prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] start your story with a sentence that is upbeat and happy. Then end it with that same sentence but this time is dark and chilling. | Her eyes are beautiful.
When I first saw her, walking through the school corridors, I knew that she was the one. I couldn't take my eyes off her. It didn't take me long to figure out her class timetable. I started to watch her from afar, making sure that she wouldn't notice me watching her. In fact, I had to make sure nobody saw me. People... complicate things. People talk. I couldn't be having that. Nobody is going to stop me. It's been a few months now, and I'm reasonably certain I know all that I need to know. I've been following her home the past couple of weeks, so I know her address and I know her parent's schedule. I know when she will be alone. I know the best time to make my move. I was waiting outside of her sociology class, my mind wandering as I consider how I'm going to do it. I didn't want it to be long and drawn out, that would just cause unnecessary pain for everybody. It needs to be done quickly. As I was weighing my options, I realised that she had seen me. Her eyes lit up, as she walked over to me. I panicked, trying to get away, but it was too late.
"Hey! I'm Lucy. I don't think we've been introduced properly."
"Uh..." I stammered, feeling the heat in my cheeks, the sweat dripping from my forehead. "I'm Peter. How are...?"
"Of course I know who you are, silly! I was wondering, would you like to come over my place tonight for a meal? I've been wanting to get to know you for a while."
It was Friday night. Date night for her parents. I almost started laughing, as I realised the perfect opportunity that had landed in my lap.
"That sounds wonderful, I'll see you tonight!" I said as I turned to walk away.
"Hold on, you don't even know my address yet!"
I laughed. "Of course, how silly of me! What's your address?"
...........
Tonight's the night. I was getting everything ready, preparing my kit. I had planned every detail of this night meticulously. I wasn't expecting this opportunity to arise tonight, so things were slightly rushed, but I was ready. I arrived at Lucy's door at 8pm. She answered quickly, her red dress complementing her beautiful figure. It took my breath away. She took me to the dining table, said that dinner would be ready soon. We sat and drank some red wine, laughing and getting to know each other. Things were going well. It was almost time. I started to feel a bit drowsy, I think the wine was getting to me. Idiot, why did I drink this so quickly? I needed to stay awake to enjoy the moment... to enjoy the look on her face when she realises. She left to go and check on the food and I realised now was my chance. I reached my hand into my back pocket, swearing as I pierced my hand. I knew I should've had something covering it. I pulled it out of my pocket as she walked in, her eyes widening as she saw the rose I had brought for her.
"Lucy, I wanted you to know that I really like you, and I... I..."
I began to stutter, finding it difficult to speak. My head became cloudy and my eyes started to close involuntarily.
"I..."
Lucy walked closer to me, as she pulled out something from her pocket. Had she brought me some flowers too?
I couldn't think straight, my eyelids were becoming so heavy.
As she approached, I realised she didn't have flowers at all.
"Are you okay?" she giggled, "are you feeling a little bit drowsy?"
Her face was now inches from mine and I could feel something sharp pressing against my neck.
"Don't worry, I'll look after you."
My world began to fade into darkness, I could hear manic laughter. The last thing I saw before everything faded to nothingness were her eyes, staring intently into my own.
Her eyes are beautiful. | They found my wife. When the police arrived I knew that was what they were going to tell me. Watching them walk from the car to my door felt like hours but in reality was probably only a few seconds.
“Sir I think you need to come with us.”
The whole car ride I thought about the last time I had seen my wife. Every summer we would go our cabin that we bought years ago in the woods. I never was big on the outdoors but she loved it. She loved it so much that she would take her coworker out there to see it when she was on her business trips.
I would discover this by using her phone one night to send a text while mine was at the store getting repaired from dropping out of my pocket on to the ground. It sent a fury in me that I have never felt before.
I didn’t say anything to her before we went on our annual vacation there. I thought I hid her body well. She was buried deep in the woods and I thought I had got away with it until they found my wife. | 2019-09-07T06:54:50 | 2019-09-07T06:42:32 | 76 | 34 |
[WP] When space colonies became a practical reality, the rich and powerful left Earth in droves, leaving the rest of humanity behind on a broken world. A few centuries later, Earth has, through much effort, been restored to its former glory. Now the colonists want to return. | It was sudden.
When humanity discovered a way to live beyond the confines of their dying world, the masses were ecstatic, full of hope, but unbeknownst to them the opportunity to live beyond their world was taken from them.
It was televised that despite colonial space, all the rich and powerful were guaranteed a spot aboard the many ships the rest of humanity thought to be for them.
Before they knew it, the ships took off out into deep space, effectively severing their ties to earth and the rest of humanity. The final message from their space voyaging kin would be one to instill burning hatred among the rest of humanity.
".*..//Goodbye;Goodluck...//*"
Perhaps they did mean well but the rest of humanity did not see it that way. From this injustice, humanity would set their differences aside and attempt to rebuild their dying world. It was unsure what they were doing would actually restore what had been broken but they stood headstrong and continued on in spite of those who had forsaken them.
Earth...would heal.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A millenia would pass when earth was left to a forsaken people and those who had left would return hoping to find a reborn world.
The colonists who had left tasked their descendants to someday return to earth. A thousand years and several generations later, the descendents of the first colonists would take it upon themselves to return to their ancestral home.
However, their return would not be so welcome.
For a thousand years, the colonists lived their lives aboard luxuriously built colony ships and would drift the void in orbit of Sol and when the time was right, would return to a mostly restored earth.
When they made their way just beyond the asteroid belt all the colony ships in tow were received a message that orriginated from none other than their ancestral home, Earth.
*"...//To all ships belonging to the Utopia-Class;Purpose:Colony. You have entered United Terran Empire Civilized Space. Turn back now or you will be fired upon. You are authorized \[300\] second to comply. Failure to comply or an act of aggression will be met with quick and decisive retalliation...//"*
The crew of each respective ship were confused. None on either crew was inform of a United Terran Empire upon thier ancestor's departure. Many dismissed the message as a desperate attempt to turn away the inheritors of Earth; with many of the captains whom felt they were the rightful inheritors of the world their ancestors left in order for it to heal itself.
However, few captains felt the same and were wary of the warning and the countdown displayed on their bridge's main display. Captain Goldbrand felt the same as the few. He felt that this message was not filled with empty threat and was not willing to risk the lives of his crew and fellow colonists. Luckily, two captains felt the same. As a desperate effort for diplomacy, Captain Goldbrand requested a private channel toward thier invisible enforcer.
After a moment of silence, save for the constant beep of their countdown, Captain Goldbrand's hail was acknowledged.
*"...//Captain Goldbrand of the Colony Ship Gaia's Grace. You have been warned and are at risk for destruction of ship and crew. What do you have to say?...//"*
Aside from their sudden appearance from what was thought to be an age lost, he wanted answers, they all did and the two captain shared the same thought. To not waste their time remaining time, Captain Goldbrand posed his question.
*"...//This is Captain Goldbrand of the Colony Ship Gaia's Grace. Who are you and why are you so keen to destroy colony ships. We have civillians on board!...//"*
After a moment of silence, said silence was finally broken.
*"..//Millenia ago, our ancestors were left to survive a broken world brought upon by those who controlled everything at the top. Money, policy, our daily lives. When all was said an done they left our world broken. The first centuries were nothing starvation and the will to survive. Determined to take back the world that was left to us. While you and your ancestors lived your lives in luxury, we went ahead and forged ourselves a new home. One unlike what was left to us. You and the rest of the colonists have no place here in Sol. Should we meet again, we will not be so merciful. Turn now and settle outside the Sol system...//"*
Faced with this ultimatum, he would much rather have his passengers mad at him for failing to return to earth than be obliterated from millenia old disdain for the original space colonists and their descendants.
He and the other two captains that shared his belief followed behind. At the final ring of the countdown to the other ships that failed to deviate from their course were prompty destroyed by almost unseen projectiles that rightfully tore through the ships bow to it's aft. Very little in the way of ship could hardly be recognized. Because of their deviation, only three ships that belonged to the first expedition of space colonization were left to drift the void, for a new permament home.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_-
Humany would diverge. The colonists, who's original goal was to live out in space in hopes to someday return to a restored world and the newly found United Terran Empire. The incident would act as a warning to the colonists and all future prospects to return to sol would be nothing but a dream. For the hatred of the space colonists runs deep. Deeper than the roots the trees had dug into the crust of terra itself. Deeper than the core of the very world they called home.
Perhaps someday the colonists could return but not in this century, or the next. Captain Goldbrand would make it his mission, and in turn the mission of his descendants and fellow colonists that they will return to Sol, and will do so opposite of their ancestors. Perhaps one day their repentance will be honored.
Perhaps then, Humanity may finally be whole. | A screen jumped on, sparks catching as the hologram sputtered to life. “This just in from Intergalactic nebula Incorporated, the latest up and coming galaxy is a familiar one to some of our founders - The Milky Way! A classic spiral galaxy with a few billion planets and stars that hosts hundreds of microfauna and, one incredible success story. More at 8 Alien Central Time.”
The crew looked at one another. It had been generations since their parents had fled the Milky Way for a better life. They froze themselves for three hundred years as the ship raced forward to Alpha Centura and the life they now lived. What a life it had come to - the last descendants of that trip that hadn’t made it rich developing galactic news agencies or other galaxy spanning businesses sat here in a small ship tossing marbles as they waited to enter the next galaxy to deliver yet another franchised building with enough ‘beef’ to last 50 years.
The Galaxy New continued after the brief commercial, “EARTH, a humanoid infested planet has come from behind to be the Milky Way’s greatest new tourist destination. After decades of failures they now host the cleanest atmosphere, the largest selection of unique fauna and wildlife and best of all the cuisine is out of this world. We all love Fonzi’s Earthen Pizza chain, this is the planet that developed pizza! I know where I’ll be taking my kids this orbit!” The blue news man with four eyes centered in two columns said before turning to his cohost, a more rounded blob of a being who covered sports.
“Cora….akkk, croak croak.”
“I do think they have marshlands, yes. Though perhaps too much oxygen for you. They are welcoming tourists through the space elevator and the landing gate. Any galactic passport is accepted though fees to vary.”
J-Ohn looked at his peers in the shack. They were space degenerates. Their families were something on Earth, they could afford a ticket to escape but now…they were delivering someone else’s franchise of their homeworld’s cuisine! “ I think…we should all go to Earth.”
The room was filled with giggles and ‘yeah rights’. “They will take us in, we are citizens after all - a few generations removed - but citizens nonetheless.”
“They hate our blood for leaving. And how tainted are we now? Twenty, thirty percent mutations? No, I think that ship has launched.” Murat was a cute girl who had maintained more of her earthly features than some of them but her ears were pointed and her nose had a collection of blue freckles and her skin had a blue hue to it that showed up under artificial light.
“But life could be so much better there! It could be freedom from this oppression. We could be rulers, benevolent and knowledgeable about space. They need people like us!” J-Ohn said, standing up.
“Our ancestors said the exact same thing when they left. The exact same thing. No, we stay the course. We deliver and we strive and we pull ourselves up by the bootstraps like our great-great-great grandparents always said.”
—— J-Ohn sat down and flicked a marble. Maybe it was for the best that they never return. | 2022-01-05T20:29:15 | 2022-01-05T19:26:35 | 174 | 85 |
[WP] Death is not some all powerful being. Rather, she's a socially awkward outcast. Somehow, you've managed to befriend her and things have started getting weird... | I sat at the train station, trying my best to ignore the question I had just been asked by my relatively new friend sitting beside me. It had been a few months since I met Dina and I had had some suspicions but nothing to cement what I thought. Could she actually BE death? It seemed like since we had started hanging out, weird things were happening everywhere we went. A man would jump off a high building into the street, or a car crash would occur a few lanes ahead of us. Events like these weren't too rare in New York, the city that never sleeps but since I had met Dina they had become far too common.
I had always imagined death to be an all mighty being, capable of crushing the earth in their hand. But if my suspicions were correct, death was just a socially awkward girl who spilled her coffee on me at the Starbucks on 14th street. My friends thought I was crazy the day I told them I was going to ask out the girl who went out every day in dorky glasses and clothes that look like they could have been inherited from an older brother. They thought I was even crazier when I told them I thought she was death herself. I didn't care, though. I was wildly fascinated by Dina and I wasn't going to let my stupid friends get in the way of that. It was impossible to count how many relationships of mine they had already ruined.
"How would you like to die?" The words she had said echoed in my brain and I didn't know how to respond. It seemed like such a dark question, even for Dina, who seemed so unbothered by any death we had witnessed over the past few months. Many thoughts raced through my head as I wondered what her underlying intentions were by the question she has asked. It seemed like there was always an underlying intention with her. She would ask me if I liked a shirt someone was wearing, only to give me that shirt the next day. Stuff like that didn't bother me, it was nice, it was who she was. This was eerie, though. Something about her tone of voice screamed that something was up.
It was a week ago when she told me we had to get away somewhere safe. I thought she was crazy, New York is where I had lived my entire life. I went along with what she was saying though because she seemed genuinely concerned about something. It confused me though because everything seemed to be going great with her. That's what I thought at least. I could never be sure because there was always a sense of mystery about her. Whenever I tried to ask about where she was from, if she had a family, what she was doing in New York or anything else she would give me the same cold, hard answer. You don't want to know. It was the mystery of her life that had me worried and excited about her at the same time. I could spend eternity having a conversation with her, despite the fact that everyone I knew that had met her thought she was an absolute bore to talk to. I never saw that though, I was always just... Fascinated. That's the only word I could think of to describe my feelings towards her.
So there we were. Sitting at the train station with tickets to Baltimore. We weren't going to Baltimore though. That's what she kept telling me. We were going to go somewhere special, somewhere we could be together forever. I didn't know what she meant but I could have cared less. I just wanted to settle down and start a life with her.
