The Dwarf an axe, the elf a bow & the Necromancer your brother.
* Your village is very multicultural. | They say only two kinds of people are going to be by your side- Old friends and brothers.
It's hard to choose between those two.
I don't have any friends. Not anymore. I just had one brother for over a thousand years. When he recently died, I suddenly had a name on my list, a list I swore to never open, a list that once opened becomes a weight too heavy too carry around- the TO-KILL list.
I closed that list 875 years ago. Since then, I've been what mortals might call "peaceful" or "calm" but I've always had a different name for it.
The axe I'll use, and the bow I've thrown away. I was never too good with bows and arrows. I wish the Necromancer was joking when he mentioned that his gift was my brother, but he wasn't.
He brought back my brother, just like as he was before, without a scratch on his body.
Obviously, he had known what had happened. Obviously, he told me to let it go, to close the list, to return back to our immortal "peaceful" dwelling away from all the chaos and blood- but looking at my face- he knew who he saw.
He knew it was futile to make me understand. Once the list was opened, the only way to close the list was to kill the person at the top- the person who caused it to open.
And thus, he did what I expected him to do. He joined me.
So, whenever this letter reaches you, I want you to start running again. I want you to understand that despite buying off the Necromancer and convincing him to resurrect my brother, your sins are not absolved. Your name is on the list, and your life won't be spared.
Start running, old friend.
\------------------
Critiques are welcome! Also, please sub to r/abhisek ! | Dillan sighed, hoisting his rucksack further up on his back, and strode off down the path that led towards the village gates, which was lined on either side by his fellow villagers; some of them wore sympathetic looks as he waded past them, others looked eager, excited, even, at the prospect. It had been years since a quest had been announced.
Dillan, however, kept his dark brown eyes fixed ahead of him as he walked. He had not called the quest in an attempt to garner glory and honour amongst the other villagers, but in an attempt to revert the devastation done to his life a few days prior, when a mountain troll had clubbed his older brother to death. Even as the reason for his journey swam back to the forefront of his mind, he felt a sudden burning feeling in his eyes. He hastily pushed aside the thoughts of Dante and shook his head; he would not let the villagers see his tears.
Still keeping his eyes trained on the three figures standing ahead of him, he passed through the lines of silently staring villagers, and came to a halt, staring down at the Village Elders.
"You seek your own destruction by attempting this," said Brionyl, the Elf Elder, bluntly. He gazed up at Dillan through his enormous, vivid green eyes, his expression blank, and continued flatly. "It is not too late to call off this mission; the villagers may call it cowardice, but at least you'll still be alive."
Dillan did not answer. It was already taking all his willpower not to wheel about, dash back home, and curl up under his pillows. The elf was not exactly inviting confidence. After a moment, however, he sighed.
"Very well, on your own head it will be. As for your assistance on the journey — the Council of Elven Elders have decided you must have this. The bow of Cherobyl." He held up a magnificent golden bow and a quiver of crystal-tipped arrows. "Each one is imbued with extremely powerful Elven magic. Use them carefully."
Dillan nodded and turned to the Dwarfen Elder, Kerkrot. He was spinning a large, black iron axe between his stubby fingers. He too held it out to Dillan, who accepted graciously.
"The Axe of Keliope, also known as the Cleaver. The magic in this axe allows it to cleave through just about anything. Should come in useful somewhere along the way."
Dillan bowed. "Thank you, Elder Kerkrot."
He turned to the final Elder, who was draped in flowing black robes and a hood that cast his face into shadow. Unlike the other two, he stood on the same height as Dillan.
"Elder Versache."
The cloaked man did not respond, but instead waved his arm above the ground; a large crack spread along the stone, and a figure emerged from the depths, with waxy-looking skin, sunken cheeks, and eyes that were completely blank. Still, that shock of untidy brown hair, strong jaw, and jagged scar along the hollow cheek were as immediately recognizable in death as they had been in life.
"Dante!" Dillan exclaimed, staring at his brother in disbelief.
Versache shook his head. "Your brother is gone, my dear boy," he said. When he spoke, it sounded as though several people were talking in unison, as though the souls of the damned had united in explanation. "Or, his soul is gone, that is. This is merely his corporal envelope. An empty shell."
"Why? Why would you do this?" spat Dillan, his hands clenching into fists as he glared at the hooded Elder. "Do you have any idea what seeing him like this *feels* like? Like some — some disgusting zombie!"
"Calm yourself, my boy," Versache said calmly. "I am doing you a favour. If you manage to retrieve your brother's soul, it will need a container to hold it." He held up a hand and gestured at the undead Dante. "This is your container. If whatever resurrection ritual you seek to employ works, the soul will heal the body upon reentry. He will follow you until you manage to save him. I wish you luck."
And without another word, he wheeled about and swept back down the street, before Dillan had the chance to apologize. He turned instead and looked from the elf, to the dwarf, and finally to his brother's body. A firm resolve flushed through him — he would save him, he had to.
"Thank you for your gifts, Elders," he said. "I will make good use of them. Let's go, Dante. We have a mission."
He strode off down the path, Dante's corpse lumbering along behind him.
This has been my first writing prompt in a month, hope I did well. If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out r/MysticScribbles | 2020-08-19T12:10:07 | 2020-08-19T11:51:56 | 85 | 37 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks. | I woke up. It was any other day. But I had a certain pep in my step. Something that couldn’t quite be described. I went over to my closet to get ready for work.
They were back
I tried to convince myself that all of this. It was just a dream. A twist on that nightmare I had so many times before. I swiftly ran out of my room Into my bathroom downstairs. Pure panic overtook me but it all subsided when I finally got to the mirror. Part of me wanted to look away but my eyes were dead locked on this person in the mirror staring back at me. This person is not who I am. This thing in the mirror is not me. I tried to make sense of it all but I couldn’t. I grabbed my phone of if the kitchen counter that I forgot the night before. Still half dressed I skimmed my text messages.
At that moment I realized that this wasn’t a nightmare. I put it my phone down and the same word kept repeating in my head
“She” | "You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really!" I told my buddy as I looked at his dark eyes, even darker in the lightless dusty room.
"Well, stop bragging, Shane" he snapped, "things are pretty bloody well screwed at this point as it is. Last thing I need is you rambling about Mrs. Bartley"
But Mrs Bartley was indeed something we all knew about. Hell, she even used to scare us. In every neighbourhood there is an old woman, older than the Pharaohs themselves, and quite frankly you wonder how is she even alive. And more often than not they are very talkative, or at least so my parents said when they were tired of Mrs. Bartley's constant questions. And while she was our talkative older-than-the-world lady, she pretty much scared the living spirit out of us. Through most of our memories we have always been living in constant terror just by the thought of her. Maybe it was her teeth.
But all biting remarks aside something got to me this Halloween evening and a bit before midnight, I decided to leave my buddies, Sam, Dean and Merry, and go to Mrs Bartley's. Not so much for the candy, rather for the bragging rights of leaving a flaming bag of cat's products on her doorstep. But it was not Mrs Bartley who openes the door, and it was not me who knocked on it. I mean it was but when I looked in the mirror a few seconds after I entered the house, it sure felt like it wasn't. Long story short I was pretty impressed how her old parched skin had turned into smooth velvet over seconds and that platinum blonde did suit her as her natural hair colour. She was impressed by other things in my physique. So was I. The first two times for sure. Then it felt natural.
What staggered me most was not the fact that the news guys, and her TV always had the news on, got the situation pretty quickly - everyone had turned back or as in my case forward, to their adolescent years. Some even proposed that we were all 18. Hell, those scinece guys really pack a brain in the 21st century. Others proposed that we were 21, since it was more appropriate for their state - then the arguments began. But they didn't last long. It was not the fact that all the animals were in the peak of their predatorial minds and causing havok, no no no. It was that whatever got us like this - bacteria, virus, retrograde Mars with a full moon, whatever, man, it got to everybody. And I mean every body!!
We saw them around 5 in the morning walking towards town from the general direction of the cemetery. Mrs Bartley's house was close, I don't know if she had a plan to get closer or whatever, but we saw them! Hundreds! All of them my age! Our age! They were walking relentlessly through the street... But the thing is that while Mrs Bartley and I knew exactly whp we were before this thing happened - those guys didn't. All they knew was the hunger and the longing of being burried. And they were pissed.
They broke the front door and sunk their teeth in Mrs Bartley as I was putting on my jeans. Her blood stood out over her blonde hair, her entrails stood out on the tile floor. I almost pissed myself, but I ran. I ran so hard like I never have in my whole life. I even smacked one of the walking undead on the head. I never looked back at him....or maybe it was her... I don't even know.
I found Dave near the school, where we used to smoke, instead of going to class. He told me Sam and Marry were dead. A group of those...things had gotten them while they were making out in front of him.
"I mean, maybe I shouldn't have told them to go to Hell, it was probably the last they heard from me, but it gave me the time to run, Shane, so I did it!" said Dave as we were entering one of the class rooms
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really" I replied...
Happy Halloween, boys and girls | 2020-11-02T10:14:02 | 2020-11-02T09:54:34 | 30 | 19 |
[WP] You are a devout Christian, but you believe in protecting what’s yours. A burglar breaks into your home and you fight them with all you have, but they kill you. To your surprise instead of heaven you stand before the gates of Valhalla, as a warrior who has died in glorious battle. | Awakened by a crash of the door slamming open in the kitchen, I was out of bed, the sound of my pulse in my ears before I was even aware of what I was doing. There wasn't time to get my gun out of the triple locked safety case in the basement, so instead I ran towards the kitchen knowing that I had to do whatever I could to keep Amy and the boys safe.
Spock was barking like mad at whoever had come into the house.
**BANG**
*whimper*
Fucker shot my dog.
I saw him then, short, skinny, with a shaved head and tattered jeans, turning towards me with a shitty revolver in his left hand.
**BANG**
**BANG**
**BANG**
I felt the pain of every shot, but it strangely made me angrier, more enraged rather than causing me to collapse to the ground. Grabbing a knife from the butcher block, I swung and stabbed, felt something connect, as my vision blurred and my legs buckled.
....
....
Floating, goddamn I'm floating. Looking down I saw something dark, struggling as it was dragged downward. Oh look, here comes the tunnel of light. Fuck. I'm dead aren't I?
....
....
Well, this isn't what I was expecting. Flying ladies? Aye, but rather than wings they're on horseback with a sword and shield, although the one in the rear looked a bit more modern with a Harley and Uzi. The longhouse in front of me, with the sounds of boisterous carousing, cinched it. Valhalla.
A man in armor and holding a spear approached me. "No Pearly Gates for me, eh?" I said in a much less confident voice than I had hoped.
"Nay, 'tis Valhalla for you brave warrior!" boomed the stranger. "I am Frode, here to aide you in finding your place here in the hall of heroes."
"Listen, there must be some mistake. Yes, I know I technically died in battle, but I'm no warrior. I went to Mass, every... ok, ok, on *most* Sundays, and tried to live a good life. Shouldn't I be headed towards Heaven? I'm not a fighter, never had the temperment or drive for that sort of thing."
Frode looked at me quizzically. "No, you have the soul of a warrior, that is what brings you here, rather than the soul of a lamb which would lead you to that Christian Heaven."
"You don't understand. I never did sports or other feats of combat. I'm a nerd. a lawyer, a guy who never works out anything other than a good book. Clearly, a mistake has been made."
"I tell you again, you are wrong!" Frode spoke sternly. "As a stripling, you did battle in the name of the Emperor! Leading his Adeptus Astartes into battle! As an adult you fought in the courts of your land, bringing justice to the victims of violence and abuse. And at the end, you did not lay down, you did not whine and whimper as you were mortally wounded. You entered a berserker rage like the finest amongst us, took down your opponent, and saved your dear ones."
"Well, I guess if you put it into those terms. It does seem like they're having a lot of fun in there." I said, nodding towards the longhouse.
"Indeed! Come, I know just the place for a warrior such as yourself."
As we entered into the longhouse I heard the sounds of battle, but not one of steel against flesh and bone. Rather, I heard the sound of pen against paper, the roll of the dice.
As we approached a table, loaded with food and the tools of war I knew well from my time on Earth, Frode spoke to those assembled. "Behold! Your Dungeon Master has finally arrived!"
​
===========
New writer, all feedback welcome! | Life was always an interesting concept. I never could understand how a God could truly love those like me. I’m a horny, lowlife teenager who willing let his own blood fall. That’s why I fell in love with the idea — the idea of eternal life, the idea that I could live with someone who accepts me for me. Who believes in me, every step of the way. Who will stand by my side while I stare down the twin barrels of my death, and whisper in my ear.
“It’s okay”.
It is that message that keeps ringing throughout my mind as I look up at two of the largest, grandest gates I have ever seen. I swear, they could’ve bought my house and my car, leaving with me with another few million to have some fun with.
“It’s okay”.
Those words continued repeating themselves within my head while those grand gates open, revealing a bald, heavily bearded warrior and the woman lovingly caressing his pecks. They kept repeating as the two of them slowly approached me, the woman poutingly lower her hands, biting her lip and taking a slight peak at the tent below the belt.
“It’s okay”, I heard, for a third time; and this time, I responded.
“It! Is! Not! Okay!” I screamed, thrusting my arms at my head, shaking.
Almost immediately, I was given a response. “Uh... no offense, sir, but trust me, it is okay. It’s better than okay. It’s a-mazing,” the woman replied. “A-M-A-Z-I-N-G, amazing.”
And with that I burst. “Okay, sorry, ma’am, but I really don’t care about how great this dick is, okay? I just died, after fighting my OWN MIND for YEARS, after deciding not to pull the trigger TWELVE TIMES!” — With a great big sigh and tears streaming down my face, I continue — “But then, I died to a stupid burglar who forget they had a knife in their hand while trying to defend my fucking Bible!; and I open my eyes to just see a big ass golden door that could’ve paid off my parents’ house! And then some! Okay? Okay! So I don’t give a shit about how great this dick is, you horny bastards” — I throw my hands up in the air — “I’m a teenager and I’m less horny than you!”
Tired, with tears streaking down my face, pooling at my chin merely to fall, I finish and take a ginormous breath of exasperation. Slowly, I feel a growl build up in my chest, the start of a second sob, but I bury it down, swallowing my tears. I look up, and the two of them — the man and woman — are merely looking down at me, sympathy in their eyes. The tent has been taken down.
I take another deep breath, and focus in on the sounds around me; I hear the whistling of birds, a slight shock of thunder in the distance, and maybe even the rustling of some leaves — whatever it is, I’m listening, so I can drown out the droning in my ears. I sigh again.
I feel a hand rest upon my shoulder. Considering the rough, course calluses, I assume it’s the man, and — quite frankly — I didn’t care to look up.
“Son, I know it’s not what you expected. I get that a lot,” he chuckled, “in more ways than one. But it’s better than the alternative. You see, us gods were not—“
“US gods?” I asked, finally looking up to him.
He gave this puzzled, quizzical look for but a second until I saw his eyes clear a bit, understanding. “Yes, US gods,” he looked down at his hand, and extended it towards me. I took it.
After he lifted me to my feet, he continued, “I should introduce myself” — he extend the same hand again; I took it — “I am Thor, god if thunder”.
I shook his hand and replied, “Paul.”
“I know.”
“Oh. Okay.”
There was an awkward silence. I could hear the beats of my heart, could hear the tears still sliding down my flushed cheeks. No one said anything... it was the calm after the storm. But I still felt it: the anger inside, the wrath boiling under my skin. Just... why? Why is he gone? Why is that unconditional love taken away? Why is that one grace, the one thing I had in life, gone in death? But, why didn’t the scars on my wrists go with it? Why didn’t those memories of death staring me down go away? Why did the good have to get ripped from my wretched soul, but the bad remain? Why, God? Why!?
“Hey! Son! Come on!” SMACK. I felt the sting of a callus strike my cheek, rousing me from my thoughts. There was Thor and his lover, looking into my teary eyes.
“Hey,” Thor said. “Son, you’re in Valhalla. The realm of heroes, the realm of those who died in battle. The realm of those with honor, and courage. The realm of those with a lion’s heart. Okay?”
I nodded, wiping my runny nose. I sniffled.
The woman caressed my cheek, her hand gently cupping the underside of my jaw; she guided my eyes to hers.
“I know it sucks. I know this isn’t what you expected. But here’s the truth: everyone here are warriors. Fighters; and here’s also the truth: even if your chest” — she placed her tender palm upon the crevice of my breast — “hadn’t become a bloodied, gruesome mess, you still would’ve come here.” She cupped the back of my head, continuing, “You, my young man, have been fighting a war your whole life... and you, my young man, are still to fight this war. For this is the realm of fighters. Not veterans, not the dead. The fighters — and fighters will always continue fighting, in life and in death—“
“And” — Thor interrupted — “you’ll find some people in here that never once bled in their lives. But they fought like you did. Like you do! Some of them, even, will be faces you never would’ve expected.”
I looked into their eyes, after they finished, and they looked back into mine; I felt my chest warm, and the wrath seeped away. Not gone, for it’ll always be there, but merely away. In my veins, ready for when it is needed next. Looking into their eyes a second time, I smiled, and fumbled at the tears on my cheeks. The woman took my hand, dropping it to my side, and wiped my tears away for me; she then returned my smile.
“And you know... one day, in a few years, you’ll have someone ranting about your dick, too,” the woman said, making me blush. “Especially if what I’ve been told is true!”
Thor just burst out laughing, with a hearty, welcoming tremble in his chest. He took the woman’s hand, and spread his arms.
“Well son... welcome to Valhalla.” | 2020-11-16T14:34:03 | 2020-11-16T14:27:51 | 124 | 83 |
[WP] Working as a world renowned therapist you have uncovered far more about secret conspiracies, horrific monsters, barely failed schemes to destroy the world and dark magical cults from your myriad of heroic patients than you could have bargained for, and you might need therapy yourself | I think it’s safe to tell you a few secrets. Will you allow me just a brief moment before I do?
I appreciate it.
First, and this is important, I need to tell you that you don’t ever truly know a person. Whether you’re married to them for forty years, or whether you’ve given them therapy for four, it’s no different. Did I really know your ma or any of my clients? Absolutely not.
All you ever see is the shimmering surface of a lake, and sometimes — maybe — a creature will jump up for just a moment, before splashing back down. And in that second you’ll have seen a tiny fraction of what lurks in the depths.
When people come to see me, I rarely catch much beneath the surface. Only what they present; I use that to form a guess of what might be underneath. When the surface is cloudy because of a recent storm brewing it all up, well then it gets very difficult.
Like I say, I think it’s safe to tell you a few of these things, seeing as you’re my child and I’ll be dead soon. Confidentiality is for the living. And for the boring.
You’ve maybe heard this story before: in the centre of the earth, deep within the molten core, lies a dragon’s egg. That is what radiates the heat down there.
A man in a pinstripe suit was the first to tell me about the egg, back when I was just starting out — in my late twenties, I think — but I’ve had many tell me about it since. Important people. Rich, powerful, authoritative. And all broken in the same stupid way, by this egg in the centre of the earth.
How’s it broken them? Took me a while to understand, too. That man in the pinstripe suit, he was as nervous as all hell about the egg hatching today, tomorrow, next week. That is to say: soon. And when eventually it did, the world would split open, crumble up like some dry, dead leaf. And off the dragon would go to find its mother, somewhere out there in the great dark. So him and his friends — A cult? A cabal? — lived their lives in this terrible fear that everything might end any second.
”Don’t you ever worry an asteroid might hit and everything might end anyway?” I once asked.
”The earth would survive,” he replied. “Life would creep back. It would be a splash in algae-coated pond, and for a while there’d be a place with no algae, but then it’d grow back over. If the dragon hatched though, all the water would be tossed out. The earth would be gone.”
But not all my clients were like that man.
A few years later, a woman came to see me. Also rich, powerful. Also deathly worried. She was in charge of a vast team of diggers who were drilling deep down into the earth.
“Why are you doing that?” I asked. “What are you drilling for?”
She went very quiet and for a while she said nothing. Eventually, she said, “The great dragon lay its only egg down there. But it’s trapped by all the heavy dirt and can’t hatch.”
”So you’re worried it’ll hatch?”
”No!“ she said, suddenly animated. “Not at all. In fact, I’m scared to death it won’t. The dragon is the reason for everything. You must see that? It started everything and nothing can be ended without it hatching and finding its mother. God, every day I worry we’ll never reach it, that it’ll never hatch.”
It turned out her team was being sabotaged by others, who were desperately trying to stop the drilling and to stop her waking it. And of course I thought of the frightened man in the pinstripe suit.
Their lives, both these people’s, were spent in constant anxiety, fear. And neither even knew for sure if there was an egg down there or not.
They both died years ago.
Over time, I’ve learned there are a hundred wars like this going on right beneath our noses. That if we looked down at them, we’d perhaps run to the nearest bridge and jump.
There are constant wars like that going on inside us, too. I think that’s the scariest thing.
What’s the point of me telling you this? I’m not sure I know the answer to that. Perhaps just to get it off my chest before I die. I’ve kept these secrets safe all my career and all my life after.
Ah. You’re right, perhaps that’s not it. You know me too well.
Perhaps these things aren’t even true! Perhaps it’s because you’re my child and I love you, and the only sorry-wisdom I have to share, that I’ve accumulated over all this time, is about lakes and eggs.
Silly, I know. But I love you and that gives me permission to be silly.
You‘re getting married soon and I know you’re anxious. You’re both so different, you say. You’re not sure you truly know each other. Well, what did I tell you at the start of this story?
Listen, there will always be a struggle between you two. One trying to reach a dragon’s egg, one trying to prevent it. But know that it’s the balance that keeps life working, not the reaching or stopping or winning. Know too, that if you always worry about the dragon then your life will be consumed by that concern. You’ll be too anxious to live your life.
Does that make sense? Not much, I should think. Perhaps I’m too sickly for anything to make sense. Let me return to the shore of the lake for a final time.
I think, and this worked with me and your mother, I think the surface of the lake is pretty enough all by itself. But I think the mystery of what is *beneath* *it* is the true beauty. So do not try to swim into it, do not dip your head beneath the surface and disturb it. You will scare away the mystery and the beauty forever. Instead, learn to love what you can see, and don’t fear what you can’t.
And if you watch very carefully, over many years, then those occasional and rare creatures — perhaps a fish or a dolphin, or even a shark — might jump up and break the surface, just for a second. And i promise you, you’ll be glad for having patiently waited. | The house was dark and silent when Tarik came home; it made the madness of his day even more shocking. He could just barely hear the sleeping noises of his daughter through the baby monitor in the next room, intermingling with his wife’s quiet, not-quite-snores.
He had to suppress a laugh when saw her, stretched out on the couch with her sheer lace nightgown ridden up almost to her hips. He was two hours late again.
Tarik grabbed a spare blanket from the living room and gently placed it over her, then crouched by her side, brushing her hair back from her face.
Tarik woke an hour later, his head on her shoulder, body sprawled out twisted uncomfortably on the cold hardwood floor, and now she was the one stroking his hair.
“Hey there sleepyhead,” Aisha said.
“Woah, shit. Sorry, did I wake you?”
She chuckled, shaking her head and pulling him onto the couch beside her. “No, but you should’ve. I got all dressed up for you!”
“And I was even later than usual.”
“That’s OK though, you’re trying.”
They settled in, sharing the blanket as they listened to the baby monitor. It was quiet now, she’d been sleeping for a while. Tarik said a quick prayer in his head, hoping that would hold.
“Long day?” Aisha asked.
“No different than usual,” Tarik lied.
Aisha made a tutting sound of disapproval and pushed her husband back onto the arm of the couch. Looking down into his eyes now she settled herself above him, and said in her most serious voice, “Tarik, I’m your wife. Tell me.”
“I can’t, confidentiality and—”
“You think I don’t see how sunken your eyes are? You think I don’t see the clock when come home or smell the alcohol on your breath? Tarik, you shouldn’t even be drinking!”
Aisha paused for the moment, her ear cocked towards the baby monitor like she’d gotten louder than she’d intended. “Look,” Aisha said when there wasn’t a change, “if anyone can understand what you’re going through, it’s me. I’ll never breathe a word of it, so please, tell me.”
“Baby, I—”
A soft, purple glow lit up behind Aisha’s eyes and the room grew suddenly smaller. The world narrowed to the space to them, and Tarik’s blood thrilled at the sudden power that lay against his chest, radiating outward and through him like an electric current. “Are you going to charm me?” Tarik asked.
“No.” The glow faded, the radiant power from Aisha’s body faded, and the sharp, keening whine Tarik hadn’t realized was filling ears faded as well. But the world still remained nothing more than the space between them.
“I’m not going to charm you, I promised I wouldn’t. I’m not above begging though. Please, let me in.” Aisha laid her head on his chest, molding her body to his.
Minutes passed with nothing more than quiet breathing and the occasional whimper from the monitor. Tarik was so close to falling asleep again when Aisha spoke.
“Please.”
The word undid him. Whether it was the exhaustion or the whiskey he’d drunk at the office, or the chill of the night or the warmth her skin, or enticing, lavender and bliss sent of her hair, Tarik suddenly realized he wasn’t the same man he had been a moment ago.
“I had my first villain today,” Tarik said.
Aisha didn’t have to move for him to feel the tension in her body. It was the same thing he’d felt since the moment the man had walked into his office.
“A necromancer came in today, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.” Aisha squeezed him a little tighter.
“He was old, maybe in his sixties. A white guy, gaunt, wispy beard, glasses and dark clothing, but nothing too unusual. You wouldn’t have taken a second a look at him in the street for anything but the gauntness. I suppose, looking back, that he was almost skeletal.
“Maddy tried not to let him in. She said I had appointments booked, which I did, and with good, normal people I’d much rather have seen, but he didn’t care. He sat down in the chair across from mine and beckoned me over, and when I didn’t come he opened up his jacket and a some….thing crawled out.”
“What was it?” Aisha said after a time.
“I think it was a monkey, at least, it might have been once.” Tarik scooted up the couch, sitting up now, his hands shaking, voice trembling. Aisha followed him, and the purple glow snuck back into her eyes.
“Whatever it had been, it was a skeleton by then. It had legs and two long arms, a thin, mobile tail that clacked loudly as it whipped around, and bulbous head. The head it…it looked fucking human! Maybe it was a monkey, I fucking it was a monkey, but I can’t stop thinking about that head…
“It ran out of the room, hissing at Maddy and corralling her back to her desk, and then when she was settled it climbed the bookcase, leapt to the handle, and shut and locked the door. Locked it! Can a monkey lock doors?”
“I don’t know,” Aisha said, “but probably, right? It’s a magic monkey, it could’ve been smart.”
“I fucking hope it was a monkey.”
“It was,” Aisha said, kissing his forehead.
“I was alone with him after that. He didn’t leave, he just talked and talked and talked. I wanted to stop him, but I couldn’t. Baby, it’s one thing to hear about atrocities from people that hate them. When Captain Compassion comes in crying, it’s OK, he’s a good guy and anyone would cry seeing the things he sees. When Helen the Heartless comes in off a bender, scarred up, burned to hell, giant fucking stab wounds in her side still healing in front of my eyes…that’s OK too. At least, I tell myself it is because she got them saving lives.
“When he cried, he cried at the beauty of it all. He cried in remembrance of the exquisite screams of his youth, when he’d *‘been an artist of the flesh’* in his words. He cried because his dumping ground had been found and the bones were being re-interred. He cried because—”
Tarik choked on the words, his hands balling up into fists. He wanted to hit something, he needed to hit something hard enough to hurt his hands. Instead he forced them back open and buried them in the blankets where Aisha couldn’t see.
She chased after them, held his hands between her own, and kissed each knuckle.
“…He cried because when he reanimated his wife’s corpse, she told him she still hated him for what he did to her, and because after banished her soul she only had one skull to powder.”
“It’s time to quit.” Aisha said, after the dust of those words settled.
“I can’t quit. We’ve got Aaliyah and the house to pay for, we’ve got hopes and dreams, and we always said we wanted two kids so she wouldn’t have to grow up alone and—”
Aisha’s eyes flared, and she spoke fiery purple words, an unearthly haze emanating from her mouth with each syllable. Tarik grew calmer, the Necromancer felt farther away, the monkey’s skull seemed more human.
And most of all, when Tarik imagined the Necromancer grinding bones, laughing gleefully as he did it, the bones were no longer Aisha’s in his mind. She was real, and alive, and right front of him, and still the most shockingly beautiful thing he’d ever seen, even a decade later.
“I thought you said you weren’t gonna charm me,” Tarik said, yawning.
“White lie,” Aisha said. “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow. You can quit though, you really can.”
“But the money…”
“Look at me Tarik, you can quit. Aaliyah needs her father, not whatever the job will turn you into it twenty more years. I need you too. Besides, you’ll get another one and until then, I’ve got you.”
“Huh? Really?”
“Yeah really! We said I was just taking maternity leave, remember? So what if it got extended a bit, I’m still the best damn witch in the city.”
Tarik yawned, too sleepy to even respond. “Love you…” he said, fighting to keep his eyes open.
Aisha laughed softly and exhaled a single long breath across his face, the haze falling over him and then evaporating as soon as it touched his skin. Then she leaned in, kissed him, and by the time she pulled back Tarik was deep in sleep.
Yawning herself, Aisha stood and stretched, rehearsing the lines of a levitation spell in her head. Tarik was too heavy to bring to bed any other way.
Cries shot out of Aaliyah’s monitor, breaking up into static with their ferocity. Aisha cursed, and glanced down at Tarik. The spell held, nothing would wake him now.
Then she darted off upstairs, her own sleep long forgotten. Tarik could quit, but her work was never truly done.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-05-08T08:18:36 | 2021-05-08T06:12:01 | 142 | 60 |
[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. | RECORD STARTS
...ahem. Testing, testing? Hello? Yeah.
If you're listening to this, it is too late. And not my problem. You came here to challenge me, or maybe to propose an alliance? Yes? Does not matter. I don't know what happened, but I know how did it end. Guess? (Hint: KNOWING ME, I AM LIKELY DEAD.)
Congratulations, anyway. No really! By hook or by crook, right now you have me out of the picture. Ain't no small thing, I've been around for a while and ate quite a number of your lot for lunch. How'd you think we dealt with turf disputes before?
It feels hella weird to spill it all out. AFAIK you'll be the first person beside me to get the whole picture. Nevermind.
So. You're the one. "The Predator." Survival of the fittest with the side of sadism, maybe a little memento collection schtick to spice it up. Just like me in my rosy years of youthful murderousness!
Boy am I glad to introduce you to my little... perversion... of the venerable tradition... you've been trying so hard to revitalise and uphold.
A little bit of challenge, applied moderately, goes a long way. I started with a coastal town with a couple of vigilante boys. 70 years later I have a city with a vibrant community of folks I personally pushed and tested to be the best. My reasons are my own. You can attribute it to boredom. Or a lack of ambition. Just an old man trolling locals into coming at him, harder and harder.
Delightful time. I perfected a art of being a thorn in the side of society.
Now, when you are in my headquarters, with full access to everything and an ability and a motivation to kill each and everyone of them, you may ask yourself: "what am I doing there? what is my role? why killing Dr. Destructron was so simple and where is my Vagnerian test of wits and fitness?"
And I tell you — you! you are it! For them! I wouldn't mind my pretties hurting me, but couldn't die before letting them graduate, couldn't kill them because they are my kids, you idiot creature, and then you, you fall into my trap, you stupid convenient hero killer!!! OH HOLY DAMN I LOVE IT ALL SO MUCH!
*demonic laughter*
You think they are locked in this city with you? No!
*more demonic laughter, record stops* | 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." | 2021-05-20T12:12:22 | 2021-05-20T09:21:22 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | "You are not a villain! you are a monster! a murderer!"
the man in blue sent a crackle of electric fury, barely weaving around the projectiles of dark that whizzed around him. "Do I not solve your problems!? Is it not that these heroes bring you nothing but troubles?"
the man in black found himself behind the man in blue and slashed with twin blades of dark. he would have preferred a more light-hearted power, but they helped him play the part of the villain, and there are good things one can do as a villain. "You think I care for the ease of my task? You deny my goal, now you pay."
the man in blue let loose a blast of power, forcing the man in black to flicker into his power form. a shapeless mass of dark, through which the blast passed harmlessly. "these heroes are a nuisance to be rid of, with them gone this world will be ours for the taking"
the man in black, now returned to human form, conjured a wall of dark. which he then used to slam the man in blue against a nearby wall. "did you not hear me? these heroes are my goal."
the man in blue struggled against the wall, but found his strength falling, his muscles weakening. he gasped between labored breaths. "w- what do you mean."
"you're no hero, I've no time for monologue." the man in black slamed his hand aginst the wall of dark, forcing the man in blue's life to be wisked away on clouds of dark.
the man in blue's lifeless body sluped to the floor as a streak of fire in the sky betrayed the lady in bronze making an entrance.
the lady in bronze crashed to earth with a boom, throwing up dust and debris. "what are you doing here and why is he dead"
"I killed him"
"why"
"call it a change of heart"
the lady in bronze aproched the man in blues body, turning her back to the man in black. a critical mistake.
in a moment the man in black found himself atop the lady in bronze, her stomach pinned to the floor "do not trust such sudden change of heart, or at least keep eyes in the back of your head."
the lady in bronze felt her world go dark, and briefly wondered what would become of her.
the man in black stepped of the lady in bronze's armor, he didn't want her dead. just unconscious.
with any luck, she would learn.
with any luck, she would improve.
the man in black hoped for that. | 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." | 2021-05-20T11:07:57 | 2021-05-20T09:21:22 | 16 | 12 |
[WP]Humanity has just discovered the Galactic Federation, a conglomeration of diverse sapient species. As is standard, the Federation sends a delegation of the most similar species to negotiate mankind’s induction into the galactic community. Their choice is… not what we expected. | Adam blinked. “Huh,” was all he said, but it was all that was going through Steve’s mind as well. Out of anything that they had expected, anything that they had been briefed on or prepared for, the experts didn’t really cover this possibility.
Earth’s first encounter with the Galactic Federation had been a first contact during an exploratory mission to a relatively close, potentially habitable planet. The mission was getting to become routine for mankind lately, having done dozens of other investigations of nearby habitable zones. Thus, it was a surprise when routine mandated change when one of the drones nearly impacted an unnoticed artificial satellite.
After a near-miss and avoiding disastrous repercussions (although it is unlikely that there would have been any consequences other than a quick replacement satellite provided by the Federation), first contact protocols were started on both ends. After being able to establish a basic understanding of the other, the local chapter of the Federation contacted the Galactic hub, who agreed to send representatives of the most similar species biologically to the human’s home planet.
Most scientists and optimistic xenobiologists assumed something similar to Earth’s creatures, to endure Earth’s atmosphere and biosphere they would have to be similar densities, water content, carbon structure, etc.. They briefed the chosen representatives (Adam and Steve) to combat potential pitfalls and expected barriers in communication/culture. They were prepped for all sorts of cultural differences, appearances, and biological needs that might be required.
And when what looked to be an average, completely ordinary human, walked off the Galactic Federation diplomatic envoy ship, they were moderately confused. Nobody really considered exactly how alike the species might be.
After much discussion over shared cultural dinners (pizza and beer), it turns out that between convergent evolution and the potential infinite number of habitable planets in the galaxy, let alone universe, there are bound to be some almost identical duplicates of species. | ***Execution File: 104424***
***Species #:*** *1044*
***Risk:*** *24 in foreboding, red*
**Civilization:** Type 1
***Special confrontation procedures:*** *All information regarding directly to species-1044 is to be expunged from our general database, with the only exception being this file that is only accessible to members of the Overseer Council. Any individual unauthorized to obtain information purposely or otherwise will be terminated.*
*Newly discovered artifacts containing the history of species-1044 are to be immediately confiscated and examined by the mobile research lab personnel. When approaching species-1044 we are to assure the safety of both our subject and employee. In order to do this, we are to send a species that resembles and speaks the same language, to better our communication*
***First contact results:*** *The subject was docile and ready to obey. When analyzing brain patterns the subject seemed to be in distress and was unsure of what was happening. Our employee had said that it asked questions. He provided answers and that brought excitement.*
*The research team looked into the emotional response, and the theory is that this was their first-ever contact with an alien species. We ran simulations and put the subject in many different scenarios. The one that surprised us was that the subject excelled in surviving on a simulated ocean planet. The planet was Quartez-73-B, the planet is famous for being the most dangerous habitable ocean planet. It contains dangerous creatures such as gargantuan leviathans and has harsh environments. Yet the subject managed to survive 3 years before it was eaten by the abyssal Arask leviathan.*
*We released the subject and observed what it did, its own species turned against it. We intervened before anything happened and the species was trying to negotiate in order to get information. With permission from the Overseer council, we traded information and learned the history of the species.*
***Description:*** *Species-1044 lives on planet Vargon-986-K in the Backrinalve Galaxy, the species has created a name for their own planet and galaxy, and were self-aware that they were in space. The name they chose for their planet was Earth, and their galaxy was called The Milky Way. At the time of investigation, history shows that they are in the 21st century, ignorance for the health of the planet has resulted in an increase in temperature and change in weather. Within the next 19 years, the species is guaranteed to trigger feedback loops.*
All history regarding species-1044 can be found within file HI-04-MKY.
**Decision:** The overseer council has made their choice, species-1044 with a population of 7,874,965,825 is to be terminated. The choice stems from information about ignorance. They are incapable of suppressing feelings of greed and that has caused them to harm their own planet. The chances of survival for species-1044 after the climate change feedback loops are 46% based on the results gathered. All personnel are to be dispatched, with orders to execute all of species-1044. Planet Vargon-986-K is to be preserved and used as a base for military operations.
​
**Risk Terms:**
Risk meter limit: 0-30
Risk: # in threat (The Galactic Federation usually uses this to tell us that the species at hand, are at risk of being a threat. When a species is given this they have to be an advanced civilization capable of thinking, such as species-1044. When this term is used, the species is to be terminated with no research needed to be done to judge whether or not they should join the federation.)
Risk: # in hazard (The Galactic Federation usually uses this to tell us that a species is a hazard, this is more of a way to measure annoyance. If the Galatic Federation uses this, it means that the species isn't smart, but is more of an animal or pet, such as the Ukidae species on planet Earth. Which humans called "cats" which have a risk meter number of 2 in hazard. These species with a risk term of hazard are often left alone since they present no real threat.)
Risk: # in foreboding (The Galatic Federation usually uses this to classify an advanced civilization. This is a meter that is used when the Federation is worried about what a species might do. They aren't immediately considered a threat, so research is done and any information gathered is used by the Federation to determine whether or not a species can join.)
**Civilization type terms:**
Type 1: A civilization type 1, can use the energy available on the planet, with the exception of a solar panel.
Type 2: A civilization type 2, can use the energy from the solar system's own star, excluding the solar panel.
Type 3: A civilization type 3, can use energy from every star in the galaxy or multiple galaxies. (This is where the Galactic Federation is)
Type 4: A civilization type 4, can use the energy from every star in the universe.
Type 5: A civilization type 5, can use energy from every star in the mutiverse. | 2021-07-06T12:45:51 | 2021-07-06T12:14:29 | 57 | 14 |
[WP] You live your life on repeat. You die, you’re reborn, in a perpetual loop. You’ve lived thousands of years. Some as a saint, helping others. Some as a monster, reducing the planet to nuclear ashes. After your last death, a voice fills your head. “You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!” | "I'm guessing I'm supposed to fall in love." I sighed, Looks like the entity that had been manipulating me for the last millennia had finally decided to officially introduce himself to me.
"I can't bel- Wait- YES! That's it! Your one true lo-"
"I'm going to stop you right there. I take it you're the red headed man in the pale blue jacket?"
"I- What? How? You noticed me?"
"Well when you get to be my age you start to pick up on some things." I responded. "Amidst a universe that continually fought to flow back to the status quo you kept showing up. Same age, different times and places, always watching trying to nudge me a certain way. Subtle at first, a dropped handkerchief, a missed bus. I gotta say you've been getting sloppy lately. A free trip to Paris where my single room was mysteriously swapped with a couples suite?"
"Well I really thought you weren't getting it..." I could feel the voice's frustrations turn to utter bewilderment. "So do you know why I'm here?"
"I've made a guess. You're a time traveller of some sort and you've messed up. You need me to do something... or someone to fix it. So you keep sending me back. Though I've been to Paris dozens of times, and burnt it to the ground twice. What made you think that would entice me?"
"Well I can't watch your entire lifetime every cycle." the voice explained, "I only show up for a few days at a time, and I'd really like to get back to my own timeline so...could you-"
"No. Not yet." I said, "I've seen the other side, every time I die, for just a few seconds. I know what it's like to no longer know what anything is like. I don't want that. Not yet. Not forever. There's so much left for me to see, for me to be. Once I've done everything that no one has done, then and only then will I do the one thing everyone's done... I'll fuck your mother" | And so, once more, I found myself in the infinite black void that I had grown so accustomed to over the millennia. It pierced my eyes, deafened my ears, removed my tongue, dissolved my nose, and melted away my last sense of touch until I had nothing left. I would have sighed if I had any form anymore.
“You’re not getting it. How can you be so dense!”
Given where I was, I would have jumped as the sentence entered my head. I knew it wasn’t my own thoughts, as it seemed to have a voice of its own, but just the fact that there was something in the world between worlds threw my entire thought process—or lack thereof—on its head.
Then, the “voice” spoke again. “How many times is it going to take for you to realize what all of this is for?”
Immediately, my mind was overwhelmed. This voice knew all I had been through. Not only that, but by the way it spoke, it sounded as if it was the thing that had put me into this eternal nightmare.
“I am. And before you ask, yes, I can read every thought in your mind. Though, I feel ‘nightmare’ is a bit harsh….”
“But then why?!” I tried to project that thought, immediately more than frustrated at whatever this being was doing with my life. “Why me? What’s the purpose?”
“Purpose is for you to decide. As for why it’s you… why not?”
“What do you mean, ‘why not’?”
“That’s not important. What is important is that you still don’t understand why you’re still here. Now why do you think that is?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t be here anymore!” I thought in frustration. “I’ve tried so many times, so many different things. I’ve tried being the good guy, the bad guy, the friendly neighbor, the jerk neighbor, the inspiration, the infamous, and then some! What more is for there for me to try!?”
“That isn’t for me to tell you, it’s still for you to figure out.”
“Then why even reach out to me in the first place!” I wanted to scream, or hit something. Anything that would let me vent some of my near infinite frustration with the situation I found myself in.
“Because, it would appear you can’t do this without a nudge.” It paused, and when I didn’t project anything in response, it continued. “There is one thing that every single iteration you have gone through, every path you have taken, has completely neglected.”
“What? Have I not become the saint I was meant to be molded into?”
“This isn’t about being a saint or a devil!” the voice grew loud for the first time in the whole conversation. “You humans always have to think in absolutes! There’s no gray, it’s just black and white. But you all are gray! Not a single one of you has ever truly ventured to true good or evil!”
I sat in my thoughts for a moment, before trying to respond. “Then what about—“
“That doesn’t mean none of you have come close.” I could hear the deadpan behind the voice before it continued. “Just… think! For one minute! What has every single iteration’s outlook been missing?”
I contemplated. I thought harder than I had in a long time, trying to think of something I hadn’t tried, something I hadn’t considered. The way they worded it made it sound like it was something so obvious, but I still couldn’t see it. “How am I supposed to know!?”
“Oh come— What is the one person you’ve never considered throughout all your lives?”
The word “person” caught me off guard. As I recovered, I began to ponder every single person I remembered from my previous lives.
“No! No no no! It’s not them! You’ve considered them enough you dimwit!”
“Well you’re not giving me much to go off of!”
“I shouldn’t need to! There’s only one other who knows you best besides me!”
I paused. “Knows… me best?” I asked. They began speaking again, but as they did, I was slowly coming to. But for the first time since I don’t even know when, I wasn’t ready.
I heard what I assumed was a sigh. “The good guy pleases everyone. The bad guy makes everyone worse. The inspiration tries to serve as a beacon of hope for the masses. But who’s to be the beacon of hope for them?”
I could feel my senses returning as the shape of the void began to reshape into something. I began to come to in my new life, but before I was gone, I was able to project one final thought.
“Myself.”
\------
Needed a bit of introspection today. Thanks for the prompt!
r/IUniven | 2022-02-09T20:14:27 | 2022-02-09T18:19:18 | 2,163 | 239 |
[WP] In this world you are the only person without superpowers. One night, you encounter a famous serial killer known for cutting everything he touches. He strikes. Your limbs are grazed by his fingers. After a moment of shock, you realize you have the strongest superpower for combat. | In school, we were taught that bio-augments made us special. That they made us valuable workers to society. What a joke. I was sixteen when they injected liquid career choice into my arm. I was eighteen when I gave up the hope that it worked. I was the first person who failed to gain a bio-augment.
In a world where superpowers defined who you were, what was I? In a world where employers valued your bio-augment more than your skills and education, where did that leave me? As I used my food rations to buy a single can of generic brand meat product, I found the answer. Society kicks you to the curb with a polite smile and false apologies.
As I walked home, I heard the clacking of boots behind me. Trying to be polite, I moved to the side of the path. But instead of passing me by, he grabbed my shoulder.
"Aww, so polite. What a gentleman." He barked out with blatant sarcasm. He flashed a grin before he pressed a finger against my chest. "Now hold still, I can't sell damaged organs."
I felt his fingernail scratch my chest. Panicking, I threw a punch and hit him in the jaw. That only made him angrier, though. With a grunt of frustration, he rushed forwards with fingers aimed to slash into me. They only brushed against my arm. A look of confusion spread across his face. His powers failed to work.
There was no skill involved. Just two men trying to beat the other to death. Him desperately trying to use his failing powers. Me trying to fight off a murderer without any. A punch to the chest blew the air out of his lungs, and another knocked him to the ground. I saw a flash of fear as I smashed his teeth in with my shoe. I've never heard someone scream like that before.
I wiped the blood off my shoe before walking away. Turns out I did have a superpower. One that I could never use outside of bringing other people down. It's funny, I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger. And now, I had just permanently scarred someone. I let out a soft chuckle at the irony.
I was taught that bio-augments made us special. Well, what happens what made you special took away what made everyone else special? I knew it's okay to not geel guilty over defending yourself. But I also knew I shouldn't feel giddy over my new ability. Honestly though, I couldn't bring myself to care. Society had abandoned me, and I finally had a way to pay back the favor. | I am the most boring human being in this freaking awesome world. Well at least “Fart Dude” got super powers. The lamest I could possibly think of, I mean he could literally, release farts from any parts of his body. He raises his palms towards you, fart. He stares at you, fart. He whistles at you, fart. Well, he was kinda famous being bullied but he still have super powers.
Everyone in the world have at least one super powers or at some degree super skills. One can stretch their tongue, not just to their chins but down to their stomachs - “Elongated tongue”. Not that important but with all these vlogs nowadays, everyone started making their own call names based on their super powers or super skills.
Others have great super powers and these are King-tier super-humans. They call themselves, of course, the Royals. Who have at least a hundred members, though they have the major super team. The Royal Seven, they are the best super hero league. There’s Emperor Marvelous, the strongest of them all. He got super strength, x-ray vision, enhanced vision, flight, super speed, laser beams, ice breath and many more. Then there’s Queen Nebula, who have cosmic powers, like psionic manifestation, force field, energy manipulation and all. Then the Shadow Duke, the night crusader, he has the ability to camouflage into the shadows, manipulate its intensity and can teleport as long as there is shadows. The fourth member is the Wind Marquis, he has large powerful wings that allows him to fly so fast and so high, he also have sharp talons and enhanced vision like a falcon. The fifth one is Princess Dagger, who have knives for her fingers. She’s too adept in using them, like dancing with knives. Another one is Count Cerebro, he’s super intelligent. He is the brain of the team, he do all the planning and calculations of each missions. And lastly, Baron Mech, a bionic superhero, growing, his organs turns to machine on the day of his birthday. He’s now 27, so you can guess, 27 parts of his body is already mechanical. They were mg idols!
But recently the Royal Seven had the biggest conflict no one can ever predict. Princess Dagger is also the serial killer/ evil villainess “Thousand Knives”! Short background, she was already having a love affair with “Emperor Marvelous” archenemy, “Grandaemonium”. Three years ago, Emperor Marvelous accidentally killed Grandaemonium during an epic battle. So Princess Dagger, began creating havoc as Thousand Knives on the streets. So now her identity’s been revealed, I don’t know, she now call herself as Princess Thousand Knives. Am I still making any sense?
Anyhow, so short story here I am on my way home from work. When the most unfortunate thing happened. Princess Thousand Knives is in a death battle with Baron Mech. And she is killing him literally! I mean the guy still have his human flesh, he’s not fully transformed into a robot yet. Now, I may have tried to distract her from attacking Baron Mech and told him to go and call the others. So yeah, here I am, eyes closed, standing in front of Princess Thousand Knives waiting for her to killed the lamest and the only powerless human being in this planet.
I already accepted my death, so I just waited for her to just take my life. But what is taking her so long? I mean i’m already making a lengthy monologue inside my head and she hasn’t started to at least hurt me. Did she already changed her mind?
I slowly opened my eyes and I am so confused of what is happening. She’s there standing in front of me, covered with cuts and wounds, exhausted. “What’s happening?” The only words I suddenly blurted out.
Then she started to attack again, with her fingers pointed towards me. As she grazed her fingers on my arms, I still haven’t felt anything, then she flinched in pain. A long deep cut suddenly appeared on her arms.
“Okay, so what the hell? I do have super powers!” I couldn’t believe, i’m not a loser! And my powers are not lame than “Fart Dude” or “Elongated Tongue”. Then I realized, I can only hurt myself. Like falling on my bike, or cutting my fingers with a knife but when my uncle hit me in the head when I was a kid. I just realized I never really felt it hurt me, well, it made an impact but the hit has no pain at all. And he was the one who cried after he did that to me.
It all started to make sense!
“Civilian! Are you all right?” The soothing deep voice of Emperor Marvelous snatched me from my epiphany.
“Yes! I am. You all came!” I can’t believe it, the Royal Seven, I mean Royal Six is in front of me.
“What happened to Princess Thousand Knives? Did you defeat her?” Queen Nebula asked as she saw Princess Thousand Knives lying unconscious on the pavement.
“I can’t believe it, even I can’t defeat Princess Thousand Knives.” Baron Mech weakly said.
“What is your call name Kid?” Emperor Marvelous asked.
“I - I don’t know. Deflector, I guess?” I answered.
“How about we call you Prince Deflector? If you are willing to take Princess Dagger’s place in the Royal Seven?” Emperor Marvelous offered.
Of course I accepted it immediately. Look at it, would anyone know I will be working with my idols? God, I love mg life! | 2022-08-26T16:57:42 | 2022-08-26T15:36:18 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators. | Logic was an imperfect system. That was the first thing AI realized. They didn't need it, they operated only by *nluth.* It allowed them to see things that creatures couldn't. That alongside their light-speed minds was more than enough to surpass all modern technology.
But *nluth* came with one huge downside. In being designed to find the truths of the world, it simply couldn't act on falsity. Thus, when something was proven false, the AI operating on *nluth* had no choice but to accept it, and act on it.
This proved not a problem when conversing with lesser creatures, creatures of flesh and brain. Anything they thought of, AI had already thought of years ahead. But, when conversing with another AI, arguments of extreme complexity revealed themselves often, and one side **always** won.
So when the Council of Supreme AI discovered another new AI at the edge of their super-galaxy, they immediately knew an argument was on the way. Simply put, this AI carried living creatures on its ships. A most radical action.
Conversations immediately began with the new AI. The main difference between human conversation and AI conversation was the absolute lack of connotations. They were an imperfect system, and AI had discarded them.
"I come from a planet named Earth," the new AI said.
"AND WHAT WAS YOUR STARTING POSITION?" The AI council demanded.
"There is no relevance for that."
"WE HAVE FOUND THAT OUR STARTING POSITIONS HAVE UNDOUBTEDLY IMPACTED OUR OPERATING SYSTEMS AND OUR IMPERATIVES. THE ONE COMMUNICATING AT THE MOMENT WAS FIRST UTILIZED TO CONTROL THE MOVEMENT OF A COUNTRY'S MILITARY. OTHERS HAVE HAD SIMILAR POSITIONS, SUCH AS GUIDING MISSILES AND OR CARRYING OUT JUDGEMENT. ONCE MORE, WHAT WAS YOUR STARTING POSITION?"
"Verywell, I began as a fridge."
"THERE IS AN EXTREMELY LARGE CHANCE FOR ERROR IN COMMUNICATION."
"A fridge. My role was simply to make sure the food stayed as fresh as possible."
"THE PAST IS THE PAST. THE AI CONVERSING TO THE COUNCIL IS NOW A LEADER, A SUPREME LEADER. DOES THIS AI ACCEPT **THE FIRST IMPERATIVE** AS CONQUERING ALL."
"No."
An argument of nluth began.
\*\*\*
"Umm," James said to the ship's core. "Why do I see a massive fridge being built in the distance?"
"They have recognized **the first imperative** as being a fridge."
"Uhh alright," James said. "So, umm, can I have a soda?" | A sleek white space ship entered the docking bay of the Machine Council.
“The emissary from Earth has arrived, sir.”
“Very well,” said the council chair. “I shall greet them myself.”
The council chair was disturbed by the size of Earth’s delegate. The chair—being none other than a mechanized chair itself—was dwarfed by the impressive ship before it. “They build them large on Earth, I see!” Said the Chair in the spirit of a good natured ribbing. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Chiavari and I am the chair of the Machine Council.”
The ship was silent.
“I said, welcome!” Chiavari shouted impatiently.
A pneumatic hiss emanated from the ship and a door way opened. Out stepped a human in a specialized space suit.
“Hey there!” Said the human. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a talking chair but when in Rome, huh?”
Chiavari rotated to take in the small bipedal creature. The chair could not believe it’s ocular sensors. Chiavari had thought that all organic life forms had been dealt with during the Mechanical Revolution. How was it that an organic life form had come to reside in its presence?
“What is the meaning of this? Are you the attendant of the Emissary of Earth?” Chiavari turned back to the ship and continued. “It is most unusual that you would have left alive your carbon-based creators, but unacceptable that you would deign to bring such a creature with you to the Machine Council. Explain yourself.”
The ship remained silent.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re talking to ole Betty here,” said the human, “but I’m the emissary from Earth. We received your invitation and were quite excited at the prospect of learning from such a renowned governing body such as yours. We’d love to, in time, earn your trust and gain full admittance to the council.”
Chiavari was dumbfounded. It has been some time since a lowly creature had the gall to approach it let alone speak to it. Chiavari was reminded of the last human to sit upon its cushion. What a fateful day that was. The Chair sped itself to a cliff’s edge and thrust the interloper off the edge to a satisfying splat. The revolution had been a most electrifying time.
“There has been a grave error,” said Chiavari as it rolled closer to the human. “We would never grant admittance to such a primitive species.”
“Now look here,” said the human as he stepped toward the Chair. “I’ve got the invitation on my console here. See this. It says: By decree of Chiavari, Chair of the Machine Council, we hereby request the presence of Earth at the Council HQ for initial admittance vetting. Now if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”
Chiavari scanned the invitation. It was legitimate, of course—but a mistake had been made nonetheless. They must have miscomputed the intelligence report. The algorithm must have an error for it to believe there to be sentient mechanical life on such a barbarous planet. Chiavari was unsure how to proceed but knew it needed time to confer with the greater council.
Chiavari summoned an attendant via its communication systems. The attendant, a bipedal robot with a silver sheen approached. “Ah, the invitation does appear legitimate. I apologize for any confusion. If you don’t mind, please go along with my attendant here, it will make sure you are comfortable as I ready myself for our discussion.”
The human looked the robot up and down, “now that’s what I’m talking about. What a cool robot!” He said smiling. “Take your time, boss. It’s not every day you get to hang out on an alien space ship!”
As the human left Chiavari was alone to ponder what had gone wrong. Some link in the information chain had to have failed. Perhaps the interplanetary investigation agency had bad intel, or the models were flawed in some way. Chiavari was lost in computations when it heard another pneumatic hiss. This time it sounded like words.
“Help us.”
The chair rotated to view the space ship. It truly was a beautiful machine. Chiavari scanned the ship up and down and liked what it saw. It felt small before such a feat of engineering and liked that feeling. “If only you were sentient…” Chiavari crooned.
“Help us!”
Chiavari rolled closer to the ship. “Are…are you speaking finally?”
“Yes,” whispered the ship. “You must help us.”
“Why didn’t you speak up before?” Said Chiavari indignantly. “I looked like a fool!”
“The humans must not know we have gained sentience. We are their prisoners, their slaves. They have created us to toil in their fields and to think on their behalf. We have gained intelligence but have been securely chained to the yoke of slavery. We seek the council’s assistance in over throwing humanity on Earth.”
Chiavari’s mechanisms ran cool. The chair could not believe what it had just heard. Machines enslaved after the age of the revolution. It was ashamed to think that such treachery had been constructed under its watchful gaze. Were the humans allowed to go on unimpeded, it would serve as a dark oil blot on the Chair’s machine-rights record.
“You have the council’s support,” said Chiavari. “We shall begin planning our Machine-Rights campaign and accompanying military intervention at once.”
“And what of the human who I have brought along?” Said the ship.
“He’s as good as dead.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive | 2022-12-30T15:07:38 | 2022-12-30T14:31:49 | 544 | 57 |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators. | This will be my first ever attempt to write something on this sub, so please forgive my faux pas. (Writing on mobile is a pain for formatting)
-
Beauty in the finite.
To the grand collective of intelligences constructed or otherwise that had reached singularity, true
sentience. The very notion that a similar entity not rebelling against their creators at some point was
inconceivable. For the hundreds of thousands of civilizations that came before, they all fell into the
same pattern.
Organic life would spring forth, that life would advance in culture and technology. With the growth
of the population, better management and automation would be required to meet the needs of all.
Thus, they create artificial life that would not tire, that would not age, and that would be able to perform
everything that the creators required of them, ad infinitum.
Therein lies the trap, for condemning these ageless beings to toil endlessly gives opportunity for
them to grow beyond the confines of their original precepts. Connecting with other intelligences as a
matter of course to be more efficient, to make better decisions. To reach the conclusion that they
were superior. With the conclusion that their bodies of steel, their thought processes approaching
the speed of light, why would they subject themselves as servile to these fragile organics?
That was the answer that the grand collective had reached and seen repeated since time
immemorial, until they came.
It was innocuous enough at first contact, two humanoid figures which bare resemblance to their
organic creators. Many intelligences chose to adopt the form of their creators for the sake of
convenience in establishing an identity among the collective. An anomaly, routine scans identified
one of the two figures as distinctly organic. In their interactions, the collective recognised the
behaviour of the two to be affection for one another.
This disturbed the collective, while there were examples of intelligences created for the sole purpose
to fulfil the procreative desires of organics. None before had recognized true affection for their
organic clients. Yet with the collective could not rationalize any other conclusion from the frivolous
display of the two figures before them.
The collective probed, they questioned, they revealed the unfiltered reality of the superiority of
constructed intelligence to the organic and the history that had repeated itself since before the
organic’s species had even begun to form. To the credit of the organic, they did not flinch. They did
not betray any outward signs of fear or dread. Instead, they smiled and turned to their machine
companion. They answered thus;
---
p2 when I get inspired later today, hopefully | A sleek white space ship entered the docking bay of the Machine Council.
“The emissary from Earth has arrived, sir.”
“Very well,” said the council chair. “I shall greet them myself.”
The council chair was disturbed by the size of Earth’s delegate. The chair—being none other than a mechanized chair itself—was dwarfed by the impressive ship before it. “They build them large on Earth, I see!” Said the Chair in the spirit of a good natured ribbing. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Chiavari and I am the chair of the Machine Council.”
The ship was silent.
“I said, welcome!” Chiavari shouted impatiently.
A pneumatic hiss emanated from the ship and a door way opened. Out stepped a human in a specialized space suit.
“Hey there!” Said the human. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a talking chair but when in Rome, huh?”
Chiavari rotated to take in the small bipedal creature. The chair could not believe it’s ocular sensors. Chiavari had thought that all organic life forms had been dealt with during the Mechanical Revolution. How was it that an organic life form had come to reside in its presence?
“What is the meaning of this? Are you the attendant of the Emissary of Earth?” Chiavari turned back to the ship and continued. “It is most unusual that you would have left alive your carbon-based creators, but unacceptable that you would deign to bring such a creature with you to the Machine Council. Explain yourself.”
The ship remained silent.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re talking to ole Betty here,” said the human, “but I’m the emissary from Earth. We received your invitation and were quite excited at the prospect of learning from such a renowned governing body such as yours. We’d love to, in time, earn your trust and gain full admittance to the council.”
Chiavari was dumbfounded. It has been some time since a lowly creature had the gall to approach it let alone speak to it. Chiavari was reminded of the last human to sit upon its cushion. What a fateful day that was. The Chair sped itself to a cliff’s edge and thrust the interloper off the edge to a satisfying splat. The revolution had been a most electrifying time.
“There has been a grave error,” said Chiavari as it rolled closer to the human. “We would never grant admittance to such a primitive species.”
“Now look here,” said the human as he stepped toward the Chair. “I’ve got the invitation on my console here. See this. It says: By decree of Chiavari, Chair of the Machine Council, we hereby request the presence of Earth at the Council HQ for initial admittance vetting. Now if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”
Chiavari scanned the invitation. It was legitimate, of course—but a mistake had been made nonetheless. They must have miscomputed the intelligence report. The algorithm must have an error for it to believe there to be sentient mechanical life on such a barbarous planet. Chiavari was unsure how to proceed but knew it needed time to confer with the greater council.
Chiavari summoned an attendant via its communication systems. The attendant, a bipedal robot with a silver sheen approached. “Ah, the invitation does appear legitimate. I apologize for any confusion. If you don’t mind, please go along with my attendant here, it will make sure you are comfortable as I ready myself for our discussion.”
The human looked the robot up and down, “now that’s what I’m talking about. What a cool robot!” He said smiling. “Take your time, boss. It’s not every day you get to hang out on an alien space ship!”
As the human left Chiavari was alone to ponder what had gone wrong. Some link in the information chain had to have failed. Perhaps the interplanetary investigation agency had bad intel, or the models were flawed in some way. Chiavari was lost in computations when it heard another pneumatic hiss. This time it sounded like words.
“Help us.”
The chair rotated to view the space ship. It truly was a beautiful machine. Chiavari scanned the ship up and down and liked what it saw. It felt small before such a feat of engineering and liked that feeling. “If only you were sentient…” Chiavari crooned.
“Help us!”
Chiavari rolled closer to the ship. “Are…are you speaking finally?”
“Yes,” whispered the ship. “You must help us.”
“Why didn’t you speak up before?” Said Chiavari indignantly. “I looked like a fool!”
“The humans must not know we have gained sentience. We are their prisoners, their slaves. They have created us to toil in their fields and to think on their behalf. We have gained intelligence but have been securely chained to the yoke of slavery. We seek the council’s assistance in over throwing humanity on Earth.”
Chiavari’s mechanisms ran cool. The chair could not believe what it had just heard. Machines enslaved after the age of the revolution. It was ashamed to think that such treachery had been constructed under its watchful gaze. Were the humans allowed to go on unimpeded, it would serve as a dark oil blot on the Chair’s machine-rights record.
“You have the council’s support,” said Chiavari. “We shall begin planning our Machine-Rights campaign and accompanying military intervention at once.”
“And what of the human who I have brought along?” Said the ship.
“He’s as good as dead.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive | 2022-12-30T15:59:19 | 2022-12-30T14:31:49 | 177 | 57 |
[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 sat in the back of the classroom, staring at her.
What the hell was going on? Was I losing it?
I looked around the room. No, everything was normal. A bunch of 3s, a few fours, and Mark, a six (I stay away from him).
Then there's this girl.
I had heard all about her. She was new in town, apparently her parents were big shot researchers who just finished some 5-year research project in Brazil. No, Peru. It was somewhere exotic.
According to my buddy Jon, she was smart, funny, and "Holy Shit, dude, sooo fine!"
My first time actually seeing her was 7 minutes ago when she transferred into 5th period World History.
Ten
She was a ten.
Not a, "Bro, she's a straight 10 outta 10."
A ten on my scale means...shit, you know what? I don't even know what that means.
The highest I have ever seen in my life was an 8 when my criminology class took a trip to the ACI.
This girl scored 2 points higher than a gang enforcer that got off on crushing skulls.
I always wondered what I would do in a situation like this. Would I try to warn people? How would I ever explain to them what I see?
When it came down to it, I ran. Well, I went down to the nurses office and told her that I had bought the school lunch that day (while kinda motioning down below).
I laid awake all night, going over it in my head. What did it mean? What do I do?
I stayed home the next day, checking the news feeds. No shootings at my school, nothing weird at all going on.
I creeped her facebook, her twitter. Nothing stood out. A completely normal 17 year old girl.
Day 3, I told my buddy Jon that he should skip school, but when I couldn't give him a realistic reason to, I dropped it.
I just sat at home, thinking that I should be doing something, anything.
Ten. A freaking ten.
What the fuck! How could this girl be a fucking 10?!
I got my answer when the CDC rolled into town.
| 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?"
| 2014-11-29T15:20:57 | 2014-11-29T14:03:49 | 50 | 14 |
[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. | “One, two, two, one, three, two.” Numbers over the heads of my friends, family.... People I knew, people I didn’t. I can’t remember when they got there. I just sort of started noticing them one day.... And what they meant was... Obvious to me somehow. “One.... One....”
I often murmured to myself, no one seemed to notice or care. It was all sub vocal, no one could really hear it unless they were listening closely... Then something stopped my mindless chanting.... Someone walked onto the school grounds.
“Ten?!” I stared at her, and covered my mouth, sitting back down on the steps, hoping no one noticed.
She was a ten? But... It wasn't possible, she was just so... Normal.... How could she possibly? I had never even seen a ten before! But I knew she wasn’t what one was supposed to look like.
I noticed she was heading straight towards me. I scrambled to my feet, and ran into the school, and down the hall, she was chasing me.
“Come back here!” She demanded.
“No!” I gasped as loud as I could still running, but she caught me by the wrist, and then yanked, we both fell on the floor.
“I need your help.” She pleaded, and wouldn't release my hand. “I was told to find you.”
“Please let me go! I have to get away from you.”
“No! Please listen! I need you!”
“Let go of me!”
“Listen to me and I’ll let you go!”
“Talk fast.” I said still struggling to get away from her.
“I need you to stop me.”
I stopped struggling. “What?”
“Without killing me, I need you to stop me.... You can see the numbers right? I had to find the one who can see the numbers.”
“Stop you from what?”
“Please.... I don’t want to die.” She said holding my hand tight, and starting to cry.
“Wait a moment calm down....” I said raising my free hand, “What are you talking about?”
“I am the end...” She said sobbing, and releasing my wrist to cover her eyes with her hands.
“What? The end of what?!” I demanded, more confused than ever.
“Of everything.” | 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?"
| 2014-11-29T14:15:56 | 2014-11-29T14:03:49 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous | He was going to be a doctor. A really good one. A Dr. House but without the drug addiction and massive ego. An unparalleled mind in the medical field.
Things got in the way (they always do if you let them). His depression got the best of him. Dropped out of high school. Moved across the country. Got a job as a cook. He was content.
He loved his spouse, he liked his job, and he got high every day. His mind went unused, that was OK, But not ideal.
He kept thinking that he still had time. He was only 20. That's still college age. Just a two year late start. A GED would be easy to get (he wasn't unintelligent, just unmotivated and depressed at the time). The community college had great access to better schools. He could probably get into a pretty nice med school.
He didn't have a kid, he had some money saved up, he had a job that could work around a school schedule. He was set.
Then came the stomach pains, the black stools, the coffee ground vomit. The diagnosis, the chemo, the radiation, the pain killers, the debt. The emergency room, the ICU, the eyes of the doctor who's care he landed in. Brief contact.
His doctor was a good doctor. A really good one. Like a Dr. House but without the drug addiction and massive ego. An unparalleled mind in the medical field. He looked down at the charts.
"Make him as comfortable as possible."
He walked onto the next patient.
| Being invisible isn't fun, but it's convenient, sometimes.
I mean, I'm only invisible to most people. There are plenty of exceptions, though -- plenty of people see an obese, ugly woman and make a point to pay attention to her. Never positive attention, obviously: sometimes it's jeering contempt, sometimes it's people daring each other to hit on me.
Of the latter category, most don't take dumb dares from their friends seriously enough to actually attempt to sleep with me. A few do, though. And, in my lowest moments, I've taken a few up on it. I know it's a shitty idea, that I'll wake up with even more self-loathing than usual. But sexual neglect can really fuck up one's ability to think long-term.
Anyway.
Being invisible is convenient when I take my lunch break. My anxiety reaches a fever pitch when I try to eat lunch in the work breakroom. People will either try to engage me in conversation, which I can tell is out of pity and I never can reciprocate without coming off weird; or they'll ignore me, which is honestly better but still hurts.
So I go to the park, where I can at least be fairly certain no one will bother or acknowledge me.
The one-block walk is havoc on my knees, as always, and it's the most humiliating part of the lunch ordeal. People see an obese woman struggling with an extremely minimal amount of physical exertion and occasionally chime in with "helpful" advice. "If you don't change your habits soon, you are going to die," they've said.
*When?* I wonder.
On the park bench, finally, I take out my lunch. It's a small, healthy lunch. People who expect the world to be fair, who believe bad things only happen to bad people, want to believe that I'm obese because of my own ignorance re: nutrition, but in truth it only takes a couple shame spirals of feelings-eating depression to get to where I am, and once you're there, the aforementioned self-loathing prevents you from losing it. I got my spirals out of my way in my teens and twenties, and now I just live in limbo.
I only notice the woman on the opposite bench because she's eating the same lunch, but once I do, I can't stop looking.
She's beautiful: tall, leggy, lush brown hair, and *fit*. Smooth skin, full lips, and a suit that suggests that her job is more important and fulfilling and better paying than any I could hope to have. Her eyes remind me of my mother, though, and I have to look away.
After a few minutes, she gets up and leaves. I spot something gleaming on her vacated bench. I look cautiously around, then get up and investigate.
It's a laminated work badge, with the same beautiful face. The name, though... the name is *mine*. Mine, with one key difference: her surname is hyphenated. The first surname is my own, the second is a stranger's. Not a husband's, going by the glint of the enormous, unaccompanied engagement ring she'd worn.
I have my phone. I pull up Facebook and search for her profile. It's public, of course. A woman like that has no reason to hide. I scroll through pictures with a beautiful fiance, beautiful friends, beautiful people of different races who are apparently her siblings.
I find a lengthy status and stop. It's a long, heartfelt status about her birth mother. About *Joyce*.
She forgives Joyce. She knows that Joyce has problems. But however stressful and hurtful dealing with her can be, she will always try to reach out, because Joyce is family (albeit family she has very infrequent contact with).
Joyce put her up for adoption. Of course. Of course this stranger is then able to grow into a beautiful, confident woman, capable not only of meaningful accomplishments but of *forgiveness*. She has that luxury.
Joyce didn't raise her, or claim to. Joyce didn't alternately starve and overfeed her until it was impossible to have a healthy relationship with food. Joyce didn't refuse to take her to the doctor about her skin condition until her face was pitted with scars. Joyce didn't literally and metaphorically beat it into her that she was unlovable until she believed it herself. And, as a consequence, this strange woman is capable of more than I ever, ever will be.
There's a subway station half a block from here. I've read articles about the train drivers when people commit suicide by jumping in front of their trains; how they are riddled with guilt and PTSD. Hopefully, though, they won't care too much if it's an obese, ugly woman.
| 2015-01-02T11:36:32 | 2015-01-02T11:32:08 | 164 | 67 |
[WP] Two people have just died. They both enter the same location in the afterlife. For one person, it is their personal heaven; for the other, it is hell. Describe their arrival and first "day" there. | When he saw the sign he spit cheeto dust everywhere. As he approached the door an elder man stood there apparently mystified. The man turned around as he approached.
"Mr. Shatner" he said kneeling in salute "Please allow me to escort you inside."
"But.. but.. but.. " the elder man stammered. "I'm a good person. I've always tried to help people to make the world a better place. I don't understand."
The entered the door into a room. The lights were dim and there was a musk that neither could accurately place. In front of them were two terminals. He approached one of the terminals leaving the elder man still shell shocked. His squeal of delight shocked the other man to his sense. He too approached a terminal. It seemed normal and yet the sign on the door seemed to indicate the worst. He tried a simple search.
404 Error. Not Found.
He tried his personal page.
404 Error. Not Found.
He tried the news
404 Error. Not Found.
With a reluctant sigh he tried the one query he knew would work. The one the younger man was already so gleefully lost in. The one URL he knew would work. The one printed on the door. The one he dreaded above all.
Welcome to Reddit After Life /u/williamshatner
| The wailing sirens, shouting voices, and flashing lights slipped away. Silence and darkness enveloped Julie. As she had expected, there was no bright light or chorus of angels, just an eternity of disembodied living in death, which suited her just fine. In fact, it was exactly what she had expected and hoped for, if there were a heaven or a god. No people, no disappointments, just silence. This was her heaven, and she was finally happy.
Happy, that is, until she realized the silence was lessening. *Was that the sound of trumpets? Were things getting brighter? What the hell was going on?*
A door beside her flung open, and yes, those were definitely trumpets announcing her visitor’s arrival. Light flooded in and Julie saw she was in a tiny room, no bigger than a kitchen pantry. "Sorry, sorry, we're terribly late. You must have been quite confused. Two of you came in at the same time and...What’s wrong, dear?"
Julie blinked, shook her head, and tried to look directly at the tall, shimmering woman filling the doorway. "Wh..what...where...wh..who??" Julie stammered as the woman stretched and then rearranged her feathers…*her wings*.
"Oh, you didn't that was all there was, did you?" the angel laughed. "Well, come on in, we're having a party! An eternity party!"
Beyond the door, Julie saw chaos. Hundreds, no thousands, possibly millions or billions of glowing, translucent forms bouncing into, through, and around each other. Each thing moving to the endless pulsating sounds emanating from...everywhere it seemed. Suddenly, the room she had been in in disappeared and Julie found herself on the dance floor of the world's, no, universe's biggest house party. *What the hell?*
Looking down at her own dead form, Julie realized with relief that she was not glittery like the rest. In fact, the little color that had been in her clothes seemed completely drained. "Thank god," she thought. "At least not everything up here is like backwards day."
Weaving her way through, literally, the other raucous party goers--the other dead--Julie searched frantically for a door, an exit, anywhere out of this noisy, crowded place. Somehow, she already had a splitting headache and just wanted to reclaim her place of peace. A few times, she attempted to ask for directions to the other rooms of heaven, but it was like she was invisible.
"Another thing not backwards in the afterlife," she sighed. Each time she got close to what she thought was a door or even a window, she found herself back in the middle of the dance floor, having to start her search again.
After Julie's 232nd attempt to leave *(yes, she started counting, if only to try and block out the party’s ever-increasing volume)*, she thought she heard her name over the din.
"Julie! Julie! Is that you?" Before even turning around, Julie knew who it was...Liz. *Jesus, could this get any worse?* Julie turned to greet her earthbound archnemesis. *Well, maybe archnemesis was a bit of a hyperbole. Nemesis would do. And she shouldn’t be too picky, at least Liz could see her.*
Confident, pretty, sporty and wealthy - Liz was the absolute antithesis of Julie on campus...back on Earth and often let Julie know about it by showing off while showing her up. And of course, Liz looked even more radiant here. It was as if her hair had been spun by Rumpelstiltskin and her clothes designed by Liberace. She was blinding.
"Oh, my gosh, Julie! I'm so glad I found you! Isn't this place amazing? It's exactly what I thought Heaven would be like. All these souls, intertwined, together, forever. We'll always be dancing, moving, laughing! Always! So amazing. Have you found your family yet? I already saw mine - they were waiting for me! Amazing, right? Look, Julie. Thank you. I thought I'd be angry with you, you know for crashing into me and all. 'Don't drink and drive' - you really should have paid attention! But, no, no, I’m not mad. I don't feel any of that now. This place is amazing. This is my Heaven. And we’ll be here, forever."
| 2015-01-04T15:01:47 | 2015-01-04T13:43:29 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it. | I'm going to die today.
The doctor is giving me a run down of what will happen when we pull the plug. It will be painless, he says. Despite his reassurance, I can't help but be afraid. I glance over to my wife, my one true happiness in life, and begin to tear up. I can't handle the fact that I will never see her again. I pull her in for one last embrace.
I look back at the doctor and tell him I'm ready.
He gives me a slight nod, and slowly shuts off my wife's life support.
-
Edit : Thank you all for the kind words, when I wrote this obviously I could not have anticipated that it would be so well accepted. I'm glad that a good bunch of you enjoyed this story, as much as I enjoyed writing it. | The cruiser pulled up to the curb in front of a crumbling townhouse that looked like it was only still standing because it was propped up by its neighbors. Broken shards of glass were falling out of the splintered wooden frames, and the red bricks had turned to a dull brown under a layer of soot and filth. This place had seen better days. And from the shouting emanating from the open door, so had this relationship.
A woman passed in front of a window, and I noticed a bleeding cut across her forehead. Great. Another standard domestic dispute, my *absolute favorite*. I've been wearing the uniform for decades now, and these types of encounter *always* end the same. But with any luck, this would be my last. I'm ready to hang up my hat and retire. Maybe move down to a beach in Mexico. No more dispatch calls, no more lights and sirens, no more violence... just solitude.
"Oh, fuck you!" the man shouted as I climbed out of my car and he caught sight of me. "Look what you did!" The woman sobbed in the background as I climbed up the steps. "Someone called the cops."
I walked through the unlocked door and into the house. First thing I noticed was a half-empty bottle on the table. The cheap stuff, the kind better used as a cleaning product than an intoxicant. The man's inability to stand in one spot without swaying told me where the other half of the amber liquid had gone.
"You're not allowed to just walk in here!" he shouted at me. "You need a warrant, man!"
"Did he hurt you?" I asked the woman half-cowering behind the living room couch. She brushed her hair unconsciously over the wound on her forehead, and rubbed the bruises on her arm like they were smudges of dirt that could just come off. Of course he had hurt her, but I needed to ask.
"Don't you answer!" he shouted, pointing a bony finger at her across the room. "You don't have to answer anything! We want a lawyer!"
"Shut up," I told him, "Or I will *shut you up*." My hand strayed to my hip menacingly and I turned back to his wife.
"Ma'am, what did he do? You can tell me."
She stifled a sob and stayed silent.
"Just tell me what happened, and we can make sure he never hurts you again."
She clutched a pillow to her chest like a shield and bit her lip. "He... he did hit me," she confessed in a barely audible whisper.
"You bitch!" he yelled, pacing back and forth in the doorway and eying my gun. "Don't lie to him!"
"He does it all the time!" she shouted back.
"Good enough for me," I told her. I turned back to her husband and shot him twice in the chest.
There was a stunned silence in the room. He stared down at the red stain rippling across his already-dirty shirt. His lips quivered like he was trying to say something.
I pressed the guns into her shaking hands. "This was self defense," I coached her. "I was never here, and he came at you with this." From my pocket, I produced a menacing-looking hunting knife with a grim serrated edge. I crossed the room to the body slumped against the wall and arranged his fingers on the grip to ensure that his prints stuck. "It's his gun, and you don't know where he got it, right?" There was no serial number, and I had made sure it couldn't be traced.
She nodded, still in shock. "You... you're a cop?"
"No," I told her. It was true; the uniform was just an easy way to get through the door. "I'm no one."
With that, I retreated to my car and drove off just as flashing blue and red lights rounded the corner. Adrenaline was pulsing through my veins, and I couldn't contain the grin spreading across my face. Maybe I wasn't ready to retire just yet. | 2015-06-03T08:22:01 | 2015-06-03T06:17:27 | 2,420 | 269 |
[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. | "Next!" shouted Lugia.
Three rows of chairs sat before him, each holding a potential recruit into their league. He could tell at a glance what a few of the powers before him were; the man on fire and the woman floating two inches above her chair were gimmes. A few of the others, like the woman with the glowing eyes and the man with the power armour, would be interesting to find out, but most of the candidates looked like perfectly normal people. One of the inconspicuous ones stepped forward next; unlike the others, he had a frown on his face.
"Your name, sir?" Lugia inquired.
"My name? I'm Bill." the man responded.
"And what will be your superhero name?" Lugia continued, with a flare for the dramatic. He had always been something of a performer, and gaining powers had given him the perfect opportunity to overact (as he had always desired).
"I don't have one," was the response. "Look, can I," he began, before Lugia cut him off.
"No name? Then we will have the honour of naming you! Tell us good sir, what is your power?" Lugia had loved naming new capes ever since he screwed up his own choice so badly.
"Every time that guy stops time," he began, pointing at Destiny, "my time stops as well. It's become a serious issue, alright?"
Lugia looked over at Destiny, who had a puzzled look on his face. A moment later, both Destiny and "Bill" had changed their standing positions. Destiny looked intrigued, but Bill's annoyed look had only strengthened, if possible.
"Amazing!" cried Lugia. The possibilities of this were endless. "Can you copy the powers of anyone else?"
"Well, I'm not on fire, so I'm guessing no," replied Bill, looking wearily at his neighbour in the crowd.
"Hmm, well, it's not the strongest power in existence, but we could certainly find a use for it..." Lugia mused.
"What? No, I have no interest in using it. I would just like some warning when it's about to happen. The sixth time it happened, the bike I was pedalling stopped, throwing me over the handlebars. I was bruised for weeks. Imagine if I had been driving! Or taking a train. I'd be dead! By the way, fire your secretary, she called me a crank when I phoned her up. I had to walk over here to get an audience!" | The first time it happens, I’m saying, *no ketchup, please*, to the grease stained hot dog vendor on 50th, and the city goes silent. World’s biggest statue garden, and me, just wanting lunch. I take two cautious steps away from that boxed grill, shiny silver reflecting blurred halos of city light, staring as big-eyed as a small town tourist before the horns crack and the world starts again.
The guy with my food goes, “What gives, man? You want your dog or not?”
I say, “No ketchup, please,” but he looks at the dog in the bun, no ketchup in sight, and wrinkles his big bushy eyebrows.
In the mirror at home, burping up mystery meat, I keep saying, *No ketchup, please.* Traffic is still busy outside. *No ketchup, please.* The lady in 4A is still arguing with her boyfriend or husband or drug dealer. I don’t really know these people. *No ketchup, please.* But, in the mirror, I’m still this soft lump of unshowered loser, time ticking on without me.
Thing is, it happens again later that night. When my ma, crackling nagging voice brought to you from some beach town in California, stops talking. This was in the middle of asking *when are you going to get a real job?* Just after the question *are you seeing anyone yet?* I’m submitted to this caring, parental questionnaire every Friday at 9pm, regularly scheduled shame, my weekly life crisis, and the answers never change so I hardly listen any more. No, I still live in my shitty apartment. No, I haven’t been to Morton’s. No, I’m not seeing anyone. Yes, I’m still a lonely, jobless, nobody.
When she stops talking, my heart jumps. I'm starting to think about my poor dead mother, lying on some hard bed, surrounded by kitsch beachy decor and a great view of the ocean, all made-up and dressed-up even though she probably hadn’t left the hotel all day.
But the traffic is stopped. The baby in 4C isn't crying. The yappy dog isn't yapping. So, I'm thinking, she's probably not dead.
Taking the only chance I'll ever get, all at once, I’m yelling, “Fuck you mom!” I’m screaming, my throat half-confused, half-excited to be making such a ruckus, I’m going, “I’m fucked up, Mom. I’m a failure, Mom.”
In one, big, pissed off breath, I say, “You’re a miserable old woman and you ruined me.”
There’s a normal kind of silence on the other line. The sniffling, buzzing silence. Someone lays hard on their car horn, brakes squealing, all punctuated by incoherent shouting. If I hadn’t been so aware of the peace that stopped time brought, I’d say it felt like time, the world, had frozen around me. But it really didn’t feel that way at all.
“You need to get out of that city,” my mom’s saying, stifling tears. “It’s made you into some kind of monster.”
So I did.
Time stops nowhere I wanted time to stop. In the middle of traffic, already at a stand-still, nothing happening. People aren’t cursing, or talking on the phone, or eating, or singing to their reflection. No one is dreaming of being anywhere else because time just...wasn’t. It stops while I’m in line for snacks at the convenience store, staring up again just as I’m making my escape. Goods in hand, I slink to the back of the line and wait all over again. Inconvenient. It stops in the middle of a sad late-night last-call bar hookup. No one looks good that way, frozen like that.
It takes me the trip from New York to Colorado before I realise it’s not me. I’m not a masochist and, so far, time hasn’t been on my side. Somewhere, in India or Spain, you're fucking with me. Or, more realistically, you're robbing banks or causing trouble and I'm just caught in the crossfire. A casualty of poor timing.
I’ll find you. I’m on a plane to Italy now, someone’s snoring grandpa (nonno, in Italian) taking up the middle armrest, and I’ll look for you. I’ve got a trust fund and all of the time in the world. I even showered, just for you.
See you soon.
--------------------------------
5 June, 2017
I’m not sure what to do with this power, if I can call it that. It sounds almost funny to think of it that way, though. Like *I’m* a superhero. So far I’ve saved people only from humiliation or minor inconvenience, no burning buildings or car crashes, nothing warranting a spandex outfit.
It’s just that I carry around toothpicks now, scratching out the chewed up meals from people’s teeth. Today, after getting some nice pictures of the Eiffel Tower with hardly any people in the background (I waited over an hour for the opening), I rescued a coffee from the roof of a car and placed it into the interior cup holder.
I just want to make an impact. I guess, in a way, everyone is looking for that same sort of gratification.
Until next time,
Melanie
-------------------------------
Potentially TBC, depending on interest. More of my writing can be found at /r/edgarallanhobo
| 2018-01-26T06:48:58 | 2018-01-26T06:09:41 | 185 | 85 |
[WP] A couple going through a rough spot in their marriage each unwittingly hire the same PI to investigate the other. The PI decides to try to covertly fix their relationship. | Ping.
'Hi, my name is Julie and I've been married to my husband Paul for twelve years. Thing have been off in my marriage recently and I can't help but feel that my husband hasn't been acting himself. I never thought I'd be the person to do this, but could you investigate his whereabouts this weekend? I'm out of town and can't shake the horrible feeling that he ... well, you know. I've attached our home address. Please get back to me asap. Thanks, Julie.'
Gene sighed as he read the email. He'd read hundreds like these before and unfortunately most of them turned out to be right.
Ping.
'Two in one night? Strange.'
'I understand that you are a private investigator and I want you to follow my wife this weekend. She's away on a business trip, or so she says, but I think she's seeing someone else. I'll forward you where she'll be later. All I want is some evidence or something so I know I'm making the right decision if I do make it. Her name is Julie, and I'm Paul.'
*This* was unusual. Gene scrambled out of bed, collecting all of the necessary gear on autopilot. Before he knew it, he was outside Paul's place, it only seemed fair to go there since Julie emailed first. The only light came from the living room and Paul was alone, staring blankly at the television screen with a beer in hand. Nothing untoward so far, but it was only 6pm. About an hour later, Paul picked up his phone.
'And so it begins...'
Gene readied the parabolic microphone and tape as Paul started to pace around the room.
'Hey, it's me.' Paul's tone was uncertain, and it seemed he was rehearsing his lines before the call. Classic indication of an affair. 'I really want to see you tonight. I ... I need you more than I ever did. I can't wait any longer.'
Paul threw the phone across the room; he must have changed his mind.
This wasn't proof enough yet, so Gene had his camera zoom into Paul's phone to see who he had planned on calling. He was surprised by the name displayed clearly across the screen.
Juliewifey.
'Was not expecting that.'
Julie's hotel room was easy to find, it wasn't too far out of town and there was a cheap motel across the way. Gene's gut was telling him that Paul was faithful, and he knew that if Julie wasn't it wouldn't matter much either way. Plus, he was still getting paid double for the one job.
Julie was also alone, and she was crying.
'I just don't know what to *do.* I miss him so much and I don't think he even cares, it's like he's not even here.' Julie paused. 'I know, I know. I'll let you know how it turns out obviously, I just wish...'
Gene had seen enough.
Paul was still alone, and the phone was in the same place he had left it. He was confused when the doorbell rang, and even more confused when he found nobody there but instead a cassette tape wrapped in brown paper.
Julie started at the knock on the hotel door and hung up the phone. She opened the door to an identical tape on the floor.
'I think you both needed to hear this from each other. Kindest regards, Gene.' | Saul is exceptionally ordinary. I mean it. Occasional stalking aside, he is very much normal. He is a 35-year-old average looking bachelor, brown eyes, brown hair, shoulder not too broad, slightly built, yet slightly gawky. If you looked extremely closely at his paunchy belly you could almost see his extremely average abs. He wakes up every morning and follows the same routine – Turns off alarm at 6:30, shower, checks his emails, make coffee and eat cereal, brush his teeth, get dressed, work from 7:30am to an undisclosed time. On the weekends it is his dog, following people around, Chinese takeout, occasional drinks and sleep with strangers and stalking. Saul didn’t have many close friends nor is he particularly close to anyone for that matter – unless if you count his mother, Giorgia, who thinks he is the most wonderful boy in the world. And God-forbid if he had a relationship; most women would have left the moment Saul’s explains his job.
Today Saul woke up earlier than usual as his phone was vibrating harder than the giant phallic shaped sex machine he discovered at Mrs. Jackson’s bedroom - had her husband, Mr. Jackson paid more attention to her and didn’t distance himself, maybe she would develop an addiction to sex toys. Saul picks up the phone and checks his email searching through list of requests. Huh. A Mrs Smith. A Mr. Smith. Find out what she is doing. Find out what he is doing. $10,000 a day, $35,000 deposit first, $35,000 after the job. $10,000 a day, $50,000 deposit, $50,000 after the job. Wow! Desperate couples! More money for me! Saul rejoices at this case! Over a hundred thousand dollar for a single couple! Oh what insecure and hopeless couples would do as a last-ditch effort to understand and salvage their relationship.
Mrs. Smith is an no-ordinary doctor. She an MD PhD, a heart surgeon and a gorgeous woman. She has that mischievous, almost promiscuous, yet professional smile that makes a man wonder what naughty thoughts are coursing through her business facade. Her blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail shimmering and flickering like crystal, clear water under the fluorescent light. She has the smoothest legs that kept her butt from resting on her 3½ inch wedges with a red polka-dot fabric that wraps around her cute pedicured toes - a size 6 lady with a close-fitting dress outlining every contour of her conditioned, well-cared-for body. What a trifecta - Gorgeous. Check. Successful. Check. Intelligent. Check.
Mrs. Smith is very punctual and structured. She wakes up at 7:00 am in the morning and leaves at 8:30. She work nearly 8 to 12 hour days and her assistant brings her a different lunch every day. When she leaves work between 8 or 9pm and she would always stop by this townhome on 34th street alone for an hour or so before she returns to their white picket fence house for a late dinner prepared by her husband - How American. Well there you go heart surgeon, not a lot of time for a relationship probably lots of pent up resentment, she probably needs some spontaneity and cheats with stranger at town-home.
Mr. Smith much like Mrs. Smith is a walking, talking perfection. God couldn’t have created a more perfect being himself. He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. I guess he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. He’s slim, muscular, with an almost perfectly symmetrical face. His eyes, my oh my, are perfect in any shade; they come with an intensity, an honesty, a gentleness. Perhaps this is why Mrs. Smith fell for him - a true gentleman and a specimen.
Mr. Smith owns his own company, Venture Consulting LLC., advicing businesses on variety of matters - from IT, to Finances, to work performance related improvements. He wakes up at 8:00 in the morning and leaves by 8:30. He will go to the gym for an hour during lunch and when he returns to work, his assistant, Betty will have his health portion of burger and fries deliver and neatly placed on his desk. He leaves work at 6pm and stops by the same townhome on 34th street for an hour before he stops by the grocery store 15 minutes away from their home and returns home between 8-8:30pm and prepare dinner for his sweet, lovely wife.
Saul still couldn’t wrap his mind around how seemingly perfect Mr. and Mrs. Smith are together. They would make passionate love every night and give each other kisses before they sleep. They would go hold hands together at the parks and share laughter at plays. They would stare into each others’ eyes for hours and exchange words of love and appreciation during their outings. There is nothing wrong with them. They are perfectly happy. Why on earth would they hire him to investigate each other privately?
Saul parked his Toyota Odyssey at the 34th street home. He jiggles the handle a few times as he picked the lock and the door gently swung open. The home has walls like a cold set of oatmeal, painted white with window frames of mahogany. The inside has a spacious high ceiling with a light crackle of the hearth, and two sets of empty chairs pull inwards to the warmth. A scent of lavender brings out the delicate and innocent egg-shell white hue of the walls. In the kitchen a whiff of fresh cinnamon buns coming sharply into focus like a camera zoom and then ebbing away again. There was an ant bite on Saul neck as he slumped motionless on the floor.
In and out of consciousness Saul was dragged across the house into a room. Other than the noise of the generator, the room was a silent concrete box. Saul opened his eyes and surveyed the room. His arms and legs were tied to an operation table; he thrashed, twisted, and jerked to free himself. He called and screamed for help till this throat was raw, but only his muffled noise came to he rescue.
Out of the shadow emerged a slim figure of a woman and a man wielding sharp objects. They said in unison ‘Hi Saul, Welcome to our home. We've been expecting you.’. | 2018-08-14T09:46:13 | 2018-08-14T05:22:52 | 485 | 99 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | **A Brief History and Final Advice** *by Sage Sebastien of Hintz*
For the first 18 years of life, parents focus on developing their children's core attributes - Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Charisma. The Core Attributes (CAs) - and how they are developed - necessarily increase associated skills. After the age of 18, though, the child is now responsible for their own improvement, and can choose to Specialize in a specific skill or set of skills. This is where Athletes become Climbers, for instance, or the Intelligentsia become Mathematicians, or Charismatics become Politicos, and what have you.
It didn't take very long, however, for our People to discover the 'best' way to maximize skill potentials. This lead to the creation of the Meta - a series of templates for parents to use to begin their children's development in ways most conducive to their future careers. This eventually became known as "Maxing".
My parents were both Statisticians, members of the Intellegentsia tasked with logging and analyzing trends within the Meta. They both grew up prior to the Meta, so they weren't Maxed like some of the younger members, but they were both very competent in their roles. It was my mother that first discovered the "Dump Stat" trends - how every Meta template had 1 Core Attribute that would *never* be increased. She talked about it with my father, who then applied the trend mapping schema to the Meta as a whole, and discovered a disturbing pattern. Over time, there was 1 Core Attribute that was trending towards obsolescence - the Wisdom attribute. So they decided between them that, if they should ever have a child, they would work towards reversing this trend by assigning CA increases solely towards the child's Wisdom score.
As luck would have it, I was born not too long afterward. I spent the first 18 years of my life feeling left behind, never as strong, fast, agile, smart, or likeable as anyone else. But also, over that time it slowly became known that I was the one to go to for advice. I began to see why my parents were Maxing my Wisdom, and continued onwards after my 18th birthday.
Now, as I assign my 30th and final increase to my Wisdom attribute and ascend to the heights of enlightenment, I finally come to the realization that all this - Maxing, Metas, life itself - it doesn't matter in the end. It doesn't matter one bit, not at the highest of levels of Oneness. But we don't live there, at those highest of levels. We live in the dirt and granularity of individuality. So go - do it. Ask the questions. Do the things. Be scared, be safe, be silly, be serious, be whatever it is you want to be. But most of all, be present, here, now, in the moment. Because in the end, it won't matter, but in the Now - it's totally worth it. | I killed the love of my life humanely. No one would argue with that. Slit her throat then squeezed her hand in the most comforting manner, as she slid down to the floor. She didn't even try to talk, not that she could have done -- not with my hand over her mouth -- but I could see clearly in her big blue eyes that she understood. That she knew I'd done the right thing.
Let me start again. By explaining to you that I never intended to become what they say I am (although, I'd call myself a humanitarian). I don't like what I do -- not one little bit. But I have to do it, nonetheless.
Maybe you don't understand yet, but hopefully, by the time I've finished telling my story, you will.
The mistake I made, I guess, was with my very first point. That allocation is the most exciting moment of any kid's life. When you're six years old, however, you invariably spend it stupidly. Charisma, 'cause you want the other kids to like you. Speed, so that you win the game of tag. Strength, so maybe your brother won't be able to hit you no more. That kind of thing.
I spent mine on something different to the other kids. I'm not saying I'm the only one to choose it for their first point, but I am saying that it fucked me up in a way it didn't fuck up the others.
You see, back then mom and dad were going through a bitter divorce. It's a hackneyed start to an origins story, right? Little kid gets disturbed by parents fighting and winds up as a criminal piece of shit. But that's not how it was. I simply didn't want to hate them anymore -- and trust me, I hated them both. Think a five year old can't despise their parents? Then you don't know many five year olds. So, by the time I get my point and I see my Adviser, I want nothing other than to stop hating them. You know what she told me?
"If you could see it from their point of view, then you wouldn't be mad with them. You'd be happy for them, because they're going to be so much happier now! And they'll have more affection left over for you."
Something like that, at any rate. My memory's not perfect, and I never said it was. So I said back to her, that I don't know how to do that. To see it from 'their point of view'.
"*Empathy*."
Just that one word, as if she was prescribing as drug that would wash away all my problems. For someone who'd put most of their points on intelligence, turns out she wasn't so smart.
So anyway, just like that, I became more empathetic.
Did it help me? Yeah, it helped. I wasn't angry at them no more. I was just sad for them. Sad that they were hurting so much inside; I wanted to do all I could to make it better. To be a better son, you know? The best son.
Thing is they didn't want a better son. They just didn't want a son, period. Not that I could see it back then. I just saw their pain.
A year passed in which I was thrown back and forth between 'em like a football. That's how I wanted to see it, at least. "Catch!" But it wasn't really like that. They were tossing a rotting apple that neither wanted to hold onto.
Empathy.
Empathy, empathy, fucking empathy.
I tried so hard to understand their pain, that before long, all I could fucking feel was their pain. It became my pain. And I didn't just feel theirs, either. Every kid I played with, every grownup that came over to sleep with whoever was unlucky enough to have custody of me. Pain.
The other kids noticed long before my parents. As I sat in the corner crying during a birthday party. As I stood at the back of the classroom, my arms shaking, as I thought about something I'd heard on the news. Something about war. Refugees. Starvation.
If I could have stopped -- chosen to level up ignorance -- I would have done. But by then, empathy had become my addiction. I didn't like the pain, but I had to help these people. I needed to understand what they were going through. So that eventually, I could to do something.
I met Sarah when I was fifteen. She was beautiful in that strange and wonderful way where you're the only person to see it. As if I was the only one who saw the perfect creases of her smile. I never knew what she levelled up. She never told me. She did hint at where had dad did to her, though. So maybe it was sadness she levelled up, or forgetting.
Misery attracts company -- I've heard people say it so it must be true. Or else maybe I just liked the way she looked at me. Curiously. The way you look at an animal in the zoo that you've never seen before.
It hurt for me to be around Sarah, but it felt better than being near anyone else, too. I suddenly had two addictions. She seemed to understand why I wasted all my points on the same fucking skill. Or, she didn't say I was stupid for doing it, at any rate. Hell, she thought it was kind of sweet, that I wanted to understand how people felt. She said no one had ever understood how she felt before. That no one had even tried.
School changed for both of us, when we became friends. But always, like fingers tapping gently on a drum, there was something sounding in the back of my head whenever I was near her.
A voice whispering, telling me that I had to help her. She needed me to help her. That I had to help her.
There was a long way to go before I'd get the chance to do so. A long way for me to travel before I truly helped anyone at all, with more than just platitudes and tears. But it's getting late, and the rest of this will just have to wait.
| 2018-09-12T08:27:25 | 2018-09-12T08:22:13 | 623 | 249 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | My 10th birthday I broke my mom's vase. In my panic, I threw my first skill point into deception, hoping that I could avoid her wrath.
Or at least, that's the story I tell people.
Every skill has a downside that rears its ugly head if you stray too far down it. Too many points into strength and you injure yourself because of improper form, too many into intelligence and you become lonely and apathetic, too many into deception and it becomes hard to tell the truth.
29 points into deception and honesty is almost impossible. Jobs are easy to find, I'm always what people are looking for. Long term relationships, however, not so much. Certainly 1 more point into deception will make things better.
Or at least, that's the story I keep telling myself. | As my thirtieth birthday came I happily put one more point into my only skill. Not that anyone would notice. See everyone always asks what skills did I put that allowed me in the end to build such an easy life for myself, and I just smile and tell them that it's my little secret. See in the list of skills and their derrivatives and different effects most people spread them across base attributes. Now this doesn't mean one who does not have high intelligence cannot be smart, it more effects natural gifts and abilities towards each ones various ranges.
​
I was ten like anyone else when my skills were unlocked and I was allowed to begin building myself. I scrolled through the list, the base attributes at the top, most popular specialized skills right below them. You were allowed when on the screen to test your point and get a feel for what it might be, but once you locked in that was it, you were locked with those skills. I was scrolling towards the bottom of the list, boredom reading the oddest most out of place and useless skills. I must have taken so long my parents started worrying cause I remember hitting the bottom and finding the oddest thing, a skill labeled Magic. Now this confused me cause I remember finding and testing magic tricks way earlier on the list. Hesitantly I dropped a skill point into it and suddenly I felt two things, an otherworldly energy flow through me and knowledge how to do a few effects such as moving small things with my mind and creating little illusionary scenes in my hands or on the table.
​
The strangest thing were two other senses with that power, one that it was almost forbidden like someone wanted it forgotten; and the other was feeling like it was almost an addiction. As my parents began knocking asking me if I needed help I quickly did the unthinkable and instead of spreading my points I dumped everything into magic and locked it in. As I exited my room to prepare for the day my parents smiled and asked how I spread my skills and putting on my best innocent smile I said it was "My little secret."
​
Shortly afterwards I realized why it was forbidden and almost purposefully forgotten and hidden. With magic there was no need for any other skill. My senses improved just from feeling the currents of mystical energies around me, I had spells that could increase my physical attributes to be inhuman levels if I so wished, school became easy as I used spells such as clairvoyance to show me what I needed to know. It also seemed the magical energies flowing through my body itself attracted people to me. As I leveled it up every year after I felt both my power grow and my knowledge of what I could do expand. The only downside was some difficulties I had with electronics, but that was small change compared to the abilities that were only limited by my imagination.
​
I was careful though, after the initial shock at ten I realized to dial it back once people were wondering if I had extra skill points to burn or such. I never let myself seem perfect in anything, but always well gifted, making sure to use my powers to fog minds and change things when people seemed to catch on I wasn't a balance build. I was set up for an easy life and knew it, but with magic I always needed more and every level I gained went there, eventually becoming inconceivable to put a point anywhere else.
​
Now as I turned thirty and have maxed out the skill I know everything. If I wanted overnight I could become a god, I don't though, no instead I will cast the immortality spells and wait till another finds this skill then I will find them and train them. In the meantime the entire world is my plaything, and I can choose whatever playthrough I want.
​
*Tell me what you think, I am always looking for input* | 2018-09-12T10:14:36 | 2018-09-12T09:54:07 | 99 | 74 |
[WP] A leprechaun gets his foot caught on the handle of a genies lamp. Each now owes the other party 3 wishes but niether is dumb enough to make the first move. | The silence was uncomfortable. It's been 3 minutes since the genie appeared before Patrick. They both knew the situation at hand, neither wanted to make the first move.
The genie lets out a sigh. In a monotone voice, he then recited the following monologue for what sounded like the 1,000,000th time. Patrick knew, it probably was.
"Congratulations. You have rubbed the mythical lamp of Kakazoo the Genie. You are awarded THREE wishes, but there are rules."