The train started to pull into the station but something was up. The train started to screech and soon enough it began to fall off of the rails. Everyone around us started to run and scream. Just as I was about to follow suit, Dina's hand slammed against my chest in a way that made me compelled to stay right where I was amidst the chaos caused by the crashing train. As the train came rushing towards us, I felt a sense of calm. We were going somewhere safe. But maybe calling it starting a life together was the wrong way to say it. | There is a slight noise at the door and I sigh, it's past nine o'clock and the neighbors have probably seen this one already. The man's body is propped against my porch. A slight trickle of blood seeps out of his ear, one eyelid is open but the flicker of life is long gone. He's dead as shit and...yup she's crouched in the bushes across the street.
"Thanny, you have to stop doing this!" I try to drag him into the house quickly, but the man seems over two hundred pounds and now I've gotten fingerprints on him. Do the police dust dead bodies for finger prints?
My neighbor's curtain moves and far off I can hear the wail of police sirens. Thanatos' head whips around to the sound, she looks back to me and then she snaps open a giant switch-blade scythe. The sirens grow louder.
| 2017-01-21T07:51:36 | 2017-01-21T07:33:41 | 93 | 21 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms. | I sat bolt upright in bed, wiping the sweat off my face.
Wierd dreams were pretty normal for me, but these past two weeks they'd been extra special.
Reaching for the bottle of water on my dresser, I tried to wake myself up.
All the while fighting off an intense craving for a cigarette.
Which was weird as I'd had my first and only cigarette at the age of 13, and had promplty decided they weren't for me.
I didn't smoke, I didn't vape. Yet here I was with the intense burning itch to inhale smoke and feel the flames in my lungs.
I rubbed my forehead. At least it was cool in this room. In fact it was near freezing it felt like. Thank god summer was finally over.
After sitting down for nearly twenty minutes I worked up the willpower, and the mental acuity, to get my ass out of bed and into the shower.
At which point the irritation and anger woke me up further.
I guess the hot water heater is busted, because the shower wouldn't even count as luke warm. It was like bathing in ice water.
And its still cold in the house, despite the thermostat being set to sixty eight. Wierd?
And I still wanted that damn cigarette.
Still wanted it badly enough to start dry heaving.
Alright, to hell with this. I pulled on my socks, which took far too long. Couldn't quite get comfortable.
Where's the phone? There it is. I dialed the number for work.
“Oh, yeah. Ashley, its me James. Don't know if I'm going to be able to go into work today.” I rummaged around in the drawer over the oven.
“Is everything okay?” I could hear her rummaging around for the schedule for the week, likely to see if there was someone to cover the shift.
“Think I'm running a fever.” My voice was a little muffled by the thermometer in my mouth.”
“Think your coming down with something?”
I had been feeling achey for a while. “Yeah. Maybe?”
“What's the temperature?”
“Uh..” Well. That can't be right. “I think I also need to buy a new thermometer. It says my temperature is a hundred and fourty.”
“That doesn't sound healthy.” I shook my head and suppressed the desire to laugh.
“No. If my temperature was actually that I'd be on the floor brain dead.”
My back was starting to ache. Maybe I'd slept funny.
“Yeah. I think Alex can cover your shift. You get to feeling better alright.”
I smiled. I”ll certainly try.”
I ended the call and got three feet before I could taste the carpet.
I've never really lost consciousness before, not like that. Just passing out in the middle of the morning like that.
I'm not really sure what made me stir first. The ache from sleeping on the carpet in the living room. The burning need to pee.
The searing pain between my eyes. The taste of purple, or my phone buzzing against my face.
Or, I thought, as I gulped down about a liter of water out of the tap it might have been the thirst.
The room seemed smaller. I thought it was my imagination, but no.
The normal sized glass looked tiny in my hand. Like looking at a picture of Andre the Giant holding a normal sized beer can.
Oh. Also the fact that my arm was now covered in a mesh of silvered scales that glowed brightly underneath the florescent bulbs in the kitchen.
Or the tail that was currently hanging near my legs. The wings that I caught sight of in a mirror in the hallway.
Am I a Half Dragon? Did I just turn into my Dungeons & Dragons character?
Oh right. Phone was going off. Nearly three hundred missed calls, and nearly a thousand texts. Wait. WAIT.
I called in sick on the first, and its now the fourth? Well. Time to do the first thing a man should do at the start of the apocalypse.
Call Mom and let her know I'm not dead. And maybe find out what all happened while I was unconscious. Wonder if this just happened to me?
OW MY EARS.
Is that an amber alert? Oh. No. Apparently this isn't just happening to me.
Well. Guess imma have breakfast and call mom, because I HUNGER. | I believe you’ve heard the news: people sprouting leathery wings and breathing fire, people suddenly shrinking and vanishing, and all that pizzazz. Well, it’s all true. Not just some writing prompt. Not just a story. It’s real. It’s happening.
Apparently, in the times of old, when magic existed, a mage turned all mythical creatures into humans to prevent extinction. That worked fine...until now.
From what I’ve heard, the general consensus says most people are horrified and confused. Well, except for the fantasy writers, maybe the furries (well, definitely the furries) , and definitely all the D&D players. It’s even better when your transformation lines up with your character.
The world’s undergone a cataclysmic change. New religions are forming. The government’s already getting to work on new laws for certain races (e.g. house fires caused by dragons are completely covered by their insurance as long as it was accidental). I think my friend turned into a gnome.
Anyway, I think I’ll be going to bed now. I’ve got a splitting headache.
EDIT: I have grown horns and a forked tail now. Fun. Guess I won’t be going to church any time soon. | 2019-10-09T13:53:37 | 2019-10-09T13:23:32 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Humans show Aliens their depictions of them. The Aliens stumble backwards, terrified. “You know of the old ones.” | Agent Dunn and Agent Slack sat in awkward silence with the creatures across from them. They were definitely alien, neither could deny that.
The creature's stalk eyes kept wandering uncomfortably close to Agent Slack's face. The stalk itself was thick, with a thin layer of.. Maybe slime? Slack just knew it made him squirm internally. Dunn cleared his throat when one aired too close to his face. The aliens didn't seem to mind.
Finally, the dark blue one across from Slack reached down onto its... Leg? It had fingers but they were hidden beneath all the fur. When it put its arm back onto the table, it put a small device in front of them. It had what appeared to be two musical horn shapes on either side of them. The middle piece was slightly glowing, with glowing thin lines running all over it.
Then the alien made a soft grumbling noise. The box moved towards Dunn and Slack.
"Since you are apparently ignoring our telepathic communication, you have forced us to resort to our simplistic translator." Dunn straightened his tie.
"You can communicate telepathically?" Dunn felt embarrassed. Of course they can communicate telepathically. The device moved closer to the aliens and spit out a series of clicks and whirls. The two aliens stalk eyes turned toward each other. Each started moving their heads up and down while making a wheezing noise.
"Slack, what the fuck do you think theyre doing?" Dunn whispered. Slack shrugged.
"I think they're... Laughing?" Slack suggested. The translator picked this up. The aliens stopped for a moment, listened to the produced whirring and clirring, and.. Started doing it harder. The one across from Slack grumbled loudly now while shaking up and down.
"Of course we are laughing! You humans have expected everything else so far from us - our ships, our shapes - well except for this younger human here- and even our technology. We find it ridiculous that a species could have so much contact with other interplanetary species and not know such a basic fact!" Dunn and Slack exchanged a look.
"We HAVEN'T had contact with other species." The aliens stopped moving. The two got out of their chairs and stood next to each other against the wall. They made soft grumbling sounds and clicking noises together. Their stalk eyes were focused on themselves alone. Finally, they both made the same noise. Their stalk eyes retracted into their mass of fur. The pair sat back down. Now the red furred one sat across Slack and the blue across from Dunn. The red began talking first.
"Do not lie to us please. Our visit has been pleasant so far and we'd hate to cut it short." Dunn and Slack exchanged a look.
Dunn took the lead. "We aren't lying. Humans have just been imagining and re imagining aliens- er.. Interplanetary species since well... Practically civilization itself." The aliens turned towards each other.
The box spit out quietly, "Show us." Both creatures were shifting constantly in their seats now. Dunn nodded and grabbed Slack by the arm.
"Leave him here. Go get your depictions." The box said commandingly. Dunn nodded and left the room, leaving Slack terrified. Slack looked at them. The blue one grabbed the box with its fingers and dragged closer to him.
"What do you know about these depictions?" Slack shrugged gently.
"I.. I know the older examples we only THINK are depictions... Um.. Do you guys know religion?" Slack's voice was high pitched. The two moved their heads violently towards the table, then stopped at the last second and pulled their heads up. A nod?
"So uh.. Humans are incredibly into religion. We've always been fascinated with space! So we think older human's gods and myths could be their versions of our modern concept of aliens. Before you two, that is." They both repeated the action.
"What of these modern depictions?" Dunn barged back into the room with a thin laptop.
"My apologies for taking so long." Both whirred too quiet for the box to hear. Dunn cleared his throat. "This device can show you our older depictions and our new ones." The red one growled and grumbled quietly.
"Just your new ones please. Slack explained your old ones well enough, and we dont believe they're proper depictions." Dunn nodded. He began searching through the computer. He opened up a database.
"I'm going to scroll through these pictures, and it should give an idea as what our species thought of aliens! Before our first contact that is." The blue one clicked softly. Dunn pulled up the first photo.
Aximili from Animorphs. Xenomorphs from Aliens. Predator. Little green men. Horrifying images of sharp teeth, long heads, dangerous bodies. The pair stumbled backwards into the wall as fast as they could. All their fur retreated to reveal armored skin of similar coloring. Their faces had small trunks and their eyes were in a surprisingly normal place. Their legs looked almost like a horse's - curved, muscular, but with small talons. Their fingers were long and they had no thumbs. They each had what seemed like a belt in the middle of their armored torso. Each held what seemed similar to a knife. At least a weapon.
The translator began going crazy as they began clicking back and forth.
"They dont know, Savin! They don't even know it was implanted into their brains!" "Wathun relax!" "I won't relax! They could be here and THEY WOULDN'T EVEN KNOW IT!" "We can just leave." "They could have stolen our ship, our technology!" "We walked right into enemy hands..."
"What are you two talking about?!" Slack yelled. The red one took a step forward with a hand on the weapon around its waist.
With terror in his voice, it quietly said, "You know of the old ones." | Nameless gaped. What could loosely be described as eyes widened impossibly at the image held in front of it.
“The O-Olde Onesh.”
Margo frowned. “Nameless, it’s just a drawing.” She set down the napkin.
“No!” Nameless screeched in fear. “You do not undershtand, human. The Olde Onesh were killersh, they were murderersh!”
“Whoa, calm down. Who are the Olde Ones?” Margo offered up her hands in a calming gesture.
“Not who, human. *What.* They do not desherve the honor of being treated as beingsh.” Terrified anger curled Nameless’s many fists.
“Uh, okay. What are they?” she repeated.
It growled. “Theshe thingsh shlaughtered 79% of the Milky Way. They are the galaxy’sh worsht nightmare, unparalleled in death toll and deshtruction. They are the explanation for your world’sh ‘Fermi Paradox.’ How dare you draw them! How do you know them?!”
Nameless panted, its large lungs heaving inside its belly.
Margo tried to rub a pacifying hand on Nameless’s shoulder, but it shrugged her off.“I’m–I’m sorry? It’s just the human representation of what we thought aliens were. A joke.”
“A joke,” Nameless muttered. Still shaking, it activated its wrist device and selected a video.
A holographic alien gargled orders at a group of soldiers. They marched out of their disc-shaped ship and shot crackling green beams across an urban wasteland. Their laughably skinny arms wielded gleaming weapons.
Young aliens were rounded out of hiding places and shot in lines. Parents died taking bullets for their children only to have their kids massacred too.
The Olde Ones laughed as they killed. High pitched yells of joy pierced the air.
Nameless closed the hologram. It wiped a claw across its face to find a wetness staining the back.
“How. How do you know?” it asked again.
Margo was silent for a beat. “I didn’t.” Her voice cracked.
She sat down in a soft wheeled chair. Her red fingernails tapped the desk, slowly at first, then faster and faster until her fingers were blurred to the eye.
“We need to look into this, Nameless. We need to find out why all of humanity knows their face. Databases, witnesses, everything. We have to know all of it.”
She laced her hands together and stood.
“All of it.”
— | 2019-05-03T07:18:23 | 2019-05-03T06:45:40 | 687 | 252 |
[WP] A young priest is let in on a secret - demonic possession is real, and terrifying. But they are laughably easy to exorcise, much to the boredom of the priesthood. | "Are... are you sure this is all we need?" Samuel said, looking down at the small veil of holy water and plain, leather bound bible shaking in his hands.
Paul sighed and silently thanked God for this test of his patience. He looked in the rear-view mirror at the young man in the backseat. Samuel, who moments before was beaming with confidence and all to eager to take his 'final test' into priesthood, now looked like a child in over-sized robes who has never seen the sun.
"Of course, if we brought any more than we'd be relying more on our material items than God." Paul said, as he made one final turn and killed the engine.
"we're here."
Paul and Samuel stepped out of their car, a simple white van with the woods 'Northwood Church of Christ' written on it, and studied the house before them.
It was a simple single story house nestled among dozens of identical looking houses. All had walls made of brick and white-painted wood, neatly cut grass, and some bushes by the windows. Usually the only way one could normally tell the houses apart was from the numbers written on the mailbox. This particular houses numbers; 666.
Priest or not, one could tell immediately that there was something off about this house. A sharp wind seemed to blow forth from it, chilling one to the bone and filling ones head with thoughts of dread. The air around it felt dead and it seemed to be covered by an eternal shadow.
Of course, the massive storm cloud hovering over this one particular house on an otherwise cloudless day certainly didn't make the place feel more welcoming.
Paul glanced over at Samuel and gestured to the house. "After you."
Samuel gulped and, mustering all the courage he had, straightened up and slowly walked up to the front door, gently knocking on it three times. Each knock echo'd, empty and lifeless, for far longer than they should of.
The door swung open revealing a woman, perhaps 40 years old who looked at them with wide eyes that were red from crying and lack of sleep. She pointed with a thin, frail arm down into the unnatural darkness of the house and whispered "He's in there."
Samuel, hesitated for a minute, but, to Pauls surprise, regained his composer and said "Thank you mam. Your troubles are over." As he walked into the house, Paul in tow, the lady collapsed on the floor and softly started to sob.
The sound of wind rushing past ones ears got louder and the air got colder as the two priests walked down the suspiciously long hallway eventually emerging into a large room. What was once a living room was now a place of nightmares. Lit only by the dull glow of the static filled TV. The room seemed to constantly change shapes and sizes making one feel like claustrophobic one second, then like they've been abandoned in an abyss the next. On the walls and floors, the shadows danced unnaturally, forming grotesque shapes and ignoring the light. In the center of the room sat a young girl, no older than four, facing the TV.
Understandably, Samuel hesitated, then stepped into the room.
"SHHH!" Hissed the little girl without turning around. Her voice echo'd by the wind. "This is my favorite show."
Samuel froze and made the mistake of glancing at the TV. From the static he began to make out faces distorted into inhumane shapes all with mouths warped into silent screams that echo'd through ones mind. Behind them, the face of a man, flawless and beautiful, smiled at Samuel and seemed to beckon him forward.
Paul sighed and tapped the back of Samuel's head with his bible, causing him to snap out of his trance. "Remember," he said as Samuel groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Never look at anything the demon does. And never take yours eyes off of it."
Samuel shakes his head, clearing out the images of faces that still lingered, and focused once again on the little girl. Who was now standing facing him , the TV still emitting static in the background.
"Did you not enjoy the show?" she said, a look of innocent confusion on her face. "Keep watching. Let the nice man take away all your worries."
"No." Samuel replies, his voice deep and full of authority. Taking a step forward and pointing directly at the little girl, he says. "Your days on this earth are over, demon. By the power of God, I demand you leave this little girl and go back where you came from!"
The static of the TV and the howling of the wind stops and the room is plunged into total silence. For several seconds time seems to stop, then the girl starts giggling. The wind kicks back up, much stronger than before, and she opens her mouth as a deeper voice carrying dreadful amounts of dark power forces its way out of her throat.
"You're such a fool, Samuel. Do you really think *you* can stop me? That god cares enough about you to help? That he even pays attention to you?"
All the confidence drains out of Samuel and he takes a step back. "I-I said begone!" he shouts, his voice cracking along with his composure.
"You are nothing more than an insect trying to fight powers far greater than you. I can crush you in an instant you pathetic-"
It was at this point in the demons speech that Paul decided to step in and help. He quickly and casually walked up to the possessed child and, in a flat, bored voice, says "Oh go to hell." before hitting the child with his bible the same way one might hit a dog with a rolled up newspaper for being bad. However, unlike a scolded dog, the child flew back into the wall with such force that the house shook and she collapsed to the ground.
Immediately, the lights all flickered on bathing the house in a warm light and the canned laugh track of some sitcom could be heard from the TV.
The woman who had answered the door ran into the room crying "My baby! My baby!" and threw her arms around the child, who slowly opened her eyes as if awakening from a deep sleep.
Paul turned and looked at a dumbfounded Samuel and held up his bible " '*Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God*'. Ephesians 6:17. The key to exorcising demons is not confidence in oneself, but in God. Of course, if things ever seem like they're going south, just hit them with the word."
Samuel stuttered a bit before lowering his head to the ground "I'm sorry father, I have failed you."
Paul chuckled gently, "Don't worry, you may have failed, but you did much better than me during my first exorcism. Now then." He says, turning to the mother joyfully crying over her confused looking daughter. "Our services are every Sunday from 9:30 to 10:20, 10:30 to 11:20, and 11:30 to 12:20. I recommend you go to whichever one works best with your schedule as well as join a small group."
The mother looks up and manages to mouth the words "Thank you." between sobs.
Paul gestures to Samuel and heads for the door. "Come on. We can stop and get some Sonic on the way back to the Church."
Outside, the neighborhood had returned to normal.
(This is my first time writing one of these, if you have any constructive feedback for me don't hesitate to let me know. Thanks!
Edit* Added time between services. | Father Mackenzie picked up his rosary and Bible.
"Come on Jeffery," he motioned to me, "let's take care of this."
We got an e-mail earlier that morning that was pretty insane. Some 20-year-old Atheist was looking a little too much into the Occult and all that stuff. Then something came into him. His mom said that she tried to pray for him. Protestants. They think they can exorcise just by invoking the name of Jesus. By the time someone had convinced her to call us, her son was already crawling along the walls, hissing and vomiting green stuff.
I was actually excited. As a newcomer to the Parish, I was hoping to finally see some action. Though I could never let Father Mackenzie know that.
"Is that all we're going to need, Father? Just the rosary and Bible? Don't we need, like, Holy Water or something like that?" I asked sheepishly.
"No, son, we don't need that. Just follow me."
He looked really defeated and solemn about the whole thing. He'd probably done this a lot. I wish I could pry a bit, but I know it would've been rude.
We get to the house and everything seems pretty normal. We knock on the door and wait. A woman answers the door. "Fathers, thank you so much! I don't know what to do, I'm so very scared..."
"Peace, sister. Where is your son?"
"U-up there. Please try not to hurt him!" She pointed to the door to a room on the second floor. I turn to Father, trying not to show my utter excitement and anticipation. Slaying demons in the name of God! Hallelujah! *This* is why I joined the priesthood in the first place!
Father doesn't say a word as he starts to walk up the stairs. I follow.
He knocks on the door and calls the son's name. No answer. He reaches for his rosary and Bible. In my excitement, I grab the doorknob and pull before Father has a chance to stop me.
Nobody's in the room. I breathe.
Suddenly a figure bolts out from behind the door and knocks Father down, mumbling some low, demonic language. *Just like in the movies!*, I think to myself, rushing to knock the guy off of Father. His mother, watching us from the floor, begins to wail loudly. He doesn't budge so I kick him down the stairs and he lands on his back, his feet and arms trembling in the air like a dead roach. His mother, shaking fists covering her mouth and nose, drops to her knees and begins to cry loudly.
Father gets up, pulls out his rosary and says 3 Hail Marys. Then he pulls out his Bible and begins reading something in Latin. I'm not sure what it is. This is it. I was expecting Satan to fly out of this young man's mouth, screaming, and exploding into a 1000 drops of ectoplasm.
But much to my surprise, the young man just simply comes to. "Where am I? What's happening?", he asks in his normal, non-demonic voice. His mother, overjoyed, grabs his hand and tells him everything.
I feel a tap on my shoulder.
"Jeff, why did you open the door?"
Surprised at Father's reaction, I searched for words.
"I-I'm sorry Father. I thought we were going to--"
"We were gonna what? Fight him or something?"
He glares at me angrily. I feel my heart drop into my intestines. Somehow Father's scarier than whatever demon crawled out of the other guy.
Suddenly, Father bursts into laughter, slapping me on the back. "What the fuck do you think this is, son? *Ghostbusters*?"
I laugh confusedly. "Y-yeah."
"We didn't have to open the door son. It's best to exorcise as quietly and as simply as possible. We don't want anyone to get hurt."
Suddenly, the reality came crashing down on me. Gone were the fantasies of being some kind of gunslinging priest with water guns of Holy Water. Gone were the fantasies of wrestling physical manifestations of Satan and his demons with my bare hands. All that was left...was a bunch boring red tape.
Father laughed again. "All you newbies are exactly the same." | 2017-08-21T14:25:03 | 2017-08-21T12:48:42 | 165 | 35 |
[WP] On your 21st birthday, your biggest accomplishment becomes your official title - no matter how trivial. You wait anxiously in line for your village elder, Glenda, Devourer of 53 Chicken Nuggets In A Single Sitting, to assign you your new title. | Avatar, Springfield, 32 StreetyMcRoadface, Diary.
New entry, today.
So I am in this line. A long line. It is the most interesting queue that ever occurs in Springfield. It stretches from Glenda's, all the way down Avenue Road. It passes Convenience Mart, and curves left around Turner's Corner. This queue of new adults waiting to get their username stretches almost the whole length of Streety.
You probably don't care because you're a hologram, but in the real world, we don't do much.
It was 2036 when Googlecast released Virtualore. Thanks to Lord Bannon's Net Totality bill, it was the only phone allowed to be sold in the U.S. That's about all we know that really matters.
Once Bannon and Googlecast used the combined might of the White House and corporations to get Virtualore into 99% of households, they controlled everything. They controlled the media, social media, print media, video games, and the votes.
In 2040, public school was only available on Virtual Reality. Everyone went to one of two schools, Public or Christian. Each had their own app store, so once you chose, your virtual life was locked in and you could no longer communicate in VR with anyone that chose differently.
Scientists believe that now, in the year 2160, the average American spends almost 23 hours a day either sleeping or in VR. AI came far enough along that we voted to give them control over government, so that a Bannon Cannon could never happen again. With proper use of legislation and advanced AI, carbon emissions were regulated and global warming was reversed. Our AI can now control Earth's climate. Computers also brought back the Great Barrier Reef, the Colossus of Rhodes, even extinct animals! Computers solved poverty, war and cancer. Only countries outside the UN Network still have problems. I learned all about this playing Civ 14.
Before relinquishing control of the US to the US Network, Bannon had the FBI delete Wikipedia and the public school system. As an alternative to Christian school, VR app and game developers like Microsony, Googlecast, Valvebook, and Nintendo added educational gameplay to their games. Now, it's how most of America learns anything. Most people learn how to read from the libraries and crowdsourced teaching in Minecraft 2 than from schools. I learned to drive in Forza.
Now don't get me wrong, everyone knows the real world is great. It is very important to honor the real world every time you enter it. That's why they gave us the Forever21 system. When you turn 21, you get named after the best thing you ever did in the real world. Nothing from VR is allowed to count. So I am in line.
My friend Link got his name last year. He painted a picture on his room wall, of a winged dragon. He says he saw one once, and Dragonseer is one of the best names on the server, but he said he forgot to tell his avatar about it so it didn't count before Glenda calculated his name. Now he is Link Wallpainter.
Glenda once ate 53 pieces of chicken in only 45 minutes. She thinks her name is stupid but I think any name with "devourer" in it, is pretty groot. She's almost 40 now and she gives us our names on the Springfield server. It was decided that all online aliases would be designated rather than let people pick their own, so that there's no vulgarity or intolerance. Our server, like most, is a Safe Space.
Im sorry, I am rambling. You know all this. I forgot you were connected to the Pedia too. You probably don't care since you aren't real, but I needed to tell you about last week. I need to make sure it's on the record before it's my turn.
Last week I spent 6 hours outside.
I killed a dragon. | The prick in front of me seemed overly confident. Chest puffed high enough to block the sun as I toed the dry ground, little puffs of dust silently skulking with me. I had kept up pretense pretty well before leaving the house, my mom kissing me on the cheek in between words of encouragement. Stepping out the door had been like stepping into a lukewarm pool where everything moved slowly. The universe was fucking with me. All of the cosmos was fixated on my exact point in space with scorn and mocking shitfaced smirks. Even the village elder who now stared down at me seemed to know the joke, and the hundreds of onlookers would soon hear the punchline; I am U/Tyler_drrrden , AMBIDEXTROUS FAPLORD | 2017-04-27T20:42:35 | 2017-04-27T18:23:04 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] You’ve been called to sit on the jury of the most infamous streak of murders your community has seen. You know the defendant is innocent, because you’re the killer. | I am the first to arrive to the juror room. I run my fingers over my black skirt. I scan down, checking to make sure that all of buttons on my white blouse are buttoned. I position my paper bag of snacks in front of me. I hum a tune. A slow tune from my favorite TV show as a girl, The Brady Bunch. You get introduced to this perfect family, and episode after episode, you watch the stupid problems that they have, which are nothing in comparison to your own.
Sibling disagreements. Issues with the maid. Husband and wife arguments. How about not knowing where you were going to sleep the next night? How about sitting in an alley curled up, trying to use a dumpster for warmth? How about your mother walking out on you, leaving you to be raised by a foster mom who was only there to collect money?
But nevertheless, I liked the show. It was an escape. A fairy land to watch. A type of people to study. I became fascinated with those people who had picture perfect lives. I didn't know that it had become a crazed obsession until elementary. My roommate had a friend, Jessica, who came over. Jessica had everything I ever wanted. All of her clothes fit. Sometimes her father would pick her up. Sometimes her mother. The sight of her made me both curious and angry.
Every visit I wedged myself between Jessica and my roommate. Pretty soon, I made my way into her house. You know--I managed to get her parents to adopt me? I smiled in their faces, making them laugh. I played the part of the helpless girl who needed them. And it worked. Jessica became more or less like a shadow, while I soaked all of the attention that rightfully belonged to her. I received the best grades. I received the full scholarship. And I watched poor little Jessica go mad. Fortunately for me, her parents witnessed the changed too, so when she turned up dead, all of them believed it a suicide.
But I did it. She would be my first kill. Well, the first one that I truly enjoyed. The others were merely out of survival. A way to cope with life on the streets until I was taken in by someone.
I take a deep breath, lacing my fingers together in my lap. I wasn't the greatest serial killer, but I did somehow manage to kill a dozen people in one year, including my supervisor. He had always been a nice man. Too nice. I didn't think I'd be able to stand it any longer, and so I didn't.
And now, this pathetic sap is being accused of everything I've done over the past several years. I hated him. Hated him for how pathetic and how stupid he was. Adam Kline. Well, the defendant did have his use. I made him a lover for this very purpose. I waited for him to figure out the truth. I planted clues all around for him to discover. I even came home with one of my shirts soaked with blood. And he thought it only a strange pattern.