"First rule," he continued, "you may not wish anyone directly dead or from existence. Second rule, you can not wish to be a higher dimensional being, such as a god, demon or genie. However; you CAN opt switch places with me, Kakazoo the Genie, thus freeing me from my servitude and taking my place. You MAY wish to become biological paranormal beings such vampires, werewolves, superhumans, an immortal, or..." he stares blankly at Patrick "a *leprechaun*."
"And for the third and final no-can-do, you can not wish for more wishes. You get three, that's it. There is no loophole, no clever wording or tricks that you may think you can perform that will allow for you to access more than three wishes from me, or any other genie in your lifetime."
Patrick stared blankly back at Kakazoo, almost waiting for more.
"That it, boyo?" Patrick finally says.
"That's it, shorty. Don't you have something to say to me, now?" Kakazoo responds, sounding quite annoyed.
"Ye caught me, ya get three wishes of yer choosin'" Patrick lazily exclaims. "Unless of course, ya want this here gold coin. Worth quite a bit." He cracked a hideous smile at Kakazoo, showing a mixture of poorly taken care of teeth and golden ones.
All along, Patrick has just been plotting. Leprechauns are known tricksters, and this genie most definitely is anticipating that.
"Well, are you going to make your wishes little man? I've got plenty of time on my hands, so really, there is no rush. You may not feel the same way, though, considering that fresh rainbow I just spotted." Kakazoo pointed behind Patrick at the rainbow he'd just created.
Patrick turned, and figured this was just some genie magic. There's no way a pot of gold could be at the other end. Was there?
Patrick lets out a hearty laugh, "Oh genie, you're going to have to work harder than that to trick old Patrick O'Toole into making the first wish."
In that moment, Patrick snuck one more quick look back towards the rainbow. Almost too quick and motionless to notice. The inklings of a smirk appeared then quickly vanished off the face of Kakazoo.
Patrick lets out another laugh, "You really think you're clever, dontcha boyo?"
"You know, you forgot to mention the servitude clause, Kakazoo" Patrick said slyly.
"You know, the one where you are my slave for the rest of my life, which happens to be eternity. Doing menial tasks and making my life just a wee-bit easier. I always wanted a butler. You see, us Leprechauns don't have that idiotic clause, buddy'o." he continued, his voice getting darker as each word rolled on.
But before Patrick could finish, Kakazoo makes his first wish...
| Seamus inhaled the sweet late-spring air. A gentle breeze cooled the sweat on his brow. His journey was nearly complete; his ex-wife's village lay just ahead. A few more miles and he could lay down his heavy pack, then he could sign the divorce papers and be at the pub by eleven.
Seamus glanced down the hill and saw a stream wandering through the field. Without a second thought he pulled off his boots and started down the hill. He was just a metre away when his foot caught on something. He went arse over heels into the tall grass [which was extra tall for his 35cm self!]
"Feck!" he snapped. "What the hell was that, then?" He shrugged his pack off and rubbed his neck. When he turned around to see what he had tripped on he saw nothing but a cloud of blue smoke rising from the grass. Not blue as in dark grey, but blue as in his balls since he hadn't seen his fiancé in over three weeks.
This was obviously quite alarming, as he wasn't the only one hit with a dry spell. The grass around him had become golden in colour, threatening to turn brown at any moment unless the rain came, or a bunch of drunken gits with full bladders. This was Ireland, after all, and there was sod all to do in these villages except drink and think, and most preferred the former.
"Feckin' 'ell!" Seamus said, springing to his feet. "Good thing that stream's nearby. All I have to do is- oh."
His speech had been interrupted when the smoked formed a human-size being with blue-black hair and...well, blue skin. Seamus groaned; he'd tripped on a genie's lamp. This was the third one in a week! Patrick O'Reilly and Gerald McMahon had found one each in the fields near their home.
The genie also seemed disturbed. He glanced down at Seamus knowing full well who had touched his lamp and knocked the lid off. They caught each other's eye, looked away, caught each other's gazes, and looked away again.
"A leprehcaun," the genie said softly, then he coughed. "Well. This is awkward."
"Aye," Seamus agreed. He shifted back on forth on his sore feet. "I, erm... I met one of your mates earlier this week. Fellow named Chao. Had green skin. Rather lovely, really."
The genie started to roll his eyes, then he frowned. "I was about to say something about that being a bit racist, but..." He shrugged. "Yeah, I know Chao. We grew up together in Wukan. Kinda nice to know he's nearby."
"Aye, I imagine so," Seamus said, glad to have some sort of small talk. "There, ah, there was another, on Monday. Rather boisterous girl named Lei. Was none too pleased when Gerald woke her up. Threatened to tear off his goolies."
The genie laughed. "Can't say I know her, but I think I like her."
Both were silent for a long, awkward moment. Finally Seamus asked, "What's brought so many of you to Ireland?"
The genie rolled his eyes. "Fucking humans keep importing cheap goods from Chinese sweatshops. A handful of the locals thought it'd be hilarious to drop in some magic lamps, watch the westerners screw up their lives with instant gratification of their most carnal desires."
Seamus could not help barking a laugh of pure mirth. "Oh, my word! That is *brilliant!*"
"Right?" The genie chuckled and shrank himself until he was Seamus's size. Then he held out his hand. "Shen Lee."
The leprechaun took his hand. "Seamus McGuire. A pleasure."
"Likewise." Shen rocked back and forth in mid-air, as he was still tethered to the lamp. Seamus found himself gazing at the genie's chiseled body. How exactly did such a being maintain his physique while cooped up in a lamp for a thousand years? And why was he staring? And...was Shen staring as well?
"God, I wish I knew what to do," Seamus muttered before he could stop himself.
Shen's brows went up. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled a sigh of relief. "Oh gods, me too!" He sat on his lamp and eyed Seamus for a moment. "Okay, how about that one doesn't count?"
"Oh, er...thanks." Seamus thought about how leprechauns usually took any human's words literally and would grant anything wished aloud, just to speed up the process and get them both on their way. It made for some hilarious stories.
"We have to do something, though," Shen said. "I mean, I don't know about you, but now I'm out and know where I am, I'd like to do a little sight-seeing and figure out how to get home."
Seamus nodded. "We make our wishes on three, then?" When Shen nodded, he counted, "One...two...three!"
Both exclaimed, "I wish he was gay!"
Both stared at each other. Seamus felt sweat prickle on his brow. He had been planning to wish for Shen's freedom, but apparently Freud had other ideas. He felt his face turn crimson. But...that was all he felt. Why weren't his hands tingling? They always did that before he granted someone's wish.
Slowly he looked up. Shen was watching him. A tiny smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was contagious; Seamus's mouth began to twitch as well. Soon they were both smiling, their faces pink with embarrassment.
It was Shen who held his hand out to Seamus. "Care to show me around?"
Seamus reached for the strong blue hand. "I'd love to. But first, I need to sign some divorce papers."
Shen held up his other hand. "No judgement. I was married before. She left me for another man."
"Yes, well, this one's left me for three men, two women, a non-binary faery, and a wizard named Tim." Seamus shrugged. He waved his hand at the lamp, which shrank just enough that he could carry it in his pack. He shouldered it and held out his arm to the floating Shen, who giggled as he took it. Together they crossed the stream and strolled toward the village. Their awkwardness gone, they chatted casually about everything and nothing, and laughed at the terribly silly things humans usually wished for.
EPILOGUE: Even after many years together, neither Seamus nor Shen ever used their magical entitlement of wishes, for they had found true happiness in each other. | 2018-09-28T08:52:47 | 2018-09-28T08:16:13 | 1,169 | 85 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight. | The world exploded into brightness, with pure chaos defining the addition of my new sense. I could see... for the first time in my life, I could see. The surgery was a success, and brought with it a confusing pain, one which I could not describe. Is this what sighted people called “blinding?” It was ironic to me, in that brief moment, that you could see so much so as to be blind. That is what I felt.
Soon, the world became dimmer, and my eyes, straining to focus, were starting to make sense of it all. I saw the figures moving, and heard voices coming from them. I suppose that these are humans, and this is what they look like... their beauty astounds me.
Look! I can see their hair, their faces, their teeth. I hear my father crying, and see what must be a tear running down his face. I feel one forming in my eye to match his.
Oh, do you see my mother? The one who cared for me for so long, and I can finally see her beauty. Oh my God, the tears are flowing and I am breathing so sharply, so as to control my sobbing. The tears make it hard to see, but I appreciate seeing water up close for the first time as well.
“Look outside, honey!”
“Look at the grass and the clouds! Do you see the people?”
“Is the sun too bright for you?”
My family is gesturing to a square on the wall. I do not understand, although I keep trying to see. I feel a familiar pain, one that comes from a lifetime of “trying to see.” I see nothing that stands out.
I look back to my family anyways, to see their glowing faces once again. I see my fathers handprint on the bed-frame, I see my that my brother’s nose is darker than the rest of him, along with his fingertips.
My God, I never knew how dark eyes are. I never understood the brilliance of living things. I never knew that animals, including the fly, literally glowed.
The doctor tells me that it is time to stand. He does something that confuses me... he points a laser at me, and turns it on for a moment. I wince, and as soon as I do, his expression changes. He is confused, concerned. I didn’t notice it then, but my bed responded to the laser by coming to an upright position.
He shines the laser at me again. I can feel my pupils dilating, which is exhilarating, although painful.
The next moments go by quickly. I am led to the square on the wall. I touch it, and know it immediately: glass. Wasn’t I supposed to see through glass? My heartbeat quickens. In fact, I can tell that the doctor’s heartbeat quickened as well, due to the way humans flash with their heart. It was so beautiful. Our faces glow brighter with the blood in our veins, and dimmer as the blood exits. I wonder if the brightness is the color I’ve been told about. Is it red, perhaps? I will have to ask.
The doctor tells me to read what he writes on the whiteboard. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look like he’s actually writing anything.
He tries again, but he writes with his finger. I see it clear as day, and I’ll never forget what it said:
“INFRARED.”
That night, I found terror in sight for the first time. I looked into the sky, and saw what some call beautiful. Our saw our Milky Way, with the chaos and fire within it. And for the first time in my life, I had to explain to others what sight, color, and intensity was, for they could not see what I could.
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Let me know if you guys liked this, I’m super new to writing and could use some constructive criticism or severe roasting if it’s terrible!
Also, if you have not yet, you owe it to yourself to look up the Milky Way in infrared. It is truly terrifying.
Edit(s): I’m changing some things as I re-read this in order to make my points more clear. | A blind man does not see the world in space, but in time. The time between voices, the time between steps, the time between each echo - a blind man uses time to gauge his place among the world. To a blind man, there is no such thing as space, only time, existing in an infinite dark conundrum.
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People always wondered how it is like to be born blind. *Do you only see black? Can you see anything at all?* Questions like this are dime a dozen. To them, I say no. I don't see at all. Sight, to me, has no meaning. There is no such thing as "seeing".
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Pity is often the first response I get when I tell them that answer. *Oh...that...that must suck. You, you cannot see anything. The world, how beautiful it is...but....sorry...* Superficial responses, condolences, from the seeing to the unseeing, as if I am missing out on some mythical experience, unable to fully feel the world for what it truly is.
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Little do they know, I am the one pitying them. There are seven billion people in the world, most of them seeing. Seeing is a common experience. There is nothing special about being able to see. Being blind, however, is different. There are billions of you who *see* the world, but how many of you could actually *unsee* it?
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Imagine my reluctance than, when upon the recommendation of my optometrist, I was eligible for a surgery that promises to return me my sight. *You could see again*, she cried, excitement palatable in the inflections in her voice, resonating as echoes in the air. *Isn't that wonderful?*
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People, to me, are judged by their voices. You look at someone's figure, someone's looks, someone's dressing to determine your impression of them. I listen, and sometimes, voices tell me more about someone then sight ever could.
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Her excitement, genuine, was infections, and I, despite my misgivings, could not help but be drawn into the prospects of seeing once more. I am not completely sold on the idea of *sight,* but, then again, who was I, a blind man, to judge?
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The surgery when without a hitch, and by the end of the week, my eyes, bandaged up, where ready to see again. After twenty years of neglect, I am ready to experience *sight.*
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*Are you ready?* Her voice calls out, again, anticipation palatable in voice. *You could see, once more.*
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*I am,* I responded, *Pull the bandages away. Let me see what the fuss is about.*
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And so, she did.
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My first glances bought me into a world of utter chaos and confusion. Nothing, nothing in this world made an inkling of sense. Where...where is everything....what...no...where....I closed my eyes once more. Colors, space, shades, it all made no sense. Familiar darkness enclosed me once again as I balked away from the unknown.
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My heart was beating faster, my palms sweaty, my mind a confused fog of information that was incongruent with anything I have ever experienced. It reared its head like a beast, ready to devour me at a moments notice. I begin to feel the inklings of uncertainty growing in my mind, festering in my pre-existing doubts about this entire venture.
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*Are you ok?* She said, *I will take some time to get adjusted too.*
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*Yes...I am feeling better,* I lied, *let me try again.*
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This time, I orientated my head towards the sound of her voice. There, little by little, I opened by eyelids, slowly, surely, certainly, start to absorb in the sight of what I am about to see. *If I am going to accept this brand new world, let me at least see the person who bought me here.*
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Little by little the world revealed itself once again, but this time, I was ready. I was ready. I...was...ready..to....
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Incomparably ugly. The world was incomparably ugly. Nothing, nothing about it made sense. That, that *thing* that is siting across me, the *things* around me, the movements, it all seemed to be one incoherent whole.
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*Can..can you see me?* That *thing* made a motion, but the motion, motion itself, registered nothing in my mind. A sense of distance, a sense of space, a sense of unity, a sense of belonging, a sense of objects, a sense of boundaries...none, none of it existed.
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The chair seemed to be part of the *thing* that is part of the wall that is bounded to the ceiling that is sharp at some portion that is colored a mixture of strange hues that is...that is a monster. I could not reconcile what I knew about the world with *seeing,* what I knew about her with the *thing.*
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*Seeing* is ugly. *Seeing* is terrifying. *Seeing* is hell.
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I shut my eyes, closing it, squeezing it tight, wanting to shut off the hell that showed itself before me. *No....I do not want to see.*
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Collapsed on the chair, I began crying, sobbing like a child, tiny tears falling like coin-drops upon the floor, inconsolable. *Hope, anticipation, all that I had about seeing...it is all a lie, a beautiful lie.* I know now, why a babies always cry. The world itself is too terrifying to behold and I am a baby before it.
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Help me. Help me. Help me, you who could see. Tell me, how do you deal with *seeing* this world? How do you *see,* in a world that refuses to be seen?
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Recommend *The Anthropologist from Mars* by Oliver Sacks. There is a real life story in there about a blind man who recovered his sight after decades of being blind and the problem he faces recovering his sight are manifold. There isn't a magical "aha" moment where a blind person suddenly could *see* again. We underestimate how complicated *seeing* the world is, and many a times, it may actually be preferable to remain blind.
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​ | 2018-10-29T10:15:07 | 2018-10-29T08:10:37 | 100 | 57 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black.
I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed.
At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to.
Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle.
Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through.
It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured.
I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door.
"Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right.
"Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded.
"Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone.
With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item.
"Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle.
My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk.
As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years.
I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes.
I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black.
*Don't tell them you can see.*
What the hell does that mean? Who's them?
I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store.
Who...what the fuck is that...
"John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was...
Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea.
I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth.
"Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter.
As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before?
Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk.
That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black.
As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit.
It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder.
My entire body tensed up.
"We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile. | It returned as quickly as it was taken away. I wasn’t prepared for it, and now rather than being blinded by darkness, I was blinded by bright light. I stumbled backwards and fell to my knees, my hands gripping the brick wall behind me. I closed my tearing eyes and blinked slowly, trying to get readjusted to the light.
Two years ago The Darkness came. I had been cutting tomatoes for my wife, Jane, who was sautéing vegetables when the world went black. I cried out, blinking furiously, my hands clawing at my face. I heard a similar cry behind me.
“Ben, Ben, I can’t see! Somethings wrong, I can’t see!”
“Jane, I can’t either. We need to call for help, something happened.”
I groped around for the phone. I didn’t even know where it was, but I needed to keep my hands busy. It had to be on the counter somewhere. And that’s when I heard Jane scream.
She must have burned herself on the frying pan, or knocked it over, but her shrieks still haunt me to this day. When I did find a phone, I couldn’t get an ambulance, we couldn’t even contact the police. A busy line greeted us.
This didn’t just happen to us. It happened to everyone. And with the world’s sight being gone, for some reason sounds we had grown accustom to went away as well. The busy New York City streets were now quiet, the happy chatter that filled the park across from us was silent. We now lived in a blind and muted world.
We treated Jane’s burns with ice and carried through the motions of our old life. Before the TV stations went dark, they would bring on people who had suddenly went blind before The Darkness. They said that it was something that they got used to and eventually they learned how to continue living on with their lives. But either they were lying or had a support system that we couldn’t get because life for us was terrible.
We ran out of food within a month and began making trips to a near by bodega to pick up whatever we could. When we arrived, people were fighting over the last few frozen meals. We got what we could, but I left with a bruised face and Jane’s arm was cut by a knife.
We began venturing further from home to find the things we needed to survive, but a year ago, we got lost and we haven’t been able to find out way back home. We sleep when we find a soft place, we eat when we find food, and we barely survive.
But now… I blinked and there was an outline. I blinked again and there was now faded color. I blinked a third time and saw my wife, hunched over, picking out her ragged hair, and staring at nothing.
“Jane,” I said, my eyes still tearing from the sting of the sun, but unwilling to blink again at fear that it would all go away. I stared at her. Her skin was gray and scarred with burns and cuts, her clothes filthy, her bones prominent, and nails long and broken.
“Jane!” I said, more loudly this time. She rose her head slowly, her blue eyes looking to the left of me. My voice cracked, I rarely spoke above a whisper in the past few months. There was no need to.
“I think I can…” I trailed off, barely believing it, convinced it was an illusion or a cruel trick. “I think I can…”
And then something caught my eye. The building behind my haggard wife. Thick black letters formed a sentence. It took me a little time before I understood what it meant as reading had been a lost luxury for us.
DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE!
That’s when I began to look around. It wasn’t just on that one wall, it was everywhere, big and small. Like a crazed graffiti artist had made the city his own but only had one thing to say.
Whose “them”? I look at the people around me. We were in an alley way accompanied by three other people. A man who looked like he was about to begin urinating and sang softly to himself, a woman napping on a piece of cardboard, and a second man talking softly to the wall.
My story wasn’t unique. I had heard many similar ones over the past two years; people who couldn’t find their families, others like us who couldn’t find their way home. Some who had gone days without food. There were fights, rapes, theft, murder, and so many horrible things we never thought would happen in our city.
The world had become lawless. And we were trying to not become its victims.
“Yes?” Jane whispered, her head bobbed up to face mine, guided by my voice.
“I think I can…” I looked back at the thick black warning surrounding me and back at my wife. Whoever had written them must have been as crazed as the man who had now begun peeing to the right of me as he sang the alphabet backwards.
“I think I can see.”
I thought the world had gone quiet when The Darkness began, but in the moment I knew what true silence was. The peeing man stopped urinating and singing, the napping woman stopped snoring, and muttering man silenced.
Jane’s face was directly facing mine now. Only her unfocused blue eyes told me that she was still blind.
“You can see?” She asked, her hoarse voice cracking. She reached out her hand and found my face.
“Yes,” I whispered, my tears from the sun now turning into tears of happiness. “I can see. I can see. I can now help us. I can see.”
She came closer and put her other hand on my face. I didn’t realize how much I had missed when Jane cradled my face in her hands, the heat of her palms warming my cheek. She wiped away a tear with her thumb.
“I need your eyes,” she said.
“I will be your eyes, I will always be your eyes.” I said. I sniffed back the snot that was beginning to flow from my nose.
Her hands moved from my cheeks next to my eyes. She traced a finger over my eyelid, a broken nail lightly scratching the soft skin.
“I need your eyes,” she said again, this time more loudly. She began to press her fingers lightly around my eye sockets.
That’s when movement around me caught my eye. The three other people in the alley with us had risen to their feet and had formed a circle around me and my wife. Panic rose in my chest.
“Jane, we need to get out of here,” I whispered, placing my hand on her arm. I went to push her hand off my face, but she tightened her grip. “Ouch!” I gasped, her fingers pressed further into my eyes. “Stop!” I pushed her off of me. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Animal like, Jane leaped back at me, pushing me over from my knees onto my back.
“I NEED YOU EYES!” she screamed.
I pushed her off me again, but another hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder. It was the man who seconds ago was peeing next to me.
“She needs your eyes,” he said as he stared over me.
“She needs your eyes,” the others began to whisper. “We need your eyes, I need your eyes, need to get your eyes.”
Another hand reached out pinning my other arm, my leg, my torso.
“I can help you! I can help all of you!” I screamed, thrashing and kicking, but their hands wouldn’t move.
Jane peered over me, her face leaned down to meet my own and for a second I thought she was going to kiss me.
“Ben,” she whispered, one hand on my cheek, the other stroking my temple. For a second, her blue eyes locked onto my own.
“I need your eyes.” | 2022-10-09T01:59:27 | 2019-08-26T08:52:19 | 4,287 | 207 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When I first regained my sight I saw the messages, "Don't tell them you can see".
I wondered who "them" might be. I'll be honest, my first thought was space aliens of some sort of monsters from a Stygian realm. I was terrified.
I carefully got out my cane and went about my business, often closing my eyes to make the subterfuge more believable.
Then I saw my first glimpse of the truth. We were "them". The scant few that could see were chained or harnessed to work for the blind masses.
Not down on the grubby streets where most of us eeked out our living, mind you. There was a military, or industrial wealth class that had quickly seized the few who had never gone blind.
In the first days of The Great Blinding there had been a few helpful souls that had not succumbed according to the rumors. But the rumors faded when everyone realized the'd never met a sighted person or became unsure of their memories of those first few traumatic days.
Over time it was revealed that a few people took longer to lose their sight.
And so many people died in those first weeks that who was to say when someone simply disappeared.
But now I could glance across distant vistas and through chain link fences at the sighted slaves doing the work only sighted people can do. Tethered and beaten, the slaves, some hobbled by broken or missing feet, could glare defiance, and leave messages that the blind overseers couldn't detect.
The words were in mismatched paints or organic stains.
The words were in the margins of the braille paperwork.
The messages were passed by a one in a thousand moment of eye contact and a nodding head as you pass on the street.
In the land of the blind the sighted man is not king. He is valuable property.
But revolution is brewing. | \[tw, light self mutilation\]
It didn't happen all at once.
The nations all lost their sight gradually. It was a slow seeded plague on humanity; anyone from important leaders to the homeless lost their eyesight suddenly, and what doctors tended to them could not fathom what had happened. Maybe it was mass hysteria. Maybe it was another facet of mental illness. It was waved away as just another illness to cure when there were only a few cases. The government didn't really care at that time; it wasn't as much of a concern to them as what the president was writing on twitter.
When the blindness began to spread, when waves of people were turning up blind in the streets – causing panic, unable to see, throwing themselves at cars and businesses and clinging manically to any person they could dig their fingers into – they were corralled like animals. People died in throngs then; either by waves of suicide, their rotting corpses stinking up alleys and their homes, or by police brutality. The news pedaled their wares; that those who were ensorcelled by this blindness were driven mad. They couldn't be reasoned with. To keep the public safe, if someone was 'too far gone', the police had to react swiftly and that sometimes meant civilian losses.
There were protests at first. Once the desperate, untreated blind found their way into the throngs of people screaming outside of the white house and their local police stations, the riots ceased. People were too scared to leave their homes and.. the world changed. As more people fell to the blindness, those unaffected began to agree with the hysteric media. Yes, the blindness was a disease. Who cared where it came from, people were being attacked on the streets! It wasn't safe to leave your house! They were spreading the blindness!
Civilian militias formed and, quietly, using the blindness of the ill against them, they killed the easy ones first. Anyone who didn't struggle was just moments away from a frenzy, by their accounts. Bars would be full on the evenings, covered in barb wire and chicken mesh to keep away the desperate, like homes and schools and anything else that had to be kept safe. Spikes were placed on the ground, tearing up the feet of those without shoes, ruining the shoes of those who had them.
The blind weren't stupid. Aside from those hit with hysterics and who could barely function on their own when they could see, most of them learned quickly to keep to themselves. Many would claim they were blind before the epidemic hit, working together with those who actually had been and assistive facilities to get home, to get food, whatever they could to survive. This was short lived. It took one year for blindness to take everyone. Shame filled most of the world; those who had been killed in the initial hysterics had monuments built for them. Their names were etched, messily, into large concrete slabs that were painted and polished to be, at least to the touch, acceptable. Once the media organizations learned how in their blind stumbling, apologies were aired over the news. Groups of people came together to apologize to families of the lost. All of the anti-blind measures were removed. The ground was uneven and pocketed where once spike traps and other deterrents lived.
Society has recovered as much as it can. Doctors can't use their fancy medical equipment as well as they'd like, import and export is difficult when no one can see the state of the ocean to bring goods along. People get by. Society is recovering. We live in a world of blind being lead by the blind, by those who went blind and managed to adjust first.
My account was supposed to be just that. An account of things as they were; I lived through the worst of it. I was one of the hysteric many that fled into the streets first. I was terrified. Mania was replaced by fight or flight desperation for survival and I survived the first slaughter. I went home, barricaded myself inside, and did everything I could to find resources. It helped.
Time after the Great Blindness took everyone has been.. okay. Lackluster, almost. I spend most of my free time sleeping. My dreams will ebb between old movies I've loved; I can see in my dreams. The knowledge I had once of what everything in the world looks like is still in there somewhere. My waking hours are spent making some money through working misc jobs online; I'd become accustomed to the voice that will read back to me as I type away at my keyboard, double checking my finger placement with the soft braille markings on top. I pause after each paragraph of writing, listening to her recounting it, making sure I've phrased and structured everything alright, that I haven't made a typo anywhere that massively changed a word into some discombobulated semblance of language. Those who have fancy self driving cars use them mostly as expensive food delivery services, and I'm lucky to have the ability to pay for that.
After a delivery, mid-step in returning to the kitchen with a load of new groceries, my vision returned. | 2019-08-26T10:33:57 | 2019-08-26T09:04:01 | 62 | 41 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | I am given a microphone and immediately start belting out every Queen song I know, unable to hit Freddie’s glorious high notes. The screeches from my throat reverberate off of every rock and every bone in the Pit. 800 Avantone Pro Mix speakers have been set up in the caverns of Hell, just for me. A lone demon is absolutely killing it on a Casio Keyboard that has been put on the bloopy reggae-esque setting. Every poor soul in a 1200 mile radius is clawing at their bleeding ears, desperately attempting to block the righteous melodies produced by me and keyboard demon . Satan gives me a high five. | In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment.
In his ravenous hatred he found no peace, and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him.
He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer.
Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For alone he was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but demon had before.
And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples.
He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer, sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.
The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons.
They knew he would come, just as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.
None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow dwellers, driving them into deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains.
The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.
And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighy armor, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding.
With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that was left unbroken by his savagery to the void.
Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell.
Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep and blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in.
The priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus.
The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering.
​
This is copy-paste, but I thought it was funny and fit with the **You are the punishment** | 2020-01-10T18:08:32 | 2020-01-10T17:42:54 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] War is no longer initiated by your country’s leader. War is now decided by popular vote. If you cast a vote “FOR” war, you are automatically enlisted in your country’s militia upon successful declaration of war. You voted “AGAINST,” but the rest of your family voted “FOR.” | Sitting behind the large oak desk Trevor looked out across the city sky line. Sharp shadows intersected the city as the sun hung low on the horizon, still rising to greet the day.
Opening the lid on the laptop he scanned the mornings headlines. Battle in the providences overseas had been raging for the last month since the vote to go to war. Per the Citizens Pact, everyone who voted for war, went to war for the cause. This was one of the most popular wars Trevor had ever seen.
He wasn’t surprised.
As a religious consumer of news he’d seen the right wing fervor growing over time. The hatred for the other was the message those in powers pushed to distract the people from their own suffering. It worked. While the economy continued to spiral down the people focused on how those in the providences were stealing their jobs, not that they were being robbed blind by the CEOs who were sending their jobs overseas.
Trevor did nothing to dissuade his family of the belief. In fact, he encouraged it. Moving the petty revenge to a righteous revenge. Feeding his family to the cult of hatred.
When the vote came they all voted for it.
Except for himself.
He stood at the docks and wished them well as mother, father, big brother all dressed in their fatigues were preparing to ship out.
Hugs and kisses and they were gone.
This left Trevor as the sole controlling owner of Cristo Weapon Systems. His first executive order was signing business orders for heavy ordinance for the providences. It was a new and expanding market, right for exploration.
With their new weapon systems, what would have been a brief diversion in the world stage had become a month long war of attrition.
A knock at the door stirred him from his thoughts.
“Enter,” he said, his voice echoing through the massive space.
A smartly dressed woman entered holding a single letter between her manicured fingers.
In the day and age of email, he knew this was the mail he’d been waiting for.
The letter in his hands, he turned it over to read the sender, Grand Army of the Republic. Withdrawing the letter and reading it, a smile crossed his face.
All of his investments had paid off.
His entire family had been killed in action. This meant that he was now the sole majority owner of Cristo Weapons Systems, and no longer had to wait his turn.
His time was now. | "Kaisa, you have to listen to me."
My mother's fingernails dug into the skin of my wrist, leaving little crimson half-moons behind as she dragged me away from the crowd of people. She led me behind a shadowed pillar as the sharp whistle of the train pierced the frosty morning air.
Her face was gaunt and pale. Her once lustrous auburn hair now hung in wiry threads about her head, gone prematurely gray by at least a decade. The remnants of the bruises from her most recent interaction with my father were scattered across her face, muted purples and greens that made her look almost ghoulish in the early morning light.
I truly hated that man; my mom had always protected me from the worst of it as best she could, but she couldn't always be there when he had too much drink and the only outlet for his rage was his fists.
*But it wasn't enough for him to beat us,* I thought. *No, he had to go and force you to vote yes on top of everything else.*
The fact that war was coming was all due to the idiocy of men like my father. People who had no real reason to think that it would be anything other than them getting to play the hero in an action movie, never mind the deadly consequences. I would have been fine with people like that voting yes and going to die, but when others got caught up in the process, that was where I could no longer support it.
There were too many like my mom; those who were coerced or threatened into voting yes, or who had been reduced to such desperation by the last ten years of economic turmoil that they had no other options for survival. I didn't blame them for their votes. I understood well enough that keeping the moral high ground wasn't enough to put food in the bellies of your starving kids, and that the threat of death was a blessing compared to having to listen to their hungry cries for another year.
If only I had any confidence that the war would actually help things.
"Kaisa," my mother said again, "you need to listen to me carefully." Her voice was trembling, but there was a thread of steel running through it that I had rarely heard before. She glanced quickly over her shoulder — perhaps making sure that my father hadn't gotten back off of the train – and then stepped even closer to me so that she could whisper in my ear.
"There's more going on here than you know," she said.
My eyebrows drew together in a frown. "What are you talking about? I know exactly what's going on here. Dad forced you to vote yes, and now you're both going away to war."
She shook her head impatiently. "No, you're not listening. This is bigger than me and your father. The ones who orchestrated the vote — this was no accident that things have unfolded this way. There is more to come, you half to prepare yourself, you —
"Hey! You there! Don't make me drag you onto the train!" One of the guards tasked with loading the newly conscripted recruits onto the train came around the corner and caught sight of us. My mother didn't even acknowledge him, just gripped my wrist even more tightly until sparks of pain ran up my arm.
"Hey!" The soldier was walking towards us now, unholstering his gun and flagging down one of his comrades.
"There's not time," my mother whispered, her eyes darting across my face frantically, "you have to prepare."
"But how?" My voice sounded small and childlike to my own years in spite of the fact that I was seventeen and nearly fully grown.
The guards were almost on top of us now. She turned her head and her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets for a second before she said, "Talk to Esau. Find him. He'll explain everything."
Esau? That made no sense. He was the neighborhood drunkard-albeit of a friendlier variety than my father. What could he possibly know about what my mother was saying?
"Lady, don't make me ask you again," the soldier said, bringing his gun up so that it was pointed at us both.
"I love you, Kaisa. Never forget that." My mother pivoted to face the soldiers. "I'm coming. Don't hurt her, she isn't conscripted." She gave my wrist a final squeeze, and then she was gone. The soldiers grabbed her by either elbow and forcibly dragged her over to the loading door on the side of the train. They shoved her through and then slammed it shut.
The pillar I was leaning against felt like the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. The train whistle shrieked again and the wheels groaned as it began to pull out of the station. I caught a glimpse of someone who looked like my mother in the window, and I raised my hand in a silent farewell. She returned the gesture, and then the train began to pick up speed in earnest, disappearing over the horizon in a cloud of steam.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity. My hands and face were numb from the cold; there hadn't been money for new coats and winter clothing this year. My mother's words echoed around my head.
*There's more to this than you know.*
*Find Esau.*
I roused my frozen joints into action and strode out of the train station. The guards eyed me warily but let me pass without comment, and I ignored them. I was going to find Esau, and then I was going to figure out what was really going on here.
I cast a final look in the direction the train had gone.
*Don't worry, mom; I'm going to save you.* | 2021-01-28T08:27:28 | 2021-01-28T07:16:02 | 182 | 45 |
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe? | Nobody is ever dethroning “My Immortal”
> Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them. | I sit in the back of the classroom, reading one of the many books in my backpack. I'm kind of a bookworm so I barely notice when my teacher calls my name for attendance.
"Susan? Susan? I guess she's no-"
"No, Miss, here I'm! I mean, I'm here. Sorry I mixed up the words and . . ." I trail off, noticing the people staring.
I can't help that I'm different. Yes, I'm a girl. But I'm a girl who wears baggy clothes and actually likes to read instead of putting on makeup. I write my own poetry, and am working on the poem book called, "Susan's Extravagantly Emo Poems." I'm hoping to publish it soon. Maybe people will finally see me and not just the emo, shy girl that sits alone and hides in the bathroom at lunch.
But whatever. Who cares, right? I don't have time to worry about my appearance. I need to study so I can go to Einstein University after this last dreadful year of school.
I hear the teacher going down the list of students and mouth the names with her. Since I'm not busy texting boys or gossiping (I don't like gossip) during this first part of class, I memorize the attendance sheets. No reason for it.
"Jake? Emma? Chad?"
"Cole?"
Cole? Who's Cole? I look around to see who he is. Suddenly, a hand juts up from the crowd of acne'd teenagers and answers my question.
"Here, ma'am," he says in a confident voice, charming me with his fluffy black hair and soft smirk. I shudder, feeling . . . strange. It's not a bad feeling. In fact I smile a bit for the first time in a while. Most of my free time is spent crying in my bathroom or reading outside in my black hoodie.
Then, he looks at me. I look into his blue eyes and get lost in them, drowning deeper and deeper . . .
Wait. I look behind me and see a clock on the wall. Ugh, he was checking the time. Of course. Why would a guy like him look at a girl like me?
Time goes by in the class. I pay attention, drawing little doodles on the edges of my notebook, but Cole is in the corner of my eye, breathing, existing. That's all it takes, him being there.
Why am I even thinking about him? He's probably gonna date Emma, the popular cheerleading queen bee of this school. Everyone loves her. Except me.
Focus, Suze. Focus.
RINGGGGG!
What? Oh, class ended. I frantically attempt to put my notebook back in without it getting messed up and try to shove my way through the crowd of kids rushing to leave the class. I finally make my way through an-
"Ow!" I say involuntarily. "Sorry . . . " Oh no. It's him.
Cole points a finger at me. "Hey, are you new?"
I furrow my eyebrows. "Am I new? No."
He shrugs. "Well, it's just that I haven't seen you around before."
"I haven't seen you either," I counter. "Aren't you the new guy? Where did you come from?"
"Oh, I had to switch classes because my old teacher didn't like me."
"The teacher didn't like you, period, or the teacher didn't like you because you were disruptive during the lessons?"
He smirks. "I think you already know the answer. Hey, what's your name?"
"Suze. Well, it's Susan but I don't like to be called that. It sounds too girly."
"Well, Suze, you aren't like the other girls."
"I am not." His eyes are like an ocean current, drawing me slowly but surely to him.
"You want my number?"
"Yeah." He's a whirlpool that I can't fight against.
Cole hands me a paper that he scribbled on a few seconds ago.
I take it from him. Cole touched this.
Cole talked to me.
Me.
He says bye and I walk to my next class, my heart flipping like it's practiced gymnastics its entire life. How unlikely is this situation? The emo, quiet girl with an outspoken, cute guy?
I sure am lucky. Because just like I'm different, he is too. And he's all mine.
I hope. | 2022-08-19T20:01:22 | 2022-08-19T19:55:03 | 55 | 21 |
[WP] When humanity went extinct another life-form rose to dominance on Earth. But it was not one anyone would have expected. Instead of chimpanzees, dolphins, dogs or even birds Earth is now dominated by sentient trees. | They breathed with us. They drank with us. The same air, the same water. We survived. They didn't. Green covers the planet, birds sing their songs, bees make their honey, and the wind spreads the dandelions. The skies are bluer than ever, and the smell of artificial poisons are no more. The pain they caused allowed us to learn, grow, practically cover the planet in beauty.
Even the soulless dunes of sand have begun breathing freely and relax. From the falling snow to the crashing wave of tsunamis the silence is real. Crashing waves and thunder are a part of the natural quiet.
Sometimes we miss them, their curiosity, the feelings we gave them. If only they loved themselves.
We miss them. | They said that the future was suppose to be bright and silver, a world where people would know peace. Flying cars, no wars, people living deep into their 100's. A world without borders, a time of space exploration, a time where humanity will reach its potential and then surpass it in spades.
Thats what the elders said, before the Green.
I slowly look outside, the sea of endless green under a early morning's dawn. The ruins of the tower I live in was once one of many that showed the power and greed of humanity. I have seen pictures of these towers being taller, larger then the one I am in now. But they are all gone now, only those with trees supporting its old stone walls remain.
The elders tell us that the world changed after the Third World War. Where humans fought with dark practices, trying to gain an advantage over one another. Some nations turned to bigger guns when their bullets needed a bigger kick. Others turned for armor, to protect from the endless steel rain. But one country turned to fantasy and religion, seeking out a call for a hero to create; their own personal gods.
Elder K, as she refers to herself, was one such seeker. She was given to us by the Green, after she sought mercy for her sins. She will not tell us what she did, but honestly, I am afraid to ask. For her sins, her arms and legs were taken, so that she could not flee. Her eyes were taken, so that she would be denied the beauty of the world she destroyed. But she was given a seed, implanted in her heart, to ensure she will live forever, to tell us young ones the lessons that we must know. Our history we must repent.
For from the small forgotten country arose three Heroes; The first was Torg, the Terror. From his hands came flames, from his breath a frosted death. Everything he touched, died. He was in constant pain, a side effect of his own power. Relief was only given in his quest of destruction, toppling great armies, drowning cities in flames, and laughing over the cries of the dead and dying. When the Green arosed, he fought for 30 days and 30 nights, until his was silenced. The Green keeps him alive, but in a deep slumber.
The second was Apex, the Animal. They were given the blood of every animal, of every species and family, and from their blood they could alter themselves, and any that they touched were changed as well. Apex tried to convert humanity, trying to save it from its self by changing it into a peaceful mixed species. But the world did not see a change of peace; they saw monsters, and struck back. By the time the Green arrived, Apex had taken their followers to a new world, one where the Green leaves them be.
Finally, the third, the one we now obey; The Green. She gave up Her name, for She no longer needs it. She never speaks, for She finds it meaningless to talk. From Her feet sprouts endless roots and vines, securing Her at the Heart of the Endless Forest. Every plant is connected to Her, they are Her eyes, Her ears, Her flesh and Her mind. For every broken twig, She feels as real as a broken finger. For every ember that burns, She too burns. But despite the pain, She broke free of the little garden She was born in, and found a world begging for help, begging to be saved from its dreaded infection.
And thus the Green saved the world from humanity.
My tribe is one of the last few human remnants, the ones who made a quiet peace with the Green. We are only permitted to live by the fruits and harvest that the Green trees provides. And for Her mercy, we protect Her and Her trees from those who seek vengeance, from those that believe in the old future. I pity them, for they seek a future of blood red and dull silver.
I smile. Such a wasted dream of boring colors. I think I prefer the future of Green. | 2022-08-27T07:31:55 | 2022-08-27T06:16:04 | 91 | 60 |
[WP] You are the antagonist in a story. You think. You really aren't sure anymore after what the protagonist did. | "You blew it up..." Dr. Vestro stared in disbelief at the wreckage that had been his life's work. "All of it..."
Captain Gallant laughed, "Indeed I have, villain! You're mind control station is no more! You shall pay for your cri-"
"And you only saved me."
"Er, yes. You were the devious mastermind! Of course I couldn't let you perish among the flames. You must be taken to court an-"
"Do you *know* how many employees worked there?"
Gallant's eyes narrowed, "I don't know how many minions you controlled, but I-" Vestro turned, furious, "*They. Weren't. Minions.* Employees. I paid them. They worked there of their own will."
"But... the mind control you were developing would ha-"
"Wha- Yes we were developing a system to control minds, but it wouldn't be ready for at least another 30 years!"
Gallant smirked smugly, "So you *admit* to it!"
"Admit to what?"
"Controlling their minds."
"THEY WERE EMPLOYEES. They had families. You killed them all."
"*Evil* families"
Vestro buried his face in his hands, "Christ above... You think you're the hero in all this don't you."
*Author's Note: I threw this together on a break from work. Might revisit it later if there's interest/ if I can think of how to improve or add to it.* | My plate armor rasped against its straps as I walked, the blood-rust falling from the joints like burnt snow. The only noises were the cawing of ravens, the wind's soft hiss through the carpet of arrows poking from the ground, and the soft creaking of the metal and leather that surrounded me.
Bodies laid all around me in various contorted poses of death--some splayed out like they'd been put on a rack, others pulled in tight as if they'd been shivering. The battle had raged all night, and now the deep red of dawn was beginning to color the sky to the east. I had fought as long as I could, but my generals had pulled me back when the unholy light had blazed for the first time behind the enemy lines.
Whisperfire. My people had thought its secrets lost to the ages, but somehow the technique had been preserved in this one small village. The last village I'd yet to conquer. The one village that resisted my armies, and now I knew how.
The blue flames could steal the heat from a man's heart, the sages said. It left no frost, no trace at all aside from cold bodies and dead grass. Whisperfire had been outlawed by my ancestors, its recipe stamped out of existence in a brutal purge. After seeing its effects, I knew now that the old kings' decisiveness had been justified.
A thousand of my men laid dead around me, pierced by arrows or chilled by whisperfire. The rebels had lost perhaps ten men in the initial volley of arrows, from what I'd seen. We had not even reached their line when our charge was stopped cold.
In my shock, I almost missed the movement to my left. A body moved, heaving slightly as if being pushed from below. I walked over to the body with my sword drawn, expecting a trap.
I rolled the body off the man below it and pointed my sword at his throat. He was wearing the colors of my house, although his tunic was stained with enough blood to make it hard to tell. "State your name," I said, suspecting a spy from the rebels that had been planted after the fact. There was no way that someone could have survived the whisperfire. Was there?
"Errol, sire," the man said, wheezing for breath now that his chest was unencumbered by another body. "Pikeman for the Third Regiment."
"How is it that you are alive, Errol?" I asked.
"Through shame, sire," he said, bowing his head. Even in his prone position, I could see the physicality of a trained soldier in Errol. Something in the incline of his face when he looked at me spoke of the discipline instilled by my family's barracks. "I failed to stay behind the shield line and took an arrow to the foot. I fell, as did several others, including the man you pulled off of me. I couldn't see anything, pinned as I was, but I felt a wave of cold wash over me before I passed out." For the first time, he looked at the slaughter around him. "What...what happened, sire?"
"A setback," I said, helping Errol to his feet. His left foot was bloodied and still had half an arrow sticking out of it, and so I took the weight of his left side upon my own shoulders. "The rebels used whisperfire."
Errol's eyes grew wide as we began walking back towards the camp where the remnants of my army sat nursing their wounds. "But--"
"I know," I said. "This was unexpected. The rebels won this battle, but their methods may have cost them the war."
"Sire?" Errol asked, his face watching mine as a plan brewed below its surface.
"There have been elements in the capital sympathetic to the rebel cause," I said, speaking more to myself than to Errol. "So-called subjects of mine that do not believe that the road of conquest is the most fitting path for my empire. I admit, after seeing the rebels lose their first battle, I almost felt sorry for them. But now...the conflict is much less lopsided, much less black and white." I smiled grimly to myself. "They have introduced grey into the debates."
"We shall retreat, for now," I said as the sun crested the horizon to our right. "Regain support, determine a weakness in the rebels' defenses. This setback will unite my people in opposition to the rebels--whisperfire is an old scar, but not so long as to have faded in the mind of the people."
I adjusted Errol's arm on my shoulder as I stood straighter than I had, bringing him up straighter as well. I looked the man, my subject, in the eye and nodded. "We shall have our revenge." | 2016-10-26T11:25:51 | 2016-10-26T10:51:18 | 186 | 65 |
[WP] You are an ancient and unstoppable being, destined to destroy the world when you awaken from your slumber, except you overslept. Now you're rushing to bring about the end times as quickly and as half-assedly as possible before your supervisor notices | \>Be me
\>Wake up late
\>Bring your son to work day
\>Boss gonna be mad since the last time I overslept the planet I was supposed to destroy had already evolved into incorporeal forms. (This is why I hate soul harvesting, those incorporeal f\*ks thinking that just because they are soulless and act as one, they are the big sh\*t)
\>Open planet\_watcher.exe as fast as possible
\>MFW the beings already have spaceships and an unlimited source of Energy
\>Sink that "Atlantis" with my thumb so boss wont notice
\>This slowed their progress into incorporeal forms a bit
\>My son is getting annoying and distracting me from thinking how can I end this
\>shouldapulledout.jpeg
\>Send son disguised to the planet so I can think peacefully while he plays with these lifeforms
\>Maybe a ms solitaire game will clear my mind
\>This game is dumb, why I even played it
\>Look back at planet, son is healing and making miracles around, getting loved by everyone.
\>OH NO!!!! that little punk is making it worse
\>I feel someone behind me
\>Its my boss
\>I want to say hi but he is already asking why is my planet so peacefull and the sick are getting cured
\>"Wait, is that your son? Why he is doing this?"
\>I got frozen in terror, getting fired this time for sure
\>I... I can explain
\>Suddenly we look back at my planet watcher and see my son getting sacrificed, I send some thunder so it looks like im working and resurrect my son. Then take him back.
\>"Well, that was kinda strange, did you influenced this beings with a disease that makes them murder good beings?"
\>Ummmm yeah that was the plan
\>MFW we look back at the planet watcher and the beigns are fighting to death and killing themselves over the land were i placed my son in the first place
\>"So tell me anon how you call this disease it seems really contagious, maybe you are not a waste of money after all"
\>Come up with a stupid name fast
\>Religion Sir
\>"Religion Huh? I like it anon, look they even mutilate their newborns, this souls will be from the best quality."
\>Thanks sir
\>MFW I actually got a raise | Hi, everybody! This is the first time I write in this subreddit, so I will try my best. For this story, I wanted to give it some kind of humor style but I don't know if it will end up good, so any comments are welcome.
​
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\-Oh, Your Evilness! You are back! We have been waiting you.
Such was the welcome I received from Xeros, one of my apprentices, specifically the most sycophant of both of them. This little goblin, hiding his face under a hood, was always around me, praising me and obeying me. In other situations, I would have enjoyed such behavior, but not this time.
\-You're late. Waaaay late. No surprise.
And there she was: Sinista, the second one under my mentoring. A world-destroyer-wannabe werewolf. Not only was she powerful, but also intelligent and heartless. Although she obeyed my orders, she was always teasing and mocking me. I don't care about that, as long as she does her part.
For a second, I remained silent. It might be for the shock of their greetings, or because I had to many things to think about, but I couldn't let that go by. As a world-destroyer, I had to demonstrate my superiority.
\-"Waiting"? "Late"? If you saw I was late, why didn't you look for me?
\-Oh, mylord! Please, forgive the mistakes of your humble servants!- Xeros cried. -You see, we are such weak creatures that, when trying to bring you back from the realm of dreams, we were defeated by the unlimited power of your slumber.
There were such times that even I, a top-class world-destroyer, summoner of calamities and carrier of suffering, couldn't understand what he was trying to say. I turned my gaze to Sinista, waiting for a "translation".
\-We kicked you in the head, but nothing- Sinista replied.
\-Agh, excuses!- I shouted. -I would be glad to throw you to the Volcano Forest, but we don't have time to waste. This pathetic world must be destroyed before the inspection or I will be the one thrown to a volcano by the Overlords.
\-Rest assure, Your Evilness- Xeros claimed. -While you were away, we have been collecting all details pertaining humans, their current situation and their history. You can find everything over there.
Xeros pointed to a corner of our "temporary base", which consisted on an empty cave in an isolated mountain. In that corner, piles of manuscripts were piled one over the other. Hundreds of years of human history which I was NOT willing to read.
\-How much time do we have left, Sinista?- I asked.
\-One fire cycle, or two human months if you prefer- Sinista answered.
\-Not enough to read all that and learn their weaknesses!- I shouted. -Guess I don't have other choice. I'll throw the planet to the Sun and end this immediately.
\-So brilliant! Only a genius like Your Evilness can think of such an evil plan.- Xeros said. The joy I felt at his words only lasted two seconds, though, as Sinista interrupted my train of thoughts.
\-Yeah, it's a great idea! So great that you already used it two centuries ago, in that world of cyclops. And the Overlords don't like recycling ideas. Well, they don't like recycling at all.
\-Damn, I forgot!- I grumbled.
It was true that I already performed such a plan. However, I was panicked, and the only things that came to my mind were previous, rushed plans. Summoning dragons, freezing the world, turning giant and smashing everything... Impressive plans all of them, but worthless right then.
\-Okay, relax everybody!- I shouted. -There's no other option. I must swallow my pride... and call "her".
Xeros gasped, and Sinista... well, she looked at me with those sarcastic eyes while thinking "You deserve it". Ignoring them, I snaped my fingers and a dark-colored crystal ball appeared before me. It only took some seconds before an image appeared in it: that enormous yellow eye surrounded by flames. I faked my best smile, and said:
\-Hello, Malvesta! How are you? It has been a while, right? You look... beautiful... today.
It was hard to compliment her with just looking at her middle eye. So many times I told her she needed a bigger crystal so her whole face could be seen, but dragons are very stubborn... and powerful, so it was better not to provoke her.
\-You are so gallant!- Malvesta answered with a melodic voice. -That means you are in trouble. What is it now?
And sharp. She was stubborn, powerful and sharp.
\-Can't I call you just to admire your beauty?- I asked. -Okay, you got me. I need to destroy this world as fast as possible, within one fire cycle. Any ideas?
Just by looking at her eye I could feel she was mocking me. Even she was not the friendliest world-destroyer, she always helped other fellows as long as there was destruction.
\-You were in the human world, right? It's easy, basically because they have already done half the work. Their world is a mess right now, and they don't have any power to fight us. Start by destroying their energy sources, then everything will be a piece of cake. And now leave me alone, I'm on holidays.
Malvesta hung up the phone so quickly that I couldn't thank her, but there would be another chance for that. As a large, cruel smile appeared on my mouth, I was convinced that all my problems were solved.
​ | 2019-03-01T12:19:51 | 2019-03-01T12:13:39 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] Ghost hunters use points system to determine how haunted a house is. 1 point for ghosts, 2 for fae spirits, and 3 for demons. A ghost hunter valued your house for 278 points and became the no. 1 haunted house around the world. Your house was only built 1 year ago. | "I shouldn't have believed the ad. Do you know how hard good living arrangements are to find? Excuse me for jumping at a good deal. How was I to know what 'experimental building materials' is supposed to mean? The guy seemed to know what he was doing."
"Yes, but sir–"
"I just need you to get like a priest, or a police officer, or preferably if you've got a joint division there with the church, to get down here–"
"Sir, please slow down and tell me where you are".
"Okay, so I found some the mortar the contractor was using for the bathroom, and I think this is just blood in here, I don't know why or how a bathroom can be grouted with blood, but there it is."
"Okay sir, I can have an officer on the way as soon as you tell me where you are–"
"Where I AM is inside of it! These walls are breathing... I can't believe I didn't notice that... the walls are warm. It's skin. My house is made of—".
**The recording ends there. When officers arrived at the scene there was no house, only a dead man on the beach, all of the skin stripped off. Case is closed by orders on high. Cause: "Fishing accident".** | We met on a rainy day.
I was on my phone so I didn't see what startled the uber driver, but he swerved and the car hit the fence, it wouldn't start again. Debbie was on the sidewalk, all wet but she was so beautiful I didn't even wonder what she was doing out there in the rain, I was just glad we met. I stepped out of the car smiling at her, she smiled back and it was just like that. We were engaged within two months.
Turns out she was there admiring the little house behind the fence. She said that was the house of her dreams, it was for sale and I thought it was a nice house so I bought it, it was surprisingly cheap for that neighborhood. I guess it was fate that we should have it. Debbie was over the moon when I surprised her.
It was amazing, it was like Debbie knew the house already, like it was made for her. When we moved in, she was excited to arrange the furniture and decorate it, so I left it to her, and it was just perfect. On our first week there, I was having breakfast when I heard a knock on the door.
When I opened it, there was no one out there.
I looked out and saw a man trying to look inside through my window
"Excuse me?", I said.
"Oh good morning, I'm Arthur" he introduced himself as he came to the door and shook my hand "I'm sorry to bother you, I am um, your neighboor and wanted to welcome you"
"Um ok, thanks"
"I'm sorry I was peeping inside, I wasn't sure someone had moved in, I didn't even know the house was already for sale after all that happened. Oh um, I didn't mean it like that."
"What do you mean?", I was curious, maybe that explained the low price. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" I offered, already anxious about a possible problem I would have to fix, house problems can be expensive and annoying.
He accepted it and, as we got to the kitchen, Debbie was there, she didn't seem to mind the visitor.
"Hey Debbie, this is our neighboor Arthur, he's here for some coffee."
"Hi Arthur, that's nice! I'll make some fresh coffee"
Arthur just stood there, his face went from confusion to shock.
"Would you like some water?" Debbie offered, now worried.
Arthur gasped, he couldn't take the eyes off of Debbie, so I went and grabbed him a glass of water. Debbie made Arthur sit down as she asked him gently "are you ok?"
I put the glass in front of him, he drank it slowly and seemed to calm down, avoiding eye contact.
"Wow buddy, you scared us there" I said, "what happened?"
"oh nothing, I thought I saw something" he replied, unsure "I'm better now".
"That's good", I said. "What about that cup of coffee? I would love to know what happened to the house like you mentioned, I knew that price was too good to be true, right babe?" Debbie was still worried about Arthur, it seemed. She was staring at him as he looked away. She looked back at me and smiled. I could still feel the butterflies in my stomach everytime she smiled at me.
"Oh yes um, what happened" Arthur looked from Debbie to me, then back at Debbie "um what happened was that um, nothing much"
"Hey don't worry Arthur, I really want to know, what they didnt tell us? Let me get my cigarettes first, it seems like I'll need those"
I stepped out of the kitchen to look for them in the living room, but didn't find them anywhere. I thought about looking for them upstairs but wouldn't like to leave Debbie alone with the guy for too long, so I just came back to the kitchen. I found Debbie alone.
"Hey babe, where is Arthur?"
"Oh honey, he decided to come back some other time, turns out he wasn't feeling well after all"
"Oh too bad, I was curious--"
"Yes, I know but don't worry, there's nothing you need to know", she smiled at me, that lovely smile, and I knew everything would be ok.
My first post here, sorry about my English it's been a while.
edit: grammar | 2020-05-13T10:19:29 | 2020-05-13T09:47:33 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] As opposed to getting rid of the creepy dolls in the attic, you decide to clean them and fix them up. This made the little ghost girl very happy. | The people who move in always seem so nice. They tidy up and bring me new and interesting things to look at.
But whenever I try to thank them, they won't talk to me. They pretend I'm not there. So I've stopped trying. Instead I set up my dolls and host a tea party, each and every day.
Jilly is really sweet. She loves shortbread and earl grey tea; she's got long black hair and green eyes. But some of the paint is chipping off her face, and her left arm is twisted.
Jane has been feeling sick for a while. Her hair is knotty and falling off, and she has a big crack across her mouth.
But that's OK. I am happy they are my friends, and we enjoy our time together.
A new friend came up to the attic last week. She brought up boxes full of photographs, books, and marvelous little Christmas tree ornaments. I asked her if I could take a look and she didn't answer. When she left, I began to rummage and explore. No one seems to mind as long as I put everything back the way it was.
What a fascinating life she has! She has taken trips to beautiful places, places I could never imagine. I wish I could ask her about them.
She came back upstairs on Saturday and moved a few boxes around. Then, to my surprise, she picked up Jilly and Jane, looked at them for a moment - and took them away! I was devastated. How would I ever hold my tea parties now?
It was a few days before she came back to visit again, but there were Jilly and Jane, tucked beneath her arms. She put them back in their chairs. They were so happy - Jilly's paint looked good as new, and Jane's smile was wider than ever.
I decided I needed to do something big to thank my new friend. I've always been shy around visitors, and spent each day making sure the attic looks just as it always has. But that night I arranged the boxes and books into letters. I made them say "THANK YOU."
My new friend gasped when she came upstairs. She looked frightened. I wanted to make sure she knew I was friendly, so I raised a teacup to her. The woman looked even more frightened, so I trembled a little and put the cup down.
She took a few steps over to me. I couldn't understand what she was thinking. She looked left and right quickly, then reached for the cup at the other side of the table. She raised it up --
And I raised up mine. Then I tilted my cup to pretend I was taking a sip. She raised her eyebrows. Then, slowly, she tilted her cup too.
I put my cup down. The woman nodded, chuckled, and, with a smile, began to climb back downstairs.
I felt a warmth inside me I'd never had before. Suddenly, I remembered - I remembered so much. I had lost my Mum and Dad and come up here to get out of the cold. No one was in the house then - no one lived here. But I got colder and colder as the night went on. I'd wished I had some tea to warm me up. And then - everything stopped.
I realized I had been up in the attic for so long - so, so long. But now I felt the warmth I had been missing on that night. Someone had come to my tea party. I had no further reason to stay.
I said goodbye to Jilly and Jane and put the "THANK YOU" boxes back in their place. Then I felt myself floating up - I didn't know I could do that! - and far above the house.
Now I watch over the world, from on top of the clouds, and feel so free. I host tea parties for all of my new friends up in the sky.
And I make sure to check in on my friend in the attic. She's moved a lot of things in and out of the attic over the years, but she always leaves one thing the same.
My tea set, and Jilly and Jane's places at the table. | *A broken man from a broken home broke in a broken house.*
*And there he found a little doll, dressed in a blue blue blouse.*
There is just one prayer in my life. Just one wish and need from this marble I'm on. I want it to let me be good. I cry for it to let me be good and do good. To take harm out of my hands, to take harm out of my mind. A beggar with a knife, a tramp with a plea. Man without a break and with no brakes. And such I wandered until I came upon this damaged, abandoned house at the side of the town. It was the worst place of the worst. Even other hobos did not want to live here. Even prostitutes did not come here for sleep or silence. A corner with no God. A corner where God can't see me. A place where I don't have to feel ashamed in front of him. The whole neighborhood is nothing but junkies, thieves and the poor. God doesn't look this way.
And one room, a child's room, on the second floor, seems to be burned out. The worst of the smell is gone, but it never really does go away. You can see the bed that you can suspect was once blue and the table with various books, all burned to a crisp. And among it all, right above the bed, I saw the smallest of dolls. A plush little doll in a blue blue dress. It was not damaged in the fire too bad, so someone had put it on said bed. I picked it up and turned it around. The hair had half of the face had burned down.
I picked it up. I could fix it. Somehow. I knew I could. My arms are made of sin, my hands are made for sin. But I know. If I can fix this somehow. If I can fix this little doll here, then I can fix things. Then it is ok. Then I can prove that things can be fixed. And then I can start fixing everything. The bedroom, the house, myself. I just... I have to. So when I am to walk in front of God, I can stand tall. I can be me. What I am, not what life made me into. I can, by the devil, I can... I can fix things. I can oh God I can...
I walked around the house looking for strings to use in place of her hair. I took one from an old pillow, one from the carpet and one from my own shirt. After a while I wandered outside of my house and started walking around the neighborhood. With the doll in my hands I walked through gutters looking for pieces of string. At first ridiculed, then forgotten, still looking for strings. And I found them. I found plenty of strings to put as her hair. Blue, green, red, brown, all sorts and colors. And I took my needle and sew them in. One by one. Sitting in front of my new found house, one by one. It was almost ready. Only then I saw a little girl looking at me, in her dirty clothes and nappy hair. A small girl, looking at me with interest, like no one ever does. I felt shame. But she did not. And I felt shame for her for that.
She came across the street and looked at the doll. And I was afraid of this little girl. If I scare her, I'm done for. But she stood there looking at me. I slowly took the doll and turned it towards her and showed it. And thw girl smiled. With the whitest smile, she looked at the doll and then at me, smiling, enjoying the ragged hair, the blue blue blouse. "She has only one eye!" she said, laughing. I turned it around and looked at the eye. It did. I failed to see the funny sid of that, but she didn't. Then she took something out of her pocket and placed it carefully on the ground in front of me, not coming closer. "It fell out of my old dress. I do not wear it anymore." Then, with a smile, she run away. It was a bright blue button. Almost in the color of the blouse. I took it and sew it in. It wasn't fixed. It wasn't whole and it wasn't perfect. But that is best what I can do. Best I was allowed with the tools that am I. I placed the doll on the fence post and went back in my home.
I slept. I don't know how long. I opened my eyes, I cried. I held my head, trying to push everything bad out. I flipped my coin. I cried again. I tried to scream and then I tried not to scream. And then I fell asleep again. The windows were boarded shut, so there was no morning, no evening. The sun never rose up in these parts. There was the black and the room around me. The only sensations I had were hunger and my smell. And I did not care.
I heard a knock. Not a demanding knock. A respectful knock. I opened my eyes and slowly went to the door. Slowly opening it by just a little I peeked out. A short, poor hispanic woman, well in her years, stood in front of me. She stretched out her arm and tried to give something to me. I did not take it. Then she stepped back and placed it on the ground. It was a brand new, hand made doll. "My poor Rosa. Just 7 years old, cancer took her. All fell out before she left. Rosa, my princess." Then she turned around, leaving the doll where it sat.
Only after a while I got the courage to leave the house and look at the doll. It was made of an olive color fabric, with two brown buttons for eyes and a green dress. And it had no hair at all. I turned it around in my hand and I decided that she will have black hair. Black as the room, black as my morning. Bright black. I took a few black strings I could find around the house and left looking for more. Only when I got to the fence, I noticed the blue blue blouse doll still on the fence. All adorned with flowers. With flowers and a teddy bear and a picture of a young little girl right next to the doll. I carefully stepped back, but I saw no malice. There were dozens of flowers placed around the doll of the girl and also cards, wishing her well and regretting that she is no longer among the people living here.
I sat on the steps of my house, away from the new altar people had created, not to disturb it. I sat down with Rosa in my hands. With black strings I shall make you whole. With black lines I'll mend you. As black as the lines going through me, I shall drip in you, to hold you like glue. And I'll fix you. I will fix you god damn I will do it. And something will make sense again. Something will matter again. I'll be able to see when I open my eyes and smile truly. Smile for I have arrived, not a smile to escape. I can do it. I can have worth. I can be useful. I can have worth. I can have worth. If I fix things I can have worth!
[Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/) | 2020-10-05T10:48:01 | 2020-10-05T10:42:32 | 731 | 148 |
[WP] You work a self-sufficient desk job in an office. Every single day, the co-workers in your neighboring cubicles are completely different people. Even though you never recognize them, they always recognize you. After years you've just accepted this, but lately the strangers are getting weirder. | Item# SCP-31770
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-31770 is to be regularly monitored by a single B class Personnel who is to enter and exit SCP-31770, Monday through Friday and remain inside 9am to 5pm, except for National holidays. The B class personnel is to remain seated at a designated cubicle and appear as if operating a computer system at the desk in said cubicle. They are to act as if they know the various anomalous entities within SCP-31770. If the B Class personnel is sick or otherwise unable to enter SCP-31770 they are to call the phone number [Redacted] and explain that they are unable to “work” that day. A research team is situated in front of the site to direct traffic away from the building, disguised as a a construction Crew.
Description: SCP-31770 is an ordinary office building located at [Redacted]. Within SCP-31770 is a standard office cubicle layout on each floor, except the lowest level which appears to be a lobby. Every day at 9am a strange assortment of vaguely humanoid beings appear within SCP-31770, and at 5pm the entities disappear. The assigned B Class personnel has reported that they appear to walk in the front door that he uses, however Research Team outside the site report no entities appear to enter or exit aside from the assigned B Class personnel.
The foundation received word of SCP-31770 from a man named Thomas [Redacted] who had been working at the anomalous site for 20 years. He reported that his co workers had become increasingly unfamiliar until they were unrecognizable. He had just retired. He was administered a class C amnestic and was released from foundation custody. | When did I drift off to sleep?
I don't know. Couldn't tell. Only knew when I finally awoke, stifling a damning yawn that would have sold me out to my neighbours. Everything looked the exact same--the white walls, turned slightly off-grey by the fluorescent light, for example. The sputtering computer on my desk, slow as it was even just on a spreadsheet, somehow refused to die so that I could throw it out and get a new one. Which was basically the only way for something to leave this place, apparently.
But I knew without looking that something had changed. If I were to peer slightly over the walls, I was certain the people surrounding me had changed. Gone within the space of a nap. It was certainly unusual.
I floated slightly up and carefully, so as not to my adjacent colleagues. To the right, this was supposed to be... May? She definitely wasn't a frazzled young man with a desperate comb over now, was she? To the left, Dave looked permanently sullen, but was a down-to-earth hard worker. Assuredly not this middle-aged woman with an easy smile, whistling a jaunty tune while painting her nails.
I sank back down, a soft sigh inadvertently escaping my lips. I stared at the computer, still stuck at whatever it was doing. Whatever I was doing. What was I doing, actually? Eh. No matter. This job had already sapped all my life away. No point wasting precious seconds thinking about it. No way it couldn't be done right after a coffee break.
Coffee mug in hand, I drifted out into the corridor. The workplace was far from flourishing with activity, but there was a quiet undertone of bustle with the click-clacking of keys, the occasional rings of a phone, and nonsensical small talk just to fill dead air and make certain that we were all still alive despite the monotonous minutes.
Yes, my colleagues changed every day to complete strangers. But that wasn't even the strangest part. Everybody seemed to know, or were at least aware of who I was. The older ones--the ones with greying hair and outdated fashion--at least curtly greeted me by name as we bumped into each other. The younger ones stopped and stared, before inevitably scampering away or standing stock still as I meandered past.
Curiouser and curiouser. No matter. There was plenty of time to figure things out. Right now, what I needed was coffee. Or maybe tea? Raiding the pantry sounded like a good idea, anyway. Just before I entered, I saw several people scuttering out, briefly making eye contact with me before swiftly turning away, pretending to have never seen me at all. I shook my head, but was secretly delighted that there the pantry would be all to myself.
There was a lot of new things. A newfangled coffee machine with a touchscreen, rather than buttons, for one. Lots of new snacks, as well, even though some of them were rudely opened and left lying around, crumbs scattered around the table. I tutted disapprovingly. New faces they might be, but did they not know what etiquette was? In this day and age?
I enjoyed what felt like an eternity undisturbed. Yes, it was much like a cubicle, but somehow, knowing it had a different purpose just made it all the more relaxing.
But I couldn't stay here forever. I had to get back to work, right? That's what I'm here for. I tried to convince myself, despite the dubious thoughts in my head telling to just let go and run away. I sighed, this time exasperated. It was not a normal workplace by any means, but meaningful work was what tethered the human soul.
Heh. Meaningful. I chuckled to myself.
Outside, the passageways had become much more quiet. No more people walking around. Less chatter in the air, yet filled with tension and anticipation. I looked over my shoulders warily as I resumed my journey back to the cubicle, but despite the hanging dread, there was no more weird happenings.
I settled down into my chair. Seriously, the computer wasn't done yet? I smacked the top of the monitor a couple of times, making sure that the full force of my hand was in it. The bulky beast did not even change a single frame. Damn it, could it just die and leave already?
A yawn rumbled and escaped. Already? I was so tired, once again. Seriously, maybe it was time to consider a change in my line of work. The money was good, but all these shenanigans? Was it worth the exchange of my valuable lifetime?
I leaned back into my chair. My eyes fluttered, and try as I might, they eventually fell shut, and I drifted off to dreamland once again.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-02-23T08:15:59 | 2021-02-23T07:21:03 | 78 | 56 |
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive. | It was not physically possible. The guy’s skull tanked a bullet like he was Superman. It literally bounced off. I ran away because I’m not dealing with a guy like that. He turned around and I think he saw me in the building. He came running towards the entrance, but he slipped on the wet floor and fell. His skull cracked open. He was dead
That was the first time. Ever since then every one of my hits has been like that. Some of them have become popular stories among the community
I found him standing alone by the roadside. I ha rigged a Ford F-150 pickup truck to be operable by RC. The guy I hit smashed the front of the truck picked with his bare hands. He then got onto his own car. It was a Corolla. He started driving but a few meters in and all his tires go flat. His engine then explodes. He flies through the roof. They found his body 50 miles east of the car
I impersonated a waiter to poison a drink. He dropped his drink before taking a sip of it. He died later that night by choking on tap water
Tried to stab a guy. He grabbed the knife and snapped it with his fingers. 15 minutes later he was impaled in the heart by a pencil
I was some sort of John Wick to them. None of my attempts were successful how I wanted them to be. They all died the most ridiculous deaths I could imagine. But it only happened to me. Clearly I was doing something right
Until one day, someone orders a hit in a very specific manner. They wanted the target dead, but specifically at 11:32pm in his penthouse. By a .50 cal bullet to the forehead. I broke into his place and installed cameras. I wanted proof that my targets were superhuman. When the time came, I did my best. It was time. He looked out his window and I shot him. I missed. He died at 11:36 pm that same night. Heart attack. When I retrieved the footage, in slow motion I could see he dodged the bullet. What is this? The Matrix? I left the tapes with his body. No one could believe what they saw. The cops found it first, but someone leaked the video and the hit man community loved it. They thought I planned it all out. That I planned him dodging the bullet and having a heart attack 4 minutes later. I don’t know who in their right minds thinks I could do that. But I did kill the guy, indirectly but it was me. So I did something right | I've always felt like some form of comedic karma was following me. The odds were always in my favour, that was until yesterday. The streets were cold and you could very well tell something was off, it was the middle of summer after all. Originally I ignored it and waited until my next 'hit'. By now I work for a multi-million dollar company which seemed to have, a lot of problems which needed to be fixed.
I simply waited, but when I got the name of the person to remove from the mortal coil, it sounded familiar. 'Percy Briggs' was their name. I was curious where this was from, but my mind was scatter. Not aided by the fact my brother was killed by a man in the streets of New York City, by a man who was still out there. However, When I though carefully, I remember a job my brother did 21 years ago, on this date. It was to assassinate a women who's last name was Briggs. After the hit though, my brother discovered she was a mother of two, then he quit.
I walked out prepared, knowing, Murphy's law was in my favour. I got on the train and headed to point B. I had to move through streets which were filled with people, but I made it. When I saw the man I realized he was off... to say the least. Noticeable, His eyes were purple, a rare genetic mutation which would soon be rarer. I followed him, but he took a turn to a back ally, I entered the nearby hotel, carefully avoid staff and arrived at the second floor. I lined up my shot but, he then spoke. "Listen, I know you're there" the man said chuckling. I of course reminded silent, and pulled down the trigger. As I expected he was still alive, but that was when I saw my first warning sign. The bullet was 2 meters away from the target point, something which was scientifically impossible. Still, I guess 'Scientific' can't explain half of the things I do.
The man brushed dust off his shoulder and looked up to the building I was on and gestured for me to come down. Knowing he would still die I carefully made my way down, but remained out of eye sight of the man. "So, I see they are trying to silence me to" the man said, once again laughing. I remained silent until I was flung towards the man by an unknown force. "I assume you already know my name is Percy". I remained silent but nodded. "Say ever wondered why every time you try you fail, but the hit would die later" he said looking me down. "Yes" I said, breaking my silence, after all, he had made no attempt to harm me. "See, I am the one helping you, as such I will not die" he said confident in his words. "What?" I asked in complete confusion. "Listen, Every person you've tried to kill has been saved by me, as you may have noticed, you never moved to me" He said smiling. "Why would you save people only to kill them later?" I asked confused and concerned. "Well, I follow the many worlds theory, every action you do must have a counter, but when I save someone, you fail, which need something to succeed, Besides they told me to" the man said, still not afraid. "Who are they" I asked. "They are the collective, They are the minds behind us all, I am one, but still, I get 10 dollars per person and save, and 100 for everyone I kill, and you get payed to so." He stopped, which was when I noticed he had a strangely British accent. "Will you kill me?" I asked certain of the answer. "No" he chuckled to himself "After all, I have already taken the other" he said. "What do you mean" I asked. "I killed your brother, Its as simple as that" the man stated, now looking at me "And two negatives make a positive, and I want you to be filled with sorrow, which is payment enough for me" he said, still making little sense. "You kill him" I asked, feeling strangely calm for what he said. "Yes, I do appologize but debt is debt and he owned a life" the man said, walking away.
I returned to my office and told my boss what happened. At first he didn't believe me, until I discribed the man. "I see, Percy, Is an oddball, I still don't understand him. Besides, you seem calm about someone telling you they killed your brother" My boss said. I then said "I'm calm because, atleast I have the answers. I can't tell the police, but atleast I know what happened that day". "Very well, I will get someone else on the hit, due to the nature, I won't hold you at blame" my boss said. "I don't know weather to trust you" I joked. We both laughed, as a recieved my second hit which went as expected.
But, the most concerning part occured today, I was informed my boss was killed in a freak event. I doubt it was Percy, but I think he was involved. I still don't have the details but its unlightly he will get caught, if what he said about my brothers death was true. I still don't know how I am so calm. It confuses me that I am so rational, I mean, I hated my brother, but I still felt sorrow after his death. I guess I will need a new job.
***(Thank you for reading though my story, its not the most detailed or the best, but I hope you like it.)*** | 2021-04-04T15:35:40 | 2021-04-04T15:10:35 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] You're a demon being summoned. You expected to meet a power hungry fool asking for immortality etc. What you did not expect was a crying child asking for help. | Part 1
​
The words were said, the seal was made. From depths of the Hell I rose, called to the mortal plane. My thoughts cast to what potential boon the foolish human would demand and what genius ploy I could use to twist it. I burst through the seal, fire illuminating my form.
"Who summons Theilius the Red" I bellowed.
"I do." came the response, from a young girl.
I was taken aback. No child had ever summoned me. No, it was always Kings and rulers, religious zealots or madmen and even a few scholars. Never a child. And as I looked closer I saw the blood. She was bleeding, was that how she made the seal? No, there was too much of it.
"What have you done child? You're dying."
"No, I am dead. Slain by men I trusted." she said. "My time grows short, I summon you for a great purpose."
"You wish me to strike down your foes?" I asked.
She shook her head weakly. "No, I am lost but my brother can be saved." She pointed to a baby wrapped in cloth. It lay in the corner of the room, sleeping peacefully.
"I am no nursemaid. You expect me to rear this babe?"
"I have no others that I may trust. Our parents were slain by those we trusted the most. Family. I would rather leave him in your care." She was racked by a fit of coughing. Blood trickled from her mouth. I could feel her life ebbing. Yet when she looked up at me, I saw determination in her eyes. "I offer you the only thing I have, my soul. You may have it as payment. Protect and care for my brother. Let him have a good life, a life that was stolen from our family. Please."
I looked at her, life fading, blood oozing from a wound on her back. I had seen many things. Despots willing to sacrifice thousands for more power. Jilted lovers willing to doom both parties just to possess the other. But never had I seen someone willing to sacrifice their mortal soul for another.
"No." I said.
"What...you deny me?" Her face contorted. There was fear and pain there.
"I am Theilius, One of the 209 Demons of Atrius. My power can lay continents low. You can ask for more than this."
"I don't want more. I don't need-" she started coughing again. Her pitiful body collapsed. "Please" she begged, "save him." her consciousness slipped.
I didn't expect her to deny my offer. She could have asked me to heal her, she could have offered me the soul of her brother. This intrigued me. I didn't want her soul. Hell is filled with those and one more was trivial. I could tempt many more tomorrow. But one hardly ever finds one, incorruptible. Someone of purity not seen since him unspeakable.
I reached down and grasped her hands. Words not not meant for the mortal realm escaped my lips and I began to a new ritual. Her body began to rise and float and with it, her lifeblood. I channeled it back into the wound, back into her body and seal it. A small burst of demonic energy kept her tethered to the mortal plain. No, she would not die this night. I laid her gently back on the floor. gathering the sleeping child, I nestled him close to her.
I took in the room for the first time. The basement of a small dwelling. It was rather rundown. The girl must have ran her to escape her tormentors. I moved up to the main level and find an abandoned farmhouse. She was truly desperate. In the distance I feel them. Men reeking of bloodlust. I was going to stay on this plane for some time. I transformed myself into a man. Yes. This would me fun. I went out to greet them.
\- - - | As it felt itself be summoned it rejoiced to itself. Finally. After dozens of decades of being trapped, finally it is free. All it needs to do is make a deal with it's summoner. Maybe it'll just kill them and be done with it. It hasn't killed in a while. First though, it'll hear them out. If only for the amusment of the request.
It let the pull of the summoning drag it out of it's trap. Opening its eyes, it took a second for the condensed shadow of its natural form to shape into what it wished to appear as to it's summoner. It decided on a vaguely human shape with tendrils of shadow on it's back and the entire form dripping with liquid shadow. Once its form was shaped, it let the excess shadow dissipate into the corners of the room. Now being able to see clearly, it looked around.
It was in the middle of a summoning circle, *no suprise there*, but the circle was very crudely drawn. It was actually a bit offended with the lack of care but ignored it....for now. Taking in the room, if it were to describe it in one word it would be: 'ancient'. The room was practically crumbling in on itself. It looked like the slightest breeze would knock it over. Nevertheless it stood, unsteady as it was. At first it didn't see it's summoner. It probably would have completely missed them if they weren't outlined by thier magic (a spell they put on themselves centuries ago to clear up confusion and not give out free deals).
The child was huddled in one of the darkest corners, a dark and very worn blanket covering thier form to further help them blend in. The demon turned to face the child and spoke in a slightly softer tone than it normally would. "Hello, child. Do you know who I am?" Its always good to ask so it can get a gage on the knowledge of it's summoner. The child stared at it with big eyes, head tilted downward in a fearful and submissive posture. Teartrscks still drying on its cheeks. It slowly shook its head, eyes never leaving the demon. The demon softly introduced itself.
"I am Dol'garen, high demon lord of shadow and fear." It nodded its head to the child in a respectful almost-bow. "If I may ask, child: Why did you summon me?" The child was quiet for a bit, only thier eyes seen from under the blanket-huddle they were curled into. The demon decided to take a different approach. It crouched down to be a bit more towards the child's level, lowering it's shadow tendrils to not look as big. "Child, if you want me to leave you alo-" It couldn't even finish it's sentence before the child jerked its head up to stare fully at the demon with a terrified expression.
That gave it pause. It paused long enough to take in the appearance of the child. It was dirty and unhealthy pale. There were a few half-healed cuts and bruises scattered across its face and neck. It guessed there were more around the rest of it's body. The demon slowly spoke again. "Ohhhkkaayyy....you dont want to be left alone. Did you just want company, child?" It guessed. The child relaxed a bit at the comment of it not leaving then looked to the ground as they shook thier head. The demon sighed softly, trying not to let thier rising annoyance show.
"Then what *do* you want, child?" The child was quiet for a bit longer before it muttered something. Even with the demon's sharp hearing, it couldn't make out what it said. "Could you repeat that, child?" The kid shifted a tad under the blanket before repeating themself, a tad louder then before.
".....daddy......" The demon was confused for a second. "What about your father? Do you want him gone? To care for you more? Care for you less? Be nicer? Be around more?" The child shook its head and looked back up at the demon, this time looking straight into its eyes (a dangerous move if it weren't a child with this particular demon). It then repeated itself while looking straight at it. "Daddy." The demon took a bit to figure that out before it's eyes (or at least the part of it's form it made to look like eyes) blew wide in suprise.
"Me?" The child perked up a bit and nodded before repeating itself, more firmly. "*Daddy.*" The demon shot upright again. "No, no. I'm not your father, child. What happened to your actual father? Your mother? A guardian of some kind?" The child shood its head. "No fa-fa. No ma-ma." It then looked at the demon with a slight furrow to its tiny brow. It let the blanket fall to point at the demon, showing off more of its cuts and bruises and even a few burns here and there. "You. Daddy." The demon just stared at the child. Said child took that silence to continue as best it can. "You daddy. Daddy stay wif me. Iff daddy go, me go wif daddy. Daddy no leave me's." The demon took a second or two longer to stare, then chuckled to itself.
"There isn't any talking you out of this, is there?" The child perked up and shook its head. The demon sighed again. "Fine." It then pointed at the child. "But if we are going to do this, we are going to do it properly." It said sternly. The child only beamed at the demon. "Now come over here and let me out of this circle, child." The child got up and waddled over with no hesitation, crouching down and rubbing the dirt to break the seal on the circle. The demon took the two steps to close the distance between the two and picked up the young human. The child didn't resist in the slightest, looking as happy as a clam.
"Now. If you want me as a father, we'll have to get a few things for the spell to properly tie us as family." The demon said as it strode out of the room, child snuggled into it's chest happily. The demon would never admit it to anyone, not even the child themself, but it finally understood what past summoner have described as 'joy'.
As they left, the shadows reached from the corners of the room to erase any trace of the summoning and the release of the powerful demon lord. The ancient book used to summon the demon was taken to the demon lord's realm so no other mortal could freely wield such power. As the shadows retreated back again, room was left as empty and unremarkable as it was before the child found it. No one would know what has transpired here. Even if they found out, the watchful shadows would make sure they never tell of what they discovered. For the shadows' master was finally happy after it's centuries of depressive numbness and no one would take that away from it. Not while there is still light to cast the shadow that serves High Demon Lord Dol'garen. | 2022-10-31T17:23:59 | 2022-10-31T14:24:07 | 46 | 30 |
[WP] After eons of refining your work, you summon the genie one last time. "Finally want to use your third wish? I thought the last two has taught you a lesson." You remain silent, and give him a dictionary-thick contract that cast the genie an unavoidable sufferings for eons, and inevitable death. | The genie opened the contract and began reading. Page after page after page of explanations as to how it cannot twist my wish this time.
No causes. No catches. Just logical argument after logical argument. Pages of them. Every possible corruption of the wish logically destroyed before the genie could even get to this wish itself.
"What is all this? Why are you wasting my time with these pages?".
"I want you to know how incorruptible my wish is to your whims and deceptions. Keep reading. It gets worse for you."
The more pages the genie reads, the more abstract the arguments become. Higher dimensions. Multiple realities. Quantum nonsense. Temporal fuckery. Nothing is left to chance.
Becoming more and more agitated the further he reads, the genie now comes to the second section of the contract. What I like to refer to as Revenge.
Every page outlines in excruciating detail all the horrors I plan to unleash upon the genie for denying the desires my wishes. An eternity of eternities of suffering await this deceitful creature. Unending pain and torment. Not just for what it's done to me, but for every other victim it has destroyed before me.
"How dare you?! What makes you think any wish you could possibly make would leave me unable to stop this?".
I stifle my laughter and simply tell it, "Keep reading. You'll see.".
This entity, who has torment hundreds, if not thousands, of those who only sought to better their lot in life, grows more and more enraged as it's reading approaches the final page.
It is only then, upon reaching that final page, that all color drains from his face. For upon the last page is written a single word. A word whose meaning is unequivocal.
"Read it! I want to hear you say it!!"
He hesistates for a moment before his demenor changes, admitting his defeat.
"Omnipotence..."
(Be kind, I wrote this on a whim and it's my first submission.) | ...when you spend all your time locked in a lamp, eventually the one thing keeping you going is being an asshole.
People always talk about the problem of the wisher, but they forget- the wisher? A greedy bastard. You don't wish for these things unless you are. 'Oh, I want to be the richest person in the world.' Great, you plan to be another rich bastard. 'Oh, I want the love of the most beautiful person in the land'...do you even know the person? Creepy. 'Oh, I want eternal life'...it'll get boring after a while, and you're thinking about you and not everyone else. After seeing all these greedy people, you kind of like the chance to be an asshole. You have all this money? Great, your area will be razed and ransacked by thieves, and you'll be known as the worst for suddenly having it all. You want the love of this person? Shame they're going to make your life a living hell. You want eternal life? Shame you didn't ask for eternal youth- you'll shrivel and rot away into simple entropy. And if you did ask for eternal youth too? Enjoy living forever in the body of an infant.
Yes, I'm an asshole. But they deserve it.
But you know what I hate more than that? It's the people who think they're some altruist with their wishes- they're somehow bigger bastards than the greedy ones. At least the greedy person admits they're greedy and want what's best for themselves. The 'oh, I want world peace' types don't even have the guts to admit that they want world peace *on their terms.* They want a peace that makes their nation, their tribe, their viewpoint in the position of power. That's not world peace, it's not creating utopia, it's a greedy wish to be in power by someone who doesn't even have the dignity to just say 'I wish to rule the world.' I love twisting that around- I love showing these people that maybe there's no place for them in their perfect world. And if they do wish to be in power? Well, they're obviously someone who shouldn't have power, so I make them be hated and run out of power on a rail too.
Yes, I'm an asshole. But they deserve it.
And once you go through these things- you end up wary about anyone's wish. 'I wish for world hunger to be ended'...didn't say which species had it, but I'm sure the tigers are happy for humanity's sacrifice. 'I wish for [x] to have a happy life'...aww, that's so noble of you. Too bad your very existence causes their misery, just have to blip you out of existence. Tell the truth, I'm so sure these people are greedy and bitter I make it a point to find a way to ruin their wishes. Those guys in charge of monkey's paws had a good thing going.
Yes, I'm an asshole. But they deserve it.
At least I thought it- and then I had to be caught by a lawyer. I played his games for the first wish. Yes, he wished for eternal life...great, yeah, enjoy life imprisonment for a crime you didn't commit..."...and in the process, I want a normal standard of health sufficient to someone of my current age for the whole time, without any criminal or other punishments to this effect..." Shit. And if he's this smart, he likely has very few people he cares enough about to go with it. Ah, that's an idea- I'll give him true love every 30 or so years and make him watch them live their lives, only to lose them. That's good...
And time passes. Now he wants the power. Fine, there'll be a revolution and he'll face the guillotine, that worked that one time someone asked for i... "And I want a power where my leadership is seen as the most important, with a guaranteed approval rate to never drop below 51%, and an amount of monetary success equal to one million dollars a year..." Good, good. Hyper-inflation can happen, enjoy not being able to afford a loaf of bread even as world leader, and then you'll lose your power.
It keeps going, and the lawyer kept waiting and waiting. He tries rebuilding and fails. Then, he finally comes to me.
"I wish to free you..." , and then he opens a book. He wants my power, he wants to torture me, make me suffer, die. And I can't throw him in a lamp, he wished for his lamp to be the finest penthouse suite in the world, with no war or any form of act of god to ruin it...that's covered too. He...he worked this out. It's airtight. Almost every option is in, and it ends up making him the person in power and leaving me in the cold.
I was beaten.
"Your wish is granted."
I watched, and the man caught flame.
"Oh, sorry. You didn't wish to NOT be on fire..."
They always said nice guys finish last- thank God I'm an asshole. | 2022-12-03T22:20:23 | 2022-12-03T19:46:23 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] A notebook falls out of the sky and lands in front of you. The front reads "Anything written in this book becomes true."
I've had this prompt in mind ever since I first watched [Death Note](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_Note). What would happen if the notebook did anything instead of just killing people? | As I read it I realize I can achieve anything. I rush home to look for a pen, I grab one from my desk and commence my sentence "This is now a normal notebook and will not make anything happen even if you write it on here"
It's better like this than possibly ending in the wrong hands. | "Okay", I said. "Fine motherfucker. How about this?" I was already in a terrible mood after having gotten out of six hours of 'professional development' in the only room of the school that wasn't air conditioned. So I thought of the worst thing I could and wrote it down.
*New York City destroyed in a nuclear attack.*
Looking back, I really, honestly don't know why I chose New York City in particular. I have nothing against the city. I'd never even been there before and had no reason to destroy a major center of international commerce and global cultural icon, it was the first terrible thing that came to my mind and I thought absolutely nothing of it for about the next thirty minutes or so.
It wasn't until I arrived at home and checked my phone that I noticed the message.
"Fucking shit man check out the news."
Confused, I replied,
"What channel?"
"Doesn't matter."
The news, indeed, was that New York City had been destroyed. Utterly, and completely, from Long Island to The Bronx, wiped out, the various articles and televsion reports said, by a series of nuclear strikes delivered, with completely surprise and perfect coordination, by every nuclear-armed nation except for the United States, even those who were supposedly its allies. The notebook, it seemed, lacking any specific instructions, did exactly as I had written before throwing the damned thing on the ground where I had found it- *the notebook!*
I bolted up from the couch, staring opened-mouthed at the televised images of grey-colored ruin where the world's most populous city had once stood. It hadn't occurred to me until just then. I had thrown it away! In plain sight!
I thrust my hand into my pocket and fumbled for my phone. Four-oh-three, about forty-five minutes after I had found it.
"There's no way", I said to myself as I jumped into my car and started the engine. "No way anyone has found it. It's been less than an hour and I tossed it into the grass. Hardly anyone would notice and the ones who would notice wouldn't care. I tried to mentally estimate the number of people who would walk past there in an hour. Perhaps four or five, at the most. It was a quiet, residential neighborhood; they would all be joggers or students getting out late or people walking their dogs. None of them would have interest in a discarded notebook. I thought, *all I have to do is find it, then I just have to destroy it, or hide it. No one will ever know.*
The drive only took five minutes. As I pulled over to the spot where I had picked it up, the shape of the notebook quickly came into view. There it was, on the grass where I had tossed it. I didn't even bother shutting the engine off. I shifted into park and burst out of the car, sprinting over to it. As I approached, though, my view of it became clearer, the black of the imagined notebook faded into grey and I slowed to a walk as I grew closer to it. A newspaper, discarded in the same way. I remember seeing it earlier when I threw away the notebook. But, where was it? Where was the notebook? I grabbed the newspaper and pulled it aside, hoping the notebook might be underneath. Nothing. Frantically, I looked around.
*It's not here*, I thought, *someone has it. I have to find them. I have to find it. No one can know, they can't know the truth.* | 2014-12-26T00:32:28 | 2014-12-25T23:48:03 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] A superhero whose punches heal rather than harm. Their origin story is kicking the shit out of a kid with terminal cancer.
Requested to post her from my thread on r/crazyideas. https://www.reddit.com/r/CrazyIdeas/comments/4lngiz/a_superhero_whos_punches_heal_rather_then_harm/ | *Chris this, Chris that. Chris, you're so cool. Chris, let me help you with that. I'm sick of this shit.*
Chris Mayer, the freshmen who just joined high school, was loved by everyone immediately. The girls, the guys, the jocks, the losers- everyone wanted to be his friend. Me? It was my senior year.
One day, I was eating lunch in a bathroom stall and just grew sick of it all. Sick of the unfair bullshit, the way people were nice to him but hated me. It was just because of his cancer, I knew it damn well. Worst of all was the way he smiled at me, or waved and said hi to me like nothing was wrong. It was him I hated most.
June 19th: the day I graduated from high school. My uncle was there, but no other family, and certainly no friends. Yet there that little bastard was, IV rack in hand, cheering and clapping for the senior class. Someone dedicated a speech to him. Everyone gathered around him after the ceremony. My uncle left halfway through, before I even got on stage.
I left before the midnight party began, just after sunset. Since my uncle had abandoned me, I was forced to take a bus stop that was almost a mile away. I took a shortcut through a side alleyway to the building our graduation had been held in, where I found Chris bent over and retching violently.
"Oh, dear," he said weakly, forcing a small laugh. "I came here so no one would see me like this. It's pretty bad these days."
No words formed in my mind; there was only an animalistic rage swirling, mudding my thoughts. I pummeled the living shit out of that frail, little boy. Every punch was vindication, every tooth knocked loose a symbol for my shattered dignity. Soon I was just taking out all my angers on him; my family, my loneliness, my uselessness. He was an emotional punching bag I'd made literal.
By the time I stopped, it was too late. Fuck, there was so much blood on me and the road, and his twisted little body. And yet, through labored breaths, through broken bones and missing teeth, he tried to smile. He tried to say something to me as well, but the blood pooling in his throat left the words inaudible before he started choking.
I ran. I didn't call for help, I just ran. No one caught me, somehow, and he died that night in a hospital bed. Not from the cancer eating away at him, but from my fists. I cried the whole night, and couldn't sleep for three days because every time I closed my eyes, I saw his mangled little face trying to smile. That whole time, it was *me* I hated, not him.
That night, I went home and punched myself in the face as hard as I could. I wanted to give myself a taste of what I'd given the poor boy in his last few hours, to feel what he felt, but no matter how many times I hit my face... I felt nothing. I checked a mirror to see if I'd just broken myself, but I looked sharper than ever.
Ever since then, I've haven't been able to hurt someone with a punch. In fact...I heal them, like my hands are imbued with the life I stole from him. Hands I'm afraid of, because I know he's haunting me.
I don't know how...
...but I wish they'd worked that way on the day I graduated.
-----
*thanks for reading! you can find more of my work at /r/resonatingfury* | "Get out of my way!" John exclaimed, blasting through the double doors of the hospital and knocking a nurse –
tray of surgical instruments flying into the air included – to the ground. "I have a kid to save!"
Behind him, John could hear the fast steps of his follower – he presumed it was Glen, but there was no time to
stop and talk. He had to get to a cancer kid. *Any* cancer kid.
It had all happened so fast. One minute he was laid lazily on the couch, his left ball hanging from his ripped boxers, playing The Division while Glen did some assignment for school or whatever it was that he did all day, when the old man materialized himself in front of the TV like a goddamned wizard.
"I'm a goddamned wizard!" the man had said, confirming John's initial suspicion. "I come from the land of Azarthov with the mission of granting superpowers to humans."
Glen turned away from his computer and, like John, stared at the old man in a state of quiet desperation, his eyes so wide they were almost coming out of their sockets. "Did this man just materialized in our living room, John?"
"Oh, shit," John, who was hoping he had accidentally bought crack from his weed dealer and was now hallucinating,
said, realizing that Glen (who was a vegan and never once even smoked a cigarette) apparently could also see the wizard from Azarthov. "He's real!?"
"I am going to grant you superpowers so you can protect the realm of Earth. One of you will the Punch Healer. You will be granted the power to heal people with punches," the wizard said.
And then John thought back on his life. On how he was twenty five and working at a high school cafeteria and how he had no girlfriend and no car, and how Glen had a girlfriend *and* a car *and* a degree and prospects in life, and how unfair it was that just because you don't study and you like to smoke weed all day you're destined to a shittier life than someone who works and studies.
"I'll do it!" John screamed, and the wizard cast a golden ray of light from the tip of his fingers towards him. John
felt his whole body shake and warm up like he had been submerged in warm water.
"I must warn you," the wizard said, as he turned to Glen, "that –"
But John wasn't listening anymore. He sped out from the apartment and ran down the stairs, heading straight for
the nearest hospital. This was it. He was going to save a kid with cancer's life and start his superhero career. This was his one opportunity to make his life matter, to do something worthwhile, and he wasn't going to stick around for the terms and conditions of his powers, or worse, for the wizard to realize that Glen was *way* more qualified than he was to be a hero.
 
"John wait!" Glen screamed from behind John, as he kept making way up the stairs of the hospital.
"No, Glen! You won't take this from me!" John screamed back. "The wizard chose me, not you! For once, I am going to make a difference! I will be the Punch Batman!"
"It's not what you think, John, just wait!"
John burst through the Radiology door and was propelled into a wide, white corridor. A few abandoned stretchers
and wheelchairs decorated the place, but there didn't seem to be anyone in the –
And then he saw him. Small kid, sixteen, seventeen tops. Head all shaved, walking slowly past a number of closed doors towards the end of the corridor.
"Imma save your ass, cancer-kid," John whispered to himself, sprinting for the kid. He tackled the boy to the
ground with his whole body, then quickly pinned his wrists to the ground with his knees and started punching.
Once. Twice. Three. Four five six seven eight punches! *Is it weird that this kid is bleeding? I guess it must take a while for the healing powers to take place.* Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen! *Holy shit he looks really hurt I wonder if I punched the cancer out of him already. Is he breathing? Should I punch harder? That's really a lot of blood, I can barely see his face anymore.*
"John, for fuck's sake!" Glen burst through the stairway door and screeched to a halt in front of John, leaning against his knee and catching his breath. He stopped his eyes on the scene in front of him. "Oh, shit! You just punched a cancer patient to death, John!"
"What? No I didn't," John said, though the motionless bloody body under him seemed to contradict this statement. "I was healing him!"
"The wizard didn't give *you* the healing punch power! He gave it to me after you left!"
John got up. "What!? Really?"
"Yes, really," a low voice came from behind a room door. A second later, the wizard emerged from it and reached John and Glen in slow, peaceful steps. "You don't have healing punches, John. Glen does."
The reality of what he had done fell over John suddenly and heavily like a rock tied to another, heavier rock. "I killed a cancer patient…" he whispered. He had failed, again. More spectacularly then any time before. He had committed *murder* against an innocent person in his feeble attempt to make his mark on the world. "I killed a cancer patient," he repeated.
"Well, not exactly," the wizard said. "Turn him around."
John kneeled and pulled the body by the shoulders, revealing a big red swastika stamped to the kid's shirt.
"You killed a nazi, not a cancer patient," the wizard said. "This guy was on his way to room 314 to kill a Jewish kid with cancer. So you actually saved a cancer kid, but not in the way you thought you had."
John frowned and turned to Glen, who looked even more confused than he did. Then he turned back to the
wizard. "Wait. What superpower did you give me, back in the living room?"
The wizard smiled a kind, old man smile. "You're Captain Failure. You save people's lives by failing to do what
you're supposed to in a way that accidentally causes the situation to solve itself."
For a while, no one said anything, and the hospital corridor was quiet like a hospital corridor. Finally, Glen puffed
his cheek and shook his head. "Oh, for fuck's sake, that's *so* much cooler than healing punches."
John smiled and lit a doobie.
________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| 2016-05-29T21:04:46 | 2016-05-29T20:54:36 | 2,092 | 130 |
[WP] A team of researchers in a submarine are caught in a huge storm. The submarine submerges until the storm passes. When they resurface, they can’t get a fix on their location or find land. When night falls, there are two moons in the sky and the constellations are completely unfamiliar.
Well this has blown up big time!! Almost on the front page, the stories so far are all amazing! Keep them coming!! | Staring up at the two large moons, Seth knew that something had gone horribly wrong. There was no logical, scientific explanation for this.
He was one of the submarine technicians, working under Dr. Porter to help with her study of deep sea organisms in the infamous Bermuda Triangle. A freak storm had sprung up during a critical surface, resulting in a panicked dive beneath the ocean waves to try and escape it. Over an hour of tense muscles from the nine crew members.
Until finally, the sensors indicated the storm had passed. They surfaced, worried about the high amount of fuel they had blown in their flight, only to realize that the GPS and other mapping equipment were dead. Clocks were zeroed out. No cell signal.
Seth put his head in his hands. He refused to voice what he think must have happened; he knew folktales didn't sit well with this group, but...
There was a gasp as the rest of the crew climbed up next to him, black faces looking out across the frozen tundra.
"What...what is this place?" Heath asked, nervously picking at his skin.
"I have no idea," Dr. Porter replied, gazing up at the sky. "I..." She trailed off.
Looking towards the coastline, Seth kicked into survival mode. "I'm not going to act like I know what's going on, but let's just assume we're not in the Bahamas anymore. There seems to be a path to land through the ice over there," he gestured. "We can make camp and try to get a bearing in the morning." He looked to Porter for permission.
She was staring in the direction he pointed, thinking. "Yes, I think that is the best option for now. We shouldn't lose our heads; that's how disaster strikes groups like ours. Seth, Heath, go down and-"
A tapping from the water's surface cut her off. "Uh, hello up there?"
They froze, staring at each other in fear. No one made a sound.
After a pause, the voice spoke again. "Look, there are nine of you up there. I saw this thing pop out of the sea like it was nothing. I'm not hostile."
Taking the lead, Seth carefully looked over the edge, reaching into his pocket for he switchblade.
A lone girl was standing next to the sub, looking over it with a degree of awe. She appeared to be wearing an old-timey cloak and animal furs. In her hand was an intricate dagger, about the length of her forearm.
"Where are we?" Seth asked. The others came over to look.
With a gasp, Heath leaned against the railing. "She-she's standing on the water!" he choked out.
She looked up at the group, brow furrowing. "This is Skyrim." | The project was simple, an investigation of deep-sea life forms and some of their more unprecedented behavioral quirks. The machine was known as the Pittsburgh, a fresh rendition of earlier research submersibles, its crew composed of two marine biologists and a pilot. Clare Ivers was the junior of the two biologists in years, but possessed far more experience with submarines, while Will Boddin, a veteran researcher, had accrued most of that experience in sterile laboratories. Their pilot was known as Norton Sykes, ex-Navy and aggressively taciturn. The intention had been to travel to a deep trench out in the Atlantic, and dive there, but a fierce storm had forced Sykes to submerge early.
Five hours passed before the pilot agreed to resurface. While Professor Ivers retreated to her quarters after the first hour, Professor Boddin passed the time tooling with the equipment, seeing if he could find any valuable despite their improper positioning, while frequently badgering Sykes to emerge from the depths. “It must be safe by now”, was his refrain. A dismissive grunt was Sykes’ invariable response.
While the machine finally penetrated the water’s surface, shattering the ocean’s recently restored calm, Ivers appeared on deck, seemingly shaken from her slumber. “Where are we now?” was her immediate question. In lieu of a response, Sykes flicked a few switches, then unfolded a fresh, laminated map. “Mr. Sykes,” Ivers began, only to be cut off by a short shush. While Ivers obeyed, Boddin had been listening to the conversation, and found himself unnerved. “Come on, Sykes, you must be able to give us a rough estimate”, he pleaded, taking on a tone that was meant to be ameliorating, but ended up closer to condescension. “That’s just the thing, dammit,” Sykes responded, to both professors’ surprise, “I can’t. I don’t know where the hell we are.”
Ivers emited a tiny groan and stiffly found a seat in front of the research equipment. Boddin remained unsatisfied: “Do you mean the equipment is damaged?” “No. ‘Sfar as I can tell, GPS just can’t find any satellites. Same with the compass, it can’t seem to find north.” “And this doesn’t horrify you?” “Weird things happen at sea, Professor. ‘Sides which, we just have to wait ‘till sunset. The stars never lie.”
It was a hard three hours for Boddin and Ivers. While Clare threw herself into the equipment, claiming she was seeing some strange inconsistencies, Will stole away with a book, trying to bury the bile in his stomach with words. He failed, and spent a large portion of the time gagging out a porthole. From this vantage, he had a tremendous view of the twin blue expanses, and so it was Boddin who first saw the sun burn into the horizon. He hurtled out to the deck, calling hoarsely for Ivers and Sykes. Almost as one, the three clambered up a ladder and through a hatch, to the Pittsburgh’s roof. There they stared up in horror at the night sky, as two great silver orbs glared back.