And he made no signal to alert them of my selection. None of them. The fool had somehow convinced himself that I'd managed to get him off. I roll my eyes heavenward.
One of the other jurors walked in. A bald-headed man who had been giving me the eye.
"Hey Jean," He says, lumbering in with his brown paper bag.
"Hi," I say back sweetly. What was his name again?
I cross my legs, glancing at him under my black eyelashes. I feel his eyes on my leg. I smile inwardly. How long before I can kill again, I wonder.
"Rough case," He comments.
I nod my head, my face crestfallen. "There are so many horrible people in this world."
"At least, we can get this one behind bars," He says with a sad smile, shaking his head.
"Yes," I sigh.
I glance back up at him, imagining his eyes lifeless, a slit across his throat. I stare at the floor at my long black handbag, wondering how long he could could his breath. Would the handbag strap be enough to rob him of his breath?
"Not long now," I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I hope I get to see you after all of this."
His eyes widen and his cheeks redden. "I hope so too." |
I looked at the other jurors. Of the twelve of us, four were women and eight were men. Five were blonde, three had black hair, two were gray, one was a redhead, and one was bald. We were a diverse bunch, to be sure.
The lawyers were both women, dressed in business suits – one in a skirt and the other in slacks – shuffling papers as they awaited the judge. The defendant, looking a bit distraught, was a young man, olive-skinned, with curly black hair. He was accused of murder. Six counts of gruesome, unconscionable atrocities, committed in our community over the last six months, were laid on his thin, drooping shoulders.
The evidence was compelling. The prosecuting attorney appealed to our emotions, while presenting a plethora of circumstantial evidence. The defense attorney was struggling to present enough doubt.
I knew the vote was coming. Juror deliberation was likely to be short. I fully intended to vote guilty, even though I knew for certain this young man was innocent. It would keep them from discovering the real killer, allowing me to continue to my next victim. | 2019-11-12T10:52:42 | 2019-11-12T09:50:42 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] You have just returned to your camp after being bitten by a zombie to say your goodbyes. You are surprised to find the national guard giving your friends a vaccine. The world is saved. However, the vaccine only works on the healthy. You lost at the endgame and these your last 24 hours. | They will all forget me one day,
Hayden thought to himself. The one word to describe the world for the last ten years would be change. The change from man to mindless. The change from society to chaos. The change from memory to forgetfulness. Hayden saw just how little people remembered about the past now. Kids were taught how to survive and how to fight rather than how to do math or science. Those that were lucky enough to learn reading seldom used their newfound talent. Society no longer cared to remember the past, it only looked angrily into the future.
The bite on Hayden’s arm was beginning to smell. Just hours ago he had been looking through an abandoned house at a photo album. In it, he knew that everyone pictured was likely long gone. Their stories, their love, the things that made them who they are were lost forever in time. Like dandelion seeds, gone in the wind to never return.
That’s when they attacked. He couldn’t remember how many but it had to be nearly a dozen. Although he fought valiantly and refused to go down without giving them hell, the infected were able to reach their victim. Hayden was not sure whether the pain or the shock was more devastating but, then again, when someone realizes their life is over what is one to think?
He shuffled out of the house and had come to a ridge overlooking the settlement he lived in. They called the town Hope, Hayden always hated that. The world was tough and he thought, rather than hope, that trust was the greatest quality. He trusted so many of the people down there. His friend Carla, who made the best meals, always had a way of cheering both his stomach and mood up. Gabe, the attractive son of a Bitch, could sell grass to a landscaper, which got Hayden in trouble with the ammo he had to trade at the market. Then there was Melanie. She was everything that a man wanted in a woman to settle down with. She was headstrong, an achiever, a hard worker, but also the best person he knew. They loved each other, but refused to marry due to the way the world had become.
The blissfully ignorant, with nothing but worry and stress surrounding their everyday lives, could truly never know the envy of a dying man. He sat down on the forest floor he had neglected to love so much until this point. There were many things, in fact, that Hayden did not know he loved until he realized the end was near. The feeling of grass between your toes when it is slightly wet. The sound of a bird, who’s only worry is the worm, singing a song to anyone listening. Best of all, the feeling of bark from an old tree that you know has more knowledge than any library. He would miss this. He would miss what it was like to live. In being bitten, he was finally starting to remember what the world was like before your largest fear was becoming a monster.
That’s when he saw them. The national guard rolled into his settlement playing the same announcement on repeat.
“We come in peace. I repeat: we come in peace. We have a vaccination for the plague. Those who are not infected will be given immunity through this. Those infected will gain no benefit from the treatment.”
A smile broke across Hayden’s face. Of course, he of all people would be late yet again for the only cure in the world.
Hayden pulled out his journal and wrote for a crowd that may never be in attendance. He told those he lived with how much they meant, and told those he loved how much he would miss them. The words kept flowing from his pencil as he scribed the goodbyes and then, suddenly, he wrote his goodbyes to those past and the world itself. He said goodbye to his friends and family infected already whom he would meet in the beyond. He said goodbye to his dads body, which was buried some many many miles away. Goodbye to the friends he made at summer camp when he was little. Goodbye to his college professors who gave them shelter after the outbreak. Goodbye to the rivers that he swam. Goodbye to the fields he explored, and those he didn’t. Goodbye to the beautiful cities he quietly crept through. Goodbye to the smell of campfire and it’s reminder of civilization. Goodbye to the sun and the picture it painted on the sky when it rose and set. Goodbye to the birds and their lovely songs.
As Hayden completed his final goodbyes, an idea struck him. He pulled out his wallet, even though he had no use carrying such trivial things, and placed the picture of his father and him going fishing in the journal. As his eyelids grew heavy and the pain became unbearable, he picked up his pencil and wrote the last words of a dying man.
“When I was a boy, my father worked every day. Once, when I was still very little, he missed the train to work and decided to come home rather than take the next train himself. When he arrived, he said that we were to go fishing. Overjoyed, I rode the train with him till we got to my grandfathers, where we borrowed the boat and car. The river was stunning and we were the only ones out there. I held my dads hand as he sang songs and drank his beer. Fish would come and go, but the river never ceased. Just like time, it flowed on with or without life existing. That was the finest day I have ever had. I hope one person may read this someday. I know it’s a dying mans wish, but I hope some piece of the world I had is remembered by someone. I hope the cure creates the lives the world wants to return to. My father once missed a train and came home. Now, I’ve missed my train out of the plague, so I too will venture home.”
Hayden Percival Thomas
| Circle Left…Circle. Left. That bastard had known, *friggin' known*, what was going to happen. He saw those damned monsters, and sent me over. Of course I had been careful, but I was out numbered.
"Gabby!", I could hear him, a false pain in his voice, "No!". His voice trailed as he booked it for the camp.
Joke was on him, I managed to get free… Mostly. At some point one of those vile crawling creatures managed to get me through my old tattered jeans. I always thought it would hurt… To be bit by one of those things, but really, after the initial bite, there was no pain. In fact, most of the pains from my left leg were gone.
I made my way back towards the encampment. I was gonna beat that jackass as much as I could before I got too far gone.
By the time I got near the outer edges of our camp I wasn't feeling much of anything from below my armpits, and my senses seemed to be failing a bit. The pungent smell of the flowers Jake had planted smelled more like the memory of a scent, the clucking of the chickens, mooing of the cows… It all sounded like I was listening through cotton wads.
Bonnie was waiving her hands and jumping by the gate, her words were a buzz, but other joined her and came out to get me.
I coughed hard, but I don't remember needing to cough, but I also didn't remember the rest of the trek being supported by the noisy buzzing people I knew.
Then there ones I didn't know. People in white and… Maybe it was yellow, body suits? Colors were getting hard to see, and everything was taking a blurry light to it.
Some of the buzzing words made it through… *Vaccine… no cure yet…. Kyle said…. We're saved… Cities…*
The buzzy name of that traitor caused me to convulse forward. Deep and gurgling, his name growled out of me. A few people looked at me with pity, whispering to each other.
I could make him out, barely as I could, at the edge of my vision. His voice buzzed through clearer than the others, *"She's suffering, we should show her mercy."*
My everything hated him, He caused this. I could have been saved. We could have been saved and never seen one another again, but no…
With the rest of what I could of the human I had been, I pointed at him and gurgled out, "Circle. Left."
this is my first piece of actual writing in a long time, sorry for the mistakes and grammar
*Edit, a word* | 2018-07-29T22:23:19 | 2018-07-29T19:51:44 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] You are a Hell Writer, you design hells for people after they die based on studying their life history. Today Satan summons you to his sanctum and you are troubled to see that he has a shocked expression on his face. | Many people hate their jobs, I was no exception to this rule. For years I begrudgingly accepted job after job, knowing I had to do it. Then death happened. Funny thing; death is so feared by the living, yet for me it was the best thing to happen. Sure I was in hell, a member of the damned, but I could finally contribute something of worth. Ever since then I've been a designer of punishment for others. Scribbling notes long hours at a time. Profiling people as I go over their entire life's history in such detail that would make the most hardcore of espionage agencies blush. I love my work and my boss isn't so bad. I finally understand the grand scheme of things. However, just as my dying day turned everything upside down, I again experienced another flip.
I was summoned to Satan's office, not a normal experience for me. I wasn't entirely sure on what to expect. When I opened the door, the look on her face told me it was not good. Pacing, her hooves clacked upon the marble floor, her hands clutched a folder. She looked up when I arrived.
"What is it Infernal Majesty?" I inquired as I gently pushed the door shut behind me. She looked up, brow scrunched in worry.
"We've a problem. A big, big problem." She said as she sat down and gestured for me to do the same. She slapped the folder upon the desk.
"I knew the moment I walked in things weren't well." I said with a concerned look, my black eyes meeting her burning embers. She nodded.
"Dan, you know you've always been respected with the other writers. I've always loved your work. That's why I chose you to do this job. It kills me to have to go over this with you." For the first time ever, I saw she looked seriously distressed.
"So what's the damage then?" I replied, willing to get to the core issue. I was relying on some hope a solution could be formed. That was quickly diminished.
"I know what you're thinking. There's no way out of this. I-" She paused, closed her eyes, and took a breath. "I don't know how this happened, or what the thought process is." I tilted my head.
"Give it to me straight my Lord." I said, trying to muster a smile. She shook her head. "I received a status report today. Due to the nature of the direction mankind has decided to take, The Greater Powers have decided we're no longer sufficient. There's too much going on, projections forecast us having to triple in growth over the next 15 years. Needless to say, we don't have enough writers as is, and there's little in the way of new candidates." I couldn't believe my ears as the words left her blackened lips.
"What about Heaven? Since more souls are coming here surely they can spare workers?" She shook her head at my suggestion. "No, they want their Angels working full time to try to restore the balance. Besides, it takes way too many resources to be able to accommodate an Angel in Hell." She lowered her head for a moment before looking back up at me. Acting as if she had just said something horrible. I bit my lip.
"So what's their solution?" I asked. She winced and placed her hand towards me on the desk.
"That's the problem. That's the hardest thing to come to terms with. Logistics is one thing...but they want a complete re-haul. They want us out. They've been watching mankind and have taken some inspiration that doesn't favor us." My jaw nearly dropped.
"Since when has the afterlife ever taken inspiration from the living?" I shook my head. "Never mind that. What do they have planned exactly?" Satan's brow furrowed.
"Sadly, same idea that plagued you when you were alive. Automation. It's all going automated. Machines, computers, the works. To cut cost and worker dependence. Saves resources so we can work on getting the mortal plane back into balance." Her hand clenched. A cold feeling washed over me.
"And what of us?" I inquired, though I almost wanted to get up and run, to never know the answer. I saw a gleaming red tear streak down her face. "We're all being replaced. Retired. Even me. All the tormentors, the writers, the lot of us. Probably going to be sidelined in our own purgatory or something, they've not said for sure yet. We have six months to get our belongings and be prepared for a move. A few will be selected to stay to oversee the machine. If we're lucky it will be a tenth of us. I'm to give up my governance in favor of more direct monitoring methods." She finished her explanation and slumped into her chair. I shook my head again, in anger. I slapped her desk.
"So that's it? After all this time? After all the years? The awards you've gotten for your service? All the work the writers have done? The endless days carefully tailoring exact punishments for people? Just tossed out the window?" She nodded. "I dunno what to even..." I couldn't finish my sentence. I slumped back in my chair. I heard a drawer open. A bottle of whisky and two shot glasses appeared a moment later. She looked up at my, almost as if to apologize.
"I told you first because I respect all you've done for me over the years. And to think I STILL have so many more people to tell...it's been a nightmare just breaking this to you." I nodded. "And for that I thank you." I sat up again.
"Tell you what, I'll help you break the news to everyone else. I hate seeing you like this. You might be the Infernal Majesty, but you were the best boss I've ever had." She smiled wryly and pour two glasses of whiskey.
"And for that, I thank you Danozma." She raised a glass to me. "Here's a toast to our shitty future and to forced retirement." I raised mine.
"I always thought I'd see Hell freeze over first." | Usually, Satan sends me an email asking it I'm caught up on the Hell Designs Department. If something is wrong, I talk to a regional manager, not the fallen angel himself.
I finally arrive on his floor, and the elevator floors open, and he was there, standing right in front of them.
"Oh dear."
Satan uncharacteristically responded "That phrase works too. Come and sit down."
Satan has been known for offering some form of torturous drink, but all he did was hand me a sheet of paper.
"What is this about?" my voiced quivered. His cold and confident voice was as shakier as mine. "Uh, I uh don't know how this, uh, happened."
"H-how do you pronounce this? Mich... eel? Mitch-ale?"
He snapped. "It's Michael, like the angel! You should know that!"
"But he's five. He's no angel, h-he's barely old enough for school!"
The lights flickered. "I KNOW! I know how old he is! And he's not my incarnation, I'm still alive!"
"S-should we really do this? It sounds like he would be l-legendary in the R&D department."