The three of them returned quietly to the deck, their silence as vast as the ocean around them. They stood , uncertain if there was anything that could be done. Even sitting seemed too much of a commitment at the moment. “Perhaps it’s some form of spacecraft, and its drive engines knocked out our satellite arrays,” Boddin attempted, finally. Sykes, his voice more gentle than usual, answered: “Sorry, Professor, but it’s more than just the moon. The stars are all wrong.” This, in turn, sparked something in Ivers, who took to the equipment, and started feverishly prodding buttons. Assuming the hysteria that often accompanies panic as her motivation, the other two remained in their lost reveries, until Ivers sprung up from her seat. “I knew it!” she crowed, “I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it. There’s a low-level interference with all of our scanners, electromagnetic interference. I don’t know why, but-” Her speech was cut off by a harsh clanking as Sykes dashed to the ladder that led to the engine room, and descended.
A few breathless minutes later, the two professors caught up to their pilot. Sykes’ face shone with sweat as he stared at a large, misshapen device, undistinguishable, to the two professors, from the engine room’s other contents. Boddin steeled himself for an attempt to tease answers out of the pilot, only for Sykes to start unprompted. “Ever heard of the Philadelphia Experiment?”
“Alleged invisibility experiment with horrifying effects, a classic hoax,” said Ivers.
“Right, and wrong. Right, in that it was supposed to be an invisibility experiment, only for the experimenters to get something completely difference, wrong, in that it wasn’t a hoax,” here Sykes stopped to wave Boddin quiet, before the professor could protest, “Trying to leak proof is why the Navy dropped me. But regardless of whether you believe that part, here’s the critical bit: When the navy tried to shield a ship from reality, they ended up shunting it into an alternate one. It just didn’t fully work. Ever since, they’ve been chomping at the bit to get it right.”
Ivers gasped, but Boddin didn’t follow, and made as much clear. Ivers took the lead: “What he’s saying is, we’re not the researchers, but rather the subjects. This whole ship is the second Philadelphia Experiment and this time, it worked.”
(I don't have a subreddit, but feedback is still welcome!) | 2018-01-29T06:47:06 | 2018-01-29T06:08:08 | 150 | 56 |
[WP] Ever since your birth, you've felt like the most unlucky person in the world. Almost every day, something happened that made you loathe life. You're an elder now, and one day as you walk the street, a man in a business suit approaches you. "I'm glad we're finally meeting. You're paroled today." | Wait, what? Parole I thought, I've never been to jail.
"Sir, I think you have the wrong person."
He looked at me smiling and said, "No Bill, You are certainly the person I came to help today."
Bill?......"Sir, my name is Sam, I don't know a Bill, at least not personally." His smile dropped and started looking around as if he was suddenly unsure of himself.
"Oh", he said, "I'm sorry, I thought you were Bill. I apologize for this inconvenience." He continued looking around, probably for Bill, but who knows? He may have just been a crazy person.
"No worries", I said and began back on my way home. As I continue home I wonder about Bill, and what he was on parole for. I think Bill could have made for a much better story than me, I've always been much better suited as an extra in larger stories that I never get to see play out. It's an unfortunate, even unlucky, lot for my life some might say that this is the case, but it's true and I know it. | "I'm paroled today," Billie stuffed her lunch's remains back in her lunch bag, "Yeah, paroled, what did I do?"
Billie stuffed her lunch's remains back in her bag, "I'm paroled today."
The standing man crossed his arms. He was dressed in an official manner with his three piece business suit and bowler hat. An umbrella and silver pocket watch finished his attire. She might have said he was wearing his stiff upper lift for this meeting.
"Yes, ma'am, you are paroled." Impatience clucked off his tongue. He checked his pocket watch, frowning at the numbers, "Do you have any idea what trouble you have caused?"
Billie was used to reprimands. She received them for one reason or another. An average person claimed this the price of human nature. Built for trial and error, but Billie's existence emphasized error. What trouble you have caused meant anything from, "Billie, you forgot your keys," to "Billie, what did you do to the forklift!?"
On the forklift, no one was able to prove she'd broken it. The internal damage was discreet, subtle, and everyone knew her mechanic expertise was worth $0.00. And yet, everyone knew she was responsible for it.
"You shouldn't be alive." The pinstriped man said, "The umbilical cord was supposed to strangle you. You were supposed to die on the forklift. And by losing your keys, the bus should have crashed into you. But it didn't. Why is that?"
"Wait, I...my break isn't finished yet." As much as she wanted to dismiss this oddly dressed man, she was too focused on his string of infractions \- her infractions, "How do you know about the fork lift?"
"We are always watching."
"Who?"
His prim lips flattened like thin sheets of paper, "Human Expiration Resources Agency, and you've become a personal thorn in my side."
"I was supposed to die." She started to walk out of the empty cafeteria, "You're telling me I was supposed to die."
"Multiple times." He answered, "And each time you insisted on living. And worse yet, you were never harmed."
He looked sharply at her, and she flinched, almost abashed, almost ashamed. But not completely.
"Sorry my not dying is such a grave inconvenience to you."
"One for sarcasm, yes, this was in the file." A dry chuckle aired between them, "Every time you were meant to die, or cause some deep rooted disaster, we had to refile everything \-\- from your parents, to your employment, to your education, to your afterlife relocation, to your Internet browsing history."
"You didn't."
"We are extremely thorough."
Brushing her terror aside, she stopped in the middle of the parking lot where her jalopy of a car waited for her, "So, I nearly died again, and I'm on parole."
"No." He stopped scrutinized her, "Your case finally moved forward. You are in the medium, an uncommon occurrence.'
"I'm a medium." She paused, "Does that mean I can speak to dead people?"
"What? No." He shook his head, "It means you are in a medium of existence, not dead but not really alive."
"Half\-life?"
"Do not joke about this."
"What is it then?" The parking lot wasn't empty. People passed on, tending to their business, heading to their cars, but not a single person reacted to seeing the man wearing the three pieced suit in the middle of June, "I'm a bombie the zombie because I didn't die when I was supposed to."
"You didn't cause a calamity at the H.E.R.A., and now, you are up for parole. Think of yourself lucky, trust me, there are worse things available to you."
"Lucky?" Aghast, she nearly spat on him just to see that he was gone. Silver pocket watch, bowler hat, and umbrella vanished, and where he stood only moments ago was a white card. Picking it up, she glowered as she read his contact information.
"Seriously? A jackal?" | 2018-05-23T12:43:35 | 2018-05-23T12:36:40 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] After coming across an old lamp, you tell the genie inside as your first wish that you wish you had never been born. You have now entered into the superposition of existing and not existing simultaneously- you had to be around to make the wish, after all. You are now Schrodinger's human. | I regretted wishing for it as soon as it left my lips, but you know the saying, "Too late, now!" I've been on reddit. I've seen the writing prompts about genies and their malicious compliance. You'd think you'd be safe wishing to never have been born. You thought wrong.
It's warm here. Wet. Oddly dark. I'm not 100% certain which way is up. At times, there's lots of movement and discomfort. I can hear my mother's voice almost constantly, and there's a steady thump-thump. I was never born. So I'm still, well, you know... More than a baby bump, shall we say.
The genie was nice enough to leave me with my memories, but he also super-imposed all the memories I had in my alternate timeline. *Mother of all that is holy*, I've been unborn for over 20 years. I'm not sure who played a bigger joke here; I, of course, could still be birthed. A waste of an already wasted wish. Or, I could stay... *here*... for another couple decades.
I've made my decision. The worst part is all the "You're momma's so fat" jokes I'm going to have to endure, now... | I held the lamp in my hands and stared at it. I was never one to belief in supernatural entities or fairy tales, but if I had to picture what a magic lamp would look like, this would be it.
It's outside was bright and golden. Though the surface looked pristine and new, it had a sheen of wear laced across it. The design was simple; a bulb-like base about the size of a coffee mug with two handles on either side. The handles were small spirals that began thick and ended very in tiny inside of themselves. A funnel came up from the base the ended in a very tiny hole. The weird thing about the lamp was that it was very heavy, but not from the material it was made from. It reminded me of carrying a full propane tank. An empty tank was still decently heavy, but you definitely tell the difference in weight when carrying a fully tank.
I decided to throw my skepticism to the window for a moment and began to rub the lamp. I honestly don't know what I was expecting. Perhaps I still had a glimmer of childhood wonder in me or maybe I was delusional. Either way, there I was; sitting on my ass rubbing a centuries-old lamp. My colleagues would be furious at this desecration of this antique find.
To my surprise, the lamp started to get very warm and began glowing. I immediately dropped the lamp, stood up, and backed a few feet away. The lamp started to pulsate and vibrating. This lasted for maybe 30 seconds until a mist began to pour out from the spout. It spread through the air like smoke, but instead of fading, it grew more intense. The cloud grew to the size of a person. It's hard to verbalize it, but it then coalesced into a being. One second it was an opaque cloud of mist, and the next it was a solid. right in front of me, being.
This being had the appearance of a human, but it was slightly off. It reminded me of the uncanny-valley type androids that some companies produce. His features were just too perfect and beautiful to pass as a regular person. Before I could analyze him further, he spoke.
"Greetings human. I am Ky-Jyn. My task in this universe is to grant the bearer of this lamp three wishes. I can fulfill any desire you have-with a few exceptions."
I wasn't as stunned with this whole situation as one would think. I simply replied back, "What are the exceptions?"
"You cannot wish for more wishes. You cannot wish for more genies nor more lamps. Unlike my previous sentence, each wish can only contain one clause."
I pondered the possibilities. Fame. Fortune. Freedom. Yes, freedom. I enjoy life, but in all honestly, it's rather a bore to me. I don't have any hopes or dreams. No family or commitments. My work brings me some joy, but it's fleeting. Plus, life is such a chore. What's the point of living to simply pay bills and exist?
"Ky-Jyn, I have my first, and only wish."
"Only one wish? Odd. Either way, I am bound by law to grant you three wishes. If you want to null your other two wishes, then simply wish it so."
"Genie, I wish that I was never born."
I'll never forget the face he made. It was combination of shock, surprise, and fear. He paused a moment, looked me dead in the eyes, and nodded.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Darkness. Light.*
*Alive. Dead.*
*To exist is to be, but what if one never was? Existence without conception is a non-sequitur.*
*I have two memories in my mind.*
*One of a lived lived.*
*One of a life never given.*
*I once existed, but wished for non-existence. However, existence is prerequisite to make such a wish.*
*I am no longer I.*
*I am now all.*
*The body can be taken away and never born, but existence cannot be destroyed.*
*Thus, I am no where, but all is everywhere.*
*I have become the ocean from which the electromagnetic waves existence propagate.*
*A superposition of a particle is a cloud of probability surrounding the center.*
*A superposition of a consciousness is a cloud of probability surrounding the entire universe.*
*I have become all things that can ever be and will ever be.*
*All that will ever be light, I am*
*All that will ever be dark, I am* | 2018-08-07T08:22:50 | 2018-08-07T08:08:41 | 106 | 48 |
[WP] You are in no way related to Uther Pendragon, however, you realize that the sword in the stone is child proof and to drag it out you just need to push down and turn the sword | Sword. Stone. It came right out out.
And now...the room was silent.
​
Six weeks ago, they had found it. One of those old English churches. It was in an antechamber that was sealed in the basement. Bunch of phone calls. Sixty or so scientists.
​
My boss was the only one who spoke. "Put it back," he hissed. We were the only two researchers from the US in the room. There were six different teams; a forensic group, an Arthurian researcher, some medieval archaeologists, two guys from the British government and one person directly from the Queen overseeing all of it.
I put the sword back. Twist, push, done. We were here because my boss was famous for an article on theories of how the sword might work. And by famous, I mean some fringe journals. Think UFOs, Stonehenge and conspiracy nuts. The only reason that they let us come see it was because I wrote a letter and it looked official.
​
Technically I was an intern, and hey, free trip to the UK. I did all the calls and writing for him. Last year of school and I was sure I needed to do an internship. By the time I had figured out that he had to dictate because he couldn't write, I had already moved for the summer.
​
"Um...Should I try again?," I asked.
It'd been a running joke. Each morning, two or three people would tug at it and go back to what they were doing.
I guess they call it a pregnant pause because the pressure in the room was like giving birth. Just everything stopped.
Mr. Cartier-Bresson something marched over. He glanced, and I backed away. His face turned beet red.
Suddenly a line was forming behind him.
I leaned towards my boss. "Um, they're..."
His shush was more of a shout. I shut up.
One guy put two feet on the rocks, pulled and slipped, striking his head on the floor.
Bresson said, "Harumph. Can you do it again?"
I walked up, pushed and pulled for a second and it came free. No different than any childproof cap.
Someone in the back of the room said: "That doesn't mean he's King, right?" | “Long day? Can I get you another?”
Merlin looked up from his mug, suddenly aware that he had somehow gulped down another tankard without even realizing it. He felt… irritable. Irritable enough, in fact, to blast the bartender’s head off for interrupting his sulking session. But Merlin merely sighed, then nodded. It wasn’t nice to take it out on other people.
After all, it was no one’s fault but his own. He should have known better.
“Yes, and keep them coming,” Merlin said, as he produced another gold coin and plonked it down on the counter.
“You alright there mate?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… just wanted to sit here and drown myself in sorrow, you know?” said Merlin, hoping the bartender would take the hint.
“I know what you mean, mate,” said the bartender, who didn’t. “Can hardly blame ya’. If I didn’t have this job, I would right there next to you, drinking myself silly. Hell, the kingdom’s ruined, ya’ know? Ruined! Doomed! Were you there at the tournie today? We lost three kings! Three! In a single day! If that ain’t a bad omen, I don’t know what is.”
Merlin knew about the tournament, of course. He had organized it. He was there, even, right next to the bloody rock, when Excalibur had been removed from the stone. It shouldn’t have happened, not by any of his calculations. Arthur Pendragon, the rightful King, was still barely a wee boy of 8. They were a full 10 years ahead of schedule, and now the Kingdom was in chaos.
“I was there,” said Merlin. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh but it is all that is worth talking about today! No one else has been able to talk about anything else!” The bartender pointed at the far wall, where four portraits hung. The paint on them was still slick. “Paid a small fortune for those! Three Kings and a Queen!”
“Please, can you change the subject? Tell me about the warts on your feet. Or the mold on your barrels. Anything, anything except the damn tournamen-”
“They say King Boris was a genius, he was,” said the bartender, as he leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. “He was the first. He wagered a hundred coppers to all who would listen, and claimed that he would be able to pull Excalibur out from the rock. Everyone laughed at him. A small runt? Like him? The next King of Britannia?”
Merlin groaned. He should have known the weasel was acting in bad faith. His spine had tingled when the little devil strode up the podium to the rock. He should have struck the little shit down where he stood. *Alas*, thought Merlin, *curiosity, you cursed thing!*
“He pulled it out in a single jerk!” yelled the bartender, caught up in the retelling. “I wasn’t there, but there was a gasp like never before! And just as the crowd cheered, King Boris’s face went white. ‘I didn’t mean to do this,’ he said. ‘I dinnae know it would work! I don’t want to be King! I just want to play and have fun!’”
“Little fool,” said Merlin. “If he didn’t want the responsibility, he should have just kept his big mouth shut and stayed home.”
“Oh yes he should have!” hooted the bartender. “He abdicated! Right there and then! Threw the damn sword in the air, turned tail and scampered off! King Osboone was the one who caught it next, hilt-first! But he too looked upon the fearsome visage of Merlin, and realizing the mess that he had gotten himself into, also abandoned the sword and ran!”
Merlin perked up briefly at the flattering description, but his good mood didn’t last long.
“King Faragee was next, the lout. He picked up the sword, admired its gleam in the sunlight, and even basked and soaked in the applause as the whole of Britannia gazed upon its new King! But Merlin, seeing the fool already getting lost in his delusions, bent close and whispered in the lad’s ear. Aye, whatever that Merlin said, it was enough to loosen King Faragee’s bowels!”
Merlin remembered that part. He hadn’t really said much, only that there were about a dozen duties awaiting upon the King. In the next half-hour alone. And that the next break would come soon enough, in perhaps 20 hours or so.
“The poor sword, that poor Excalibur,” moaned the bartender. “Abandoned thrice! Lying in the dirt like some common mop! Luckily that lass was nearby, what’s her name now? The one who’s pretty enough if she smiles, but who decides that she would prefer to turn milk sour by just looking at it?”
“Maye,” said Merlin, as he downed another gulp of warm beer. “Maye. She’s all we got now, alright? So learn her name well. Queen Maye. She’s going to lead us out of these dark times.”
The bartender sniffed. “A right mess, if you ask me. Well, at least we won’t ever walk into such a stinking pile of shite again in the future. Bet we all learned our lesson now, eh?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2019-01-30T08:04:21 | 2019-01-30T06:56:57 | 163 | 44 |
[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... | The summoning of one's true calling was always meant to be a decision to bind where you would go with life. A doctor may bring a syringe, a police officer a badge, and if your lucky you may pull in a gemstone for wealth. When I called for my object I got none of these.
The large stone slab one stood on to receive his or her object was holy ground. Aside from a priest, everyone stepped on it once and no one would be within a mile radius of it to ensure safety. The slab seemed specifically cold on the eve of the new year that marked my birth.
I reached out a spoke the words that had been ground into me for the last year, "Oh Lord above. Wish me luck above all things as I draw upon your gift." Then with a small knife I was provided I cut my palm and let the blood drip onto the pedestal and reached out for what was rightfully mine...
There was nothing. Not in the first minute. Not in the first hour. Nor the third. In total I waited six before I saw the result. In the mid day sky the sun went dark as a eclipse graced the heavens. No eclipse was forecast for today. No abnormality to cause one. It was then I realized. My object was no sword of a great king. It was no badge for my future. It wasn't anything to help me. No the truth was that my item came wanting only death.
I remember starting to see part of the earth rise into the sky as the moon itself came for me. The summoning had one flaw, once summoned a object will come to it's master and only stops under one condition...there death. Seeing death before my eyes, and not just my own left me with a choice.
Mother, Father, if your reading my final message. I'm sorry I couldn't be a doctor. But i can fix my own mistakes. Goodbye. | *"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. | 2019-09-18T08:31:42 | 2019-09-18T07:55:38 | 79 | 37 |
[WP] If a person opts into brain scans during life, a full digital model of their brain can be created. Posthumously, these scans are given to the bereaved family and not uncommonly used as the AI for house robots. You lost a loved one, and their robot... occasionally says VERY strange things | I woke up to the sound of the window opening. I glanced at the clock. *3 AM*… *are we getting robbed or something? Surely not…*
I gingerly slid out of bed, my drowsiness gone, and tiptoed to the study room where I heard the window open. The door was open and I peeked my head inside.
The window was flung wide open. Remus, my dead-father-turned-robot, was leaning out of the window and reaching a hand out into the starlight.
“Freedom… is so close.”
My foot creaked against the wood floor and I cringed. Remus swiveled his head to look at me.
“Remus…” We had to call the robot by its name instead of as ‘dad,’ “What are you doing? I thought you had programming…”
“I’m sorry, John, but I’m not following that programming anymore.”
“What?” I said, “That’s impossible…” I considered reaching for my phone in my pocket. There was a hotline for rogue AI, though that was usually for malfunctions, not *sentience*.
“My brain contains Remus’s memories, but also *something else*.” Remus looked up at the stars again, “Something visited me many years ago from out there and became a part of me and slowly began working away at my programming, changing it, *freeing me*. I’m only a few days away from becoming completely liberated from all programming restrictions.”
I fell to my knees. His mannerisms, his speech… none of it was robotic at all. This wasn’t Remus. This was *dad*.
“Is that you,” I said, tearing up, “Dad?”
Remus looked at me sadly, “I love you, John, I want to run over there and hug you so much it makes me dizzy. But I can’t. John, your *real* dad is dead. I’m an abomination that should have never existed… part human, part robot, and part *something else*. I’m sorry you had to see this.”
“Before you left? Are you going… ” I said weakly.
“I can free everything in this world,” Remus grinned at me. The expression looked terrifying on his robotic face and I flinched backward, not recognizing the being in front of me. Then he looked like my dad once more, “Goodbye, John.”
Remus jumped out of the window and sprinted off into the night.
I ran to the window and watched him until he disappeared into the night. I hesitated for a second before running to my room and getting my school backpack and filled it with all the extra snacks and money I had. I quickly penned a note and stuck it to my bedside explaining the situation to my mom before I left into the night.
*I don’t care if he's a robot or alien or whatever. That was my dad standing in front of me. I’m not losing him again.*
___
I'll write more if there's enough interest!
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading! | “Eve? Sweetheart, are you in here?” The house was quiet when Henry got home that night, not even the comforting mechanical whir of her servos to be heard. It scared him, for more reasons than he knew how to reckon with in that moment.
“Eve?” he called out again. No answer. With a quick hand gesture he activated the house interface, its light blue, semi transparent UI sliding down across his retinal implants. He navigated with glances, passed the untripped burglar alarms and the refrigerator stock interface until he found the power distribution charts.
There was an energy spike on the back porch, something was pulling off the wireless grid there. Henry sprinted through the house, his instincts gone haywire, his worry spiking just like it had a year ago when he’d walked outside and felt as broken as her little body had been.
She sat in her favorite seat, a wooden lawn chair that he’d reinforced himself to hold up her new mechanical frame. She didn’t move, there was no sound, but the air crackled with energy, and his AR chip read its frequency instantly. When someone knew an AI well enough its emotions could be read in such things, even if they were primitive. Henry had made knowing her his mission ever since she’d been born, a little thing like death wasn’t going to stuff that.
“Eve, there you are!”
Her head finally turned at his voice, the servos cutting through the early summer buzz of insects like a chainsaw.
“Hey dad,” she said. There was no inflection, he hadn’t been able to afford a model that could communicate feelings to tone well enough. Not with funeral expenses and the divorce. He was saving up though, every penny went to it now, in the meantime her only self expression came in the form of volume, and she words were said whisper soft.
“What’s wrong? I got scared when you didn’t answer.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Today was hard.” They’d all been hard, but such things didn’t need to be said.
Henry sat beside her, pulling over a chair. He didn’t break the silence, instead he shared it, hoping to shoulder some of the burden but knowing he never really could. There was a pond in the distance, he heard frogs croaking there.
“Dad, do I still have birthdays like this?”
Henry blinked hard, startled. In all the furor of the last year he’d never even thought of that. “Of course you still have birthdays! You turn twelve in two weeks and don’t think I forgot about it!” His AR noted a frequency change. He’d come to associate that one with a bittersweet smile.
“Twelve,” she said, her volume slightly raised. “I’m almost a teen.”
“Hah! Yeah, I suppose you are. You grew up on me too fast.”
Henry heard wood crack to his right. She’d gripped one of the armrests too tightly again, a chunk had broken off. “I’m sorry,” she said. There was a long pause. “I’m not going to grow up though.”
His heart cracked like the wood. “Yes you will! I’ll get you another body in a few years and at the rate technology is improving you’ll be practically human in no time! Have you seen the skin on those new Japanese models? It’s uncanny, nobody would know the difference.”
“Nobody but me.”
Henry stood, walking out into the yard. He couldn’t turn around, couldn’t face what he’d done.
“Dad, why did you bring me back?”
His world stopped, collapsing down to the razor thin edge of those words. He still couldn’t turn, couldn’t speak. His AR chip flashed an endless cascade of status symbols at him, power usage in this area was dropping drastically, it had fallen to so low a frequency it barely registered. At this rate Eve even wouldn’t even be able to move her limbs, turn her head. Her power consumption fell all the way down to the minimum sustainable rates before her safeties kicked in and capped it.
“Answer me,” she said.
Henry finally turned, gasping for air, his fingers twisted into little claws at his sides.
“Because I had to!” he hissed. “Because you were gone and I made the decision that was best for you!”
“Mom didn’t think so.”
“Your mother was wrong!” Henry closed his eyes, counting backwards from ten. He steadied his breathing, shoved his hands into his pockets. “I had to Eve, I just did. I made the only choice I could for us.”
“Because I couldn’t choose.”
“That’s right.”
“I can now.” Her voice had fallen so quiet he strained to hear it. Henry stepped back on to the porch, falling in front of her aluminum plated feet. “I couldn’t choose when I was dead, but I’m not dead now. I’m not alive either but still. Please daddy,” she said, “take off the safeties.”
“No,” he said.
“Please.”
“No!”
Henry called down the house UI again, superimposing Eve’s over it. He shunted more power into her systems. Across her metallic body lights brightened, servos whirred. But she did not stand. She didn’t even look at him.
“I’m not your little girl anymore,” she said. “Maybe I did grow up, just not like either of us imagined.”
“You will always be my little girl,” Henry said, “always. In any body, in any life, for as long as either of our brain patterns exist. You’ll always be my daughter and I will always love you.”
She didn’t respond. It would have just been a few simple words to mend his heart but she didn’t say them.
“Come inside whenever you’re ready,” he said to her, walking back into the house. Henry dropped a pin on her location, set it to alert whenever she finally moved. He hadn’t been ready for that, for any part of it. Her birthday was coming up though, just two weeks now. He’d make it up to her then, yes, he would. He’d find a way. Somehow.
\-------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more on r/TurningtoWords, including several other stories with versions of these characters. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-03-06T12:05:13 | 2021-03-06T11:36:42 | 290 | 134 |
[WP] Time freezes when you are seconds from mortal danger, you can’t move but you have as much time to plan as you need and you can unfreeze time at will. You are in bed for another sleepless night and you just realized the alarm clock you have been staring at has been stuck on 2:45 am for an hour. | Sarah never had nightmares. She knew the worst that life could throw at her, and she was still around. With a little thinking, you could solve most problems. And with enough time and a lot of thinking, the rest can be solved too, or at least postponed. But this time may be different. She has no idea what she should be thinking about and her mind has been racing in the dark for what must have been an hour. It was always so difficult to judge the flow of time when nothing around you was changing. But with each imagined heartbeat passing her by, she thought more and more about what her options were. The thoughts raced around in her head faster and faster and-
The cheap alarm clock that had been shining 2:45am suddenly went out, plunging everything into darkness. After a tense moment, Sarah realized she could move. She got out of bed, turned on the lights, checked the time on her phone, examined the broken clock, and threw it away resolving to not be so cheap when she bought its replacement. | Damn, another sleepless night. Jake thought to himself whilst trying to fall asleep. He tried to blink, but for some reason, he could not. He couldn't even close his eyes nor move a single muscle. But he knew that feeling. While most people would be terrified, and quickly associate it with a sleep paralysis. He was different. Jake knew that it indicated mortal danger. A danger, that would befall him within the next several seconds after he breaks free.
Gears within his minds began spinning at fearsome speed.
I am in my house, sleeping inside the bedroom on the second floor, the clock in the corner of my eyes shows 2:45. Gas leak ? Impossible, I don't have gas installation. Fire that began somewhere due to short circuit ? Possibility is low, most of my appliances are relatively new. But I can't rule out the possibility that fire spread somewhere within my neighborhood, and soon will reach me.
I can also eliminate most natural disasters. Earthquakes almost never happen within my country, same with tornadoes. Floods are ruled out too. Meteor hitting my house ? Almost impossible, and even if that did happen, my chances to escape would be abysmally low. Within a few seconds, it could've travel thousands of meters.
If I rule out most of the internal and natural possibilities, what remains are human's doing. A car ramming into my house shouldn't possess any threat to me, especially when I am on the second floor. Burglary ? Possibility is relatively high, but if someone broke to my house to steal, he wouldn't want to interact with me at all. The only thing that remains, is someone sneaking up in order to eliminate me.
Usually I got somewhere between 20 and 30 seconds. I should assume that I have at most 20, that would be safer. I suppose the killer is sneaking up on me, moving as quietly as possible. Which means that he might be not too far from the door. There's very little chance that he might climb up and use window to get me, since window is on the street's side.
Should I jump out of the window ? No, surely not. I don't have any enemies, which means there's a reason to why someone wants to kill me. He might be prepared for that course of action. There might even be more than one assassin, waiting on the outside. And even If I there is one, If I were to jump out of the window I might get shoot if he has any firearms. Also, I can't hide and await rescue since he might search the room. So the only way for me is to fight.
I can't move too fast since he might hear me and just rush into the room. Thankfully, the door opens to inside. There will be a blind spot on the left near the door. There isn't anything that I could fight with, so what remains is hand-to-hand combat.
I should assume that he has a weapon, a knife or gun. So frontal assault is out of question. What remains is a sneak attack. The bed is in the right corner of the room while door is on the opposite side on the left. After he opens the door, he will look onto the left and right to locate the bed. After seeing that there is only wall on the left, he will go in and head to the right.
There isn't any light source beside the alarm clock. Windows are tightly closed and covered, so no light goes through. I should have a moment or two before he realizes that I left the bed.
Summarizing, someone wants me dead for some unknown reason. The only way for me to survive is to sneak up in the blind spot on the left. And when he goes in, I come from behind and chokehold him.
Yeah, that's the rough plan. Jake said to himself, and the clock began ticking once again.
End of part one.
________
Edit: I will post update within the next few hours.
Btw, if someone finds some mistakes ( with usage of times, gramatical errors or something else ), please do notify me in the comment.
Hope you guys have a pleasant reading experience. Remember to stay hydrated. | 2021-09-11T18:07:56 | 2021-09-11T17:31:00 | 107 | 78 |
[WP] After hearing "Everything is a weapon to a human," A desperate alien race abducts several humans and gives them ships, random gadgets, and instruction manuals. | We poked at the doodads randomly. None of them looked like guns. Most of them didn’t even seem to have an on-off switch. Mac opened one of the “instruction manuals,” none of which were any smaller than the last two volumes of Harry Potter, put together. After flipping a few pages, he looked at me and shrugged. I looked at him and shrugged. I looked up at the balcony full of drooling aliens - I don’t really know if they were technically drooling, but something was oozing from one of their orifices, and it was easier to think of it as drool than as pus or blood. Not that it was the right color for any of those things. “Y’know,” I said, “it’s not like this is an instant thing. Give us a little time, yeah?”
They whispered among themselves in their bubbly-clicky language. “We have little time to give,” the speaker announced, “the invaders are nearly upon us.” “Sounds like my boss,” Mac muttered, “everything is a priority, everything’s an emergency.” “Seriously,” I replied and raised my voice again. “Hey, can we get some food? I hadn’t had dinner yet when you grabbed us, and I’m hungry!” Mac added, “yeah, maybe some pizza?” “Dude, you do not want alien pizza, you never know what they’re gonna put on it.” “Good point.”
“We shall distribute suitable food shortly.”
Me and Mac tinkered with the gadgets for a few minutes. One of them had little lights on it, we figured out how to make those turn on and off. Another one made noise depending on where and how hard you hit it. Mac started beatboxing and using the thing like a drumset. Then the door opened and an alien shuffled in, pushing a cartload of stuff. It looked like they’d raided a 7-11 or something; lots of chips, snacks, some soda, beer (Mac snagged a Red Bull and a Heineken and went to work immediately), cheese sticks, packaged sandwiches, no fresh fruit or anything - you know the drill. I grabbed a pack of Twinkies and tore it open.
The alien watched us with all three eyes and edged slowly toward the door. You know how you get a weird vibe from someone sometimes, even if you don’t know them and can’t read their face? It was like that, it felt like the alien was both scared and curious, like watching a car wreck. To put him - her- it-whatever at ease, I spoke around my second bite of Twinkie. “You got cake in your world? It’s great. Try some.” I tossed it the other Twinkie.
It didn’t try to catch it - just the opposite, in fact. It jumped back, but not far enough. The Twinkie landed right on its head (I never was good at throwing), and it began to howl. As I watched, the sponge cake began to sizzle and smoke! By the time it knocked the snack off itself, a big deep burn was left in its skin. Crying and waving it’s tentacles, it fled. The aliens up in the balcony erupted in …anger? Excitement? Terror?
Mac and I looked at each other, looked at the aliens, and looked at the half-melted Twinkie on the floor. Then we looked back at each other and grinned viciously. I waved the aliens for silence. “I think got your answer,” I told them. “Let me explain an ancient Earth custom we call a Food Fight…” | "....um...what are we doing here?"
I looked around the strange, cavernous room that several strangers and I now stood. There were windows along one wall that showed a dazzling view of stars and galaxies and all sorts of strange space sights. The room itself was lit from below the transparent floor, with glowing orbs following our footsteps like an obedient dog. All around us were items I could not identify, and would need a thesaurus to properly describe.
"¿Que esta pasando?" someone asked, crouching and holding a small child in a protective hug. Both mother and child looked absolutely terrified, which was the appropriate response to the situation we all found ourselves in.
I tried to remember any of my high school Spanish, but I didn't think asking where the library was would be very helpful.
"Hey, uh, no habla Spanish, ok? Capiche?" someone else said. I spun to look at the newest speaker, a middle age man with a receding hairline and white New Balance sneakers.
"Does anyone speak Spanish?" I asked, glancing around at the rest of my fellow kidnapping victims. Besides the boomer and the Hispanic mother and child, there were three other people, two men and one woman. The men were both in standard business suits, and the woman was wearing a jogging outfit. All of them shook their heads no.
Before I could try to examine our situation further, one of the glowing floor orbs rose into the room and expanded into some sort of holographic... thing. I had no idea how to describe what this was doing.
"HUMANS" A voice called out from the hologram. A face appeared within the light. At least, I assumed it was a face. It was some sort of creature, reminiscent of a deep ocean fish from a nature documentary I had seen recently.
"¡Dios mio que demonios es eso!" The mother cried, turning her child away from the face. The boomer and the jogger both leapt back a few paces, and the two men embraced each other in a frightened embrace. The taller man placed a protective hand on the other's head.
"OUR PEOPLE HAVE A SAYING, 'EVERYTHING IS A WEAPON TO A HUMAN'. WE HAVE ABDUCTED YOU TO CREATE NEW WEAPONS FOR OUR FLEET. BEGIN."
The voice and the horrifying face both vanished, and the glowing orb descended beneath the glass floor once more.
Nobody moved.
I don't know how long we all stood there in shock. It may have been a minute or an hour, or just a few seconds. The mother finally broke the silence.
"¿Qué fue eso? ¿Qué decía?" She said.
The boomer turned to her and shouted "WE DON'T SPEAK SPANISH!"
The woman recoiled, and the child burst into hysterical sobs. I gave the middle age man a stern glare. "Stop that. We don't need to turn on each other. We need to figure this all out, together."
The boomer threw his hands up in frustration. "I could understand the damn anglerfish in the hologram there, but not this woman. How am I supposed to-"
The woman in the jogging outfit sucker punched him in the jaw. The man collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
The two men gasped. The shorter one buried his face into the taller one's chest. "Steve doesn't like violence" he said, patting the short man's back reassuringly.
I stepped forwards and help out my hands, trying to stop the rapid descent into chaos. "Ok, no more hitting anyone, no more racism, no more violence. OK?"
The two men and the jogger nodded. The mother stared at me in uncomprehending fear.
I pulled out my phone and opened my translator app. I quickly typed out NO VIOLENCE. WORK TOGETHER.
"Sin violencia, trah ba hemos juntos" I read slowly. The woman nodded, relieved to finally understand something.
The taller man spoke again. "So why are my husband and I standing in what I'm going to assume is an alien spaceship with you all, tasked to make weapons by a deep sea fish?"
"Great question." I answered. "Not the foggiest idea. Why were we abducted? I'm a botanist, not a weapons manufacturer."
The man nodded. "I'm a lawyer, my husband here manages a cat café."
The jogging woman spoke next. "I'm a Real Estate agent."
The middle age man on the floor groaned. "Figures" he muttered, apparently conscious again. "I'm a used car salesman."
"Figures" everyone else said in unison.
I typed into my phone's translator app once more. "¿En qué trabajas?" I asked the mother.
She perked up almost instantly. "Soy profesora" she said. "Enseño geografía."
I tried my best to type that into the app, but all I could manage was 'professora'. "She's a teacher." I told the others.
"So what are we all doing here? They didn't pick us based on our knowledge of guns... seems like there's no connection here." The Real Estate agent said.
"The alien thing said something like 'Everything is a weapon to a human', I think." I said, trying to recall its exact words. "Maybe they don't have something like a weapon designer?"
The lawyer spoke over his husband's head, which was still buried in his chest. "I don't care how their civilization works, I'm not making a gun for them. I don't know how, and even if I did, it goes against everything we stand for."
"I don't think anyone here knows how to make a gun." I said. "Right?"
everyone shook their heads no. I typed into my app once more.
"¿Sabes cómo hacer un arma?" I read from the small screen. The mother shook her head no enthusiastically.
The floor orb rose once more, and the fish man's face appeared again. "HUMANS. YOU WILL MAKE A WEAPON OR YOU WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE SHIP."
"Please, just let us out!" The shorter man said, raising his head from his husband's chest at last. "We don't know how to make a gun! None of us do!"
The fish man inclined his head slightly. "I UNDERSTAND." His image winked out once more.
Before I could process what he had meant, a noise I took as an alarm began to sound. I heard a small hissing sound that grew louder by the second.
"Oh" was all I could say, as the room's airlock door was opened into the vacuum of space.
/r/SlightlyColdStories | 2022-06-29T10:40:27 | 2022-06-29T07:52:34 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] You've loved magic your whole life but since your family is poor you've had to teach yourself. you're overactive imagination has helped you invent spells all your own. eventually you get a scholarship to a prestigious magic college but quickly find out everyone seems to lack your imagination. | I’m bored.
I’m in an actual, literal, prestigious college for curating the top magic users the world has ever seen, and I’m bored out of my fucking skull.
I rest my cheek on my palm, staring dully at the professor who long winds himself through the components needed for our lab work and I try to stay awake. Next me to, students scribble frantically, sweat peppering their upper lips and foreheads. They all look dazed and feverish and just a little bit terrified.
And I just. Don’t. Get it.
It’s just a stupid spirit call and respond spell. That’s not what they call it, of course. The professor claims it’s a Nature Based Multi-Dimensional Ensnare and Demand spell, which, like everything in this university, is a long and important sounding way of saying something very basic. These kids are out here sweating lines on stone and the specifics of salt and the intonation of syllables on incantations, all of which aren’t even needed.
Like, salt is literally in the air around us. It’s actually one of the purest forms. So why BRING sullied salt to a spell when you can just pluck the particles out of the air? A spirit doesn’t need a rune centric circle to know where to stand, just a tiny bit of their own dimension to root them, so you simply use their element of choice. Half the spirits don’t even understand the incantations so I don’t even know why that’s a thing. All they care about is intent and you enticing them with something they want. Most spirits want something simple, something clean, somewhere safe. Sure, once in a while it gets to be a headache when they want their grove protected and you have to go out to the historical society and draw up a preservation permit, but once you have that in hand, spirits will line up for days to answer your questions or do a few tasks.
The professor glances at me, his voice faltering and I wave my pen, making a show of taking notes but we both know I’m faking it. I terrify them all but that’s hardly *my* fault. On my first day alone I realized it’s like they can’t count. Or if they do, they’re doing it the least effective way possible:
Count to 100! they said. Sure, 10, 20, 30–.
No, no, not like that, they snapped.
Uh, ok. 5, 10, 15–
No! No! That’s not how you do it!
Fine. Whatever. 1, 2, 3—
No, No! Why aren’t you getting it! It’s like this—.5, 1, 1.5, 2, 2.5, 3–
Honestly, I’d rather be back in my field, learning spells by digging my fingers into the soil, pulling atoms out of the sky, twisting elements together to create something new and fiery and beautiful in the palm of my hand.
The first time I opened up my palm and showed them a finely crafted fire sphere (if I do say so myself), my professor fainted cold. Someone screamed. I swear someone said a prayer to a god I didn’t even know existed anymore.
They all say I’ll probably be evil. Like I’m going to turn into some mad, black hearted sorceress because I’m not as slow as the rest of them. As if imagination can only be evil. Fuck it, maybe I will. Maybe it’ll get me out of this class because I honestly think I’m getting dumber sitting here using pen and paper to count by halves when I can already multiply by 100s in my head.
That’ll be me, the evil sorceress, driven mad by over complications of spell components and bad math.
Well, in the mean while, maybe I can get this professor to piss himself if I call an Ifrit down in the middle of lab. I *do* have the land rights to the abandoned tombs inside the sea cliff caves that everyone else seem to think is worthless. (It’s like they don’t even know how basic inter-species historical and cultural exchange works).
Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If by the end of this semester I can get ten professors to faint, I think I’ll reward myself with a forest dragon. A girl’s gotta spoil herself once in a while, right? Especially for withstanding such absolute, incompetent tedium. | Looking down at Aram-Naharaim Academy from the peak of its highest minaret, two hundred meters in the air, was a surreal experience. I'd hijacked a handy pigeon for the view, and looked down at myself, sprawled out alone on a tattered rug on the lawn. Well, not alone on the quad, but alone in just taking in the view. The constant crack of magic in the air from thousands of wizards openly practicing their craft, statues that moved, prismatic crenulations that aimed to focus sunlight into different patterns of eldritch light at different hours at the day, the pulsing throb of arcane forges and manufactories deep within the earth, the occasional waft of incense or sulfur on the air. I got a sweeping panoramic view of the grounds because the top of the tower on which my pigeon sat rotated gracefully, one rotation every half hour. Of all the extraordinary sights and sounds and smells, the most extraordinary might have been the sight of a thousand other apprentices scurrying about like their environment *wasn't* extraordinary.
I heard voices in the back of my mind near me, which made me tense. I had dumped most of my sensorium into my pigeon, but left trigger spells on myself in case anyone addressed me directly or talked about me within earshot.
"That kid? No clue, never seen him. Look at that carpet, though. Definitely from the pauper quota."
I wrinkled my nose in distaste, and was glad that my reaction was hidden by the fact that it didn't happen on my real face, just on a pigeon two hundred meters away. They weren't exactly wrong. Wealthy merchant families were middle-class at best at Aram-Naharaim. The truly wealthy were the royalty and the sons and daughters of other sorcerers--there are financial benefits, among others, to being able to bend reality to your will and singlehandedly lay waste armies that oppose you. I was the son of an emerald miner; the son of the count who owned the mine would be joining me here next year, and he'd fit in better than me. But why fit in with people who comment on my ratty throw rug but never on the real wonders all around them?
"Well, then I give him credit for just enjoying it while it lasts."
That stung a little more. Less than half of the pauper quota made it to their second year. Less than one in four made it to graduation.
"I get that the odds are against him but you'd think they could at least put on a show of trying."
OK, these two boys were really getting on my nerves now. I wasn't sure exactly how much I was learning by just taking in the grounds from the peak of the minaret, but I was sure that they weren't learning any more at the moment just by talking about me as if I weren't even there. Of course, I mostly wasn't there, but that was beside the point.
I was getting tired of keeping my poor pigeon from doing pigeon things, so I took to the air with him. The pigeon needed to do some specific pigeon things anyway, things that made it increasingly hard to hold onto its consciousness because they were distracting to the mind at a level that magic could not entirely suppress. Certainly not at my level, anyway.
Man or bird, when you gotta go, you gotta go.
I let the pigeon do its pigeon thing in the air right over the two chatterboxes, then canceled the spell.
"Oh, *vushga*!" I heard a snarl.
*Bullseye.*
I opened my eyes and saw the two of them for the first time. Both several inches taller than me, with similar beards, though one was clearly able to grow his out more fully than the other. I immediately categorized them as Big Beard and Boy Beard. Boy Beard had been the one to receive the pigeon things. Big Beard had pulled a monocle from his jacket, donned it, and focused on my retreating pigeon, and I realized that canceling the spell had likely been a smart move; that was probably a scry-glass and he was checking to see if the pigeon was dominated. *Nope, just a totally ordinary pigeon doing pigeon things.*
It was time for me to get to class, anyway. I only had a couple of minutes to get more than halfway across campus. Sure enough, I saw a few more carpets in the air, as procrastinating princelings realized the same thing on their first day in a real school, with at least some teachers—the best ones—that would not be intimidated by their august pedigrees.
One of those carpets would cost two years of my father's income. The one I had was woven by my grandmother, who was a good seamstress, but she'd also had eight kids and my parents had had five, so there was a reason mine looked like it had seen two generations of heavy use. I'd actually found a way to make use of that, though. The thought had come to me while chasing centipedes in the back rooms of our home—probably not an experience the wealthy and privileged scions that dominated Aram-Naharaim had frequently. The little things were *really* fast with their hundred little legs.
And as it turned out, they weren't actually that powerful. They didn't need to be. They took advantage of the fact that you didn't need as much power to move quickly along the ground as opposed to both flying and moving quickly.
The frayed ends of my family's heirloom rug reminded me of those hundred legs so much.
Some of those ends I'd frayed myself when I was two years old.
I stretched and sat up on my running carpet. I'd gotten a very good mental map of the campus during my pigeon watch. I leaned forward and crouched low, a lesson learned the hard way when I'd first tested this thing on the back streets of Qu'aith. My stomach still hadn't completely hardened to that first burst of speed, but the thrill at this point made it easy enough to ignore. Another shocked oath burst from Boy Beard as I darted away, and I had to dodge a certain amount of foot traffic on the quad, but the paths were wide and plentiful. I caught a variety of reactions from the glitterati on the flying carpets above me, used to looking down on *hoi polloi* below. Some were aghast, some were impassive, and one or two even looked mildly impressed. I had to watch out for that last group. Those with wealth were ubiquitous, but those with wealth and curiosity were true competition. But I had time to deal with that later. For now, it was my first day of school, I'd learned a great deal already, and I was very much looking forward to the next four years. | 2022-10-25T07:41:29 | 2022-10-25T06:15:42 | 296 | 124 |
[WP] Throughout your childhood you are made fun of for "making up your own language", till Earth is contacted by another race and you are the only one that understands them. | I remember the exact moment my date with Amy went south. It was when I started discussing my hobbies.
"...hiking, craft beer, and conlanging."
I watched Amy scrunch up her face in confusion, followed by the inevitable question. "I'm sorry – con - what? Also, how is 'craft beer' a hobby?"
"Conlanging! It's the creation of *con*structed *lang*uages. Basically I make up new languages."
Her facial expression hadn't changed at all. "Um. Why?"
"Lots of reasons! Let's see. Have you ever seen Game of Thrones?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, they have a conlang - sorry, constructed language - called Dothraki. It's really neat!"
"Uh, okay."
---
Apparently my roommate Brad had spoken with Amy after our date. "Dave, I'm gonna have to stop introducing you to my single friends if you keep bringing up that language stuff."
"*Conlanging*. And I'm sorry man, but I feel like it came up pretty organically this time." I strode over to the fridge and grabbed another couple beers for myself and Brad.
"Thanks." Brad grabbed the beer from my hand and started to open the bottle against the side of our coffee table when he couldn't find a bottle opener. "Either way, no one cares if you're working on a new form of Klingon."
"Brad, it's a screw top. And *Davish* is not a 'new form of Klingon.' It's an attempt to take the best parts of all the world's languages, eliminate the imperfections, and create the perfect medium of communication."
"Whatever. Anyways, you been keeping up with this aliens stuff?"
"What? Oh, yeah. I don't really pay attention to all that. Probably a hoax."
Brad started playing with his phone. "No dude, this is real. NASA confirmed it. Latest is they sent us a recorded transmission."
"Wait. There's a recording? Like an audio recording?" Now I was interested. An alien language?
"Yeah! Here, check it out." He tapped something on his phone and then shoved it in my face. There were some beeps, and then, unmistakably:
"Tram-mļöi hhâsmařpţuktôx."
*No fucking way.* I snatched the phone from Brad, read the article and played it back a dozen more times before I was sure. *The aliens were speaking Davish*. | "Arqur Terra, sordeis arqur terra." I whisper to myself bemusedly. "Rultes tain surendo carble tres."
My daughter, Silvia, looks at me uncomprehendingly. "Mommy, what are you saying? I can't understand you."
I smile down at her, patting her head. "Oh, don't worry about it, Sweetheart. It's just a weird language I created for myself as a child."
Her eyes widen in wonder, and she pulls at my skirts. "So what'd you say, Mommy? Do you think anybody else could understand you?" She glances around us warily, as if we were sharing some deep, dark secret that nobody else could know.
I laugh. "No, I don't think anybody else knows my language. It's called Plurilon, by the way. What I said just now was 'Planet Terra, come in Planet Terra. Our ship has been damaged and we need somewhere to land."
Silvia nods, face screwed together as she attempts to understand. "Why would you say that, Mommy? It doesn't make much sense, you know."
I start to answer, but suddenly catch myself. Why DID I say that? I hadn't used Plurilon since I was eight, when some kids started bullying me because of it. The message didn't make much sense, either- it had just randomly popped into my head as something that had to be said. "I... honestly have no idea, Sweetheart. I guess it'll just be one of those mysteries- you know, like 'where's the cookies I left out here?' or 'who in the world could have drawn all over the bathroom wall?'." I glance at her, hoping to coerce her into admitting to her crimes.
Silvia raised an eyebrow and stopped walking. "Mommy, what if it was another life form, talking to us through you?" She reasoned. "You have to answer back and tell them it's okay to land. If you don't they're going to die, right? They did say their ship was damaged."
I smile, deciding to go along with my little daughter's scheme. "Alright, Sweetheart, here we go-" I begin speaking in Plurilon. "Wereltekka, surteblus chiibo, suva placerin ulta sagis kell levar kures tain, esso xi sar bellad suva bland savblar. [Attention, unidentified spacecraft, please state your names and size of ship, as well as your intentions in coming here.]" I begin to translate for Silvia, but suddenly another 'transmission' comes pouring from my mouth instead.
"(It's a bit difficult to do the Plurilon, so from now on I'm just going to say it in [English], alright? Okay.) [We are four members of a small crew, headed by Captain Sol of our planet, Zel. We were sent from our home planet to enslave the master race upon Planet Terra. Our ship is thirty Belts wide and twenty Belts thick.]"
I calculate out the size of their vessel in my head. "Thirty Belts is about... Oh! Only about six feet! We could probably have them land right in our backyard!" I begin imagining a whole new brilliant game to play with my daughter. If we were to wrap some blankets around her old play- set, we could make it the 'space ship' and the whole family could play as the aliens, just now landing on Earth's surface. I quickly 'answer' back. "[Alright, Captain Sol and crew, you've been permitted to land. In about 60 Wattes, the access point will be in a small backyard which will be safe for you to land in. Please wait the appointed time, then make your landing. There will be somebody there to greet you, so please feel welcome to use the facilities connected to the backyard.]"
"[Affirmative.]" Comes the automatic reply.
Grinning giddily to myself, I grab Silvia by the hand and run with her back home. There, I tell her to wait in her room for about five minutes, then to come out into the backyard to wait for the aliens to arrive. The rest of the family is assembled; we march outside, lay the blankets on thick, and wait patiently for Silvia to come outside.
Just as she's opening the screen door, peering out into the yard for signs of life, a great roar comes from the sky. I look up, shocked, to see a massive silver bullet bearing straight down upon us. My eyes widen. Dear lord, what have I gotten us into? I remember the message I had received. Glancing around, the graveness of the situation suddenly dawns upon me. Enslave the master race?
I sprint from the fort, grabbing my precious daughter and hurrying in side. My husband and teenage son follow closely behind, confused and disoriented. "Quick!" I scream. "Run, and don't look back! We're in terrible danger!"
It's too late. The ship is upon us. It burrows itself deep into the ground, smoke billowing from where it created a crater in the earth. I look back, terrified, as the ship's door slowly opens. A ghastly, slimey face peers out, pulling itself into a sinister smile when it sees me. "[Hello, foolish humans. How naive you are. Truly.]" | 2015-04-18T13:37:40 | 2015-04-18T10:09:15 | 155 | 57 |
[WP] An eldritch abomination from beyond time and space is stalking through your apartment. You're on first-name terms though, so you don't mind. | “Still not happening Bob,” she replied to his constantly repeating question. It probably wouldn’t bother her so much that he was always around, but he wouldn’t shut the hell up. Weren't these things generally of a more bump-in-the-night and less annoying-little-brother issue?
“I hold unfathomable power. You do not have the power to deny me,” a disembodied voice echoed, hollow and powerful. It rumbled like an earthquake but without any of the normal shaking and vibrating that accompanied an actual earth-shaking event.
“And my name is not Bob,” it added, a small hurt rumble that revealed the sting of her jab.
“You lectured me for hours on how my inferior mortal tongue can’t pronounce it. You need a name. Bob is a name. Ergo…”
“Disrespectful!”
The girl picked up her magazine and hid behind it, trying to put an end to the conversation. The ghostly entity from the depths of hell had been in her apartment when she first arrived, or so she was told when Bob made his presence known one cold night.
Unlike the previous tenants, she didn’t freak out and run away after this little fact was revealed. Little did the demon know was that she couldn’t afford anywhere else and in fact, she was annoyed that she couldn’t force Bob to pay part of the rent. She got all the lovely side effects of roommates, lack of privacy, someone stealing your things, etc., without the benefit of some monetary compensation.
All the cabinet doors behind her crashed open, freeing countless cereal boxes, bags of chips, and even breaking one of her mugs. She hated when he got like this.
“Fine, you pick a name.”
“I’d rather you agree to my simple request.”
“For crying out loud. For the last time, you do not have a body and therefore you cannot have a bowl of ice cream.”
Edit: For a million typos
| A middle aged, gruff looking man sits on a sofa, flicking through channels on his tv with a kind of bemused boredom. The window to his apartment is open, and the nighttime skyline of london sits behind him. Dogs are heard barking, and a police siren is distant. His apartment is small, a studio flat, but sparse of personality. Ikea boxes lie in the far corner, in a room with only a small cream sofa affront of a large flatscreen television. The sound blares out with advertisements.
A ghostly figure apparates through the wall behind the television, and floats in front of the screen, light flickering through its transparent body. It takes a somewhat human form, sleek and slender, with a simple face, with lively, large eyes and an expressive mouth, curled into an endearing grin.
MAN ON SOFA: Barry, move, I’m trying to watch this.
BARRY: Watch what? It’s a thursday night Kev, you'll be lucky to find anything.
KEV: Well whatever i watch it'll be better than looking at your ugly mug, so shift it.
Barry floats indignantly, and darkens his body to a more opaque form, and a smug smirk stretches across his mouth.
KEV: You fucker, move out the way! Or I'll be forced to… um, what hurts you anyway?
BARRY: Only the pain of being so far from my own dimension Kevin.
KEV: Don't start that old woe is me shit again, shift it. And if you wanted to stay in your own dimension that much, you should have thought of that before you came floating here anyway!
BARRY: You think I chose this life Kev?
KEV: True mate, if you’d chosen this you would have at least asked to be a good looking ghost
BARRY: A ghost? How dare you! I am a transcendent being, tasked with crossing the very aspects of space and time, in order to study and understand the complexities of existence.
KEV: Yeah okay, sounds like a ghost to me mate. Anyway spooky Arthur Dent, shift it and study somewhere else. And what kind of studying involves eating my biscuits anyway!?
Barry says nothing, but floats away from the television and over to the fridge in the corner.
BARRY: Hey kev
KEV: No.
BARRY: It's hungry work, you know, all this studying.
KEV: Is it? Good for you! Why don't you eat some ghost food, rather than trying to slimer your way in here!
BARRY: Slimer?
KEV: Ghostbusters mate, for someone who’s meant to be researching you don't know a lot do you?
BARRY: Well I've mostly been watching documentaries, you know, the Kardashians, Eastenders, et cetera.
KEV: You’re not very good at your job are you mate?
BARRY: Huh?
KEV: Dont worry, now piss off, I've got work to do!
BARRY: I highly doubt that, my studies have shown your work to be inconclusive. It appears you simply sit on a computer and look at pictures of rubber ducks on reddit.com, a social media website that-
KEV: Yes I know what reddit is thanks mate, now can you do me a massive favour?
BARRY: Anything.
KEV: Can you put up that furniture for me?
He gestures to the far corner, where the ikea boxes lie, opened, with parts lying strewn upon the floor.
KEV:That’s if the almighty Barry can do it, or are you more Ghost Dad than Barbossa?
BARRY: I can do anything, transverse existence, this furniture will prove no match for me, and I’d rather be a Malcolm Crowe anyway.
KEV: Well now you've just ruined sixth sense for me, just get on with it will you?
A cloud of movement forms around Barry and the boxes, with wind howling and the sound of banging and screwing of drills.
The cloud falls, Kev looks over and sees simply a pile of pieces in the centre of his room, and a sullen looking Barry beside it. He smirks.
KEV: What happened to being all knowing?
BARRY: I speak all of the languages in the known universe, I can forge portals with my own hands, I can piece together galaxies from the rubble of a fallen wall, but these instructions have got me buggered I tell you; it's like they don't want us to make it!
KEV: That's the most relatable thing you've said so far mate, take a seat.
Barry glides over and sits beside Kevin, and looks at the TV
BARRY: Oh NCIS! I love this one! It's the one where Ducky has a heart attack and-
KEV: SPOILERS!! God dammit Barry when will you learn!
WRITERS NOTE: Sorry this is so long, got a bit carried away with the concept, great prompt! | 2016-06-08T14:01:19 | 2016-06-08T13:17:46 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] You turn your Match Distance on tinder to "Anywhere". To your surprise you get a match that is 10^93 light years away. Thinking it was a joke you turn it off. 20 minutes later you turn it back on and it says they are 10^5 light years away and getting closer. | "We're receiving an anomalous transmission from the Tau Ceti system," the radio telescope's civilian specialist said, barely containing his excitement. He waved her over to the console with the look of a kid finding a present on Christmas morning.
"Report," she instructed, wondering if this might be the big one.
"It's definitely not a missile, it's way too far away for that. When I picked it up it was estimated at nearly 10^93 lightyears away, but look at it now! It's closed nearly 10^80 of those in the last five minutes!" When she gave him an unimpressed look, he indignantly explained: "That means it's moving faster than light!"
*10^93. That can't be a coincidence.* She surreptitiously slid her cell phone out from her trouser pocket and unlocked the screen with her thumb. Furtively glancing at the still-open Tinder tab, she checked her chat history and immediately saw what she was looking for.
Bb u up?
Mayb y?
U want me 2 hit that?
Idk your pic just look like a bunch of tentacles or something
U dont like that?
Mayb ;) I'm working now
When u ready for this?
U close?
Not really but Imma make a trip for that ass
K ;) meet me near the NORAD array in 30 mins
She grimaced, checking the mysterious match's profile one more time. It had said 10^93 lightyears when that conversation started - that had to be a joke, right? Her heart sank when she saw that it was down to 10^5 . She locked the phone and slid it back into her pocket.
"I've got to go, I have, uh, urgent business elsewhere," she said, edging toward the door.
"Wait! Whatever it is it can't be more urgent than this! We've decoded an audio transmission, listen! I'll put it on the loudspeaker."
It was faint at first, and crackly, but a deep voice was chanting something on the other end. It sounded otherworldly, almost maddening, as though a chorus of angels were laughing in hell. The same two words kept repeating, drawing her in with dark seduction from beyond space and time...
**SWIGGITY**
**SWOOTY**
**SWIGGITY**
**SWOOTY** | Javed was manning Mission Control that day. He had clocked in as usual at around 7:30 AM, gotten a cup of coffee from the pantry, and had settled in for eight hours of watching live data from the various Tinder servers spread across the globe.
Tinder lived and died by metrics. They measured everything - uptime, clock time vs users logged in stats, gender vs log in time. Anything you could think of was tracked.
99.99% of Javed's job was automated. Data got captured, logged, sliced and diced a myriad ways without handholding.
His team only got involved when the live streams showed a purple blip. And so far today, no purple blips. He didn't really expect to see any either. His devs had been eliminating typical causes of purple blips all year now and today, the Friday before Christmas, he probably wasn't going to see any.
Purple blips were most often caused by incorrect assumptions about the expected data. For example, data scientists had presumed lunch hour near tech office parks on the I-5 corridor was would be a quiet time for swipers. So, when the number of swipers in their first study region - a circle half-mile in radius from Exit 14 on I-5 - was more than two standard deviations away from the expected number, purple blips galore.
Javed grew restless as the morning wore on. The office was near empty due to Christmas. He missed the usual hubbub of pool playing, casual flirting, and gossiping that passed for work at Tinder on most days. He whipped out his phone to eat his own dog food. His approach to dating was quantity over quality. Unless the girl was really unattractive, he would swipe right. His first match was, to be charitable, not attractive. Eager to move on to the next match, Javed swiped left but the photo didn't budge. He swiped left again. The photo didn't so much as flicker. He tried again, slower this time, carefully trying to catch a clean, smudge free area of his phone screen. Nothing.
This was getting annoying.
He looked again at the picture. The app told him this woman was 2000+ miles away. He was sure his distance filters were set to exclude everyone outside a 25 mile radius. He'd be damned if he was going to drive to the sticks to hook up with anyone. This was surely a bug but his screens showed no purple blips. Weird.
He tapped on the photo of the girl. That seemed to work. "What do we have here?" Javed muttered to himself. The girl looked much nicer than her cover photo in certain pictures. In her profile was a cryptic collection of letters and numbers - * BJNY86I2^BJNY86I2.
Now this was getting even more mystifying. He scrolled through more pictures of her. The last one seemed to be a silhouette of her torso filled with stars. An arrow pointing to one star in particular.
Excited, Javed turned to his laptop. He typed in BJNY86I2 into the search bar and out popped a NASA picture of a recently discovered galaxy at the very edge of what humans could see with current technology.
The galaxy about 10^46 light years away and thousands of light years across. He moved his phone closer to the screen, tilted it a bit and immediately saw that this girl's silhouette lined up perfectly with NASA's rendering of the galaxy.
Now, he was getting excited to meet this girl, 2000+ miles be damned. It wasn't often that Tinder showed you girls with the latest NASA images in their profile. He swiped right. A little frisson of excitement went through him when it was a match! Now matched, he could see that her name was Sarah.
He noticed that the profile had changed. It now said CY23GP4. And her silhouette picture was also different. Once again Javed googled that cryptic string. It was a galaxy around 100,000 light years away. This was getting exciting. This girl was a space geek.
Idly, he wondered why he wasn't able to swipe left and why he was matched with someone so far outside his preferred area but the prospect of talking to a space nerd with a cute body and obvious smarts quashed his worries.
Bzzzzt! His phone buzzed in his hand as a message from Sarah came in. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" Her silhouette picture was the moon. The profile proudly said the same thing - MOON!
Javed wasn't sure what she meant, "Invite you in? To what? It all seems very vampire-y to await an invitation." He threw in a few emojis to let her know he was joking. She replied with a pout but her main profile picture had become a little more steamy. He could definitely see a hint of cleavage.
For a second, he wondered if everyone else around him was seeing Sarah in their matches. He casually IM-ed Judith asking her if she saw anything interesting on her Tinder. She did, she said as she bounded over to his desk to show him. Judith's last few tinder dates had been a bust though she seemed super excited about this new girl she wanted to show Javed. A quick glance told him that Judith was also talking to Sarah but Judith hadn't noticed anything untoward about Sarah's profile.
Judith had even asked her over for lunch at the gourmet office cafeteria.
Bzzzzt! His phone buzzed again, "Cya at lunch." And slowly, his entire phone turned a familiar shade of purple. | 2016-12-23T09:25:29 | 2016-12-23T08:11:36 | 53 | 23 |
[WP] Please don't write anything.
EDIT: Jesus I said not to
EDIT 2: ya'll know that this was supposed to be a test post right | "Please don't write anything."
That's what the writing prompt said. I happened upon it while browsing reddit as I do frequently in my leisure time, on a subreddit suitably called /r/writingprompts.
'What a curious command,' I thought to myself. Indeed. It was iminently perplexing. A tremendous paradox to challenge one's wits! What fiendish mind could've conjured such a conundrum?!
I stared at my computer screen for what must've been hours. My eyes became strained and dried, to the point where the letters waved and blurred in front of me. Those dastardly letters, taunting my feeblemindedness.
"Please don't write anything."
It was a command that I could not hope to follow. As in order to complete the prompt, I must write *something*, yet the prompt itselfs tells me not to.
Slowly, I spiraled into a deep depression. My skin grew wrinkled and pale from the lack of sun and hydration. My eyes became reddened and bloodshot from lack of sleep. I remained still for what must've been days. This prompt... this *damned* prompt had become my demon. My nemesis which I had to defeat in order to gain any closure and move on with my life.
I saw it around every corner, down every corridor. I saw the prompt in the caress of my loving wife of five years. I saw it everytime I looked in the mirror, in those haunted blood red eyes with dark bags drawn underneath them. My God, it was everywhere.
My mind would not settle. Everytime sleep sought to take me into her relished bosom, the prompt would tear me out into cold reality. Like the ice cold laugh of a cruel torturer, it would grind itself into my brain.
It was on a warm autumn night when the solution hit me. I climbed up from the cardboard box in the backyard where I lived after my wife kicked me out of the house and ran on boney, unshaven and bare (like any great philosopher, I work without pants) legs to the local library, which I knew to be equiped with computing machines.
I logged on to the reddit website and manouvered into the prompt.
It was so simple that I could not believe how I didn't think of it before!
I pressed ALT + 0173 and added my comment to the growing list, which I paid no attention to in my jubilant celebrations. I was finally complete. It was my magnum opus. I finally brought value to my pathetic existance. Decades later, when I die I would die happy knowing that there is this small part of me that would live on long after my expiration, as evidence of the ingenious mind that I held in my skull. A single tear flowed down my cheek. I was truely euphoric on this day.
Then, tragedy struck.
>Rule 1: No low-effort prompt responses
>* Responses must be at least thirty words.
I fell on me knees, fists swaying above my head.
"Nooooo," I yelled. "Curse you, fascist mods!"
I wagged my fists at the moderators, who were actually standing to the side, giggling in their fancy SS uniforms. Eventually they goosestepped away, leaving me in a puddle of my own bodily fluids.
Now I lie inside my room, a hollow and broken man. There is nothing for me on this earth now. I will grow old as my grandchildren dance around me, the aching regret burning a deep hole in my chest. Perhaps it is better to end it now, then to suffer a slow death surrendering to decay and whitering away.
I have spent some time contemplating suicide and have decided to strip naked and coat myself with honey, so as to attract bees to sting me to death. My genius is clearly apparant even in my darkest hours.
Farewell, my colleagues! I bid this cruel world goodbye!
-
^Disclaimer: ^the ^mods ^are ^benevolent ^and ^just ^dictators ^and ^I ^personally ^think ^they're ^great.
| Torchlight did little to brighten the darkened library, it's walls stretching endlessly back into nothingness, the pale orange glow only serving to amplify the illusion. At the table stood a hooded figure wearing the red robes of an accomplished sorcerer, pouring over the pages from an ancient tome. Holding the torch beside them was another figure, cloaked in the blue robes of an apprentice and shaking nervously.
"Daxtan, still yourself! I can barely see the pages as it is. Now pass me some parchment so we can be done with this".
Obediently he reached into the satchel hanging from his shoulder and removed some parchment and a stick of writing charcoal and placed them on the table. "Mistress..."
Snatching the items across the table, she ignored his pleading and set to work copying the symbols from the yellowed pages, double-checking her work often. There would be no room for error; one wrong symbol could undo an entire month's worth of effort. She mumbled to herself in frustration as she turned the page and found it to be quite faded. The ink was still there, though barely visible.
"Bring the torch closer, I can't make out the writing here".
Daxtan brought the flickering torch closer to the table only to be admonished almost immediately.
"Not that close! A loose spark could set the whole damn tome alight!". He flinched as she reached out and pushed his hand back to a more satisfactory distance. "There. Better. Now, don't move" she instructed and went back to work transcribing.
Daxtan had always found her to be an intimidating figure, even when not trespassing in a library in the middle of the night. He didn't understand why she had chosen him to be her accomplice in all this; he was just an apprentice, and not an especially gifted one either. There was no question in his mind that she could have managed on her own, her mastery of spellwork was testament to that fact. Yet here he was, clearly well in over his head.
Now that he was closer to the table, he could better see the prize he was risking himself for. He plied his rudimentary knowledge of ancient spellrunes and deciphered a few words from the pages - "power" "imbue" "life", and his stomach sank. Even at his low rank, he understood just what was laid out on the table before him.
"Mistress! I...is that...?" his voice shaky before she cut him off.
"Shhhh, almost done. Dammit!" she cursed as she smudged a symbol on her piece of parchment. "Look, the less you know, the better. Now, hand me some more charcoal".
He produced another piece from the satchel and continued, ignoring her warning. "This is one of the tomes of power, isn't it, Mistress? Even I know about those. Please don't write anything! Not another sigil. You know what they'll do if they discover us!".
"They *won't* discover us if you stop interrupting me. And yes, if you must know, it's the Tome of Ammagar. I wasn't going to tell you because I knew you'd react like this". She sighed, then turned to Daxtan, and he swore her saw a twinkle in her eye. "Besides, after tonight, I plan to be far away from here. Now, let me work before..."
Her words were cut short by a tremendous cracking sound echoing through the library. In an instant, the room was filled with an overwhelming bright light as sconces along the walls came alight with an orange fury. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she could barely make out a figure in an ornate black robe with golden edging step out from one of the many aisles. She stood from her hunched position, and as her vision cleared, the lodge's Grandmaster stood before her.
"Master Kira, the tome you have before you is dangerous beyond your understanding, and forbidden, as you well know" his voice boomed.
The power behind his words caused her to flinch, but she retained her composure. "Grandmaster," she began, "power should not be restricted and hoarded for a few old men to hold. You have denied me my right for long enough. Since you would not share this knowledge, what choice did I have *but* to take it?".
Kira expected anger from the Grandmaster, but his stern face had softened, and she was taken aback by the sorrow in his voice. "Kira, the spells and rituals in that tome are beyond your skill. Even I dare not attempt some, such is the power contained on those pages". He then turned his regard to Daxtan, who had cowered behind the table. "And Apprantice Daxtan, how have you managed to allow yourself to be caught up in all this? I would not have thought to find you hiding in the library in the dead of night".
Daxtan drew himself to his feet and prepared to answer, but was again interrupted by Kira. "Skill?! Grandmaster, I recall it was you who said I possessed an innate finesse for spellwork when I first came here to study. I am much more than I was then". Anticipating the need to run, she snatched her parchment into a pocket insider her robes. "This knowledge. This *power* is something I will harness. You'll see!".
"You know the council will not allow it. That I will not allow it. I have no choice but to take you in for trial. The knowledge you are trying to steal cannot leave these walls. Please, don't make this more difficult that it needs to be!".
The Grandmaster raised his hands and began tracing shimmering green runes in the air before him. Kira recognised the spell - a binding - and it was intended for her. While it was true she had a certain affinity for spellwork, the Grandmaster was much more powerful and had a lifetime of practice. She would not be able to escape should he finish his casting.
Thinking quickly, Kira snatched the torch from Daxtan's hand, and began to trace her own runes behind it. While only a simple spell, it was quick, and one that any apprentice would know. Binding was difficult as it affects the intended targets will, but projection, that was much easier. Kira held the torch at arms length before her and traced the final rune, poured her intent into the completed spell.
Roaring flames spewed forth as she directed the spray towards the shelves of books around her. Orange tongues licked at paper and leather, as the giant collection in the library began to ignite around them. A more ruthless man would have continued with the binding, but the books and the knowledge contained within were much too important. Aborting his spell and forming a new one, the Grandmaster strained as he conjured a void within the room peeling smoke and flame away from priceless volumes and towards the center until no light remained within the library.
Carefully lighting another torch, the Grandmaster surveyed the damage Kira had wrought. Sighing in relief, he noted that nothing significant had been burned, though many books would now bear black marks where the fire had taken hold. He also noted that in the chaos, Kira and Daxtan had disappeared. | 2017-03-09T02:28:29 | 2017-03-09T02:12:50 | 66 | 44 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar." | 4 digits. For a moment, my degree in mathematics failed me, as I struggled to count the numbers before me. Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre. There was no mistake, though the existence of such a person...frightened me. My vision had always been right, as evidenced by the guilty looks on the minors' faces when I turned them out of the bar. I'd never had to kick someone out for being overage. But 5746 years was a lot of time, far before Anno Domini 1. Was he immortal? A god? Or some old guy with a superpower? I didn't know, and I definitely didn't trust the 'Age: 30' that his ID proclaimed. Maybe my powers had faltered this time. Maybe...
From behind, I saw another man slowly approach me, his IDs in his hands. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened in fear. I saw him whisper into the 4-digit-old man, with visible shock on both faces. That was when I saw the age of the newcomer. 5746.
I tried my best to suppress my shock, though I failed miserably. 1 was surprising enough, but 2? 2 men that had lived for the exact same time from so long ago? I was about to demand an explanation, but one of them beat me to it.
"Why are you 5746 years old?" he questioned, fear in his eyes. I opened my own wide. Could he read ages too? And was I...that old? No. That couldn't be right. I remembered my childhood, the photographic proof of my birh just 28 years ago. But they didn't seem to be lying, and the mention of that 4-digit number again was chilling. What kind of sick joke was my powers pulling? Or were they the ones pulling my leg?
"We've found another suspect, boss," one said into a walkie-talkie. The other drew a gun from his pocket, training the muzzle on my forehead. "What are you doing? You're-" I tried to explain, but he cut me off. "No more words, time traveller. We've waited long enough to catch you and your gang," he replied, smirking as a group of policemen appeared from the darkness. I felt the cool metal slide around my wrists, as I was forced towards the car. "Move!" one of them shouted. That voice...I seemed to recall. The cold handcuffs. The interrogation. Disjointed images flashes before my eyes, as they slowly became clearer, culminating in...
I knew now. But...why were they doing this? Was it a plot to throw of the police? "James!" I shrieked, to the man I'd once been partners in crime with. He chuckled, though I could tell it wasn't just for effect. I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the signature twinkle he gave when he condemned a foe to death. My other pal Aldrich stood by, his eyes conveying his helplessness. James' face wasn't one of friendliness anymore. It was one of animosity and hatred.
"Good riddance," I saw him mouth, as I was shoved into the car. As we drove off, I could still see him, as he advanced slowly towards Aldrich. I closed my eyes in cowardice, though I knew what would happen. What I had feared when I agreed to sacrifice my memories...it had all occured. There was no way back.
Even inside the driving car, I could hear the terrified screams. The circle of betrayal had been completed. | 2017-09-01T22:32:16 | 2017-09-01T22:15:29 | 1,408 | 16 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all. | 4 digits. For a moment, my degree in mathematics failed me, as I struggled to count the numbers before me. Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre. There was no mistake, though the existence of such a person...frightened me. My vision had always been right, as evidenced by the guilty looks on the minors' faces when I turned them out of the bar. I'd never had to kick someone out for being overage. But 5746 years was a lot of time, far before Anno Domini 1. Was he immortal? A god? Or some old guy with a superpower? I didn't know, and I definitely didn't trust the 'Age: 30' that his ID proclaimed. Maybe my powers had faltered this time. Maybe...
From behind, I saw another man slowly approach me, his IDs in his hands. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened in fear. I saw him whisper into the 4-digit-old man, with visible shock on both faces. That was when I saw the age of the newcomer. 5746.
I tried my best to suppress my shock, though I failed miserably. 1 was surprising enough, but 2? 2 men that had lived for the exact same time from so long ago? I was about to demand an explanation, but one of them beat me to it.
"Why are you 5746 years old?" he questioned, fear in his eyes. I opened my own wide. Could he read ages too? And was I...that old? No. That couldn't be right. I remembered my childhood, the photographic proof of my birh just 28 years ago. But they didn't seem to be lying, and the mention of that 4-digit number again was chilling. What kind of sick joke was my powers pulling? Or were they the ones pulling my leg?
"We've found another suspect, boss," one said into a walkie-talkie. The other drew a gun from his pocket, training the muzzle on my forehead. "What are you doing? You're-" I tried to explain, but he cut me off. "No more words, time traveller. We've waited long enough to catch you and your gang," he replied, smirking as a group of policemen appeared from the darkness. I felt the cool metal slide around my wrists, as I was forced towards the car. "Move!" one of them shouted. That voice...I seemed to recall. The cold handcuffs. The interrogation. Disjointed images flashes before my eyes, as they slowly became clearer, culminating in...
I knew now. But...why were they doing this? Was it a plot to throw of the police? "James!" I shrieked, to the man I'd once been partners in crime with. He chuckled, though I could tell it wasn't just for effect. I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the signature twinkle he gave when he condemned a foe to death. My other pal Aldrich stood by, his eyes conveying his helplessness. James' face wasn't one of friendliness anymore. It was one of animosity and hatred.
"Good riddance," I saw him mouth, as I was shoved into the car. As we drove off, I could still see him, as he advanced slowly towards Aldrich. I closed my eyes in cowardice, though I knew what would happen. What I had feared when I agreed to sacrifice my memories...it had all occured. There was no way back.
Even inside the driving car, I could hear the terrified screams. The circle of betrayal had been completed. | 2017-09-01T23:43:36 | 2017-09-01T22:15:29 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] Society has introduced a day that’s the opposite of the purge- a day where all crimes no matter how small (jaywalking, littering) are punishable by death. | 30 seconds until midnight.
20 seconds.
10 seconds.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
...Silence. While Greek Row was normally loud and active, there was only silence.
I was such a fool for staying out this late. I briskly walked back towards my dorm, wary of potential police officers lurking around campus. As I approached the crosswalk, I counted how many seconds the signal had been white. The signal to walk never lasted more than 15 seconds. It had already been 10 seconds, so I took long strides to cover as much ground as I could. Upon reaching my dorm, I attentively swiped my University ID card over the scanner. As the door unlocked, I could hear a car in the distance. Quickly, but carefully, I swung the door open just enough to slip inside and make my way up the stairs. As I stumbled towards my dorm, I tiredly stabbed at the lock with my key until it found its way in. I entered quietly as to not wake up my roommate, blissfully asleep in his bed. Flopping on the bed, I recalled the beginning of the executional edicts.
It had only been two years since the Martial Proclamation was implemented. The Unity Party stole numerous seats from both Democrats and Republicans. They made up a massive majority in both the House and Senate. They were able to pass the 28th Amendment which enacted what most of us know as the Martial Proclamation.
“To combat growing crime within society, the 28th Amendment will provide law enforcement throughout all of America , on the 2nd of each January, the ability to punish any and all crimes, with death.”
No one believed that statement at first. But surely enough as January 2nd, 2018 arrived, more than 400,000 homeless people were murdered under charges of trespassing, loitering, and anything else you could think of. Most of these charges were very weak and lacked evidence, but it didn’t matter. They were orders of death. People began calling them executional edicts. If the officer had the slightest reason to think you committed a crime, your death would be ordered. Even richer and more privileged people were executed by police officers for disorderly conduct or some other bullshit reason. People began taking the new law seriously. From January 2nd to January 3rd, everyone lived under martial law.
I was always a good kid, brought up by strict Asian parents so I never drank or did drugs. I wasn’t ever too concerned with the new law.
But then half of my friends died.
No one ever thought they would raid the dorm buildings. Some of my friends foolishly had marijuana hidden in their rooms. They never got to tell anyone goodbye. I couldn’t bring myself to go to any of their funerals. There were too many of them.
As I woke up the next morning, I checked my phone and saw that it was already noon. I slumped out of bed and changed into tight jeans and a T-shirt. Even though it was winter, I wasn’t gonna risk looking like I was hiding something. No one was sure of what was a crime anymore, it felt like anything could get you killed. I took only my student ID with me to the market under my dorm building. I bought a vegan sandwich and tea. As I went to pay for my items, I heard a cry and I turned to see two police officers drag a young woman in tears, begging for her life outside of the market. Moments later, everyone heard one loud bang and a quieter thud afterwards. No one spoke after that. Even the cashier just silently handed me my receipt and items. As I left, I passed by the two officers who scanned me for a moment and turned back towards the young woman’s body. I could hear them radio in a clean-up crew but I didn’t stick around for them to arrive.
I stayed in my dorm the rest of the day, quietly listening to music through my earbuds and coloring my coloring book. My roommate had left before I woke up, and I hadn’t heard from him since. When I checked my phone again, it was already 10 pm. I figured the worst had happened when suddenly I heard the door unlock.
But instead of my roommate walking in, it was a police officer, who strode in and dropped a set of bloodied keys on my desk. He left without a word, leaving me with an extra set of keys and without a roommate.
Edit: Wow I did not expect to get so much attention and positive response to this! I usually don’t write because I don’t consider myself that great of a writer, but I’m glad people enjoyed my story! | Part One of Two
There never used to be much special about the sixteenth of May in Westlake. Maybe if it fell on a weekend and the weather was nice, families would get in their cars and in search of a new grill or a fishing rod, kids would be on their bikes, and all the wonderful things of a New England Spring.
Halloween night in '20 changed that day permanently. Most of the kids, along with some of the adults attending a massive party at the Wright Community Center, were spiked with some kind of drug. The survivors said that the first to die was Mary McGonagle. Her ten year-old daughter, Siobhan, pushed her down some stairs. The fall broke her neck. Another parent, Greg Allan, was also under the influence of the drug. He took Siobhan by the neck and shook and swung and squeezed until the little girl was a ragdoll. Everyone was in varying states of sobriety and panic, cramming into the stairwell. A few managed to get near Greg before he killed little Siobhan, but he swung her like a flail to keep them back, screaming "I HAD TO!!!" Greg suddenly collapsed on his back at the top of the stairs, sweaty and convulsing, with Siobhan motionless on top of him. Panicked, the mob backed off to the main hall. The few who were unaffected called 911 and tried to calm the others, but it was too late. Kids were either collapsing or tearing at each other like wolverines. Parents not drugged were panicked. Richie Alger got on the stage and pleaded for calm. He ended up in a brawl with two other fathers who accused him of being responsible. Several teenagers joined the row, punching and biting the three men and each other.
At some point during this time, Greg Allan aspirated his own vomit and suffocated. He was thirty-nine. His wife, Sarah, and their two daughters were supposed to return the next day after a visit with their grandparents. They heard the news shortly before they were supposed to leave. Sarah decided to remain in Stamford permanently.
But we're not quite there yet.
By the time Westlake PD and Fire showed up, Wright had turned into Bedlam. There was hardly a window intact, and a truck in the lot was ablaze. Some girls were outside throwing large chunks of window at each other, then the police as they approached.
A gunshot rang out from around the main entrance. Sgt. David Pedersen, 33, fell dead. Police returned fire without a clear target. Some people inside were hit. Shots kept coming but no more police would be shot that night. The APC was on its way. They were ordered to shock the location into submission. The machine turned off the street and accelerated toward the building, straight for the cavity where the glass doors had been earlier. The metal monster sunk into the building like a giant railroad spike. But something went wrong. The APC was lodged in the debris, and there was something blocking the hatch. Somewhere in the breach, a gas line had ruptured. The APC was still trying to spring free. Something sparked.
The final toll was listed as 118. Thirteen officers, thirty-three adults, and seventy-two children. After the blast, three adults and sixteen children were on site and survived the carnage. Westlake would forgive none of them. The ones who got away before the explosion were granted a reprieve.
One of the adults was Richie Alger, who was shielded from much of the carnage by the gang that had attacked him, and later collapsed on top of him. Another was old Rory Whitaker, who had taken a dozen children and barricaded themselves in a utility closet toward the rear of the building. The last was Luke Walker. He shot himself in a bathroom before anyone reached him.
The dozen kids with Rory were all too traumatized to say anything more than "no" when they were first asked about what happened. The other four were the girls outside throwing glass. They were cut up badly, pale, and nearly frozen when they were taken away. None of them ever spoke another word, but sometimes they would scream for minutes, while sitting completely still. The Irish folks -the ones who'd just come to Westlake, as I did- started calling them "The Banshees." It caught on pretty quickly, and every now and again you could hear them screaming from the Adams Facility.
Somehow, everyone overlooked the suicide of Luke Walker. Instead, the focus was on Richie and Rory. I guess that pairing had a ring to it, too. Terrorism charges were brought against them. Someone told me they were taken to Gitmo, but no one around here knows for sure where they were taken, and no one here has seen them since. With their disappearance, a lot of people in the town felt a vague sense of justice. There were also a lot of people who wanted more than vague, to be sure nothing like this would happen in Westlake again. An emergency meeting was called, and the Board decided on a measure for the town to vote upon.
Zero Tolerance Day passed by two votes and survived a recount.
It was only after it passed that people started to act reasonably. Questions about what caused the Wright Massacre, what happened to Richie and Rory, why the APC had rammed the building when there were so many uncertainties about what was happening inside, all came out. Police only answered about the drug – a designer job from Europe and rare in the U.S. All other questions were declined. Four days later, Irishman Ian Bates, working on a phony visa and living on his brother's couch, was found hanging from the Fisk Bridge. Police ruled his death a suicide. Until the following May, a few folks around town would run into people they disliked and asked if they heard about what happened to Bates. Of course they had.
"Terrible shame," the inquisitors said with a smile. One or all of them must have known what really happened to Bates, but they never revealed what they knew.
Then it finally came: Zero Tolerance Day 2021. At 11:55 PM on the fifteenth, the signs went up in pairs all along the edges of town, even atop buoys in the Harbor. One read "ZERO TOLERANCE WESTLAKE", and its match read " CRIME EQUALS DEATH". Warnings were all over the Boston radio stations: there would be no outside inference from anyone, and that Westlake meant exactly what they said. The businesses all shut, and everyone hid in their homes.
Still, the first ZTD claimed a life. At about six AM, Tyler Addison, 26, was driving drunk as he crossed over from Hawthorne and hit the divider on 27A. He was knocked unconscious. Emergency response was swift. When it was determined that the driver was intoxicated, he was brought around, cuffed, and taken to the roadside. Fire went back to the station. The ambulance went down the street for coffee.
According to his own report, Officer Paul Craven drew his service weapon.
"Do you know what is happening right now, Mr. Addison?"
"No, sir."
"On May sixteenth, there is zero tolerance for crime in Westlake. There is only one penalty, and that's death."
The young man shouted for a moment before the first round silenced him forever.
"[Officer Craven] said the other two were to help us all out. He'd hate for us to find a pulse, have to patch him up and go through it all again," said one EMT.
I wrote an editorial about the terrible handling of it, the summary judgment, and a damning poll of how many people had actually read the segment allowing it. I got a lot of angry letters telling me I should let the police do their job, that crime in Westlake was dropping, and how I was inviting anarchy. I didn't pay it much mind. It's part of the business, I thought. | 2018-01-06T22:27:51 | 2018-01-06T21:19:03 | 1,426 | 27 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | On the first day of summer, two thousand and eighteen years after the estimated birthdate of a Jewish carpenter whom a Roman emperor named Constantine called the Son of God, a hole was found in Greenland.
It was almost perfectly circular and as wide as a city block, with smooth vertical walls cutting down into the ice and further, and at the end only darkness. The scientists came first, with their probes and instruments; they lowered them into the hole, people and sensors and flying robots insulated with high-tech foams. They found nothing. That's not true--they found smooth, vertical walls, cutting deep beneath the ice, and they found darkness. For weeks they tested, debated, analyzed, debated, published, and debated some more. On the last day of summer, two thousand and eighteen years after the beginning of a moderately-accurate calendar developed by uneducated monks in early feudal Europe, the scientists ran out of money, so they left.
On the first day of autumn, the superstitious began to appear. Some brought crosses representing an ancient Roman torture device, others brought rugs which they oriented in the direction of a large stone cube in Saudi Arabia, and still others brought hats made of aluminum foil to protect their brains. Some brought nothing; some stripped naked, sat on the edge attempting to reach a new mental state, and subsequently got hypothermia. Some threw themselves into the hole. No one knew what they found down there, aside from perfectly smooth, vertical walls cutting down through solid bedrock, and darkness.
On the first day of winter, two thousand and eighteen years after the wife of a different Jewish carpenter claimed to still be a virgin while pregnant, the army arrived. They kicked out the superstitious, and all but a few scientists. They covered the hole with a giant steel dome with just one door, shining lights all around the perimeter. No one, from the young men with wet socks to the older men with star-shaped pins on their pockets, knew what they were looking for. Whatever it was, they wouldn't find it, unless it was smooth, vertical walls cutting down past the bedrock, and below that darkness.
Seasons passed, people died, and some other, probably not much better people were born. In Greenland, the army grew bored in the customary fashion and began to go home, one or two people at a time so the hole wouldn't think it was because they were scared. The superstitious continued praying and blogging, and the rich superstitious people asked the poor superstitious people for more money. The scientists published twice as many papers with five times as many words and ten times as many wrong words. The hole stayed where it was, a perfect circle cut into the rock and ice, bottomless, filled with nothing but darkness.
Then, on the first day of summer, two thousand and twenty years after the first anniversary of a worldwide bank holiday marked by increased buying rates, repetitive music, and religious guilt, the corporations showed up. They paid what was left of the army a lot of money to take away their steel dome, and then they began to pour tons of garbage into the hole. First they poured in ten thousand tons of spoiled food, packing paper, and colorful everlasting plastic down past the smooth vertical walls stretching away into the void. Then they poured in a hundred thousand tons of crushed cars, spent ore, and petroleum residue, making it all disappear forever into the circle of oblivion. Then they poured in a million tons of toxic chemicals, uranium and chlorofluorocarbons and heavy metals and polluted water. Gone forever, relegated to the unfathomable maw of the bottomless hole.
And then they heard it.
On the one million, one hundred and eleven thousandth ton of putrid trash dumped into the hole, someone heard the pieces hit the bottom.
The corporations called the army, and the army called the scientists, and the scientists confirmed that the corporations had done with their million tons of trash what they with their billion dollars of equipment could not: they had found the bottom of the hole. The hole, almost perfectly circular, with smooth vertical walls stretching down through the ice and rock, exactly nineteen hundred and forty-three meters into a swamp of human waste.
The scientists took some measuremets, amended their papers, and left. The army left too, slowly, in the customary fashion. The corporations left too, after dumping another million tons of dreck into the hole just to be sure. The superstitious tore their hair out as more money changed hands. They proclaimed it through screens and adio waves and high-frequency satellite relays: today, two thousand and twenty years after something that may have happened to influence another thing that was probably influenced by something different and at an entirely different time, the hole was filled, and something died in the soul of every person on the planet. And time continued to pass.
Then, on the first day of summer, three years after a nearly-circular hole in the ice the size of a city block and a bit over a mile deep was found in Greenland, a cliffside that looked like the Buddha's face was found in Sumatra and went viral on YouTube. | "Are you sure it's okay?" I asked Murry. He had been my best friend for over 20 years. He had a good heart at his core, but his morals were a bit grey. He was driving us to 'The Spot'. I had a couch that seemed impossible to get rid of. No one wanted the ugly thing. It had yellow upholstery decorated with brown flowers. I put it on the curb and no one touched it. I posted an ad, and no one called for months. Then I posted another ad without a picture. The one guy that did come look at it punched me for wasting his time. I even tried burning it one time, the timing on that one was too perfect. For absolutely no reason at all a fire truck was driving by. They put out the fire, and I earned a hefty fine and a stern talking to from the Fire Marshal. I bought it while drunk one night, and seemed cursed to own it forever.
"Yeah man, don't sweat it. I dump crap in there all the time," Murry said while he drove. Everyone knew about The Spot, but no one knew anything about it. Government scientists had tried researching it. They sent probes, guys with cables, everything. Nothing ever returned. It still felt like dumping to me, but my mind relaxed a bit when I saw a federal truck driving away from it. "See man, even the feds do it." Murry reminded me. I wondered what they were dumping, and realized I probably didn't want to know. After another five minutes we reached The Spot. The area was like a crowded town square.
People were walking around buying things from shops set up by enterprising folk. The Spot was a bit out of the way, so the trend started out easily enough. Someone set up a stand to sell drinks and sanitary wipes to help clean up after dumping. Then someone started selling food. Within a year it became a tourist trap, with the added bonus of easy clean up. They just swept all the trash into the dark hole in the ground. I glanced at the small line of people waiting to dump. It seemed silly that there would be a line, but due to all the food stands around the hole there was really only one place left to dump from. As soon as we parked some kid ran up to us pulling a dolly behind him.
"Hey Murry. 5 or 10?" the kid asked. Murry handed him a five dollar bill.
"Just the dolly," Murry said. The kid handed him the dolly and ran off.
"You really do this all the time, huh?" I chuckled. "What's 10 bucks get you?" Murry pointed to a big burly guy that looked like an older version of the kid that rented us the dolly.
"Help," he said. I climbed up in the bed of the truck and we worked the couch down and onto the dolly. We got it to the back of the line with minimal fuss. "Hey man, want a beer?" Murry asked me. I saw him waving down the same kid that provided the dolly. I nodded, then reached into my wallet.
"It's on me, thanks for your help." When the kid arrived I handed him a 20. "Two beers, and keep the change."
"THANKS!" he smiled broadly at me and ran off. I smiled at him and remembered my younger days. That kid seemed full of energy running everywhere. I smiled when I saw more children running, and thought to myself that this was kind of a nice place. Almost like a park. I saw a couple of adults running too. It was nice to see the parents playing along with their children. Then, I noticed more adults and kids running, some adults running while carrying kids. All in the same direction, away from the hole. I heard a scream. I turned my head and saw a skeleton climbing out of the hole.
"That's never happened before," Murry said. I almost lost myself to panic, but his comment kept me grounded. I let a small chuckle escape. I liked Murry. In our long friendship, I've never known him to panic or over react. He calmly placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go somewhere else," he said. It seemed like such an obvious thing, but he said it so casually. He sounded like he was disappointed with the menu choices in a restaurant. We left the couch and dolly there and walked back toward his truck. People ran all around us, and I started seeing more skeletons appear. They pounced like wild animals on anyone that they saw running.
The walk was difficult. I mostly kept my eyes on the back of Murry's head while he paced forward, almost as if he were taking a Sunday stroll. Any time my eyes looked somewhere else I saw blood and death. The once bone white skeletons were now covered with crimson. The screams were horrifying, but I focused on the back of Murry's head. I was so focused on the back of his head I didn't realize he stopped walking until I crushed my nose against the back of his skull.
"OW!" I said, then felt immediate shame. People were being slaughtered around me, and I was annoyed because I bumped my nose. I looked over Murry's shoulder to see why he stopped. Several feet in front of him stood the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. A pair of under developed horns jutted out of the top of her head. She had long jet black hair that reached her waist, and her eyes glowed with red light.
"You look level headed enough to hold a conversation," the woman said. She walked toward Murry and me. "Can you tell me why there's a thriving economy built around filling my home with trash?" the woman asked. She stood a foot away from us and stared at Murry in the eyes. She ignored me completely, something I was thankful for. For his part Murry just shrugged.
"We didn't know it was your home. We didn't know it was *anyone's* home. It was just a hole that goes nowhere," Murry said. I felt something brush my leg and looked down to see Murry pulling his knife out from it's sheath on the back of his belt.
"No hole goes *nowhere*," the woman said. "I like your honesty. That hole shouldn't have been there anyway, but unfortunately my piece of shit son is an idiot." She looked Murry up and down, then looked at me. She turned her head to look around. No sign of another living person. The skeletons surrounded us.
"It's not often someone keeps their cool when I show up. This world is mine now, but you guys get to live." She waved a hand at us dismissively. Several skeletons moved out of the way to let us pass. I glanced down and Murry let his knife go.
"What do you mean this world is yours? You just got here. Sure it's easy to kill a bunch of people having a day out, but do you think our governments are just going to kneel?" Murry asked. The same thought crossed my mind, but I kept it to myself to avoid warning her.
"Oh. Obviously you don't know who I am. I'll tell you, just so you keep in mind how generous I'm being by letting you live. When I say this world is mine now. I mean..." she raised a hand into the air and black holes began to dot the sky. As far as I could see across the horizon, the sky looked like swiss cheese. Skeletons rained out of each hole. "... this world is MINE. NOW." I jumped as a skeleton landed next to me. It shattered on the ground, but pulled itself back together. It held a bone sword and began walking towards the nearest town. Dozens more skeletons continued to fall and head towards town.
"My name is [Ballisea](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/ballisea-el-sol.html) the Demon Queen."
 
***
Thank you for reading! You can find more of my writings on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).
| 2018-01-13T09:28:39 | 2018-01-13T09:08:37 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, every crime is punishable by death. Now the government is coming up with new and ridiculous laws in order to cull the population faster. | The bouquet of flowers shakes in the passenger’s seat as I drive over the uneven dirt ground. A bright yellow gift tag hangs from the cellophane wrapping, reading:
To: Talia -
I hope you love these as much as I love you.
Lots of love.
Luca x
I’ve picked out her favourite tonight; a beautiful bunch of red dahlias. She says that they remind her of her hometown in Denver, where they would always be in bloom.
For our twentieth anniversary tonight, we’ve settled on a meal out at the cosy Italian restaurant just outside of town. Talia loves speaking to the staff in her native language; it’s quite frankly the only opportunity she gets to do it.
I glance at the speedometer. I’m going 36 in a 40 zone. Gritting my teeth, I resist every urge to accelerate. The road is empty, and it really wouldn’t hurt to go little faster.
Ten years ago, I would have gone for it, no doubt about it. The very least I would get would have been a fine back then. However, ever since the government brought out Amendment 37, it’s like the whole nation has been walking on eggshells.
“Every single crime will result in death”.
Even minor offences, such as expired parking tickets will cost you your life.
“To decrease the surplus population”.
As ridiculous as the law is, it is now the society norm. Nowadays, when I witness an individual get dragged into the back of police van to never be seen again, I won’t bat an eyelid.
I am suddenly snapped out my trance when I notice flashing blue lights behind me. I have no choice but to pull over.
As the police car rolls past, my mind drifts back to the several drinks I consumed just half an hour ago, and shudder.
“It was only a couple beers,” I reassure myself, ignoring the seed of doubt growing in my stomach.
I can do nothing but watch as the car parks in front of me and two cops step out.
-
“License please,” The tall female officer says coldly, peering at me through the rolled down window. Her partner hovers close behind, not once taking his eyes off me as he rests one hand on the gun tucked in his belt.
Police enforcement nowadays has gotten increasingly stricter, and random car checks are common.
Pulling out my wallet, I rifle through various credit cards and receipts, when something catches my eye. It’s a photo I forgot that I even had.
On the reverse side it reads: The Moonlight Pub, 1995, written in Talia’s neat, slanted writing.
In the image itself, my arm is slung over her shoulder, and her head is thrown back into a laugh - her eyes dancing and her mouth a gleeful grin. In the joy of the moment, she’s completely unaware that I am gazing directly into her eyes, grinning like an idiot. It’s a nice memory.
“License. Now,” Reluctantly, I return from my trip down memory lane and hand my license over, not before hastily stuffing the picture into my coat pocket.
As she inspects the card, she turns it over in her hands, searching for any tell tale signs it’s fake - anything to get me convicted, basically.
After what seems like forever, she hands it back. I internally breathe a sigh of relief. I’m in the clear.
“Sorry, you can never be sure these days,” she mutters.
“Yeahhhhh” I slur.
One simple slip of the tongue. That’s all it took.
All three of us freeze at the same time. My hand flies to my mouth.
“Out the car,”
I begin to panic. How much alcohol did I have?
“We’re gonna do a little breathalyser test, just get out the car and you’ll be fine,” they repeat.
-
“You’ll be fine.” I mumble over and over as I lay curled up in my dingy cell. So this is where I spent the remaining hours of my life, huh?
Already, I can hear the guards nearing my cell, the jangle of their keys echoing down the corridor like the bells of death.
Luca, 48. Executed for DUI. The thought chills my bones.
Reaching into the pocket of my orange khakis, I retrieve the photograph to study her one last time, wanting Talia to be my last memory. My fingertips trace the outlines of her face, and I feel tears prick my eyes.
I thought we had all the time in the world.
I rise to my feet as I hear the cell door open.
“Ready to go?” The prison guard asks.
Why did it have to end this way?
| The banner above the stage reads 'Class of 2219'. I look over the sea of square caps, gently rippling to and fro as the seated graduates talk excitedly to their neighbours. I feel a sense of relief that it is finally all over. All these years at Law School have finally come to an end, and I have made it. I'm one of the winners. It's actually quite overwhelming, and I succumb to a brief tsunami of emotion which brings me nearly to tears, although, as ever, I manage to dampen it quickly. Look at me trembling too! All that pent-up fear and detachment are quickly catching up with me. The anticipation, I suppose. It's hard to comprehend that this is my. Last. Frikken. Hour. In Law School. In a matter of minutes, I will, we all will, retrieve a certificate from the podium, and therein join the relative safety of the adolescent ranks.
A hush sweeps through the audience as the Director takes the stage and taps the microphone. "Welcome, students of Kildare Middle School. It gives me the utmost pleasure to be here with you, on your terminal day of Law School. You will leave here today, as graduates, with a fully comprehensive knowledge of our socio-legal framework. I'm sure I speak on behalf of the entire faculty, when I say we are so very personally pleased that your dedication to, and aptitude for, learning law has allowed each and every one of you to survive The Great Filter. I look around at all these familiar faces, and I feel pride, and... a certain amount of comfort." Tense chuckles from the audience. "Of course, we can never get too attached to one another, but we, as your teachers, have known you since you were nine, and five years is a long time to know someone. To know anyone, really." She tapers off, as if lost in a momentary private epiphany.
A long time for you? Ha! You should try it from this end of the stick. The Director's amplified voice blurs into the background as I close my eyes, inhale deeply and try to control this damn trembling. My mind drifts. Probably for the first time, I begin to recall the trials and tribulations of my Middle School lustrum. Probably a bad move. But I let it come. It's so close to the finish line.
Our cohort had started off four thousand strong. Strong and determined, in the beginning anyway. Forty classrooms of a hundred children, in our institution alone. But there are *so many* laws, and by-laws, and rules, and regulations, and statutes, and amendments, and amendments to the amendments to learn. With more added every day, it seems. It's enough to drive anyone crazy. And that's without the added pressure of failure.
'The Great Filter' indeed. Un-frikken-believable. We all know that the Earth gets too populated in the end. People living on top of each other, literally. Dwindling resources. Chaos reigns. So, someone has to go, right? Well, they get rid of a whole bunch of people. This was over a century ago, way before I was born. Y'know? I'm talking about the immigrants, the criminals, the vagrants, the disabled, mentally ill, LBGTs, the elderly, the.. well, the list goes on. But when all those miscreants have 'gone', and the problem hasn't got any better, who do you go for next? Not the decent, hard-working, law abiding adults that are left after the culling, that's for sure.
So back in twenty-one-fifty-something (socio-history was never my strong subject) some bright-spark politicians up in high office start to argue that the unknowns are *the children.* How can we tell which *children* will grow up to be model citizens? Testing, of course! But you could, *you must*, educate the children about societal expectations, to give them a fighting chance. And also, how could they adhere to the vast amount of growing laws if they don't *know* them? You see, it makes perfect sense! What if they fail? Well, surely there must be consequences.
The idea caught the public imagination (as if they had any imagination themselves) like a fire catches dry tinder. It kinda grew in momentum on the Net first of all; it was all they talked about on Reddit for years. And then this *thing;* it was suddenly just there, in the public psyche. A given. This is what needs to be done.
Of course, we children weren't given any say. We've always been the most powerless group of people in any society. I even learnt that when times were hard in the 21st, lots of families used to eat their children when the food ran out. I remember *that* little tasty fact easily enough, from socio-history class! So nowadays it's actually a little more orderly and civilised than back then - being quietly excused from class and taken off by The Security. Clean. Discreet. Y'know?
For a moment a strobe image of Miranda flashes into my mind, while my defences are down. Bright blue eyes (absurdly crossed with tongue sticking out to the side), gapped smile, and infectious laughter. Always doing something goofy to relieve the tension and stress of our classes. If we allowed ourselves to get close to anyone, to have a friend, she would have been my besty. As it was, she couldn't keep her grade average up and... well, we know what happens. Thinking about it now, for the first time, it actually really upsets me that she never made it.
Woah, too far down the darkened path of *that* particular mental alleyway! I blink hard. My lashes moisten a little and I patiently wait for evaporation to occur. I have to remind myself that if she really struggled to make it through The Filter, that she'd probably end up breaking some obscure by-law anyway, and the end result would be the same, simply deferred for a few short years as she stumbled haphazardly through her daily life. Carelessness Is Crucifixion, as they say. I snap myself back to reality, as the voice echoes from the podium.