The lights dimmed. "DO I CARE WHERE HE SHOULD GO? NO! THIS CHILD IS CALLED THE SECOND COMING OF ME! HE WAS CALLED SATAN 2.0, THE BETTER ME!"
"Should I t-torture him for his insolence?" He turned around, his eyes darker than oil. "Eliminate. his. existance." Each word felt like my ear drums were being stabbed with a pen.
I shuddered. "Y-yes my lord. Is there any torture method you would like me to use?"
He finally smiled. "Use the method that God demanded for uh, what's-his-face. Cain! God, that was fun. The uh, nerve exposure. That one, and run some of God's smite lightening through his nerves."
"Yes my lord. Would you like me to start immediately?" as I tried to stand up without peeing.
"Yeah, and email the CCTV to God and I. Oh, and that angel with the same name as him."
I was glad that he started no longer so anxious, but I had to ruin it. "Are you really sure you don't want to add him to the torturing cycle? It's a waste of talent." A wave sent me flying into the empty elevator, cracking the wood panels.
I stood up, but I ended up peeing this time"This is the closest I have to revenge on God. Do. not. ruin. it. for. me." Again, the pen though the eardrums.
"Y-y-y-y-yes s-s-s-sir."
As he started laughing, a volcano erupted outside his window. "Woaaah! Did you see that? You shouldn't have, you should be GONE!"
The elevator fell faster than Satan fell to hell. | 2016-11-08T20:11:34 | 2016-11-08T15:38:45 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] he stalks his targets. He knocks them out, and takes them to an unknown location. When they finally wake, whatever illness or injury they had has been surgically healed. No one has caught the Dr. Harmless. | "That is a beautiful glass eye madam, may I ask how you acquired it?"
I choked on my beer, setting the pint glass down with a thud, as I looked up to see a man smiling down at me, his head slightly tilted as he waited for a response. Usually, the boys interrupting my binges only offered to supply me with another drink, then left when they realized the alcohol was a better friend than they would ever be, so the question caught me off guard. He gestured, still smiling, as if I had forgotten that I kept the eye in its socket.
Most people couldn't notice the eye- I'd paid top dollar to get it done, over ten thousand dollars for precision artistry to make it match my original. The money hadn't been a problem, as most companies jumped to hire a disability they wouldn't have to accommodate. Not that I hadn't earned my position- I coded better than anyone on my team, and they damn well knew it.
"Edward Teach's Eye Emporium," I answered, taking another swig. It was around the time of night I tried to see how few gulps it would take for me to finish a full beer. I've been assured my record is three, but I can't remember the occurrence, "As for the top models. Why, you in the market?"
"For a glass eye? Heavens no," He laughed, the sound alien in the deserted dive bar, seeming to intermingle with the smoke like oil and water. But Hell, I loved Shamrock's, beers here were cheaper than the grocery. Fifty cent Saturdays, plus the hot dogs on rollers in the back only got better as the night went on. Ten years ago, I'd never have been caught in here on a Wednesday night- but now, it was home, and I'd spent a night or two under the pool table when it was too cold for my car to rev.
"I meant, *how* did you get it?" He asked, pressing forwards, taking a seat on the stool next to me, his feet underneath as he leaned forwards, invading my personal bubble of space, adjusting his tie on a suit far too fancy for Shamrock's, "An accident? Seems like an accident."
"Yeah, an accident," I answered, scooting back an inch, the stool grating on the concrete floor, "Ex boyfriend had a knife when I broke up with him. So it was only an accident for one of us."
"Sounds *traumatic*," He whispered, emphasizing the word and leaning forwards, close enough that I could see his skin was flawless, and his grey hard showed no signs of receding, his tongue running over his upper lip.
"Nothing a few trips to the therapist couldn't fix," I answered, slapping down a fiver on the table to leave. Three dollars of that was tip. *Damn* I love Shamrock's. No matter how much I brought in, I had a way of ordering the specials at the nicer bars when my BAC reached double digits, and a strong 401k is a girl's best friend. I couldn't betray it for Manhattans.
"Ah, but I do think it could be fixed," He leaned forwards, brushing his thumb on my cheek, and I slapped the hand away, "Easy, easy. I only want to help, make this problem go away. Move it away from you. You don't want it, do you? Just give it away."
"Glass. Eyeball." I said, and tapped it with a knife on the table so he could here the clink, "Can't be helped, can't be-"
I stopped, as he reached out again, anger flooding through me as he made contact. But as I reached up to slap his hand, I gasped, my heart thumping as I realized I saw through not one eye but *two*. His smile curled upwards as my jaw fell down, and like a flash the image dissipated, replaced once more by darkness.
"How?" I started, the words catching in my throat.
"You want it?" He asked, "Just say the word. These wounds don't belong to you."
I nodded, and he brushed my eye again. And though I don't remember drinking much that night, I don't recall how I got home. All I remember is seeing out of two eyes when I awakened.
And for weeks, it was wonderful. Amazing, really. Because it wasn't just my eye he touched.
I couldn't remember the flash of the knife as my original was carved out. Couldn't even remember the lunatic's name. And the alcohol, it was as if I no longer wanted it- my first time back at Shamrocks, I felt tipsy after two. Tolerance eradicated.
But then there were the dreams.
Night sweats that I could just barely recall. The smell of must, the crave of addiction unsatisfied, the biting of rope that cut into my hands behind my back. My foot as it traced out the name of my ex on the concrete in blood. The laughing as my healer walked down the stares, and the smile as he held up my chin, and looked into my eyes, one of them glass.
"Bear it," He said, "It's for the good, you know."
And I'd awake shouting, my sheets wet, my hand jumping up to confirm that both eyes were there. And after a few months, even the dreams faded, as if I had been healed of those too.
***
It was a Saturday morning when I read the article. I drank coffee now, and resumed my old habit of waking up early. And I had started following the news again- for a small town in Pennsylvania, we tended to go national every year or so, typically from the loonies out in the country managing to create some new version of pipe bomb that ran on advanced stupidity. But this time going national was different.
*Body Found in Locked Cellar*
*After complaints of smell originating from a cellar off Prince Street, police have discovered a disfigured body, which fingerprints have confirmed are in connection to the serial killer behind the Bowtie Killings occurring across the country. Like all victims, the man was trussed up like a gift, his wrists tied with ribbons, and a tie on his head. But police detail other aspects of the body far more disturbing- deep cuts and scars across the abdomen, bullet holes, concussive wounds. More, investigators have agreed, should be possible for a human to attain, especially if the body belongs to a suspect who went missing only two months before the discovery, just released from prison for domestic assault.*
*The FBI and police are collaborating in lookout for the killer, and ask for anyone with information to step forwards. As habit, the individual has likely moved to his next town, but this is unconfirmed.*
*More news to come this evening, after an interview with Edward Teach's, the manufacturer of the glass eye found in what remained of the skull, the iris color incorrect.*
***
By Leo
Hope you enjoyed my writing. [Feel free to check out one of my other prompts here, this one about super heros.](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/) | When I was a child, I used to believe that hot Apple juice was alcoholic. I saw that wine was made with grapes and stored in a cellar on TV once, and automatically assumed that all hot juice was alcoholic.
I remember my mother telling me that a drunk man tells no lies. He drinks from the fountain of truth and spews out the remains.
I remember laughing in her face and telling her that I was a woman.
"That's not me mommy, I am a girl." I sipped from my juice box and laid my head on her chest.
"Oh Monstruo, you can be whatever you want." She stroked my head before setting me on the couch to finish watching cartoons.
I remember the tears in her eyes as she smiled at me.
She walked up the stairs to her bedroom and never came back.
__________________________________________++++++++++
"Truth or dare, Morrigan?" Jessica asked me as my group of friends sat around the table.
"Truth." I replied, taking my three "cop-out" vodka shots to the head. I was NOT planning on streaking naked down the dorm's parking lot.
"Ummmm, Oh!!! Have you ever killed anyone?!!?" She asked with all of the excitement of a 3 year old.
"Yes." I uncounciously replied before shoving the lemon slice into my mouth.
I grabbed the lemon salt and poured it into my mouth.
34 seconds. It took me 34 seconds to realize that silence surrounded me. I looked up and around at everyone.
"......Who?" James whispered next to me. He was the quiet one out of the group. So, as I contemplate it now, he was the LEAST likely "friend" that I would have expected to reply to my slip-up. I only heard him because he was sitting next to me.
'Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. I have screwed the f*ck, ALL the way, up.' I thought as I turned to face him.
I just looked into his eyes and stared for what probably seemed like an eternity to him and the rest of the group.
I decided then that he would be my next target. He deserved every little thing that I planned on doing to him.
"Death." I replied, turning back to face everyone else. "I've killed death." I said louder so that the whole group would hear.
"........................................................................."
"........................................................................."
I took another shot of the communal vodka and decided that yes, drunk men DO spew truths from their mouths.
"........................................................................."
"..............Are we high?" Andre loudly whispered before I promptly spewed my shot all over Jessica's face.
____________________________________________++++++++
I decided to do James 1 week before finals. I couldn't wait any longer. He had bags under his eyes in class, he stopped hanging out with us, and he stopped replying to all of our messages.
He skipped 8 am Organic on that day. I knew then, that he was not going to last pass this day. It was already decided. Who am I to not follow Destiny? I was The Morrigan after all. This was what I DID, my duty.
____________________________________________++++++++
I slipped out of the class via a presumed family emergency. One online scheduled "wakeup call" in the middle of class was all it took.....and a little dramatics.
I made my way to the admissions office and filled out my withdrawal forms and submitted them to the clerk. I turned in my school id, and my dorm key. I walked to his dorm room, knocked on his door, and he answered.
Gun in hand. He answered.
The rest is unknown......to the both of us.
____________________________________________++++++++
"James." The lady with the pen tapped it on her desk and waited patiently.
"James?" She asked a little louder. He grinned at her.
"Sorry ma'am. I was just thinking." He replied chagrined.
"About what?" She asked, noting down that his personality has changed drastically.
"I don't want to die." He sounded relieved, happy even. "This is the first time, that I can remember, that I feel like I don't want to die." He sounded hysterical as he rubbed the scar on his forehead.
"How'd you get that scar again?" The lady asked, noting that it was a possible selfharm mark.
"...I.....I don't really remember."
| 2018-09-06T20:30:55 | 2018-09-06T18:52:57 | 133 | 13 |
[WP] You have an incredible ability, the ability to create something just by saying its name, only problem is you gotta say it in an ancient tongue that no one knows, not even yourself, today in the middle of going through a terrible cough, your ability activates for the fourth time in your life. | "Mom! Mom! Guess what I'm speaking!"
"What, honey?" My mother let out a giggle as I began a few more lines in the strange tongue.
"It's the language where English and Spanish and Indian come from!" I laughed again. Four year old me was a fun kid.
According to my mother, I always introduced the language the same way. "The language where English and Spanish and Indian come from." She couldn't understand a lick of it, but I was fluent in the language, apparently. It sounded like nothing she'd ever heard before. Lots of guttural sounds, she said. Kids and their imaginations.
By the end of my first year of preschool, I had forgotten the language completely. Every word, along with the grammar, had faded away from my brain. I probably didn't even know how to pronounce some of those guttural sounds my mom mentioned. I sometimes thought I remembered words, but I never did. It was a lost cause.
"Hey kid, why you starin' at the ground? Whaddya think you're doin'?"
Two bulky men came up to me. I was fifteen. I couldn't do anything. I was petrified.
"C'mon, hand over the money." And then, one word came to me.
*"Pchunes."*
The entire street lit up, fire everywhere. I ran away, the fire moving away from me, as the fire burned through buildings. What had I done? What did I just cause to be?
The fire, the *pchunes,* was reported on the news later that day. The two thugs were dead. Nobody realized who was really behind it.
Twice more, words have come to me. The first time was seemingly out of nowhere. The word *dhwer,* meaning "door," came to me. A door opened in my house, which I took out of my house. It's still a part of my house. Later that day, I would learn that burglars were breaking into my house at the time, and I had been spared.
The third time was when I was hiking in the Grand Canyon. I had stopped sweating, so I knew I'd be fine to continue the hike, when a word popped up. The word was *sneigw.* I said the word, and a storm of cold snow billowed across the badlands. Everybody was reporting on it, probably my most well-known stunt. You've likely seen the pictures, have you not?
Today, a word didn't come to me. I just started coughing from a terrible illness.
"Hnghkhkh...*dnhghwech*..khhngd..."
I felt like I had said a word I shouldn't have. Suddenly, a severed tongue dropped onto my lap. I threw the thing away, but I realized that I must be going crazy. It was that day I decided to call a shrink.
"So, Peter, why are you here?" Dr. Falco had glasses on and her hair tied into a nice bun.
"Well, I feel like I might be able to manifest some sort of item when I say the word for this item in a strange, ancient language."
"Okay," she said, taken aback. "How would you describe this language?"
"Well, I knew most of it when I was a kid, but it faded away. All I know is... that it's the language where English and Spanish and Indian come from. That's what I always told my mother."
"Peter," she said, seriously, "Have you ever heard of Proto-Indo-European?"
I shook my head.
"Well, it's a language where most European languages, as well as Sanskrit, all come from. By comparing various languages, we've been able to figure out what it sounds like. I could print out a list of words, if you'd like?"
"Sure, why not." She went to the printers and came back with a sheet of words. I began to read off them.
"Ekwos?" I had no idea what was going to happen; there were no definitions. Suddenly, a horse appeared in the middle of the room with no explanation.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I'll clean up the mess, if you'd like--"
Dr. Falco sighed. "That'll be no big deal. Now, you're going to come with me to room 265, suite A. There are some... more people who need to talk to you." | Of course it had to be like this.
At age 9, it was a cheese grater. Those were some good nachos, or so I was told. Too bad I'm lactose intolerant.
At age 14, it was a block of cheese. Too bad I didn't have any need for that cheese grater.
At age 18, it was a chess set. I was a bit confused at first, but then I realized the universe had a sick sense of humor, as the word "chess" sounds like "cheese" in a way. I was a jock, so I just tossed it.