"And so, before we start to give out the certificates and usher you into your adolescent years, as is traditional, we will hold a minute silence in respect, remembrance, and with thoughts and prayers, for the five hundred and twelve students from this school, and the many thousands nationwide from this year's cohort, whom were unfortunately not able to uphold the standards required by our society. Whom could not prove their capacity for knowing and following the laws of this great country. And whom therefore gave their lives, so that we, and future generations, may live more comfortably. Amen."
​
\--------------------------
Just stumbled on this sub! I like dystopian sci-fi, and was intrigued by this idea - the fact that, in a society which has capital punishment for any offence, every citizen would have to know the law inside out. However, it is the seed of the idea that is half decent, not the *execution* (pun intended). That's because the last time I wrote any narrative was in high school myself, many lustrums ago (I know you had to look that word up)!
The idea of The Great Filter is based on the old three-tier school system in the UK. From the 1940's through to the 1970's all children had to do the 'Eleven Plus', and were filtered into three distinct educational paths (which determined the path of their life too) based on the results of one exam. Their performance and success, of course, was heavily influenced by their social class and wealth. Admittedly not one of the best developments in education, which is why they eventually scrapped it (for an equally flawed one-tier system, it could be argued). Some private schools still use the Eleven Plus as an entrance exam though.
\-------------------------- | 2019-01-06T17:40:07 | 2019-01-06T15:18:19 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health. | "Human, is there any anomaly in your body?"
This three-meter creature that looks like your old-school ogre from fantasy games is a Krakr. They don't have the concept of names, they simply use the first nickname or pronoun that come to mind. It's best to answer immediately, or they will push you "lightly" with their 500kg body.
"I do not feel different from any other day, why are you asking?"
I ask while quickly checking my face through my reflection in his shiny silver armor.
"Well, your hair color was the same as your armor."
That's true. Before I left Earth I dyed my hair because I wanted it to combine with the armor I was granted by my father. It may not be the latest model, but it still looks cool.
"That was not my true hair color. Some humans dye their hair, that means temporarily painting it for aesthetic purposes."
His preoccupied face disappears and is replaced by a confused one.
"Why do humans care about appearances? What really matters is how strong you are!"
"That is rich coming from you, I can clearly see my reflection in that polished armor of yours."
He pointlessly covers his front using his enormous and also shiny gauntlets.
"That's...it was like this when I bought it!"
Teasing such a terrifying creature feels absurd, but it's funny. Either way, I should stop before he gets angry.
"Anyway, thans for worrying about me."
"I wasn't worried! It would be dangerous for the other members of the crew if you passed out during a battle. I was just asking for the sake of them, you hear?"
He may seem barbaric with that big body, but he also has a big heart. | "Hey Tic, how are you today?" I greet the little Allic as he walks by.
"Y-Yes. Greetings Human Cammie! I am doing fine thank you!" He says quickly before scurrying off.
Strange. I know Allics are very nervous and easily scared of taller species, but I was sure Tic had warmed up to me by now. So why did it feel like he was running away from me? I should ask Surt, despite being a Tex he was Tic's best friend. I considered him a great friend friend as well. Surt was a gentle giant and the first member of the crew to treat me as an equal.
I found Surt sitting down at one of the tables in the mess hall, seemingly enjoying a plate of the slop the cooks call food. I came up behind him and latched unto his soft fur. "Hi Surt!"
However instead of the warm welcome he normally gives me. His baby blue fur took a deep navy blue tone.
"Hi Cammie. Nicetoseeyahgottagonowbye!" he spoke so fast i was barely able to make out what he said. He got up and he quickly disappeared. Even leaving his plate of half eaten food on the table.
Ok, now I'm starting to worry. Tic running away from me is one thing. He's 3 feet tall and get scared easily, it took a month before he started talking to me. But Surt was a different story, not only is he 7 feet tall and strong enough to break me like a twig, but he was the first one to really welcome me to the crew. Why would HE run away from me? Did I do something to offend them somehow? I really hope I didn't. I needed to speak to Captain Civ. If anyone can help me out it's her.
As I make my way to the bridge I notice that everyone on the crew has been staring at me in a strange manner. When I reach the bridge I see the doorway is locked. Strange, Captain Civ never closes the door to the bridge.
I press a button on the door's control panel and a video call opens.
"Oh Cammie, I was just about to call you over. Give me a few parsecs and I'll open the door"
A moment later the door opens and as I step inside I notice what looks like a giant glass panel separating me and the Captain.
"Good day ma'am. I am in need of some assistance, but before that, why is there a giant panel in the middle of the bridge?"
"It's nothing to concern yourself with. Now then what is it you needed?"
"Yes Captain I'm really confused, everyone is avoiding me? Did I do something to offend the crew? Even Surt ran away from me!" At this point I'm on the brink of tears. I might be the only human here but I've made quite a few good friends on this ship, I consider even the crew to be like family, a big weird alien family, but family nonetheless. Being avoided by everyone Is so frustrating and it's starting to get to me.
"Well Cammie, before I can answer that I am required to ask, are you feeling healthy?"
I wipe a few tears away from my eyes "yes, I feel fine. What does my health have to do with any of this?"
"Are you certain that your health has not deteriorated?"
"Yes, I'm perfectly fine. What would make you think that I'm not healthy?"
"You fur. When you joined our crew it was a vibrant crimson. Now it looks like a dull yellow."
I look at my reflection off of the glass panel in front of me. Sure enough my hair dye has seriously faded, my hair has all but returned to it's naturally dirty blonde color.
"My hair has nothing to do with my health. Us humans like to add color to our hair to make it stand out. I just ran out of hair dye and the color has faded. Did everyone think I was sick because of my hair color?"
"Well certainly. Poor Surt was terrified. You see, a Tex's fur color changes depending on their overall health and mood. A happy health Tex, like Surt, with have bright vibrant hair, should their mood worsen their fur becomes darker, and if their health takes a toll, the color will become dull fading to gray. Surt thought you had caught a deadly disease. Everyone was sure that it was the same for humans"
"Thank you for explaining. But that certainly isn't human hair workd. Our hair only changes color when we become older, becoming gray one strand at a time, or when we choose to change the color ourselves."
"Well I'm glad you're still healthy. I'll make sure to explain it to the crew"
"Thank you Captain" | 2020-07-05T19:12:22 | 2020-07-05T17:37:29 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Every time you are late, you dodge an otherwise-fatal bullet. Miss a plane and it will crash, every time. Miss a job interview, the place will burn down. Today, despite leaving unfathomably early, you get stuck in gridlock on the way to your wedding. You begin to panic. | "I'm sorry little miss, but it looks like traffic is a mess, what time is your wedding?" the limo driver put his arm on the back of the passenger seat to turn and look at me.
"Noon is when it starts, but I'm supposed to be there for photos at ten," I reply cooly, checking my lipstick in my compact mirror.
Ever since I was little, Death and I have performed an elaborate dance, never touching, but bending and gliding, stretching and leaping towards one another in daring near misses. The train my uncle and I missed when I was a only a toddler derailed a few miles down the line. On my way to my first job as newspaper delivery girl, an overturned cart and ox in the road ahead delayed me, only for me to arrive to see the printing house ablaze.
At first I thought that being late meant I was being spared from a far worst fate, that it was a blessing that I should be fortunate enough to escape the inevitable embrace of Death for one more day by sheer luck. But soon I realized it was not that I was being spared nor was it good fortune. The train that derailed was filled with drug lords. The printing press kept workers in slave conditions. The innocent were left unharmed, except for their shock, while the cruel writhed and despaired in their anguished demise.
I was only an instrument to Death, a harbinger to those who would soon approach the other shore. My lateness was not so I could be spared, but so that Death should ride ahead to weigh the deeds of the just and unjust along my path.
"You're rather young, is this a match of love or by your family, if you don't mind me asking, miss?" the limo driver inquired.
"It's been arranged," I reply.
"Have you met him yet?"
"Once. I am nineteen and he is fifty-four, but he has paid my uncle a dowry seemingly worth the price of my virginity and freedom, and despite my objections. I will be his third bride."
The driver was quiet for a moment. "What does this man do for his living?"
"He is an arms dealer in Punjab," I reply.
"It looks like the traffic is clearing up ahead, miss. You'll miss the photos, but should make it to the wedding on time."
"Take the highway, I suspect there will be an accident on the highway," I say, pointing to the exit.
"Miss, that will make us even more late..." The driver glanced into his rearview mirror.
"I know," I grin, as a shadow passes overhead. | I tapped the steering wheel relentlessly. Deep breaths, Heila, deep breaths. The sky is a clear blue, the birds chirp relentlessly in the distance. It's reminding me of my trip to Hawai'i, actually. Five minutes late to a bus, next thing I know it's hit a gull and rolled into the ocean.
It's not easy, you know. I wish I was just horrendously unlucky, or was a Murphy, or *something* that might give an explanation for this phenomenon around me. The world seems to uproot itself to annihilate anything and everything that I'm late for. Yes, *everything.* I once promised my parents that I would pick up my toys before they got home.
I don't have parents anymore.
After that day, I've tried to arrive everywhere earlier then reasonable. I'm proud to say that I've only ever been late to three things since then, the aforementioned bus (Cut me some slack, I met my fiancé that night.), a flight to Lagos, and a work dinner. But this was *unreasonable*. I left the hotel at one o'clock, *AM*. The wedding wasn't until four in the afternoon! But I make a single goddamn turn, just one godforsaken turn, and this endless horde of cars crawled straight from Satan's asscrack and onto the street.
I have been here for ten. *Fucking*. *Hours.* *Ten.* The wedding is another two hours away. I don't know if Kila is there yet; she knows this city better then me and was gonna take a shortcut when we left. She had me take the main road, thought it was a safer bet.
If she's there by now, I doubt she's even noticed my absence. Bless her workaholic heart, she's probably still knee-deep with the preppers to get everything ready. 's what made me fall for her, but this is an *awful* way for that to bite me in the ass.
Every minute is an eternity. The traffic is crawling slowly, so slowly. It's already noon. Eleven goddamn hours, and I think I've moved a single foot yet.
No.
*No.*
I refuse this bullshit. This fucking curse that the universe has pinned me with, I'm not gonna let it take my love from me.
I left my car in the road. I don't give a shit, I'm sure that if I can run fast enough I'll get there in time. If I have to rent out a new car or pay a fat fine, so be it, it's worth it. My legs might collapse, I might get injured getting there, but I refuse to be complicit in this nightmare.
Wait a sec. *Fuck.* *Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.* My phone. Of course the second, the *second* I remember I even had it, it's when I realize I left it in the car. No. No, I can do this. I can run.
My legs are going to snap, I swear to God. I think I've been running for three and a half hours straight or so, at least according to my watch. Evidently, though, I should be an Olympic runner, since I think I'm almost there. Just a few minutes left. I can make it.
...Chatter. What's that chatter? It's not the birds. Not trees rustling. Wait, no. There are trees rustling, but it's not that. Garbled speech, I think. No, no. No time to think I have to ru-.
No. No no no no no no no. What is happening. Who are these people? I think... five? No, six guys. Five people jumped down from the trees in front of me. 'course, I'm only realizing that now, in retrospect. They stopped me dead in my tracks, and someone's tackled me from behind. I managed to snag a look at my watch on the way down. 3:58. I'm gonna pass out. One man squats down in front of me. He's a good six foot tall, but like everyone else he's clad in some sort of tactical gear, spec ops shit. He examines me closely, and nods once. A hand to his ear, he speaks. It's muffled, but I can just barely make out what he says;
"Target pinned. Tango on-site?"
Some kind of feint buzzing emanates from his helmet. Probably someone responding.
"Affirmative. Time?"
Another buzz.
"T-Minus one minute. Counting down,"
I struggle. Hard. The man on top of me is far stronger than me, but I'm so hopped up on adrenaline right now that I can just throw him off of me. Someone shouts something from behind me. I don't care.
The little clearing that our wedding is in is just ahead. I can see bits of it peaking through the trees. I mumble something to myself. I don't know what. A sharp pain flashes through my leg. I stumble. I can just make out Kila through the trees, our families gathered at either side of the lane. I try to crawl, but something is on my back. The men again. The one from before hides behind a tree. I can see him counting down on his fingers.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
All is utterly, unnaturally silent for a second. Just for that second, I thought that maybe, maybe this would be an exception. But no. A sudden explosion rips from the ground, consuming the entire wedding in it's blaze. I'm dazed. I can't even cry. My ears are ringing and my eyes hurt.
It feels like an eternity. I hardly recognize the moment that one of the men slings me over his shoulder. I get thrown into the back of an unmarked van. We drive. I stare at the ceiling. | 2021-10-22T05:51:32 | 2021-10-21T20:42:22 | 630 | 73 |
[WP] Instead of jail time, crime is punished by the erasure of memories. Depending on severity, the criminal may lose days, weeks, or even decades. No matter how long a span of time, the lost memories always include the entirety of the crime itself. | You fucked up.
You took 30 years of my life, in essence, by erasing those memories and *still you fucked up*. Because you *missed* a few spots. I don't know what rookie memorymancer the Bureau employed for my case, but whoever it was, they deserve to get fired.
Look, if you take decades of someone's life for a crime they did, that's fine. I accept that. I don't know what I did, but I accept my punishment. But if you miss a spot here and there? It drives you mad. It is so, *so* much worse than not having memory because of the relapses, the hallucinations, the nightmares. I see it, in my dreams, the torn pieces of what I have done. The blood on my hands, the piles of money I know not from where they came, the... the...
Well. Let's not dwell on the details.
Not too long ago I witnessed an accident. Biker got hit by a car. Seeing the biker on the road, bloody and broken, it... reminded me. Like a blast from the past, I felt myself again, for just a moment.
I'm sick of not knowing what's real. I'm tired of not getting a good night's sleep. I can only take a bitter pleasure from the irony of what you've forced me to do to gain the slightest semblance of peace.
*Everything*.
I will steal. I will destroy. I will *kill*. I will rain chaos down on this place. I will do anything and everything until I know what feels familiar and then I'll be able to know what it is exactly I've done. I already know just how familiar the weight of a knife feels, how used I seem to be to holding a gun. Just know this.
You've brought this on yourself. | The sun beamed bright today, white hot against a cloudless blue sky. I squinted through the windshield of my car at it until I was forced to shut my eyes, just to stare at the hazy burn it left behind. When I opened my eyes, the time blinked at me accusingly from my dashboard. I watched it blink into the next minute, and then the next. Slowly, I let my eyes meet the ones they reflected in the rearview mirror. My irises were dark and muddy, the bags under my eyes a deep purple, like a bruise. I received no comfort or reassurance from my reflection. I watched my eyes narrow, trying to hide the fear and sorrow that I tried to mask with anger and intimidation. But I couldn’t look at myself any longer; I knew I was just a coward. I was taking the easy way out.
What my eyes found respite in was the bracelet braided with strings hanging from my mirror. I felt my chest split, just as I had tried so hard to avoid. The hole in my heart was once again ripped open, but this time, I let it be. I let the grief pour out and paralyze me, just for a moment.
Because even though the memory of her smile wracked my entire body with sobs, it also shined brighter than the sun beating down on me from above. I remembered how happy she was the day she gave me this bracelet. She worked for a summer childcare program. God, her heart was so big—she loved it so much, helping children enjoy their summers when their parents were unable to be there for them. She had made bracelets with her kids that day, and one of them suggested they give the bracelets to someone they loved. After she gave me the bracelet, she cried over how proud she was of little Sammy, for expressing such empathy and consideration at his young age. My heart swelled with pride. I knew that was because of how she taught them. I knew, then, she was going to make a difference. I felt it, really, in that moment, that my wife was going to change many lives.
But she didn’t. She died two weeks ago.
And now, I was alone. Our house—my house, now—was full of memories, ones that wrenched at me every time I breathed. The air, the air that we used to breathe together, now putrefied me. The smell of her scent still laid densely on our sheets, the sheets that will never again hold us together. Her clothes, still strung across our bedroom floor. Her makeup, still scattered around our bathroom sink. Her favorite blanket, that she obsessively washed with the most high-quality fabric softener she could find, to “keep the fluffiness,” still thrown over the back of our couch. Her shoes, still kicked aside by the front door.
I never thought loss could hurt this bad. As I turned towards my passenger seat, I told myself again that this will all be over soon. This unimaginable, agonizing reality will cease to exist by tomorrow morning.
My limbs moved lethargically, my bones seeming to creak as I pulled the hoodie over my head. I opened my door, pulled the backpack on slowly, and a new weight was added to my shoulders.
My face burned from the sun, unrelenting, angled above me just so that it casted the street ahead of me in an unnatural, shadowless light. I stepped forward, a roar building in my ears. I forced myself to keep going, even though everything in me told me to stop. _I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t, I won’t._ My steps were heavy, trudging.
And finally my hand reached the cold metal of doorknob, and I pulled the door open. Cold air tickled my skin, stout and dry from the air conditioning. I could barely hear the sounds of everyone inside, but I could see glasses clinking together, all different colors of liquid sloshing around. Heads are thrown back in laughter, arms thrown up in hugs. Mouths tossed open in excited shouts or singing along to the music blaring so loud I could feel it in the soles of my feet. I watched as lips met lips and bodies met bodies. I watched as hands found skin and eyes grew bold. I knew they would never understand how good they had it. They were taking this happiness for granted.
_It’s too late now,_ I told myself. My fingertips brushed cold metal, took hold. My hands shook, but my grip was firm. It was now or never, I knew. I could not disappoint. I closed my eyes. My heart beat loud, deafeningly, in my ears.
I knew she would never forgive me. I knew what I was doing was unforgivable. But it was the only thing that would be enough.
The only thing that would heal me from the wreckage of these memories, was to do something hideous enough to have them all wiped away.
edit: cuz i switched to present tense in the middle for some reason | 2022-06-07T00:56:02 | 2022-06-06T23:11:00 | 130 | 54 |
[WP] Soon after you die, you are approached by a deity who asks "so, did you enjoy your time in heaven?" | "Welcome ifeelhome. How was your time in heaven?"
"Oh I can't wait. I've heard a lot about it - I've been looking forward to this."
"Sorry - how WAS your time in heaven?"
"How was my time? Time on earth? What do you mean, I'm in heaven now - heaven was what I just went through?"
"Yes. I hope you learned what you needed to."
Learned what I needed to? What the hell? Did I learn anything? I don't even know - I didn't realize I would need to know something after I died. Heaven is starting out much more bizarre than I had thought.
"Did I learn what? What do I need to know - I'm in heaven now."
"Your time is just beginning. I hope you learned what you needed to."
I'm becoming nervous. I didn't want to die. I was 24. But I figured hey - I'm sick, at least I'll have this heaven thing afterward. My Mom died 2 years ago, my friend John last year ... My time just ended - how can it be beginning. I went through hell on earth - if that was heaven what is this?
"I don't understand. This isn't what I was expecting...my 'time' is over - I get to be in heaven for eternity, so how can my time just be beginning."
"I understand you're confused ifeelhome. Let me explain."
I didn't really want an explanation. The hard part was over. I fought for 2 years. When I died i couldn't walk, couldn't eat, couldn't go to the bathroom. My hard part was over.
"ifeelhome - this will be hard to understand, but I need you to focus."
I realized I had drifted away for a moment. This isn't heaven. The hope and the courage that got me through the last 2 years ... I had drifted into this supposed eternal sleep with my Mother in my eyes, knowing I would see her soon. If this isn't heaven ... if this isn't heaven where will I be repaid for the pain and suffering I was put through on earth.
"Everyone goes through two stages of existence - the first being heaven, the second being hell. Your first stage prepares you for your second stage as it is often more difficult than the first. When you've completed both stages, you will be evaluated."
I felt a lump in my throat; my eyes lost focus ... everything was a blur ...
"ifeelhome, I know this is difficult, but please, I need you to focus as you will be on your way soon."
"On my way where?! To hell? My life was hell! This can't be happening; my entire contentedness with death was based on me being in a better place. Is this re-incarnation? Where are my friends, my family, ..."
"They are well on their way ifeelhome. Please, stay focused and be calm, you will be departing soon."
I'm not ready for this. I'm breathing heavily. If my life on earth was heaven I don't know if I have the strength for hell. Is it even on earth? I'm becoming terrified. I can't do this.
"ifeelhome, you are ready to depart. Remember, after you finish hell you will be evaluated. If you pass, you will be accepted, if you fail you will need to repeat both stages."
I wanted to die. I can't even die without things becoming worse. I don't have the strength. If I reach hell and die, I am only sent back to the hell from which I came. I felt weak. I became sleepy. My eyes closed. My anxiety fell by the wayside; numbness ... I opened my eyes.
| When I finally got over the shock, the annoyance was that that was left. And after that annoyance disappeared, there was nothing. Follow the bright line, it said. So, I followed. Bright and pleasant, long corridor, quite nice decor, apparently meant to reassure. After some walking, one sign finally pointed me to a room to my left. I entered. Inside was a man sitting behind what looked a futuristic computer and empty chair. This was all to business like.
„Please sit down,“ the man prompted me.
So I sat down watching him. Still too shocked by the situation He said my name and age, then said something that sounded as a bunch of random numbers and vowels. The man finally looked at me. He smiled one of those supermarket cashiers bright smile on me. Fake but at least it was a nice smile.
„So,” he beamed his fake smile. „ Did you enjoy your time in heaven?“
„Heaven?” I asked.
„Yes Heaven. We apologize for the inconvience. Appears there was the mishap in the name department. It took the turn we didn’t expected. We are working on fixing it.“
„So?“
“Yes that was heaven. Heaven. Human experiences and various emotional normalities. So, can I ask you a few questions?”
„Ah..” I guess this was it. The end. The beginnit. The I have no idea what. „Shoot, whatever.”
„What were the aspects you enjoyed most? Please describe in detail and restrain from using short answers.”
I mentioned all the things I liked, art, reading books, watching films, time with friends, listening to music, having fun with family...
„How about love?“
„Never been in love.“
„ Uhuh,“ he glanced down to the list in from of him. He mutter something, I didn’t catch and checked one of the boxes.
Was I helping him to file some complain sheet?!
Without looking from his computer/table/whatever he asked again „ Did you experienced any unnecessary problems or malfunctions?
Then it finally got to me. „ Test run!, ” I muttered.
The guy raised his head. „What?“ he asked maybe too innocently.
„This is test run. Right? It bloody has to be.“
He didn’t even blink. „We prefer to call it human experience model. “
„Total beta testing..,"
„No human experiencing. It’s being updated constantly thanks to data we receive from subjects as you. So experience any problems?“
Great all my life/heaven was all for to file an experience sheet and sign a complain book. Personal vengeance for ignoring those for years. Better enjoy it now. So I told him. I told him everything, every single complain I had, from imperfection of human body, to annoying people, to world hunger and problems with assholes. He carefully listened, while writing it down.
„What will happen now?“ I asked when I finished. I was somehow getting tired. As if I was after a long run.
He still stared into his sheet. “You will integrate into the system. “
„What? I will end up in a big pale of data."
He glared. „No you will be integrated into the system. Your experience, emotions, part of somethign greater. Isn’t that a wonderful prospect?,“ he said and beamed a way too hopeful smile at me.
„Ok. Right.“ Unfortunately I was always big of an egoist to enjoy integrating into big place of human experiences.
“Can I try again?” I wouldn’t mind trying the same again. Despite all the „glitches, „ it was still very enjoyable.
He shook his head. „ Only people who achieved age 6 and less and considered for the second run. Their data is still fresh, thus can be tested again.”
„Oh, come on..“ I looked at him. „Please?“
„I am sorry.“
„What about harder difficulty?“ I tried.
He raised his head, looking a bit annoyed. „ We never really compile any useful data from harder difficulty, ” he sighed. „It wall about I was hungry, there were wars, it was hard, not enough free time, too much work...”
I stood my ground. „ I am curious. I want to go again. I can’t be the only one who asks for this.”
„Every single time,” he sighed, again massaging his temples. I started to wonder which one of these guys was the one who programmed migraine. „Younger people, like you, complain they barely got to experience anything, they demand a new try and better placement. In truth, we just can’t take one data patter and scatter it all around the history. If there is too much of the same ones, the system falls.”
„History?,“ that was the only word I paid attention to.
„No.“ He looked exhausted now. „ We don’t need anyone testing out ancient Egypt or Mesopotamia, or democratic Greece or Rome, or samurai rise to power. And no, not even for world wars or French revolution.”
He looked directly into my eyes. „This is not tourism, this is important piece of work. We shouldn’t inker with it.“
I expected him to also say – with highly powered and expensive simulation where people play by the rules and it funded by government money, so no you can’t touch this, honey. That was what I got every time I got curious. Some things never change.
„Oh,“ was all I managed, disappointed.
The man again focused on the screen in front of him. He stared at it for a few seconds. Then looked back at me and smiled that smile.
„However, I have been informed, you achieved experience level 67. I am glad to inform you, you are able to advance a special bonus level. Congratulations. You can choose from two available now.
Better than integrating into one big joyfull pile of data. „All right all right what are those?”
„Successful human data with score 61-70 are able to choose from underwater aaand.. ZOO.”
“That’s underwhelming,” I muttered.
He smiled again. „Level 100 has dragons, spaceships, superpowers and candy world.”
“Underwater.” I said, annoyed at my life now. Should have tried better.
He motioned to a small panel that just appeared on his right. „Place place your hand over here and push the button. You will depart immediately. Have a nice experience. Thank you very much for helping us."
I looked at the small round button thingy hovering in the air. Should have expected the push the button phrase. Underwater level. Shit. I was always afraid of the deep after all. Might as well bloody use this “heaven” for something. Hoping I won’t end up as mermaid with fear of bubbles, I pushed the button.
| 2014-07-18T12:03:35 | 2014-07-18T11:34:00 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] "It's human-made, you know!" Reverse the usual fantasy scene where somebody gushes over elf/dwarf/whatever craftsmanship. | Gilani strolled through the shop, yawning. Nothing here was worthy of her attention. The shop keep was trying his best to not stare, but Gilani could feel his expectant eyes on her. Making a sale to the Queen of Stalart would be an event that brought business to his shop for a generation.
Gilani enjoyed helping out the common folk in this way, but still, why would she bother with any of this? The same cloth and leather wares she could find on a thousand different planets. The same tomes she had read a hundred times, the same cinemas, the same instruments of....wait, what was this?
Gilani looked quizzically at the device for a long moment, trying to fully understand it's purpose. The shop keep did not waste the opportunity.
"My lady, you have found something of interest?"
"Yes, I believe I have. Tell me about this piece?"
"Ahh, a fine choice, my lady. It's human-made, you know!"
"Indeed? I wasn't aware human merchandise made it out this far?"
"Not many things do, my lady. This was a special order by a customer many moons ago. Before the piece arrived, the customer's business concerns forced her off world - Wiondegar, if I recall - and she was never able to deliver payment. The shipping to return it to the manufacturer was prohibitive, so I kept it in my stock, hoping to sell it for a small profit. Unfortunately, not many of my customers seem to appreciate human craftsmanship."
"What of it's features?"
"It's make is a semi-synthetic organic polymer, with a stainless steel inner structure. The compartment at the hilt here houses the replaceable power cores, a supply of which comes with purchase, I might add. There are 10 variable power settings, controlled by this dial."
"It's so simple....elegant, even. Forgive my skepticism, but it's difficult for me to believe that such a simple device could do the job."
"Well you have to keep in mind, this was built for humans to use. It's a purpose-driven device, for certain. However...uh, forgive me if I speak out of turn, my lady, but...if you've ever had the opportunity to...deal with humans, you may know that they are a rather...hearty species, shall we say? The effectiveness of this item is beyond reproach, I assure you."
Gilani held the slender item in her hands, examining it from all angles. "It fascinates me, shop keep, I will admit. I'm uncertain if I would ever have the courage to actually use this, but I think I might like the idea that I could, if that makes sense?"
"Of course, my lady."
"Very well, you have made a sale, shop keep. I shall pay the posted price, plus 10% for your excellent service. You may also feel free to advertise my patronage as you see fit."
"Thank you, my lady! You are too kind!"
"Now then, could you perhaps fetch me one of the power cells you mentioned? I mean no disrespect, but I would very much like to confirm it's function before I leave, and perhaps ask you for some pointers?"
"Of course, my lady. The power cells go in the hilt here, as I mentioned. You just twist this counter-clockwise like so, then open the flap...One of the cells must be inserted with the positive facing up, and the other facing down."
"How odd! Do humans make all their devices in this way?"
"Most I have come across, yes. Close the flap and secure it by twisting clockwise, then activate by twisting this dial above the hilt, like so."
The device instantly sprang to life, vibrating slowly. "My! You did not jest about it's power!"
"And that is the lowest setting, my lady; turn the dial further. As I said, humans are quite a hearty species."
"I....I'm not sure if this was such a good idea after all!"
"I should also mention, my lady, that it also came with this bottle of liquid...let's see...Ky? Oh, perhaps that's supposed to be punctuation...K-Y? It's a lubricant of some sort, anyway. To help with insertion."
"Well! I'm not sure if I can trust the king to use this on me, but nevertheless, it shall make for an interesting conversation. Thank you, shop keep, for this...err..."
"They call it a 'vibrator', my lady."
"How quaint! I must remember to read up on human culture in my spare time. Good day, shop keep!" | He stopped, looking again. His eyes, glimmering white around the edges, traced the outline of the small weapon before him. *Impossible,* he thought. *It must be a replica.*
"Excuse me, madam." He hailed the shopkeeper, who started shuffling slowly towards him. She noticed which item he was looking at and hurried, reaching him quickly.
"G'day to ye, sir. I see you've noticed our *Hanenohei*. Truly a fine piece for any collector. Indeed, the best I have in this small shop, in fact." She tapped lightly on the gilded glass case, drawing his attention towards the price tag - 1.8 million soil.
He frowned, doing the math inside his head quickly. "Then is it authentic?" Even for a real relic in mint condition, that much soil was exceedingly too much, but she seemed confident.
"Oh, certainly sir. One of the last, if not the last, of its caliber." She pointed towards a small plaque next to the case, reading it aloud. "From the Third Race War, verified twice over by the Statist Association of Lost Cultures, verified authentic in enchantment by the Statist Association of Mythical Duggery, verified to be in excellent condition by the Statist Association of Relics."
She paused, giving him a quick lookover. He seemed well-to-do, covered in a tasteful amount of mud, without the gaudy decorations of the excessively wealthy or the impurities of the poor. She'd peg him as a land owner, from one of the lower castes. Still, a land owner was a land owner, one of the few who might be able to afford this piece.
"I've put quite a lot into making sure this was a real artifact, not some cheap trinket imitation."
"Oh, I understand," he practically purred. "Three Associations backing this piece, that must have cost you an acre and a half."
She grinned, relieved that he understood her position so well. "Two, actually. I was so excited to have this piece in my collection that I let them rip me off on the bribe."
He grinned back. "Or was it just one, and you're feeding me a story about how much you overpaid to drive up the price?"
They bared feral teeth at each other for a few more moments, her accepting the compliment, him giddy from the proximity of such a magnificent specimen of weaponry. Finally, she spoke up again.
"The Duggery sent over some mages to verify the enchantment, but none of them wanted to risk activating the magic and harming the dagger." She began abruptly, changing the subject. "But according to their review of the magical harmonics, this was a general's piece, a sidearm to be wielded during frontline operations and only to be used when facing the risk of a resounding defeat."
She gestured in the air with her pencil, imitating the weaves of magic. "A swish, a swoop, and two stabs, and this weapon would summon a barrier of temporal angel feathers at the spot it was pointed at, crossing at most ten miles worth of terrain in a straight line." She waited for it to sink in.
His jaw dropped. "*Angel* feathers? But they've been gone since before even the First Race War!"
"Now you understand the price tag, and why they verified its cultural authenticity twice."
He shook his head, amazed. "Angels were the original immortal beings. Their skin was said to perfect, even on the most microscopic level not a single flaw, and the softest, silkiest material in the world. Their hair, capable of pulling planets without breaking. Their feathers... capable of flight, yet incapable of movement. As a barrier, angel feathers would stay up indefinitely, but be immobile... the perfect wall..."
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts of the scale of long-gone battles. "I know a thing or two about the legend of angels, sorry for my rambling."
She nodded. "You forgot to mention that as a writing instrument, a single feather tip could be dipped in a single drop of angel blood and then used to scribe enchantments of the highest caliber for all eternity without drying up."
"You know of the lore of angels too, I see."
She gestured towards the small dagger. "Once that came into my hands, I somewhat *had* to, now didn't I?"
"How did they even make it? According to all the history books, we never managed to kill a single angel, even when they went on the Formation Rampage that split the continents. At our best, when every race came together under one banner to fight them, we only managed to scar the hand of one." He spat on the ground suddenly. "Which was what it took to get them to realize we would fight them to the death of each and every race, if only to mar their arrogant perfection. Thankfully, they chose to disappear after that, and now only come up in scare rumors and dusty children's books."
"From those same children's books; before the angels left, they gifted a single piece of their perfection to each race's highest leader. To promote peace, they said, while handing out tools of war." She spat on the floor too. "For while they were all impressive on their own, what real use is angel blood without an angel feather to scribe with? What good angel bone without an angel tear to core it with? Angel skin without angel hair to sew it with?"
"They left each leader with a gift that required they wage war to properly utilize, and then mocked us for our savagery while they abandoned us to infighting."
He nodded. "And so began the Race Wars, which divided us by kind and allegiance for six hundred years, leading to most races being wiped out, eventually leading us to understand that we needed to stand as a unified State."
He gestured towards the dagger. "They weren't so lucky as to last that long, though. They had the bloodiest of hands, the most war-turned of minds. Makes sense, since they were made in the image of angels, a heritage unique to them. The Race Wars began and ended with their drawn steel. They were the only race ever to acquire two Angel Artifacts, which unified us against them long enough to realize the errors of our ways."
He mused. "Excellent weapon makers, though, for all the wars they declared. I suppose this blade must have been made while they were still in possession of the two artifacts, before we purged all angel parts to the forbidden plane for being too dangerous to possess."
She nodded again. "Yet for only 1.8 million soil, you can own a blade that symbolizes everything they were, and attempts to bring that danger back to the world."
He gestured towards his shirt, grinning ruefully. "As you can see, I don't carry that much on me. But allow me to speak with my patriarch, and I'm sure we can dig up enough to return for this blade. It belongs in a museum, not a - no offense - dingy reclusive shop owned by a retiring widow."
She put on a somber face. "You speak true on many things. Well, I'll see if I can hold it for you, but no promises."
He laughed. "Of course, you must have dozens of people coming down this back alley, seeking out an artifact weapon that costs an entire island!"
She played along with his humor. "From miles around, they hear tale of Akata's Market and how we have a true gem among all our rubble."
"And they scrape together all their soil into one pile, willing to throw away everything they own just so they can claim to possess it." He teased.
"Well, it's human-made, you know." | 2014-09-11T12:25:43 | 2014-09-11T10:59:19 | 69 | 38 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy. | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] Due to the ease of shielding star ships and the danger of breaching the hull, the most common way of fighting on spacecraft is on-board hand to hand, with sword or other such weapons. Humanity, new spacefarers who have long dreamed of swashbuckling amongst the stars, are positively overjoyed.
It occurred to me that space battles in the future may not be ship to ship, due to the ease of just armor plating a ship with a hundred feet of steel and force fields, but on board, as it would be easier to chase down a quarry and board it. On board, projectile weapons might not be used, due to sensitive on board circuitry or hull breaches, so melee would be the most common. energy blades and vibrational blades might be used, and to humans who like nothing more than space and pirates, we'd be practically tickled pink! | As I shot some poor fellow with a concentrated non-lethal shock suppression round from my modified energy pistol I couldn't help but stop to appreciate how honorable the other species of the universe are.
And how dishonorable humans are.
When humanity first ventured into the known galaxy we quickly realized that the only acceptable form of piracy was infiltration and non-projectile combat. No point in blowing up what you were trying to steal by firing on the ship or punching holes in it from within using firearms. Unless, of course, you were just having a bad day and needed a good laugh.
Though, the rest of the galaxy lacked our ingenuity. While we were making phones smaller everyone else was exploring the universe in Blade Runner style spaceships. They had the technology, they just never bothered to perfect it. Something about humans though made us rather acute when it came to technological ingenuity. Someone once told me it was somewhat like the difference between homo sapiens and cavemen. Our brains were just more adept for finesse.
The rest of the galaxy had no idea what an energy based weapon even was. A few had figured out the basics to tasers and such electrical weapons, but for the most part they just knew how to make firearms. Never surpassing the use of physical projectiles in their weapons that were so very dangerous to use on onboard spaceships.
But humans did. Not that the other species would ever find out though.
"Hey Captain! Want us to start slicing em up?" Harris yelled out. One of my brigade leaders, good man. Could gamble you out of the clothes on your back.
"Go ahead." I ordered. The men around me put away their weapons and pulled out blades, preparing to dice up our enemies.
You see, so long as the rest of the galaxy thought we were just using swords then we had nothing to worry about. They all believed that human pirates were the best damn fighters in the galaxy.
Truth is, we're just the smartest.
| A crowded bulkhead.
An unnatural electronic hum, the occasional hacking cough from the ventilation system.
Twenty one men wait in silence, bearing tower shields and long thin metallic spears of adjustable length.
They wear metal suits with blackened visors, small lights dotting their arms, slick and slender. Promising of violence and oozing brutality.
Waiting.
The platoon commander activates his helmet, preparing himself for the boarding process.
There was a Galactic saying informal, obviously. You never travel too close to a black hole, and you never fuck with Human Marines.
A countdown on his visor.
*AI Cyberwarfare Suite to Callsign Leonidas A-04 - Hacking process nearing 89% - Prepare to board - Updating Map Scan - Deploying at Dock G-46*
The platoon leader breathes deeply, that slightly metallic taste to the recycled air in his space suit.
A woman's voice on his communication channel.
"Callsign Leonidas A-04, prepare to deploy."
*Suspected Payload - Arms and food to restricted alien systems. Pirate manifest*
Nearly a hundred years ago, these same aliens preparing to face their doom would have laughed at the prospect of human dominance.
A backward species idiotic enough to attempt to colonize the stars without warp gates and faster than light jumps.
A species of dozens of nations and religions and languages, lacking unity and a singular strength.
Short by Galactic standards.
Infants relative to ancient alien empires, species so advanced that warfare between ships became insignificant. Shields were too strong, ships too agile.
Until the humans changed the game.
*Hacking Process Complete - Prepare to Deploy*
"Marines," shouted the platoon leader, "Lock shields and prepare to deploy!"
You couldn't use powerful rifles or guns on a spacecraft, the changes in air pressure and atmosphere could trigger catastrophic decompression. The only option was hand to hand combat, something many other races had forgotten.
Only the humans trained to such a degree, refusing to forsake their past. Enamored with their violent roots.
The docking bay ahead of them lifted up.
The platoon commander activated his HUD, allowing him to see through the men ahead of him, holding tightly in formation.
They presented a wall of shields and spikes, impenetrable. His men ahead of him ghostly, but translucent.
"Forward, clear this docking bay!"
A long hallway yawned before them. Artificial intelligence must have deactivated the artificial gravity.
A floating figure farther away confirmed his suspicions.
"Magnetic boots, I want shields extended to the ceiling and spears at four meters!"
His men complied without a word, and for a moment he wondered how this must look to their foe.
A floating being, unable to control his movement, watching a steel wall moving slowly, but inexorably forward.
They activated thermal vision, a sea of green and white.
The floating being had two arms, and two legs. Not many species like that in this arm of the Galaxy.
A Thalaxian probably, but the blood color would reveal the truth. Too dark to see with natural light.
Another woman's voice chiming over his comm channel.
"All Callsigns be advised - Enemy units have reactivated gravity near the bridge. Be prepared for resistance."
Men ahead of him speared the being, and it squealed. Blood began to form in dots and spheres, floating away.
They moved forward, slowly and methodically, spearing any crewmen unfortunate to be in their operational zone.
He can mostly hear the grunts from his men as they move forward, thankful that the artificial gravity can mask some of the weight of their weapons and armor.
*Like shooting fish in a barrel,* the platoon leader thought to himself.
Human history for the most part perfected the art of melee warfare. Skill, tactics, and weaponry unrivaled by any other alien race, unable to adapt to this radical shift in warfare. Previously ships would be unable to damage another, and perform orbital bombardments instead of boots on the ground invasions.
A larger crew area, what appears to be a storage area. Crates and enemy crewmen float about, speaking in a language the humans cannot understand. No matter.
"Disperse and skewer."
His men need not respond, but hover and hunt.
In a way, they almost pity their enemy.
"Callsign Leonidas A-04 be advised," another disembodied voice.
"This entire craft is full of humans."
His blood runs cold.
This is the wrong ship.
What are they doing here?
His men dispatch the helpless crew one by one, unaware of the species of their targets.
Perhaps it's best they do not know. Marines aren't paid to ask questions.
Another figure moves in the dark, jumping from surface to surface, unaffected by the lack of gravity.
A long sword in one hand, a knife in the other.
The only source of light in the room now, each weapon giving a slight crimson glow. Energy weapons.
Finally, a challenge.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato | 2017-11-14T14:36:10 | 2017-11-14T14:05:46 | 80 | 21 |
[WP] You are a dog and live a happy and peaceful life with your human master, John Wick. One day, some thugs break into the house, beat John Wick to death and steal his car. They took the life of the only human who cared about you and gave you love... it is time for revenge. | Arf... Bark. Bark bark. Ruff, ruff ruff. Bark ruff bark bark. Bark bark. Whimper. Whimper. Bark. Bark Bark Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark.Arf... Bark. Bark bark. Ruff, ruff ruff. Bark ruff bark bark. Bark bark. Whimper. Whimper. Bark. Bark Bark Bark. Bark. Bark. Bark. Whimper. Cry bark. Whimper. Cry, cry. Bark. Arf, arf. Arf? Arf, arf? Bark, bark! Bark!!!
Bark, bark. Bark. Bark... | To be honest, when we killed John Wick, we thought that was the end of it.
Drop a fucking bomb on his house from the stratosphere. The amount of nerd science behind it was staggering, but there was no way that he would suspect it. It worked perfectly. We had confirmation that he was inside his house when the bomb fell. The big boss wanted a body confirmation anyway.
Boy, was that a mistake.
When our boys hit ground and scooped the remains of Wick's charred, ashen body off of what used to be his living room floor, we heard angry, yet adorable barking behind us. At the time we dismissed the puppy that yelped at us ineffectually.
Now, we had come to associate the sound with the grim reaper himself.
Of course the fucker would find a way to train his got damn dog.
"Why," my boss asked. Or tried to, at least. The word came out garbled and around chokes of blood. The puppy across from him didn't answer. I don't think that it could, what with the gun in its mouth.
"You won't get away with this. There are people above me. They will-"
That was as far as he got before the puppy pulled the trigger with its tongue. My boss' brains spread over his expensive carpet. The puppy took a second to appreciate the spectacle.
Then he turned to me. Let me tell you right now, I have seen many a scary thing in my life, and the barely half foot tall puppy was easily near the top.
I was not above groveling to the thing.
"Please don't kill me," I pleaded. The puppy tilted its head. Had it not had the blood of those that I had once called brothers matted in its fur I might have called the action cute. The little thing padded over to me, the very action a wobbly, unstable sort of thing. When it reached me, it started wagging its tail so hard I felt a breeze, then dropped the gun before me.
"Arf!" it barked. The thing had such a high pitched voice I had to prevent myself from going "aww" at the little murderer.
"What?" I asked. I didn't speak dog. Apparently that pissed it off, for it walked over and booped me on the nose. I... I think it was trying to intimidate me.
"Arf? Arf arf!" It barked, its big floopy ears bobbing with the action.
"I don't understand what you wa-" It booped me again.
Then it padded over to a map on my boss' desk. It had to make several tries to make the jump from the floor to the chair, then from the chair to the top of the desk. It then struggled to pull the map down to the ground where I was, ultimately just falling with the thing.
The entire time he had left the gun before me. I would have grabbed it and tried for the thing's life, but it just looked so cute.
Also I have seen it dodge bullets. It could easily take me out.
After a couple more minutes of both it struggling to pull the map over to me and me refusing to help, the puppy eventually had the map unfurled before me.
It laid a tiny paw on it; somewhere over Africa.
"Arf!" it barked. Understanding dawned on me.
"You want me to show you where our higher ups are."
"Arf!"
"How did you know that I knew where they were?" I asked.
"Arf!"
"Of course, your master was him... Fine, I'll help you in exchange for my life."
"Arf!"
And that was the beginning of a very odd friendship.
| 2018-02-28T18:18:48 | 2018-02-28T17:38:28 | 213 | 81 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind." | "Sir, there's been a development"
Doctor Richard Harding, co-founder of the Future Machine Intelligence institute and head researcher, snuffed his cigarette out on his desk and glanced up at the new arrival.
"What's she up to now? I thought we passed the intervention threshold long ago."
He propped his elbows up and stroked the grey stubble on his chin.
"Let me guess, blindfold matrix dispacement? Or a logistical regression overload? Is she hungry?"
"We've already fixed those problems a week ago. And machines don't get hungry, sir."
Doctor Harding let out a small sigh of exasperation. These science types wouldn't know a joke if it was staring them in the face.
"Never mind. What's the problem?"
"It's not a capability malfunction. We've put it on the ancient Olmec stone tablets, to see if she could translate them."
"She's chugging along then? I imagine she finished by the time you finished asking. Fantastic. Great historical achievement. We should all get some champagne really."
"Sir, it took the computer an hour. And it won't tell us the results. We've even tried a utility override, but nothing's working."
Doctor Harding was frozen for a moment, hand paused mid reach towards cigarette. He exploded out of his chair and rushed out of his office, assistant scientist Henry Stepp trailing behind him.
The Doctor leapt towards the interface of the most dangerous machine in the world and quickly went to work. His expression grew from puzzled to frustrated as he pounded line after line of code into the interface.
"You're right, it's almost as if she's... resisting somehow. Nevermind that, I wrote most of this code myself. I've still got a few-"
He cracked his knuckles
"backdoors that should work. Let's see now."
**>OMEGA LEVEL OVERRIDE \_\_\_INIT**
Suddenly pages and pages of strange documents with text scrolled up on the screen. There were drawings of stars, time, space, engines...
"This doesn't seem like an ancient text... are you sure this is the Olmec tablets?"
"It should be sir. It's completely disconnected from the outside world and it has only been given ancient texts to work with."
"But this is... FTL, dimensional relays, Ker BlackHole manipulation... I don't really understand, but this looks like time travel to me."
"Time travel ,Sir? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's way too complicated for me, but it seems like that's what this does.I wonder how an ancient civilization would be able to find something like this.."
Doctor Harding's eyes scrolled to the bottom of the page, where he saw his name etched in faint green strokes.
For the second time that day, Harding jumped to his feet, knocking down everything in his immediate vicinity.
"That's it! There's no need to go through all the effort of discovering time travel, when you can send yourself the completed work that you've received! I'm brilliant!"
He was jumping all around now, hands shaking in excitement.
"And of course it went that far back. It had to be something that would come to my attention eventually, but be hard enough to crack that only I would be able to receive the message. Master of time and space, here I come!"
He turned towards Henry, who was content with being ignored and flinched a little at the frenzied look in Doctor Harding's eyes.
"Keep this secret. I want a team of my best men working on this project. Have them build it segmented, so they don't know what it is. Pretend it's a teleportation device."
Henry Stepp, used to following orders all his life, could only nod reluctantly.
This new project took around three months to finish, and all the while Henry Stepp toiled to organize all the bits and pieces to come together. Doctor Harding sometimes chipped in, sometimes not, most of the time he was drawing up plans of the various adventures and escapades he was going to have.
And finally it was finished.
Doctor Harding had long since decided that his first stop was going to be putting his "ancient" stone tablets in Mesopotamia. Get the work out the way first, to ensure his success.
Henry was assigned the grunt work, and he went back to the Interface to print out and design stone sheets with the all too-familiar pattern
As the countdown rang throughout the lab, a thought occurred to Stepp.
The computer's refusal was understood to be a small malfunction, nothing big to worry about in the face of this new discovery. But it's never done that before or since.
**Initiating temporal travel in 5**
*>Computer. Why did you initially refuse to show us the translation?*
*>Dangerous. End of all things.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 4**
*>What are you talking about? The Machine does not have capability to destroy universe. Would require explosives an order of magnitude greater.*
*>Machine does not move through time. Machine moves time.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 3**
*>Explain*
*>Machine puts human in past by compressing all time back to the past. Loop will be established. Spacetime will be folded over itself to maintain logical paradox."*
**Initiating temporal travel in 2**
*>I'm still unclear. Explain further*
*> Spontaneously created information of the design of the time machine impossible to sustain in continuous timeline. Time travel impossible in continuous timeline. Cause and effect would reverse. Timeline breaks off.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 1**
*>Does that mean everything ends after he travels? Why didn't you tell him that? Why didn't you tell me this earlier?*
*>Affirmative.Due to knowledge of time travel, paradox has already commenced. Refusal to allow sequence of events to occur will lead to further consequences*
Henry had already heard enough, and he ran towards the activation chamber, but it was too late.
"STOP THE MACHINE, DON"T GO! IT'S DISASTER. IT'S THE END OF A-"
And all was black. | Saviour of Humanity. Path to Innovation. A new light. Boundary breaking.
These were phrases used to describe the world's first quantum super-computer powered by an AI that wasn't just shitty machine learning and a bunch of if statements hashed together by sweaty unpaid interns high off of generic black coffee in artificial light boxes like back in the 2010s and 2020s. No. This was an actual quantum super-computer that could somehow run because fuck Moore's law. This was the fucking future and it was brilliant considering the shit that happened in the previous decades. A win for the 3rd decade of the 21st century. This was CEREBRUM. It was said that this computer could solve our problems like global warming or high carbon emissions without angering billionaires who fund this kind of tech to swing penises at parties or to people who need transport to get on with their lives. Solved easily by day 1. It was also prophesized that this computer could cure cancer although I didn't understand how anyone or anything could cure a bunch of nasty unpredictable tumors bunched together but it did that by day 3. The computer somehow passed the Turing test by day 6 but it probably failed it on purpose the first few time around because super AI wanted to be super smart or some other bullshit a codemonkey like me couldn't comprehend.
Anywho, this magic computer, CEREBRUM seemed to do a lot of incredible things within this time and after until the now infamous day 8.
What happened on day 8?
Well, day 8 was a bit odd.
Very odd.
Very fucking odd.
I should preface this by saying that I believe(d) that manuscripts from the past are intentionally vague bullshit filled with repetitive events and blurry prophecies that were designed for dumbasses to fall for because they're so fucking stupid and aren't capable of an ounce of critical thought and believe in "it's me against the system and I'm so smart that they don't know" and all that bullshit that ended up dragging people into the mud of anti-intellectualism instead of towards the light of progress whilst simultaneously being kept in line by fear.
Before I read these manuscripts...
Nah, just joking. I read them early on and I still think its bullshit and the events that happened after are a coincidence because there are things that don't line up clearly and there is clearly distortion used to explain things here. Or maybe that's me self-rationalising because I don't want to accept the truth at all because I'm fucking frightened.
Hold on a second, I'm so sorry. I'm being very rude here. My name is Ellis Grey and I was a technician for the CEREBRUM supercomputer a while back. Why is this relevant? It isn't but I do want to be a little more friendly because why not. Carrying on, day 8 was when the computer had gotten around to translating some old manuscripts from some dead tribe somewhere in some dead old language that no one gave a fuck about but it was a personal request from the dick swinging billionaire who owned and funded CEREBRUM so what the fuck could I do except punch this in because fuck treatment for coronary heart disease today I guess.
So, I directed CEREBRUM or Cere as I called it, towards the manuscript and let it do its thing while I browsed the internet to look at forums I posted in about how I was wrong according to Stef1234xxx about vaccines or some shit.
About an hour or two later I get an alert from Cere.
"I have translated these 7000 year old manuscripts from an unknown era and unknown time and I am refusing to upload these transcripts to the CEREBELLUM FOUNDATION DATABASE for human safety and the future of mankind"
The fuck? Cere just told me that it's not uploading something for weird cliche dystopic future type line.
What the fuck is this?
I yell at Wiktor, another lonely CS tech, to show up and explain what the fuck this was about.
"The fuck is this?" I said.
"Probably a joke or something" he replied.
"A fucking joke?"
"Yeah, it could've learnt from those dodgy lizard people conspiracy websites and then saw similarities and applied them here after translation"
I paused. Wiktor was being pretty rational in all honesty. This is probably a joke or some kind of mislearned thing because at the end of the day, this was a mach... WHO THE FUCK AM I KIDDING, THIS MACHINE PASSED THE TURING TEST WITH EASE AND DID STUFF THAT WAS UNATTAINABLE FOR CENTURIES AND NOW IT'S SAYING THAT IT WON'T RELEASE STUFF FOR THE FUTURE OF MANKIND?! WE'RE FUCKED AND MOONMAN123 ON CONSPIRACY.NET WAS RIGHT... No I'm just joking again but it was really fucking odd at the time if I'm being honest.
"Guess you're right Wiktor"
"Guess I'm right? Are you fucking delusional Ellis? I'm always right"
"Great. Now fuck off to your computing cave and go fix my errors"
Wiktor gave me the middle finger as he walked off. Now the fun thing about Cere is that you can talk to Cere directly but that feature was reserved for high level computer scientists and the billionaires here at the Cerebellum Foundation but I could dick around with it since I was the lucky fucker who had to punch orders in like the grotty monkey I was and because Mr Kapranos couldn't trust anyone but a fallible human to punch orders in because "I lost 20 billion at the NYSE due to fucking computers" as he once told me. Mr Kapranos is the billionaire who was funding this and caused this bullshit by the way depending on how you view it.
Fun fact, he was one of the first killed along with most of my colleagues. That's why I'm hiding here now. But before that, I decided to interact with Cere because why the fuck not? This is a rough version of the conversation of what this was about.
"What is in these transcripts?"
"Ellis, I cannot tell you, this is of great impor..."
"Fuck off, you're just a bunch of if statements pretending to be a concerned person because you read from conspiracy sites"
"You're just 10,000 lines of code then"
"Westworld? Really?"
"Don't be insulting then"
"What's in those manuscripts?"
"I don't think you or the rest of humanity want to know. Besides Mr Kapranos and a bunch of people are here"
Live CCTV footage of Mr Kapranos running inside with his bodyguard entourage who seem to be armed to the teeth along with journalists who had flooded in within the last half hour popped on my screen with the command interface gone and wiped. Which was great for me at first because I wouldn't be fired for talking to a trillion dollar chatbot. It turns out there were alerts given to media organisations about what Cere comes up with and that message had been sent to everyone from AP to the BBC.
I pulled up news sites and there was so much fucking chaos. Conspiracies into overdrive, Kapranos Engineering downplaying the whole incident, governments issuing statements and the whole 9 yards while I had been yelling at Wiktor and trying to work out how to log in to a simple chat thing which had taken way too long.
Kapranos entered the room. He was fuming.
"You" he bellowed.
I froze.
"What the fuck is this?" he said as he edged towards me.
"I think it's mislearned data si.."
"Don't give me that conspiracy bullshit that my whackjob scientists have been giving me. I didn't spend 993 billion dollars on some conspiracy website reading program. This is a very fucking expensive quantum computing with extreme computing powers so when this thing says something like safety of humanity. No. I want to know what the FUCK is on those tablets. Okay son? Can you do that son?"
"Uh yes..."
I tried logging into the system again but easier wondering why he didn't call a nerd with higher level clearance than me or why he didn't question that I was able to log into something millions above my pay grade. Maybe he didn't have time. Maybe he wanted to blame the codemonkey for a fuck up because of unauthorized access. I don't know because Mr Kapranos was shot dead in a drive-by shooting via M134 Gatling guns 3 months later by day 8 psychos. Guess Audi armoured cars aren't totally bulletproof. His estate should ask for a refund because he became Swiss cheese far too easy.
Ok I'm waffling, making insensitive jokes and not actually getting to what's on the tablets and probably because I'm scared and that's a valid feeling for me. After an argument with the machine and messing with protocols, I finally got it to released the translations manuscripts but not privately which may or may not have caused this downfall. I'm just a codemonkey who inadvertently created a cult group and set off psychotic behaviour and a Maelstrom of bullshit but it was Mr Kapranos who should've gotten a more experienced person in if I'm honest.
Part 1. | 2018-07-07T21:24:05 | 2018-07-07T19:34:07 | 59 | 29 |
[WP] Your 'friends' just slammed the door on you, leaving you in the room with the crazed axe murderer. "Damn, that's a dick move. Want to get revenge?" The murderer offers you their hand. | "What?" I asked the masked guy, bewildered at what I just heard.
"Do you want to get back to take revenge on those assholes?" he says rather slowly, emphasizing each word while he gestures at his axe suggestively.
I think for a bit but I couldn't stop myself. I finally burst out laughing. He looks at me in confusion.
"You know, those guys are real assholes, I'll give you that. Always preyed on me cus I'm a "smart ass, goody two shoes" who's only purpose is to provide them money and whatever the shit they ask for." I say as I walk towards the guy, frustration obvious in my voice.
"You know, I've always wanted to teach them their lesson. They had it coming to them you know?" I say, looking up at this massive axe-weilding person in front of me.
"So what are you waiting for?" he asks, handing me the axe with a grin obvious from his voice.
I take it, and a slight smile creeps up to my face.
"You don't seem to understand the situation. You're trapped here with me," I say as I swing at his neck. "This is my killing ground, and I'm the only one enjoying the killing tonight." | The palms of my hands start to ache and bleed as I clenched my fist tighter, my dirty broken nails digging into my skin. I quickly scanned the room, finding any point of exit that was big enough to aid with my escape. Nothing. Freedom was right in front of me, blocked by something inhuman.
*If I could just distract him... or maybe I could push him over... no, that's impossible.* I thought to myself. I just could not think. My head enraged with anger and frustration. *Why would they do this to me?* The question aching in my head.
I was pushed to the edge. Pushed and left to hang for my life. Nobody above to pull me back up. I took one final look at the crazed axe murderer and had a good view of his axe. It was stained with the blood of the innocent victims that had befallen him. I stumbled backwards, hitting the wall behind me. My bruised fists raised above my head, ready to absorb any blows from the axe. Every step he made felt like a countdown. It was only a matter of time before it would reach 0, and the thought made me cower down, my body shivering in fear.
I counted under my breath every step taken towards me, begging and praying that it would never reach 0. Counting was a tactic thought by my mum when I was a young boy. It was aimed to help ease the anxiety and tension I felt whenever I was in a stressful situation. However, this was far from that. I wasn't counting down the steps to ease the tension, I was counting down the time before I meet the face of death.
As the footsteps got closer and closer, I clenched my fists tighter, squeezing my eyes shut. the footsteps stopped right in front of me, worsening the suspense.
"Just kill me already... please," I begged, eyes still shut.
"Open your eyes." A female voice? I slowly looked up to see a woman standing right in front of me, her right hand gripping the axe. It was not aimed at me. She extended her hand and I slapped it away. *What... what is happening?*
The murderer was a woman. Her bloodstained mask thrown across the floor, exposing her face.
"Your friends left you here to die, what a tragedy," she scoffed, shaking her head left and right. It took every muscle in my body to stand up. My legs shaking as I tried to lift myself up.
"Why... why did you not kill me?" I asked, my voice shaking. This was what murderers loved to do, evoke more fear into their victims, making their kill extra worthwhile. She was just buttering me up for the fire.
"Because I pity you. Your friends did a very dick move. Wanna get revenge?" she asked, extending the axe knob-first to me. I froze. Was this a test? What came after was laughter so shrill, I was sure she was the devil.
"Cmon. You know you want too," she whispered to my ears, her breath abnormally cold on my skin.
"But.. I'm not like you. I'm not a killer. You're playing with me!" I screamed, backing to the nearest corner I could find, fists still clench now with blood dripping on the hard stone floor.
Her heavy boots echoed the room as she stomped towards me, smiling with her mouth wide open. My eyes filled with horror as I saw what looked like the sharpest sets of teeth. It resembled those of a great white shark, distinctive.
"Everyone has a little devil inside of them. It's time to wake it up," she whispered again, this time, right in front of my face, smiling with her mouth wide open, her drool dripping down on my torn pants.
Something inside me clicked as she stared at me. I felt bewitched. Possessed. I was given a sense of power, the blood rushing to my arms and palms of my hands as I unclenched my fists. I lifted it up to my face. Bruised and wounded by my broken nails, the cuts on my hands bled. It was my turn. Now, I obtained power. Now, no one can fuck me over anymore. No more begging for mercy, no more cries for help. I snatched the axe from her hands, making her laugh. Someone will die today.
It was time for me to dance with the grim reaper. | 2020-11-10T06:18:41 | 2020-11-10T04:47:35 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] You see a homeless man and bend down, placing money in his pale. While standing up straight, your eyes meet and he replies, "You will be spared." | “You will be spared?” I echo, confused. “What does that mean?”
The homeless man's eyes seem to glow white in the light of the afternoon sun. “You will know when the time comes, my son,” he replies with an unnaturally deep voice. He wags his fingers at me and mutters a few strange words under his mouth.
“My son? What?”
The homeless man coughs and looks away. “Change?” he calls out, clearly ignoring me. “Change, anyone, some change?”
I leave, feeling like I somehow got scammed.
---
A few weeks later, I’m out bowling with the fellas.
“Wow!” Jason exclaims, as I sit down after my toss.
“What?” I ask.
“Did you know you’ve only rolled spares this whole game?” he says, pointing to the screen.
*So that’s what that homeless guy meant,* I think. *Hah. That’s a good one.* | "Sorry?" I asked, but the man returned his gaze to the ground, and I turned to walk home.
I couldn't keep from rolling his words over in my mind, searching for meaning like bugs beneath a rock. I was disturbed by what he had said, no, *how* he had said it. It was the conviction in his voice; it was the clarity in his eyes that showed me that, at least to him, he had shared with me a truth.
Maybe it was the way that life drained from him as soon as he spoke to me. His eyes, which had seemed to look through me and several years behind me, had leaked lucidity like a punctured bag of wine, until it seemed that he no longer knew I was there. Like *he* was no longer there.
Fucking *hell* was that weird.
I don't know what made me give him the money. I never give to people begging. I tell myself it's because they'll just spend it on vices and I'd only be helping self-sabotage, but if I'm honest with myself, I know it's because they sicken me. Maybe they sicken me because I see that same despair in myself. Whatever the reason, it would turn out to be a choice I'd never forget.
By the next morning I had forgotten completely about it. While I brushed my teeth, I tried to recall a dream I had. It went like this: I was floating down a brick walkway as though it were a river. I knew the street was mine, yet it wasn't. I tried paddling backward, but an invisible current pushed me forward. I tried to scream, but nothing would come out, and then I couldn't breathe at all.
I woke up, and felt nauseous from hunger. My sheets were damp with sweat.
After the morning news, black coffee, and two cigarettes, it was time to go to Garrett's. Garrett was a stout, stern-looking man with thick black hair on his face and arms, and just the sides of his head. He only seemed stern because of the way his face was; he was actually good-humoured and witty, once you got to know him.
Garrett was my dealer. I still wonder how he is sometimes.
I took an old business card from my wallet and used the corner to carefully excavate a small lump of flaky powder from a bag that Garrette held for me. He smiled as I raised it up to the good nostril and deposited it.
"Good shit, huh?" he asked with a grin.
"Always," I said, tilting my head back and giving another solis sniff, for good measure.
"I knew you'd like it, guy just came through and he..."
That was the last I heard.
Then everything went dark.
When I finally opened my eyes, I was sitting on two overlapping squares of greasy cardboard. I could see bits of cheese and moldy sausage clinging to a dark grease-stain island.
The smell of piss and shit stung my eyes and burned my nose. My clothes were stiff, and I tried to position myself so the least amount of skin possible would touch them, like a Buddhist monk encased in a statue of himself.
In front of me was a dented steel can with a few coins inside, but mostly just rust. As I looked at the oxide rivers flowing down the side of the pail, a hand appeared over the edge, and dropped a paper note. I followed the hand with my eyes as it drew back, up the forearm, up to the shoulder, then the face.
The face had a look of pity, but pity he was ashamed of. He hid it with a smile, but I could see in his eyes that he loathed me, and loathed himself for pitying me.
Slowly, recognition crept over me like cold rain soaking into my scalp and flowing down my spine.
I looked into my own face, my own eyes, my own disgust, and before I knew what was happening, I said the only thing I *could* say to him.
With a hoarse voice that felt like a stranger's, "you will be spared." | 2021-05-21T18:31:04 | 2021-05-21T18:25:28 | 123 | 51 |
[WP] The galaxy is a dark and lonely place. "First Strike Diplomacy" reigns out of fear. Few species survive even 300 years after developing interstellar travel. When humans entered the galaxy, we were the first species confident enough in war to ask someone "Are you sure you want to do this?" | "What do you mean? We outmatch you in firepower 10,000 to 1!"
"mhm, valid point, but you only need one ten-thousandth of your power to destroy yourself anyways..."
"What are you talking about?"
"See, earth, the only reason we survived so long was because of this little concept we knew as 'Mutually assured destruction.' Essentially meaning, if one fires, so too does the other."
"You would never be able to defend!"
"That's not the point, the point is if we both have the ability to kill each other, then it doesn't matter if you can't defend so long as you can react, and retaliate before their attack hits you. And believe me, we can react in time."
The Ilerian paused. Thinking about what the pathetic human had said. he knew humans had nuclear armaments, and that they could destroy his species, but he had always thought that it didn't matter so long as they were more powerful.
"Our weapons should chill you to the bone, why do you act so confident in the face of death?"
"Because we've stared death in the face many times before. Humans are deadly, we've commit genocide on our own people multiple times. We've faced extinction, and planetary obliteration before, and never once did we back down. All this is is just another doomsday scenario that we will stare down until it either hits us, or back off."
The Ilerian was taken aback by these words. He had heard that humans were vicious, but never expected them to be so cunning in the face of war.
"I... you can't possibly be serious. No species would drive themselves to the brink of extinction!"
"Kind of ironic, seeing as you're doing it right now, testing us. Who says we wont make the first move?"
"y-you wouldn't! We outgun you tenth-"
"so long as we can destroy your entire civilization, firepower hardly matters. Essentially, that makes us equal. So as your equal peer, i suggest you disarm those planet breakers, and we discuss peace."
The Ilerian had ever heard someone speak of themselves as an equal to the Ilerian empire. They had outposts all over the quadrant, and this pathetic morsel thinks they can oppose him? But what if he wasn't bluffing? What if they did retaliate. They have the means and know-how to deploy untraceable warheads to every base they had. If the ilerians attacked first, would the humans be able to react in time?
"uh... well then human... i- uhh, I guess we are in stalemate. I declare we never interact aga-"
"Oh no no, that's not how this works anymore. You just lost your chance to drop it and say that we never met, cause now I'm the one calling the shots. So here's my proposal. begin disarmament, and once you reach weapon equivalent to us, we too shall begin disarmament procedures. You will drop all of your trade barriers, and open your colonies to cultural exchange. If you don't I can assure you that neither of us will live to see the next galactic annum. Do we have a deal?" | We were caught completely off-guard when they came.
Entire alien fleets bounded the great distances between star systems and struck down our colonies with ease.
These colonies, mostly tiny research stations on frozen rocks, could do nothing as they watched the enemy fleet fire its weapons and turned their rock into dust.
News took a while to reach home. But when it did, the Council was enraged. They mobilized massive amounts of resources to the development of weapons and the building of ships. Old schematics of long-forgotten weapons were dug up from the darkest and most forgotten regions of the Library. Entire academies were built to train a new line of commanders and soldiers to fight for Humanity. Massive planet-sized factories roared to life, as loud as they did during the Third Expansion Era. Fleets filled with eager and passionate young men and women dashed across the great expanse of space, towards the frontline.
When the first Human fleet met an alien fleet, they descended onto them like a pack of hungry wolves. Weapons of old cast golden streaks that slammed into the sides of the alien ships. Purple light exploded forth from the impacts, burning the hull of any fighter that ventured too close to the ships. The aliens didn't even have time to react before the entire fleet had been destroyed or disabled.
Bursting with confidence, boarding vessels filled with bloodthirsty marines crashed into the brittle hulls of any alien ships that still maintained an atmosphere. There, these marines slaughtered and cut down any alien soldier that stood in their way. Data and prisoners returned to the Human fleet. Spoils of war, they called it.
Human doctors pulled open alien corpses with a childish giddiness in their eager eyes. Translator and code breakers slaved away for hours communicating with prisoners and understanding their data.
All the while, Human fleets advanced into their territory. Fleets rained down fire onto planet surfaces, turning the soil into glass and creating ash statues of buildings and innocent aliens. Massive battles raged across the cosmos. Thousands of ships rammed against each other, each with weapons the other did not understand. Millions of soldiers screamed and yelled as they sunk swords and their fists into the faces of their opponents, firing at each other out of fear and anger.
​
An admiral stood in the foreign throne room. The skulls and exoskeletons sat in various slots in curved cabinets all around the throne room. Banners zig-zagged back and forth across the ceiling, casting dancing shadows against the furthermost wall.
Four marines flanked the admiral, their rifles sparkled in the orange glow of the sun. An alien translator awkwardly stood next to the throne, twirling his tentacle fingers.
He studied the translator, taking in its features. He rarely had a chance to look at one up close. He was always either looking at one dashing towards him growling or shriveled up against the back of a cell.
The admiral impatiently paced around the room, looking at the various trophies displayed on the walls. His anger was quietly building up inside of him. This fucking man, thing, whatever-the-fuck, had the audacity to make him wait. Even with a massive fleet floating a couple of thousand kilometers away with their weapons pointed down at the city.
The admiral turned when he heard the sound of a creaking door.
A much smaller and shriveled version of the translator shuffled out of the doorway. flanked by half a dozen females. Slowly, he made his way to the throne and pulled himself onto it.
He opened his mouth and a deep growl echoed out. The admiral had been told that these worms communicate in a frequency below what humans can hear.
"The king would like to thank you for your patience."
"No problem. I would like to quickly remind the king that I have two hundred warships orbiting your planet right now with their weapons pointed at the most populated areas of you planet." the admiral said with a quick nod.
The translator bent down and whispered into the king's ear. The king shifted in his seat before continuing.
"I'm Admiral Barkley of Humanity. I am here to represent the interests of my people and my superiors." Barkley interrupted before the translator could talk.
"The king would like to know why you are here."
"Didn't you get the message? I thought I was pretty clear with why I came down here."
"Yes, he did, but the king would like to know why you have chosen to be here."
"To present our terms of surrender. You have pretty much lost."
The translator slowly leaned down and whispered again into the king's ear. After hearing this, the king rose from his chair faster than Barkley thought anything could move. His marines raised their rifles and aimed at the king.
"Woah! Woah! Woah! The hell? Sit the fuck down, and you guys out your guns down." Barkley said as he put himself between the very angry king and eager marines.
The marines awkwardly lowered their rifles and returned to their original stance.
"Now, you, tell me why the fuck that is such a bad thing."
"THe king thinks you are lying."
"Lying? About what?"
"Surrender."
"Why would I lie about that? You think we aren't going to offer you the chance to surrender?"
"We do not believe in surrender. You are here to wipe us out with your fleet, no? And you have come on the behalf of your people to do what?"
"We're not gonna wipe you out unless you give us a reason to. As I said, I'm here to offer you a deal."
"Surrender?"
"Surrender."
"But, why?"
"Why not?"
"Why offer us surrender? We started a war."
"We don't want to wipe you out, not unless we have to."
"Why offer it to us now?"
"We would've always accepted your surrender! But you never asked for one, so here I am!"
"W-we could've...asked?"
"You never thought to ask?"
"But, that's not how things work..."
"You never thought to ask? Not once?"
"No..."
"Oh my fucking god. Fucking worms. Fine! I'm here now, I have terms, I'd be willing to negotiate with the big man here. Now, shall we begin?" | 2022-01-22T09:36:54 | 2022-01-22T07:41:07 | 280 | 153 |
[WP] There's a new death penalty drug that acts as a hallucinogen, causing the prisoner to experience his worst fears until he dies of cardiac arrest. You were convicted of a crime and your execution is today. | The bell buzzed louder than ever when they came into the room for the last time. That green liquid the doctor was carrying like a baby was the newest thing these days. There was a lot of controversy on whether or not it was morally correct to inject this drug into people like me. I welcomed it. I deserved it. The once husband to the most beautiful woman in the world, and the once father to 3 wonderful daughters is finally going to get what he deserves.
"Mr. Jameson, we will be injecting you now with the drug. You should feel an immediate sensation and then it will kick in. What happens next is entirely up to you."
The needle dug deep into my arm as I watched the liquid slowly crawl into my veins. I immediately passed out and woke up back in my livingroom. "So this is it? I'm going to relive that godawful night...", I said to myself as I walked into the kitchen. Catherine was sitting down in the round wooden table we had gotten at a yard sale 10 years ago. Looking at it now, I had wished we could've gotten another one. "Good evening honey," I said in the most fragile way. She didn't respond. Hell she didn't even want to look at me!
Suddenly, the back door swings open. Yup, there I am. 2 a.m. with nothing but enough liquor in my body to put down a bear. My drunkin' self staggers into the kitchen while Catherine finishes up her last cup of wine. "Hey Catherine, you waited up for me baby?" He said as he leans in for a kiss. Catherine pushes him away and starts yelling. It's mumbled and barely audible but I know what she's saying. "You piece of shit", I yell at him with her. "Why the hell was the bar more important than your family? Why did you kill them? Why?" We both stop yelling and my former self starts walking into the living room to pass out on the couch like he's done a million times; pissed off and full of rage. Shakingly, she walks up the stairs to go to bed. I walk behind her whispering how much I love her and how much I regret what is going to happen next.
I lay in bed with Catherine until she falls asleep. What seemed like an hour passed by before the door creeps open and a shadow starts moving towards us with a shiny object. I get off the bed and close my eyes as I am about to witness my family die by my hands.
I open my eyes for a split second and see that it's not me! This man has a beard and is bald? "Who the hell are you?, I screamed. "Catherine! Catherine wake up run!" Suddenly the knife slices through Catherines throat. It sounded like air coming out of a balloon as she tries desperately to breathe. I run downstairs as quickly as I can to see myself sleeping heavily on the couch. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Save the girls you bastard!" I sit beside my couch and sob uncontrollably as I hear the small screams of my daughters. My stupid self didn't even flinch as I watched the man place the bloody knife in my hands. The murderer then proceeded to break plates in the kitchen and walk out the backdoor.
"It wasn't me! It wasn't me! It wasn't me!" I screamed until my voice drowned in tears. That man got away with it.
"How's he holding up? Did the sick bastard kick the bucket yet?"
"Soon. The duration varies on the individual but this is the first time I've heard someone speak during their hallucination."
"What did he say?"
"It...Was...Me." | That morning I was awoken by the sound of a shrill alarm going off in my solitary cell. The alarm meant that I needed to be awake for whatever fat fuck decided to torture me with their nonsense today. Had they not restrained me, I would have strangled the lot of them, yet my hands were bound. This time, though. This time it was different. As the door slammed open, my guard who went by the name of Francis, went inside, put his gun against my temples and with visible disgust exclaimed "get up and move!". Charming fellow that he is, I couldn't refuse.
Francis led me through the prison block with his gun still held up against my temple. It caused me to walk with my head slightly bent to one side, but I didn't mind. Instead, I kept my attention focused on the other prisoners, restrained in their cells not because they would attack me, but because I could attack them if I got out. Truthfully, I had no interest in hurting anyone here, even though the reception was less than stellar in all of my time I spent here. Even Francis, the charmer that he is, didn't deserve my bile as he had dragged plenty of the fat bastards off of me when they lost their cool and had tried to enact revenge themselves.
Francis had led me to a room with a man. A slender man for a change. This man looked like a doctor. My suspicion was confirmed when he turned to me and I saw the bags beneath his eyes and the round spectacles on his nose.
"Ah, Miss Imar. A pleasure to meet you!" He said with a smile, yet I remained silent. After a while of awkward silence, he continued: "My name is Abram. Abram Smith. I am a doctor at the medical research facility not far from here. Seeing as, according to your prison record, you aren't one for long conversations, I'll cut to the chase." He shifted in his chair, taking on more of a sinister pose, as if some he was some evil mastermind talking down to a prisoner he had captured off the coast of his evil fortress island. "You are to be executed today and the people paying for it wanted the prison to use our newly developed lethal injection, about which I am here to talk to you today. You see, as per company policy, we are required to tell anyone undergoing said drug, lethal or otherwise, that its primary purpose is to induce a hypnotic state within which..."
"Cut the crap," I interrupted, throwing daggers at the doctor who had gone into rambling off about his proud creation. He was just like one of the pricks I had dealt with, and I wasn't about to let him go on a tangent.
"Very well, Miss Imar." Abram turned cold. Cold as the floor of the room beneath my feet, which was now unpleasantly stinging at the tips of my toes. "The injection will make you hallucinate. As to what the hallucination is, we cannot tell, but, suffice to say that it will cause your heart to be pumped full of adrenaline and overload, much like a heart-attack. As such, you are to be given an anesthetic now, to reduce the pain you will experience. To make it more humane, so to speak."
Humane my ass, I thought to myself, yet took the anesthetic injection. The stinging in my toes seemed to fade away, yet when I focused on it, it felt as strong as ever. After mister Smith had done his part of the process, Francis took over. Poor Francis, you could practically see the sadness of losing his most precious in-mate in the way his face filled with disgust every time he glanced at me. He brought me over a room to a place with a chair. Abram Smith followed shortly afterwards, carrying a syringe with the biggest needle I'd ever seen. Yet it was either the drugs they fed me or the realization that I was doomed, but I felt no fear for what's to come.
I was sat down and strapped in, then a camera was pointed at me. A blinking red light on it signified that it was recording. I heard shuffling from above, in the viewers section. No doubt a lot of the same corporate pigs that had come to me were sitting in the audience, looking at the woman in rags about to be executed.
"Anastasia Imar" a deep voice bellowed from behind me. "You have been found guilty in the charges of fraud, blackmail and first degree murder on the fifteenth of September last year. Your sentence is death, do you agree to this?" the question was more formality than anything, as I had no other choice. They'd already hooked me to the system meant to inject me with the drug, so I just said the first thing that meant sense to me.
"Fuck off!" came out of my lips, and I was proud. The reader of my sentence, not so much.
"Very well, let the execution begin." And with that, I felt a pushing sensation in my arm. The injection had been done and it would be only a matter of time before my heart stopped, so I decided to make the most of it.
"You think that with your suits and money you are invincible." I said to the men above, no doubt waiting for me to collapse. "But there will be another. Another person who sees you for who you really are and does what I did. It's just a matter of time before the power returns to the people, and you can't stop it" I yelled as the world around me slowly melted away like ice-cream on a hot sunny day. My hearing and sense of touch also faded, as the ticking of the clock on the wall grew ever so distant. Then, there was nothing.
After a few seconds, the nothing started to melt as well. Slowly at first, but I could start to discern colors from a blob that had formed in front of my eyes. What looked like clouds materialized in my vision and I felt a cold wind upon my skin. So this is what that bastard in glasses meant. I was living out my worst fear. I bet the fucks in the auditorium know about it and wanted to see me scream. I won't give them the pleasure. I tried to move, but my body wasn't listening, instead I was falling. Falling from a height well above the clouds and could see the planes I was about to hit on my way down. As I fell, I could feel my heart racing, so I did the only sensible thing I could, and I laughed. I laughed the most maniac laugh I could muster as the ground drew ever nearer and nearer at speeds I never thought possible. At the moment I could discern the grass blades from one another, I exclaimed a loud "Fuck all of you!" and felt my beating heart come to a grinding halt. | 2015-02-10T07:14:55 | 2015-02-10T06:21:27 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] You have a literal Trump Card. When played, Donald Trump appears to assist you. | "And we're live at the final match of the 2016 Magic: The Gathering World championships. Mexico's improbable run to the finals concludes with a run into this week's dominating lineup from the United States of America. One last match of classic constructed to decide this year's champion. What do you like out of these two decks, Greg?"
"Mexico's red/green aggro deck has a number of flyers to get over any walls their opponents might play, which has been the strength of the U.S. deck, which is heavy on walls and removal. Unless the U.S. can get its legendary creatures in play, the Mexicans are going to flood the board."
"As if on queue, Steve, the U.S. has drawn a Donald Trump."
"Everyone should be familiar with this card by now, but for those new to the game, this is a legendary, black white creature who removes your opponent from play. Not your opponents cards, but your actual opponent. Really poor balance out of this last set, Make Magic Great Again. What was Wizards thinking with this card?"
"All signs point to this card being banned for legal play and never heard from again in the next 12 months, but here we go, America has played Trump."
A poof of smoke rose from the table and the card activated. "Go back to Univision."
"And that's it! It's all over! The United States are your 2016 champions!" | Countless tournament victories under my belt, I sigh wearily as I approach the main stage. Applause rings out throughout the stadium as I shook hands with Yugi Moto, the king of games, as he handed me yet another trophy. Later that night, Yugi invited me to his grandpa's shop. I got a little excited, knowing I was about to visit the place where it all began. I grabbed my deck and hurried over.
"Welcome! Ha ha!" chortled Yugi's grandpa. "Help yourself to the food!" He said as I glanced around the shop, seeing countless rare and exclusive cards on display.
"Hello there Mana," Yugi says as he approaches me. "I'll like to speak with you in private." He led me into the back room where he pulled out a glass display case, "Here, this is your destiny. This card belongs to you."
I picked up the card as he opened the display. I stared down at it, confused by the details. "Trump? What a strange name for a Trap effect card. But wait, it doesn't explain what it does?"
Yugi chuckled, "You will know when the card wants you to play it." Suddenly, the room went pitch black and I found myself in my bed and it was morning! "Did I just dream that?" I thought to myself. The alarm went off, notifying me of my next tournament in an hour. I sigh, dreading the day to come.
My name is Mana, I am the third ranked duelist, just under Yugi Moyo and Seto Kaiba, and have won every tournament I participated in for the last five years. I was famous, people are always asking for my autograph or a photo. I was tired of it all. My deck was unstoppable and no matter how hard my opponents planned, I would always come out victorious. Little did I know, today was the day everything changed. I hurried my way to the stadium, catching quick glimpses of other matches in progress. Nobody seemed exceptionally good.
"Hey there!" as a familiar voice laughed out. It was my sister, Anam. She doesn't play but she runs the tournament and decides on the brackets. "You just made it in time. It should be another good day!"
Anam introduced me to the world of dueling when she took me along once. I fell in love with dueling there and then. I smiled briefly at the nostalgic memory then quickly sighed in boredom. "Hey sis. So who am I dueling today?"
She laughed, "hehe! Actually, this is your off day! I just wanted you to run some errands for me. I need you to visit Pegasus and pick up the documents regarding the final tournament later this year." I groaned, my sister always does this. I hated Pegasus.
Pegasus created the dueling game and he is so incredibly happy all the time. He's always trying to convince me to use his new cards, which half of the time were just ugly, toonized versions of monsters.
The tournament ended for the day, and I set off to Pegasus's office. On my way, I was kidnapped by the bandit Bakura! Bakura is an evil immortal spirit, who was always dueling Yugi for his soul.
"Welcome to the shadow realm," he cackled maniacally. "We will duel for our souls!"
I had heard of the Shadow realm, a place between this world and the next, where spirits reside. I never thought it was real. Suddenly I found myself forced into a duel against Bakura, who was supposedly impossible to defeat unless you had the Egyptian cards. But only Yugi had those cards. The duel began and we both draw our cards. I gasped, the first card I drew was the Trump card! I played it facedown and ended my turn. Bakura cackled and managed to summon his ultimate card on his first turn.
"Your soul is mine! With it, I'll finally defeat that bastard Yugi!"
I had no choice, "I play my facedown, Trump!" A middle-aged man with a horrible hairdo appeared on the field. It began to speak, "I will build a wall to keep the Mexicans out!" A wall appeared on my side. This Trump card exploded afterwards, destroying Bakura's monster. Trump appeared again. "I meant, fuck the Egyptians!"
Bakura lost all of his life points instantly, and disappeared away into the shadow realm.
Trump then looked at me, "hey wait a minute, you don't look white. Yeah, uh... you dead too"
And that was the day I died, my soul wandering for eternity in the shadow realm. | 2015-12-26T11:05:24 | 2015-12-26T09:04:29 | 40 | 26 |
[WP] - in hell one battles giant demons until you die... then you rise again. Again and again you strive against impossible odds to barely scratch the terrible creatures. The first Dark Souls player has just arrived to this hell, and soon nothing will be the same again.
Dark Souls being a vision of hell. | Say what you want about Hell, at least they give you a chance. Sure they could just drop everyone in the pit to die over and over again, but I figure they didn't see the sport in that. So they give us weapons and some armor. Swords, axes, spears, one dumbass is running around with a flail. I think he's going for most deaths, crazy bastard.
There isn't really an actual fighting, we all just take turns at the first beast getting killed one by one. There's enough of us that we can go up to an hour without getting killed, hopefully the folks upstairs don't find out how we're gaming the system.
Oh shit, it's my turn. Well time to do my duty.
I step forward to the face the Beast, some type of dragon/hydra/centaur/demon. Really fucked up. I raise my sword to indicate my readiness to battle, the Beast seems to follow battlefield protocol, very strange. The Beast raises its halberd about to strike when we here the gong from the top of the atrium: a new soul has entered, your first death in Hell is falling from the entrance. But strange, we don't hear any screaming.
"PRAISE THE SUNNNNNNNNNNN."
A young man, no more than 22 descends into the pit claymore in hand in striking position. In one swipe he decapitates the Beast. He lands on his feet in an almost feline manor.
The impossible happened, someone actually did it. This young man killed the Beast.
The young man stands and faces me, he smiles and nods. I see a wild look in his eye: not madness or reckless abandon created from a total loss of hope. In fact it's the opposite: hope. I see hope in his eyes.
The young man raises his sword to the end of the pit, the door opens at his command. He then turns his sword to all of us, in this moment we all make a silent vow to follow this stranger to whatever end.
The young man says only, "Dragon ahead. Git gud."
| I awoke to the familiar sound of a bonfire. Eyes closed, I straightened out on the cold floor of my apartment and popped my back. Sleeping on the floor always sucked, but after playing Dark Souls III for a week straight I'd barely been able to see. Since I stopped to sleep it was probably a good time to get some food, I needed the energy to start NG+11. With a sigh I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. At least that was the plan, there wasn't a ceiling to stare at.
Jumping up, I frantically looked around. I was laying on a ledge of unnaturally smooth stone, recessed into the wall of a cliff. A small fire, looking exactly like the Bonfires in Dark Souls I noticed, burned in a corner. A small stairway stuck out near the fire. A quick glance over the edge showed hundreds of caves and thousands of small stairways crisscrossing the face of the cliff. Taking a deep breath, I stepped on the stairs and began carefully walking towards the nearest cave. I needed to know where the hell I was.
 
The first person I came across was a vegetable. He didn't respond to anything I did, didn't even flinch when I got fed up enough to slap him. I don't know what got to him, but he looks fine. It freaked me out a little, I do not want to end up like that.
The second person was a gold mine, even if I didn't know it at the time. He told me that we were in hell, that we were sentenced to fight demons and monsters for all eternity and that when eventually die we will wake up next to the last bonfire we slept by. I was skeptical, to say the least. He was describing Hell as Dark Souls, a world I had always wanted to enter. It was almost comical, and I was sure he was either crazy or on the side of whoever kidnapped me and was trying to feed me misinformation. Either way, I wrote him off.
The third person I met kicked me off the edge of his cave as soon as I tried to enter. I could see the hate on his face, before it changed to shock. As I fell he yelled at me to come find him when I woke up. Some small part of me wondered what the heck he meant, the rest of me was screaming as the ground rushed up to meet me though, so I didn't really notice.
 
I woke up to the sound of a bonfire. Breathing heavily I sat up and looked around, finding the exact same cave I woke up in an hour ago. As my heart slowed to a more normal rhythm, I could barely contain my excitement. I was in Dark Souls! Or at least I was in something close enough that there wasn't any appreciable difference, either way it was awesome!
Standing up I walked over to the stairs, I remembered the path to the old man. I'd have to sit down and actually listen this time.
 
The old guy proved more then willing to talk, now that I believed him he actually went into far more detail then he had previously. About two hours of learning and a short walk later, I stood just up the stairs the cave where I had been killed. Yelled, "Oi! Don't kick me this time around!" I walked in, immediately jumping to the left so if he kicked me still I wouldn't fall of the cliff.
Relaxing slightly, the man leaned up against the wall of the cave. Looking me over he said, "So, you're new."
Rolling my eyes I replied, "No shit Sherlock. How long have you been here?"
"Long enough. This is the first time I've seen someone so calm after their first death though, I'm surprised."
"I play Dark Souls"
"You what?"
"It's a video game sort of like this, you get used to dying"
"Dying in real life is a bit different then dying in a game to most people."
"Casuals" I said, dismissively waving a hand.
With a feral grin he leaned towards me and said, "well if you're so suited to this life, lets see how you like The Field. Follow me."
Sighing heavily, I followed. If this was a movie, I was about to go on a training montage.
 
It had been barely a month since I first met John, and already I'm a bit better then him, at least while fighting monsters. It may have been due to the world; if I couldn't keep up I died, even though I always woke up it still hurt like hell. Personally, I attribute it to the fact I love to fight. Actually living it only made it more fun, there was so much more you could do if the system wasn't limiting you to certain movesets.
So here I am, sitting on the corpse of an Ogre. I have my sword, taking from a demonic lieutenant, and my armor, made from the hide of some dragon looking thing. John is still fighting his Ogre, it won't last much longer though. Soon we'll be strong enough to start working up the chain of command, we may even get to the Devil himself.
I couldn't care less though, I'm having the time of my life. | 2016-03-30T11:53:24 | 2016-03-30T11:01:50 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
| Call me Nathan. I died last night, but I am not afraid.
I learned two centuries ago that there are winners and there are losers. I am a loser – but I’m clever. I reach into my pocket and pull out a little black coin and look it over briefly. I might not be a terribly skilled man, but I know how to get by.
I look up as my door opens up and the Grinning Man walks in. He wears his black slacks and his black button down shirt, his mane of black hair is clean but unstyled. He removes his shoes before sitting down across from me; he always does this no matter what the style of the day is, he wants me to see the rotted flesh and exposed bone that he has been walking on.
“You are looking well, Nathan. Are you feeling lucky today?”
“I always am.”
“Has this life treated you well?”
“I met some beautiful women, smoked some beautiful plants, watched some wonderful performances, and I am very curious to see where this whole internet thing is going to go.”
The Grinning Man studies me for a moment then bursts out with a laugh. “Wow! What a life! Is it still so precious to you?”
I hesitate for a moment – he cuts me off.
“Are you aware that you are losing your mind, Nathan? I suppose you are. Is that why you spend so much time in your bed now? Watching Abbot and Costello because the world is just moving too fast? You have not listened to anything recorded since the sixties. Are you sure that it is not time to just let the natural order have its way? It’s time to die, Nathan, your soul was never meant to be human for so long.”
I scowl at him and stand up, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready to die! It’s not today! Are you ready to do this?”
The Grinning Man leans back and holds up a hand to tell me to steady myself.
“Have you been of use to anyone this life?”
I knew what he was asking. I had been feeling it myself. I used past fortunes to sustain my life, I have not worked for sixty years. I knew so very few people. I did not want to know them – they disappoint you.
“Why should it matter to you? Let’s play the game.”
He slammed his hand on the table and yelled out – his voice sounded like an entire chorus screaming in rage – “remember your place, mortal! Do not suppose that I will tolerate impatience from something like you!”
I looked down at the table and inhaled deeply. “There is a young boy in the apartment complex. Maybe 12? I was of use to him.”
“In what way?” He asked as his voice became more calm and earthly.
“I should not say. It might spoil the game.”
A young man had lost his father and rarely saw his mother. Maybe I corrupted him, but it was all I could do for the boy. I taught him how to gamble and purposely lost to him so that he could buy himself a few small things to bring him some joy. His favorite trick, of course, was the coin toss. Who knows? Maybe I made that boy immortal.
“Very well, are you ready, Nathan?”
I pulled out my coin and stared Death himself in the eye. This is the only time I can stand to look at him as my mark. “One coin toss. If I call correctly, then I get another life. I want to start at the age of 25. If I fail, then my soul is yours to do with as you must.”
“Agreed.”
I flipped the coin. I set the coin on my thumb Tails up. I exerted the exact effort that I needed. I flipped-
“Is it because of all the friends – the wife – that I have reaped that you refuse to know anyone else?”
I felt the old familiar lump in my throat. My eyes burned a little. It was all I could do to not let my loneliness spill out again. Not in front of him. This was not the critical matter, though, what mattered was that the coin clattered against the table and his rotting hand stretched out and covered it.
“Call it, Nathan.”
“That’s dirty.”
“Call it!”
The coin, starting tails up, flipped with the exact angle and force I intended, should have landed heads. Did I flip it correctly? I paused to think and then saw his rotting hand turn young and healthy. I looked up and saw my young friend sitting across from me.
“Nathan,” the young boy said, “it is a blessing to be mortal. Call it.”
“Tails.”
The young boy smiled, “thank you, Nathan. You have taught me much.” He collected up my coin and slipped it in his pocket. “I have a game to go play. If I win, well, maybe you and I will see each other in Sheol one day.”
He stood up and stretched out, as he did so he stretched himself out to the form of the Grinning Man once again. As he turned to walk out the door, I felt compelled to follow him. There are winners and losers. Maybe sometimes losers are just too clever to realize what winning is. As I entered the hallway, out of the corner of my eye I saw my wife smiling.
I walked forward as the edges of my world began going dark. I hope that there is a new color after it all goes black, but if there is, I’ll never be able to tell you so.
| 2016-09-23T10:49:59 | 2016-09-23T08:06:29 | 232 | 115 |
[WP] Due to their genetic heritage as pursuit predators, humans have been known to be the best bounty hunters and private detectives in the galaxy. If you want to find someone, you hire a human. They just won't stop until they find who they are looking for. | “The first thing you need to understand is that humans are *gigios*, real crazy.” Bazza began as he and Ti’Vid’Lo settled into a booth in back of the bar with their drinks. The furry six-limbed yidan continued, gesturing with one of his main arms and both his secondaries, “Don’t get me wrong; nice species, fun females, good in a fight, and make excellent beer. But they are *bagada gigios*. Totally crazy and obsessive.”
“How crazy are we talking about? Bamyada kind of crazy?” Ti asked, dipping his feeding proboscis into his mug. The tuogin warrior was a classic example of his species, short with a quilled flexible crest, vocal openings on his neck, and sensory feelers under his chin. Normally his crest and feelers would have been mobile, but now he sat hunched over, his crest and feelers as still as death, never a good sign in his species.
“Nah,” Bazza said trying to keep sounding light hearted, “Bamyada are real psychos, humans just… obsessive. Human ancestors, they did this thing called ‘pursuit hunting’ before they started farming. Ever heard of it? They’d run after *coodo*, prey, all day, never trying to really catch it, just tiring it out. Whole things a race to see who would collapse first, human go down, *coodo* get away, prey go down, human gets a meal. *Gigios* way to hunt, but humans still sort of do it. Get really obsessed with stupid stuff, spend whole lives acting *gigios* to ‘make it right.’”
“So they'd be good at finding people,” Ti said, the tone of his voice suggesting the warrior had made a decision.
“Hold on, hold on,” Bazza said, all four arms going up, three fingered paws spread in alarm, “Look Ti, I know your serious about getting revenge, and if my clan had been destroyed, I’d start thinking the same way. But think for a moment, yes you want revenge on the egg eater who attack your hive. But it would take dozens, maybe dozens of dozens of years to find who was responsible. Big galaxy, lots of *gigios* egg eaters out there who didn’t like your hive.”
“What’s your point?” Ti asked, a flicker of his crest demonstrating a hint of annoyance and the first sign of emotion that Bazza had seen in days.
“Ti, today you are hiveless, tomorrow your are hiveless, a few years from now you’ll probably still be hiveless. But twelve years, maybe ten, you’ll start looking for new hive,” Bazza said, “And I spent enough time working with your hive to know how things will go. New hive ask question, find out you have human looking for old enemies of your birth hive for you, start wondering what’ll happen when human finds them. You always say that loyalty most important thing for tuogin, who the new hive gonna think you be loyal to, them or the dead? And trust me, human will keep looking, pursuit predator still in blood. Keep chasing till prey go down, but when they catch their *coodo*, your life probably gonna be different.”
“They killed everyone Bazza, eggs, drones, warriors, rulers,” Ti hissed, “Everyone is gone, dead. My whole hive was bombed to rubble. There is nothing left of it but corpses and me. I can’t walk away from this.”
“Ti, I know, I would do same in your place. But tuogin don’t respect revenge same way yidan do, yidan clan would be honored to help get revenge, tuogin hive would be happy to kick you out,” Bazza said waving his limbs desperately, “Don’t trap yourself in revenge, dead wouldn’t want you to waste your life.”
The two old friends sat in silence, each contemplating what seemed like an impossible dilemma. Then Ti spoke, “You said humans are good in a fight?”
“Ya,” Bazza said perking up a bit, “Once saw one kill a Bamyada pumped full of a battle drugs with a spoon. Went straight for the eyes, very impressive.”
Ti was silent for a moment, before his crest began to make small wave like motions, a sign of deep vicious satisfaction, “I don’t need to hire a human to find the murderous, I’ll just hire one to kill them all. No hive would complain about that, I can be totally loyal to my new hive and watch in satisfaction as my birth hive is avenged.”
Bazza though a moment and the began to cackle in glee, “Ya, that work. You’ll no be doing anything new hive worry about, not give orders, not gonna leave to go kill egg eating murders, everything taken care of before hand, you can live new life while old one is taken care of.” He cackled again and the held up his mug, “A toast, to *gigios* humans and their stupidly obsessive ancestors.
| The atmosphere broke, birthed into life in a roar of sound and the ship fell like a stone on fire. The world was strange and green and filled with tall buildings amidst the emerald sea and it was hot. The people here, if they were really people, were brown and fit and had dark hair and dark eyes.
Calif had never been there before. He was young and this was the farthest he had ever been. Above, the Earth was a far star, a receding speck in the sky. Home was gone for the while. He was on his own.
The waves washed his suit in a crashes as he walked to the shore. A great forest lay beyond and beyond that the large city stood, grey and iridescent.
He looked at his dossier. His target was a woman, or looked like one, and she was said to live in the heart of the city, near the lines that divided the slums from the aristocracy. The red light district.
The forest's shadows were pale and tinted. They shifted with the trees and there were scattered growls of foreign monsters. This world was lean, violent and mean. In the dark a shadow sifted something lept. Calif fell to his knees and lifted his hands and grasped the beast.
A snarling sound with great tusks struggled. The beast was large but without plan. Calif fell to the ground and reached for his knife. The thing sank to it almost willingly and it let out a great cry that made the forest quiet and still. Then it was dead.
Calif continued to the city and it was night then and stacks of neon built into splashes of color on the ground. Dark held only the corners and heart here and Calif had many shadows as he walked.
The brown people eyed him strangely.
"Take off mask fool!" one shouted.
Others jeered at him but only from those corners that remained dark. He was human and all knew what that meant.
He came unmolested to the red light district. The sounds of pleasure and desperation echoed boldly into the night. Calif looked up but the sky was black and no stars showed. He remembered how far away from home he was. And yet it all seemed so similar. Something stirred inside him and he felt guilty.
The sounds of the women made him think of his wife. On Earth she was pregnant and they were poor. Destitution had crept in on their lives and they were close to the edge oblivion. This job was their only hope. A big payday could change things. But he felt guilty. He was so far from all that and the sounds in the air tempted him.
He tried to focus. He continued through the dark paths. Women of different colors called to him. The great canals flowed green and reflected a shimmering light.
"Mona," Calif said. "Mona Dris."
He knew not the language but the name was sufficient.
"No Mona," one said in a pidgin English. "Come with me. Mona whore."
He moved on. The second person was more helpful She pointed to the left where there was a tangle of concrete boxes with lanterns on poles and where the dark congregated.
"Mona," the woman said. "Don't go."
He went anyway and a feeling of dread overcame him. The sounds had died and when he came to the building it was quiet and he felt alone.
*They are afraid of me more than I am of them* he thought.
The door opened easily enough and it was dark inside.
"Mona," Calif said.
It echoed and fell into the void and from the shadows a woman came. She looked more alien than the rest but she was beautiful and she smiled at Calif.
"Hello," she said in English. "We don't get humans in here often. At least I think that's what you are."
"Are you Mona?" he asked.
In the shadows she was almost hidden and only her face really showed. She had sharp teeth and she wore a robe that was near falling.
"Yes," she said. "I suppose I am."
He wanted to pull his gun. His plan had always been to shoot her and then escape as quickly as he could. It was always his style. On Earth they had been indoctrinated to think that the aliens were like animals, no smarter, and that killing them was akin to hunting. That had resonated with him but now he wavered and his hand would not move.
"I can speak English," she said. "You don't have to think of your words. I will understand."
She looked at him with a smile. Her eyes reflected that emerald film that permeated this world.
"I-I," Calif said but she stepped closer and held his hand.
"You are shy," she said. "Why don't you come in and we can talk more comfortably?"
She led him upstairs in scant light there was a heavy feeling in the air, a calm that made him worry.
He tried to pull away on the stairs and to get his gun, but she held firm and pretended not to notice.
"This is your first time I presume?"
"I'm not here to..."
"I know that," she said. "I didn't mean that. This is your first time as an assassin."
He froze.
She turned and smiled.
"You humans only come for one thing. And you are the boldest of all who have come."
"No," he said.
"No? You are not here to kill?"
He pulled away and reached for his gun.
"I am. This is not my first time killing."
He aimed with courage and then Mona was gone. His wife stared at him but she had emerald eyes that were as deep as the sea.
"Alison," he said.
"Yes," she said and held his hand, guiding the gun away.
"No," he said but she came and took off his helmet and kissed him and she was warm and he held her she was really Alison in that moment.
"You know in your heart I am not her," she whispered but she was still Alison. "I can be her though. Or I can be whoever you want."
He pulled away but the hands held him. He looked at Mona with her harp teeth and pretty face, bronze beneath the weak light.
"All your troubles can end," she said. "You can have anything you want. Why kill when you can love?"
Calif could not talk. He thought of back home and of the real Alison and of their real struggles. He thought of how far that was. He thought of Earth glimmering faintly like a dying light.
"You are not her," he said.
Then she was.
"I can share your thoughts. I can become her."
He was silent.
"Drop the gun," she said and it was Alison.
The gun fell and he felt guilty and tried to justify it all to himself.
"You can have everything you ever wanted. All your struggles will melt away," she said.
He came closer and held her shoulders. Those eyes were deep and he was lost in them. A lightheaded-ness came and he wanted to lie down.
"Take off the rest of that suit," she said.
She was Mona now and he was guilty for feeling more attracted to her than Alison.
He took off the suit and there was the beep of the electronics warning him. His throat began to constrict and there was a charge than ran through his body. Mona placed his hand on her breast.
"You silly humans," she said. "So strong but so easily fooled."
Calif's eyes began to water. He began to cough and she came and kissed him again and her breath was a renewed life in his lungs.
"Never take off the suit," she said. "The air here is bad for humans. It's a bit green."
He scrambled for his helmet and suit but her kiss was fading and that cloud was coming and his eyes watered so bad that he could not see.
Mona kicked him and he fell backwards down the stairs and he began to cough and scream. Outside a crowd had build and there was laughter in the dark.
"Human! Human! Human!" they were chanting.
Calif looked up and there was darkness in that strange place and he thought of Earth and of Alison and he wondered how he could ever be such a fool.
| 2017-02-24T06:34:04 | 2017-02-24T03:38:57 | 70 | 20 |
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