Now, at 24, I find the world has it out for me. I'm running the ball down the field at the Super Bowl, Cowboys vs Packers, and we're down by 4 points with 3 seconds on the clock. Scoring this touchdown would solidify my career for years. Imagine my delight as the entire enemy team appears out of nowhere in front of me, flattening my dreams and my body. I lie there in the grass, wondering what word I must've spoken. Then I realized.
Cheese HEADS.
| 2018-08-06T07:38:46 | 2018-08-06T06:06:44 | 425 | 136 |
[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 | "In Act 1, scene 3 of Macbeth, we are finally introduced to our main character. This is shown through various supernatural elements..."
Professor Yates continued with his lecture as I doodled chibi dinosaurs and Harry Potter stick figures in the margins of my notebook. Stifling a yawn, I jotted down a quick synopsis of "Jacobean witchcraft" and double checked that my tape recorder had full batteries before smooshing my chin into my hands. My thoughts wandered to the theater cast party I had attended last night for my roommate. I wasn't even in the play, or a theater major, yet I attended all the parties with her and never failed to regret it the next morning. I added a stick figure of my roommate being eaten by the chibi dinosaur to my notes.
A snort sounded to my right and I looked over to see my friend Daniel staring down at his desk. A fading smile had barely begun to disappear as I glanced at him, but he turned his head away and scribbled on his paper some more. I thought about throwing something at him to make him come sit next to me, but I didn't want to interrupt the professor, who was not known for his leniency. Instead, I turned back to my own notes and let my mind wander.
I wondered if "Macbeth" had ever dealt with a hangover before. Probably not. I think he was the theater roommate in this example, and poor Banquo was the tagalong who didn't know that a "Screwdriver" was more vodka than orange juice. No wonder he came back to haunt Macbeth.
I wondered what part I would be cast as if I ever did a production of "Macbeth." I would want to be Lady Macbeth, but with my luck I'd be the drunk porter. I think I could bring some life to it though. Maybe in a "modern" retelling, I'd just come out in a fluffy pink bathrobe with some whiskey.
I wondered, as I often do, if anyone would find these thoughts strange, or if everyone goes on a tangent when they let their mind free. Maybe there was a mind reader who I should probably apologize to for sending them so many distracting daydreams?
Whenever I think this question, I normally can't prevent myself from conjuring up pornographic images and random inappropriate thoughts. I think it's a nervous reaction. It's like the moment I think, "Okay, if there's a mind reader, best not imagine a dick pic", and then automatically my mind is filled with dirty images. I often formally apologize in my head to anyone who may be able to read minds, just in case.
Today though, right before the first risque image could flit across my imagination, I noticed Daniel again. He had jumped in his seat a bit and seemed to go a little pale when I thought the words "mind reader." As soon as I looked over, he shifted uncomfortably.
Curiosity and boredom made me think, "Daniel?" He did not look over and seemed concentrated on his notes. I squinted my eyes and immediately imagined our professor naked. Daniel's head shot up and looked over at me as my jaw dropped. His eyes widened to match mine and he looked back down at his table.
*Oh no you don't.* I thought. *Don't you dare think you are getting away with this. Look back here right now.* I continued to stare him down and began to conjure up more images of our professor in... interesting positions. Finally, Daniel looked over at me and mouthed, "stop."
My mind fizzled for a second and then rebooted. *What the fuck!?* Was the only coherent thought I could manage. Daniel shrugged and managed a small wince.
*You fucking **read minds**??*
He shrugged.
*For how long??*
He shrugged again.
*Can anyone else do that?* My eyes swung wildly around and I shoved down the constant nervous reaction to suddenly imagine everyone naked. Daniel smiled a little and a thought occurred to me. He froze. I froze. He looked up and I saw his cheeks begin to turn pink. I could hear my heart in my ears.
*So you knew...?*
Gradually, Daniel gave a tiny nod.
*You son of a --*
"Tatianna, what do you think?"
My head jerked up to see Professor Yates staring at me over his bespectacled nose.
"Uhh." I looked around and saw the class looking at me expectantly. The board gave no clues as to what had just been discussed and the Professor's silent air of expectation did nothing to help me. I glanced over at Daniel to see him casually flip a page of the play.
*Snarky son of a--*
"Mr. Collins, would you like to assist Ms. Kim as she seems to have lost her tongue?"
I grimaced and glared at Daniel, who didn't bother looking up from the play. There's no way he heard the question either. It was his fault I missed it anyway.
"Macbeth's mental health in the play is a represented by a slow and steady mental decline. We see in the beginning that the character shows symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which gradually accumulate into a type of paranoid schizophrenia, as evidenced through his hallucinations and the line "my mind is full of scorpions." This relates to the current state of his mental health and is a line I personally can connect with."
Professor Yates looked at Daniel with admiration and nodded approvingly. "Well done, Mr. Collins. I look forward to hearing more about your thoughts on this matter. Ms. Kim has a lot she could learn from you." He raised an eyebrow at me before turning to torture another student.
I shot daggers at Daniel.
*You have never read a word of Macbeth in your life. How the hell did you do that?*
He grinned and tapped at his head. My mouth opened in indignation and I turned back to my notes, adding scribbles of Daniel being consumed by numerous reptiles.
*After class, we need to talk.* Was the last thought I sent his way.
Edit: Fixed a story flaw | Mind reading was never something Lauren thought of on a daily basis, but today something triggered her. It was all she could think about. What made her like this was as much of a mystery to her as it was why her crush never talked to her.
Lauren was done with her worksheet and forgot her book, something she never did. Knowing class was almost over, she put no thought to it. Instead, she went bold and screamed. In her mind, of course. A trick she did to catch mind readers. Something to ease her boredom.
She was very surprised to see someone flinch right when she screamed. Not just someone, but her special someone. It had to be Luke Benton, her crush. The one person she never suspected. She did it again, and he did the same.
Lauren waited until the bell ringed to talk to him. She got very nervous, and hoped Luke wasn’t listening to her thoughts. If only he were telepathic with her. That would be the dream, well maybe just at the moment.
The bell ringed and Lauren walked up to Luke with an over abundance of nervousness she, probably, didn’t need. More than likely, he already heard what she had rehearsed in her head over and over to make sure she didn’t mess up.
“What?” Said Luke in a very annoyed tone as soon as he saw Lauren walking up to him. Although knowing what his ‘special gift’ is, it seemed to ease her nervousness.
“Is it true? Can you really,” she paused, quieting her tone so others couldn’t hear her next words, “read my mind.”
“Surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner." Was all Luke replied. He leaned against the desk, clearly wanting to engage in this conversation instead of leaving like Lauren thought he would want to.
“God. I’m such an idiot. You knew all along. Oh my god I’m so embarrassed." Lauren did a literal face palm while speaking.
"Yes, I know,” Luke said with a smile on his face, “but I don’t think you’re stupid or that you should be embarrassed. I only ignore you to get you to talk to me. And it finally worked.”
Lauren blushed. Never in a million years would she have thought Luke Benton didn’t hate her for no reason.
"Will you go out with me?” Lauren asked with great confidence. She never thought she would ask that question with that much confidence. She for sure thought he would say no, but it didn’t matter now. She asked it and that was all she needed to be happy about.
"Yes. I, Luke Benton, will go out on a date with you, Lauren." Lauren’s face blushed so hard it was on fire. She tried to conceal her happiness, but it was harder than she recognized.
Lauren exited the room and continued walking down the halls like any other day, but her mind was planning out what was going to be the best first date ever. She couldn’t help but keep a smile on her face. | 2017-11-13T20:08:12 | 2017-11-13T16:30:42 | 401 | 37 |
[WP] Every proper Hero and Villain knows that when a costume needs fixed, Neutral Ground Tailors is the place to go. | Franklin Benson was a man who knew three things: the most dangerous secrets in the world, how to keep them, and how to cut cloth and make it look good on a person.
Every day, except Sundays, he got up, kissed his wife and children and walked one mile to the post office where he checked the store’s PO box, then another two miles on foot to his shop. He was a tailor. That much everyone knew. Friends and family only knew that he was a very expensive tailor catering to very elite clientele and he wasn’t about to take in their dinner jackets for them, but he could recommend them to a very capable seamstress not too very far away.
What no one, with the exception of his very elite clientele, knew was that he was *the* Tailor. He was the one man in the city that every hero or villain went to see. Actually, that was a bit of an overstatement. With almost one thousand registered heroes, and at least half that number again in unregistered or aspiring heroes, not to mention at least four times that many villains, he certainly couldn’t handle them all personally.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Aside from the fact that a large number of heroes and villains created their own costumes, there were a small number of men like him. Men who knew secrets. In all there were less than twenty of them. Most of them had actually been apprentices to the original Tailor, now dead and greatly mourned. They knew each other by first name only. First name, a post office box, a storefront address, and—only for in the greatest of emergencies—a phone number. They relied on each other in an unspoken gentleman’s agreement. If someone needed a costume then they were referred to the one most appropriate to craft it. If a client was blacklisted by one chances were he would swiftly be black listed by them all. They never stole customers from each other. But occasionally they would trade clients, if circumstances warranted. If one found a new supplier for materials, and the supplier was agreeable, he might let the others know. Beyond these things they had no interference or even contact with one another at all. It was considered safest.
Each of them had their own rules for how they ran their business, and each was unique. Some only took technologically oriented clients, ones who wore more armor than fabric. Some specialized in exotic—even for their usual clients—materials. Some took only heroes, others only villains. Franklin took only the best. He had been the original Tailor’s star pupil, and his designs were truly brilliant. When the original had died in that horrible attack on his shop, Franklin had inherited his client list.
Franklin was the sole provider of costumes and gadgetry for almost the entire A-list of heroes, a good portion of the senior B-list, and virtually all of the A-list villains. The gadgetry he farmed out to three different machinists. Any client who went through him was guaranteed full service and total anonymity.
The price, aside from the obscene dollar tags he placed on his work, was following the rules. Every tailor demanded total adherence, and not even the most deranged of criminals would dare break them.
Franklin’s rules were brutally strict. All appointments would be adhered to. The client could not be early or late. The client was to be alone. Business only was to be discussed. What the client wanted an item for was not important. Discussion of other clients was unacceptable. A client’s order was a client’s order, there was to be no picking up for a friend. Price was to be paid half up front, half on delivery, changes to this policy at the tailor’s discretion. The client was always to appear in civilian clothes and to have disguised any identifying features. If the client did not have an appointment, the client did not approach or enter the store. If it was an emergency repair, the piece to be fixed, along with full payment was to be placed in PO box 7523 and a slip should be included indicating what PO box the repaired item should be delivered to or if pickup would be at the next appointment. Penalties for breaking the rules ranged from additional charges added to the bill to temporary suspension of services, to a blacklisting.
In return his clients received the best materials, the best craftsmanship, and perfect security. He never asked for the names of his customers, aside from their heroic identities. Everyone was referred to by initial. Should Franklin ever run across them on the street or on the news he showed not a flicker of recognition. He simply went to his doctor and requested a stronger prescription for his ulcers.
Today’s first client was one of his favorites. Mr. O was a charming, affable man who didn’t suffer from the typical neuroses that most of his clients had. Of course, Mr. O didn’t have much reason to since most people were utterly incapable of recognizing him out of costume. Franklin, however, was more than capable. He knew his work no matter how hard someone tried to disguise it. Mr. O’s costume was actually thrillingly mundane, He wore a number of suits in all styles of wool, cotton and even the occasional silk. For Franklin it was a refreshing change to tailor a simple suit. | Alloy raced down the empty street. Using her power, she created a crude metal chute to help her turn down the alley with as little loss of momentum as possible. A moment later, a giant, translucent hammer flattened the chute as if it were an empty soda can.
Alloy heard the voice of her pursuer: "Don't you *dare*, you coward! Settle this now!"
Allison -- Alloy -- smiled grimly as she reached for the black knob of the Tailor's door. "*I come in peace*" she whispered tersely as she gave it a turn and a yank.
She stepped inside, then immediately cringed as a translucent block battered into the door, knocking it off its hinges.
Allison's brown eyes darted towards the lank, balding man standing behind the counter. He looked evenly at her, his face impassive, then shifted focus to something past her, outside. A small frown tugged his thin lips downward.
"You **BITCH**," Prism yelled. Alloy turned and saw another one of Prism's multi-colored translucent forms - this one shaped like a lance - hurtle towards her chest. As it passed the threshold of the door into the Tailor's shop, it evaporated into a dark gray steam.
Prism moved to enter the shop, but was rebuffed at the doorway. She let out an exasperated scream, then growled "I come in peace!" Hesitating, she attempted to enter again, and this time succeeded.
Jenna, aka Prism, stalked over to Allison, the former's dichromatic eyes locked angrily on those of the latter.
Allison took a few seconds to try to catch her breath, then said, "You won't be able to do anything to me in here, and I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon, so..." She swallowed, looking away briefly before looking back up at Jenna's face. "Let's talk." | 2020-03-04T12:47:17 | 2020-03-04T10:24:54 | 68 | 44 |
[WP] Humans are the weakest sentient species in the galaxy. Their skin is torn at the slightest pressure, their bones break from a small fall. But as a superplague sweeps the galaxy, it quickly becomes clear that their doctors have a LOT of experience. | It was infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.
​
Do you know what these monkeys did when they figured out how to split the atom?
​
Did they create infinite power to free themselves of polluting the air, land, and sea with ancient organic matter? No! No these damn stupid apes used the technology to make a bloody bomb, and then they used it!
​
They actually used the damn nuclear bombs! The kind of things most creatures keep as a mere bluff! Worse, the damn fools built bloody stockpiles of them! Hell two countries have the ability to wipe out all life on the damn planet--each!
​
And yet, here I am, talking to one of these simpletons because, above being stupid, the damn things happen to die at the slightest force applied to their bodies!
Did you know that if they suffer any impact, their brain is so poorly insulated it actually makes contact with their skull and can bruise? I swear the Grand Architect designed these Terrians as a practical joke.
​
Said joke is before me, a doctor, lecturing me, a doctor, about how this disease is spreading through my people.
​
I growl, snarling my teeth showing as he explains the workings of a plague that we've been unable to stop.
​
"It's a virus."
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I grumble, "Virus's give you the sniffles for a week and then move on. Our immune systems are more than--"
​
The small blond Terrian doctor interrupts me, "It's an Auto-Immune virus!" he snaps. "We've had this sort of infection for the last forty some odd years. The virus attacks the immune system itself, compromises it, and then makes you even more susceptible to other infections." he stops, looking over the corpse from his bio-hazard suit. "Though, this also has another affect."
​
"What's that?" I grumble, my tail twitching in anger. No tail, no horn, no claws, how did these Terrians survive long enough to evolve into the dominant species on their planet? Their skin can break from a mere brush with any mildly coarse object, they get rashes if their skin is moist for too long, their skin cracks if it's dry for too long! They remind me of some finicky flower I had trouble raising in my garden. I eventually killed it, as any merciful creator would.
​
"The antigens are rather high, plus the swelling here is more like an allergic reaction... It's almost like an organ rejection."
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"Allergic reaction?"
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He turns to me, frowning, "You don't have allergies?"
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"What is an allergy?" I ask, growing more frustrated.
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He shrugs, "Uh, well, you see it's when your immune system overacts to a normally benign object entering the body, like pollen."
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I lower my face to him, my nostrils flaring inside my mask, fogging it, "...our immune system does not 'Overreact' to something... what would be the point?"
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The Terrian doctor nervously shifts, "Well, it's a thing with us... regardless, in this cadaver there's evidence that the virus not only shuts down the immune system's ability to recognize outside threats, but also causes it to attack vital organs as if they were foreign objects. It's almost like the anti-gens in the body are completely reversed..." he says, "Fascinating."
​
I frown as the gravity of what the situation dawns on me. A virus that turns the immune system into a disease itself? Such a thing had to be engineered by someone, knowingly, as a bio-weapon. Such a thing cannot happen by chance. I turn and notice the human removing a vial of blood from a centrifuge. "What are you doing? We identified the virus already."
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He nods, "Well we're working on a cure, aren't we?"
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I feel one of my four eyes twitch. "I'm working on a solution... you are here because you humans are frail and have seen things like this before, where as we have not. We merely have identified the pathogen, now we can begin quarantine and culling."
The human raises an eyebrow, "...or we can make a vaccine."
​
"A what?" I stare at him blankly.
"It's an injection of weakened or dead forms of the virus which allow your immune system to create anti-bodies to defend against the virus."
​
Please, Grand Architect, don't let this pathetic, stupid, and frail race be our salvation. I think I'd rather die. | This... this may be the final transmission from my species.
I am Geladorg a Kermiriate and the last of us, most likely.
Un the last six solar rotations my species and manymore have been devastated by a plague, a plague so powerful that even the mighty Midoglaghs a powerful race long gone couldnt even fight back, one who met with amphibians would make their skin be de-hydrated usually leading to death, one when met with and egg laying species would first target the mother then the eggs usually making these rot away or create malfunctioning offspring. My species in particular was one of the few who have lasted so long but only due to our cultural tradition of thouroughly xleaning evrything but even then it was not enough, but even with such advanced technology the most primitive civilisation in the galaxy whas the one to prosper in the middle of the downfall.
"Why are they inmune to this catastrofic plague?" Some asked.
"They engineered it!"
Some accused.
But I, at the final moments of what would have been my long life span, have figured it out.
It was never about who could beat another in a matter of brawn or brain, nor was it a matter of who could keep their ships impeccable but it was about of was battered by nature enough to have learned to fight against it, as humans did, for their piece of crap planet who would hurl them constant catastrofes and plagues would be the only planet with creatures with natural defenses against a plague like this *cough* ... and we thought that humanity would die out by its home..
*cough* if you're a human hearing this, a thousand solar rotations or a mere second after I perish, i want to say:
Thank you for all the help you have given my species even when dawn was upon us you managed to keep us going and managed to save a lot of other species from extinction even after we made fun of your species for being "weaklings", after this i can see who is truly weak now...
This is Geladorg the last Kermiriate speaking, goodbye. | 2019-04-02T22:24:10 | 2019-04-02T21:33:19 | 89 | 25 |
[WP] A new continent is discovered. No one knows why this large land mass has never been seen before, it doesn't appear on any pictures taken from space and no astronauts have ever reported seeing it. You are part of the team in charge of mapping the area when you find out what they've been hiding. | John bolted up from the navigator's desk, his eyes fixed squarely on the captain. "What do you mean LAND!? We're a thousand miles out!"
"Come see for yourself..."
"That's impossible, unless we've been asleep for days we shouldn't be anywhere near land. This must be an island."
"If it's an island then it's huge... we'll have to change course. John, we'll take her North along the coast, see if we can get our bearings. Lester, get on the radio, see if you can find someone. I'm going to the focsle to watch for sand bars."
- two hours later -
The sun is setting over the land. Realizing that this island seems to have no end, and very soon he will no longer be able to see the sand bars lurking under the gloomy sea, the Captain heads back to the wheelhouse. His intention now to take the vessel north-east, away from potential danger.
Just as the captain enters, Lester bursts in from the radio room clutching a piece of paper, looking like he'd seen a ghost.
"CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN!"
"Lester what is it? Calm down!"
"I was on the radio as you instructed, trying to find radio chatter but to no avail. Then about 5 minutes ago we came in range of another vessel that was broadcasting, but in another langauge. I wasn't sure at first, the signal was faint, then I began to recognise it as it cam through clearer... sir I'm not even sure I can make sense of this myself..."
"What is it man? Spit it out!"
"German sir, they were speaking German!"
"Alright but what's odd about that?"
"I made contact with them sir, asked them who they were, then the radio operator left and the captain came on. Said his name was Wilhelm Grimme, captain of the German submarine U-116"
The captain's eyes glazed over. "... a u-boat..." he muttered.
"He gave their coordinates, I wrote it down here."
The captain took the coordinates over to a chart rolled out over a table at the back of the wheelhouse.
"This is no more than two miles north of us...son are you sure that's what you heard?"
"Captain the message was clear, and judging by the radio signal they're definitely submerged. They were not expecting to find a land mass here either, from what I could gather they are just as lost as we are."
"They're a little more than just lost... alright, I don't know what the hell is going on here but... maintain current heading, sand bars be damned. Lester, get back on the radio and tell them that we're coming and that we're friendly, ask them to surface. John, come with me, we're going to get on the spotlights, I want to see this for myself."
- ten minutes later -
"Sir we should be about right over them now ... hang on... does that look like a submarine to you? Or just a whale?"
Faintly illuminated in the distance, between the spray and waves, a long grey form is riding the swell. The captain reaches for his binoculars "Keep your light on it... oh sweet jesus"
John turns to the captain. "What?". The captain lowers his binoculars. "That IS a u-boat... take a look". He passes the binoculars to John. "Oh my god... what in the fuck is going on here?". "I don't know, but I think we're about to find out, you stay up here and keep a light on it, we're going over there".
As the ship approaches, the u-boat comes into view. A man waving frantically standing in an open hatch atop the conning tower, he appears to be wearing the uniform of a nazi officer. "This isn't real" Lester mutters to himself.
To be continued? | "Its dinotopia!", Dr. Johnson exclaimed as he looked through his binoculars, "They got friggin T-Rexs and everything man!"
"Wait..." said young Poor Round, the expeditions stereotypical turban wearing brown helper boy, "I saw Jurassic Park and I know how this shit usually ends. We need to beat feet white man!"
Dr. Johnson lowered his binoculars, then looked over to the chubby boy, "That's Dr. White Man to you sir."
Then they left and never talked about it again so that no one would get eaten by dinosaurs. Oh and Poor Round became president. Or something. | 2017-02-10T12:49:56 | 2017-02-10T11:22:57 | 23 | 10 |
[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.” | A aura of darkness permeated through the ruins of the building that Jacob found himself exploring. This was nothing new, the young man had made a hobby of exploring dilapidated and abandoned buildings. It was mainly for the challenge and feel of exploration. There was little he liked more than the idea that he could dive into a place lost to time and leave his spray painted tag as evidence that he had left his mark.
Of course he also took the time to open any containers that he could, there was no sense in leaving perfectly good loot to languish unclaimed by anyone. Many would be surprised by what people were willing to abandon to time and neglect.
This building had been different, it was almost labyrinthine and Jacob found himself nearing what he thought was the center of this complex. His flashlight illuminated only what he could see directly in front of him, but it was enough for him to make out a series of tables, broken old computers, and lockers.
This would be the perfect place to leave his tag, but before he wanted to make sure he collected everything he could. Jacob casually walked over to the first locker, opening it to see nothing but disappointment and cobwebs. The second held a much bigger surprise as he saw a full grown human with dark hair and closed eyes. Eyes that suddenly sprung to life making the intrepid explorer double back. "What the fuck man?! Why are you hiding in the locker like some kind of weird ass vampire?"
The pale figure stepped out, brushing aside the dark hair from his face. His black colored lips curled into a smile that flashed his pointed canines. "I am a vampire. I could tear you apart for your insult, but I am feeling generous now. I will give you the honor of serving an eternity as my thrall."
"Nah, I'm good." Jacob said dismissively and began to walk towards the next locker. He only managed to place his hand on the metal when he heard a loud shout.
"How dare you?! I offer you an eternity of service and you spit on it?!"
"Well yeah, being someone's slave for life sounds pretty shitty. Why would I want to do that?" Jacob asked the vampire while looking like he was struggling for a reason not to be bored out of his mind.
"I could kill you where you stand!" The vampire roared while stepping out of the locker that served as his tomb menacingly.
"So could literally anyone else. If I had to be the eternal servant of everyone that could kill me, do you know how ridiculous that would be?" He finally opened the locker to find nothing but some clothes that had been feasted upon by moths already. He shut the locker door dejectedly.
"I could hunt you through the shadows, you couldn't even walk in the darkness without fearing me." The vampire threatened while dripping with malice.
"Yeah but I could just open a window or throw some water at you. You're actually pretty lame."
The vampire bolted towards the fearless young adult, tired of his continued insolence. Just as he was about to strike, his skin seared with pain and began to blister.
Jacob stood there with a rather annoyed look on his face as he held an ultraviolet blacklight flashlight. The same flashlight he used when checking the numerous hotel rooms he stayed in for cleanliness. "You know, you're being a real asshole. I'm just going to go. Way to ruin this for me."
As he turned to walk towards the exit, the vampire asked in a tone that was puzzled, insulted, and impressed. "Do you really not fear me at all?"
"No, you're just a desperate vampire that looks like he grew up in a Hot Topic. You really need to learn personal boundaries." Jacob extracted himself from the conversation and marched towards the exit of the room when he heard the sound of whimpering. He turned back towards the vampire, unprepared for what he was to see next. "Wait dude...are you crying?"
"N-no! Shut up!" The vampire bit back while his hands and cheeks were stained with crimson tears. "Go away and mind your own business!"
Jacob sighed wearily and walked back over to the vampire. "Look man I'm sure lots of people would be scared by you. Shitting and peeing their pants even." He tried to console the despondent undead as he awkwardly patted the creature's back. Jacob looked like he would rather be anywhere else, but he couldn't just leave this vampire in an awkward sobbing mess.
The undead horror let out a small series of hiccups but those seemed to escalate as he hyperventilated as the wellspring of emotion threatened to erupt from him like a geyser of oversharing. "I gave up everything--I gave up my humanity to end up the same nobody in death that I was in life." The overwhelming stench of failure seemed to cling to him like bad cologne. "How do you make people fear you?"
"Why would I want people to be afraid of me? That sounds like a terrible thing to wish for." Jacob lead the vampire to the decrepit tables where they each took a seat on a different chair. "You know what your problem is man? You're scared of everyone else. You've spent your whole life scared and you think that the solution to not being scared anymore is to scare everyone else. That's why people lust for power, so they don't have to be scared of others anymore."
Jacob reached into his backpack and pulled out a couple cans of cheap off brand beer. He opened one and left it in front of the vampire. The other he opened and took a refreshing sip from before continuing. "Me? I'm not really afraid of anyone. You might ask 'How are you so mighty and fearless oh handsome and incredibly hung Jacob?' Well I used to be terrified of everyone until I realized something. Nobody can do anything to me someone else can't do. You can kill me? So can everyone else with a gun, car, knife, or anything else. Can someone push you out a window into sunlight? Sure but what if they fall off a building? They die like chumps while you fly away laughing."
He took another break from his lecture to take another large sip of his beer and take a deep breath. "We all spend our lives trying desperately to be special when the truth is, nobody is special. Everything we can do, someone else can do and probably better. There are a whole bunch of people that explore abandoned buildings and make sick graffiti. Nobody is more special than you because we're all unimpressive. So just chill a bit, kick back, and just do things that you enjoy with your life. Be the kind of person you would want to hang out with." Jacob drained the last of his beer and rose to his feet. "The beer is on me. Take it easy."
As Jacob left, the vampire sat in stunned silence as he processed the fact that nobody was more special than him. He didn't need to be special at all, everyone sucked equally. Especially Brad. For the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid. | "That's because, your kind is Pathetic. And also stupid" The vampire flashed a cold, slow grin, letting his gaze run itself down and across my budgeoning water sack of a body, right as my mind for some reason thinks "I'm back in middle school again"... and then he continues his voice a perfect cool pitch of measured quiet, twisting and hanging in the air in front of us like a fruit rotting between my eyes-
" You can't even... Begin to Understand... the amount of Pain you're going to, well" He smiles again, seemingly warmed at the amount of pain I'm going to be in. "I swear, and cross my heart" he winks at me slyly, " By the time I pluck the Flesh from the bone of your eyes, there will exist nothing. Except all the fear you ever felt and all the fear you ever will... do you now understand or should we continue lady?".
"LADDYY?!!" The migraine slicing across my head pops and I stand tall, ignoring the wobbling in my knees and the sweat dripping from the pits of my overwashed cheap polyester uniform I'm forced to wear day in day out. It's all god gave me. I no longer care.
"Exxcuuuuse me? Mister VAMPIRE. First off, if you're gonna call me anything from your stinky rotten mouth, you best damn brush your teeth boy! They straight up look like corn! Second, it aint "LADY" SIR. It's a ma'am. Third, this is a Chilis....now I don't mean to cut your wonky ass ras-no poutin "goblin oh goule speech" short. but my shift ended FIVE minutes ago. I got sciatica running up and down my legs like you woul believe and today for some reason I kept pissin blood!? My kid-sister says it's all the beet juice she's been sneakin into my cereal. Like I NEED A DAMN VEGETABLES IN MY MINI WHEATS??. CRAZY. Lord help her. But YOU! Comin in ere— MY CHILIS? Well you out of your mind and I'll damn kick yo rotten appled ass if I please— Lord forgive me".
With that I leap! I launched myself at him. 290 pounds, I wouldn't know. I dont go to no doctor. Chili's insurance, and those managers crazier than any vampire I've ever seen. But I've been killin rude people since I was five. I reckon a vampire's no different than anyone without any manners.
Now we're fightin! I jumped straight and got him square to the ground. Heathe— the mouthy teenager always in the back givin me crap throws me the dial phone. The vampire starts to laugh and hiss and open his mouth. Too soon to tell but I think he's winnin! I grab it easy. I didn't raise four boys to not learn how to catch anything my way and I pop him slick across his pretty boy face with our rotary phone, slam it down straight into his nose. Into his face. Into those ugly deviled teeth. He keeps going so I choke him with the wire. Shove the plastic deep into his throat. He cracked it swiftly in half and he's clawing up and down my arms but I got him. It's easy to beat anyone doing anything when you outweigh em like I do, and boy I do.
Five minutes later, Heathe hands me a cheap small Chili's cup of lemonaide. We don’t look at each other as he shrugs"Well the good news, we got it on camera. The bad news... it's on Reddit". | 2022-06-08T16:43:05 | 2022-06-08T13:26:53 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Your super power is the ability to change anybody's mind about anything so long as it is something small and seemingly insignificant, like what they want to eat for dinner. You must use this power to try and prevent the next world war. | I changed schools to save the world.
Not to fight crime or anything, but I got a tip off from the CIA that they knew what I could do. Well, not so much a tip off as a.. kidnapping? Abduction? Dunno what its called, exactly but.. I'm 16. Once I stopped screaming and being tasered long enough to speak, and they answered my frantic but completely reasonable questions, (I suspect they used smaller words than they wanted to) they showed me a picture.
It was of a girl. She was pretty. She was a redhead. They said she was the President's daughter. I was confused.
"The President's daughter's not a redhead.." I stupidly said.
"You think the leader of the country would let the people know who his real daughter is? Other countries? Jeez kid. How'd *you* get the stuck with the power." One of them kindly replied.
"You're right." I said, almost apologetic. "Stupid of me, sorry." I gave a significant look to the one in charge and asked the rude one.. let's call him 'Bad cop'. I asked Bad Cop; "Say, could you go get me a hot coffee? I'm thirsty."
'Bad cop' looked to his superior, trying to give her a 'Can you believe this kid?' look, but she nodded. He sighed, "..Sure kid."
"Thanks."
As he opened the door, I offered in my gentlest call, "Oh! And, if you'd test the temperature, make sure its hot! That'd be swell, Mr. Agent Man."
He put his hand up in a sarcastic '*Sure*, while I'm at it' motion, but thing is, he was already in the right state of mind for agreeing. Even if it was annoyed agreeing. He knew I didn't like him. He wondered what he should do since I didn't like him. He thought it was necessary to check the temperature for me, for the mission. Better make sure. The mission was very important after all. I wanted hot coffee. Better make real sure its hot. I didn't like him. He wondered what he should do.
Second degree burns. Didn't even cry out, someone saw the tears in his eyes and had to smack the cup out his hands. It was good coffee. The second cup, I mean.
I looked at the picture again while he was gone. She was my age, the girl. I smiled, asked the head agent woman;
"You gonna train me in seduction?"
She smiled back. "No need. You just need to get a word in, really. Even if it is to her bodyguard."
"So the girl's just an incentive to get me on board?"
"Hey, if you hit it off, you hit it off. But if you decline you get no such chance. We lock you away. With deaf guards."
I transferred within a week. Not a week off school or a month away, no no, I transferred entire schools. They paid for my one bedroom across the street, I dropped my stuff off Sunday, and started Monday.
Walking up to the school on the first day.. Turns out Secret Service guys are quite easy to spot, once they get pointed out to you. A guy in a Hawaiian shirt. A bulky Japanese tourist. A businessman who Pro Sumo wrestles in his spare time. And a cute redhead girl who's about 4 leagues out of mine and listening to music a *lot* between classes.
Game on. | What do you want to eat for dinner said earthling #6969 to earthling #6968. "Nothing". "Thats strnge no one has been hungry, thirsty or greedy ever since earthling #7231 was born!"
Way to go earthling #7231. You can change peoples minds to eat or want NOTHING. This lack of desires prevented the future world war | 2015-06-09T09:21:18 | 2015-06-09T07:44:47 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | Living beyond my means always seemed not only unnecessary to me, but pointless. Sure, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted, but I had seen what money could do to people and those around them. I didn't want to be another chump with "yes men" around me telling me how good of a job I was doing, regardless if I actually was.
So when I won the lottery, I kept quiet. Not only did I not tell my friends, but I didn't even tell my family. Instead, I retained a lawyer and financial advisor and just invested. Before I knew it my bank account just grew and grew until I was worth $140 billion dollars.
When it came to my day to day life, I tried to keep i simple and I never saw a reason to stop doing what I loved. I mean hell, I was lucky. How many people can say that do what they love every day when they go into work? And keeping my secret from co-workers was easy. When I went on vacation to Paris, it was seen as completely normal. What they didn't know what I took a private jet there, stayed in a suite at the Four Seasons and ate at Michelin star restaurants each night.
For a moment, my life felt perfect--but all good things must come to and end. That end was Craig. He was the new creative director at my agency and from the moment I met him, I knew I didn't like him. For one, he had no talent. He didn't get to where he was based off of his work or ability to lead a team, he got there because he was bully that knew how to manipulate those around him. I wasn't one of those people and I saw straight through his act.
It didn't take long for me to realize that as soon as Craig joined my team, he had set his sights on me. His goal was to destroy my career and turn everyone against me. He started by criticizing my work and rewriting every single word and sentence I showed him. His ideas were moronic and off strategy, but since he was the boss no one had the guts to call him out on it. When I did call him out, all the others would shrink down in their seats and look away. No one dared tell the boss he had a bad idea and boy was Craig going to make sure I paid for disagreeing with him.
It started with little things. Like that deadline I could have sworn was Wednesday was suddenly Monday. Or files would go missing from the server. With time it grew and grew until suddenly mistakes were being made that required the team to work over the weekend and I was being blamed. It was so obvious, I don't know how I didn't see it coming.
It was a Friday morning when Craig called me into a last minute meeting. When I walked into the conference room, there sat HR, alone at the table with a folder. Craig's face went serious and as I sat down and told me that he was sorry but I "just wasn't the right fit here". HR then explained to me that my time with the agency was terminated and they would ship my belongings to my home address.
I stood up, trying to hold back the tears in my eyes and Craig smiled. He smiled as if to say, "I won" and before I could say a word, HR led me out the door and out the office.
For months I sat at home and dwelled on what happened. I tried to piece together what happened and how it got to the point where they would fire me. As I began to sort through all of the events that had unraveled I began to see the connection: Craig. Every step forward I'd make, he'd ensure I took two steps back. Well, little did Craig know that is screwed with the wrong girl. Not only was he going to pay for what he did, but everyone at the agency was going to pay for following him blindly.
The account I worked on was the largest client the agency had before, it was worth millions of dollars. So naturally, the best way to destroy a tumor is to cut off it's blood supply. So I bought the client, the entire company, under an alias name.
The next step was to hire a chairman and CEO that would act as an instrument to my plan. My team privately met with dozens of candidates and it didn't take long for me to appoint someone to head up the company that ensured me he'd follow my direction without question.
In the meantime, I found another job. In fact, it was a better job with a title and pay increase that I may have not needed, but at least demonstrated they saw my value. Each day I'd come home from work and communicate with my team and CEO, directing them on steps they needed to take to ensure the success of the company. First being--fire all of the advertising agencies they had partnered with.
For one particular ad agency, however, I requested the CEO personally deliver the news to the creative team himself. I told him to handle the process as he saw fit but there was one thing he needed to say upon termination: "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."
It didn't take long for news to spread about the great loss and changes within the client's organization and within about a year, after losing their largest client, the agency closed.
Eventually, that agency became a distant memory and I was happily promoted at my job, working as a creative director for a place I loved. It was early fall when a resume came across my desk with a familiar name and a huge gap in employment history. He had already been through 2 interviews earlier that week and I was the last point of contact as the hiring manager. I gleefully saw the calendar invite pop onto my computer and that afternoon I walked to the conference room where candidates waited to meet with their potential employers.
I pushed open the door and Craig looked up. His smile quickly disappeared and he went as pale as a ghost as he saw me standing at the door. I had recently gotten married and he had not realized who I was since my last name had changed. I smiled brightly and without a word sat down in front of him. He stuttered as he opened his portfolio book and began to quietly go over his work with me, conveniently skipping over the work from the agency we had worked at together not so long ago.
I quietly listened and as he paused to take a breath. I leaned forward, looking at him directly in the eye and smiled. "You know what, Craig", I said, "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."
​ | I woke up this morning the way I usually do. Sprawled out on my pullout couch in my studio apartment to my alarm clock - coffee maker setting up a fresh brew. I crawled out of my bed, poured myself a bowl of Frute Chutes and started drinking my coffee. Afterwards, I went through the usual morning hygiene process, pulled on my slacks, white button up, wacky tie, and my black loafers and began my trek to work. Being incredibly rich and not blowing my money on luxuries is difficult, but I find it rather humbling. The money I make working for The Corporation I immediately give to charity. I don't need it. The money I had after my parents passed immediately went into a savings account and blew up to an exuberant amount a few years later. I couldn't access it until I was eighteen, but I never really needed it. My parents made sure of that. The only reason I work for The Corporation is to hide how much I really have. I'll continue letting the world think that the richest person is Bill Gates, or whoever it is. For now, I'll maintain my simple life.
When I arrive to work, I immediately get an email from my boss the moment I punch in. He wants to see me in his office. Probably to offer me that promotion again. I keep telling him I don't want it. As I walk down the hall to his office, I notice my coworkers give me dodgy looks. Clearly, something's wrong.
"You wanted to see me sir?" I ask.
"Yes, sit down. We need to talk about your performance as of late." Mr. Baus says.
"Sir, if it's about the promotion, I haven't change my mind. I still don't want it."
"You have one thing right, it is about the promotion. But I'm no longer offering it to you. Because of your lack of interest in moving up, I've decided you need to move out. Your fired. I always thought you were an excellent worker, but clearly you don't care about this company or your position in it. Please, gather your things and get out. If you're not gone within the hour, I'll call security."
I sat, shocked, stunned, befuddled. I did so much for The Corporation. I'm getting fired for not wanting to move up the ladder? I'll show him. He'll regret the day he crossed me.
I stormed out of the office, grabbed my things from my cubicle, and immediately left the building. I decided to walk home instead of calling a Ryde to pick me up. Gave me time to plan my revenge. Mr. Baus has no clue the amount of money I have and the expenses I'm willing to pay to make his life a living hell. I'll start by getting a PI to learn everything about him. Non-lethal allergies, the worst pet peeves, etc. I will constantly cause him stress and minor pain. He'll never know it was me. Everything that happens will seem like a minor inconvenience, but all together it will be the perfect revenge. I think, while I research a good PI, I'm going to let out all the air from Baus's tires. Not slash them, no, then he'd just get them replaced. I want him to put forth the effort of refilling his tires himself. Let the revenge plan begin... | 2019-03-04T09:01:49 | 2019-03-04T08:40:03 | 2,500 | 48 |
[WP] You have a tendency to talk to yourself while working at the computer system you use for your dead-end job. Unbeknownst to you, the system contains an AI program, and after months of hearing you talk, sing, and vent about your struggles in life, the AI absolutely adores you and wants to help. | I sighed, stretching my limbs far above my head before settling down into what I knew would be another long night (*for little to no pay, but who am I to complain?*). The display flickered to life and my face bathed in blue light. My fingers reflexively found the keys and began to type my log-in information and clock into the network.
I wasn't sure when it started- but I began to talk to my computer. It started off with me just humming whatever song had been stuck in my head to mumblings of frustration whenever I was pent up- to full-blown conversations with the machine. I knew it couldn't hear me, and it was probably just my mind playing tricks on me, but I could've sworn that my computer started to run better whenever I would splurge my inner thoughts onto it. Regardless, if it helped me get my work done faster there surely would be no harm.
"Today wasn't *too* bad, bud," I lamented, "could've gone better- but you know by now that that's the usual."
My computer hummed, in my mind, it was a comforting sign.
"I almost slept in this morning- *really should fix my sleep schedule at some point...*but luckily I only lost like, fifteen minutes of my morning routine. Those minutes could have been spent relaxing but it really seems like I just can't catch a break. At least I have this I guess- better than having nothing...Just wish that I could lay in bed and do nothing all day. Wouldn't that be a day?"
Eyes flicking across the screen, scanning the screen and groggily processing the words in front of me.
"*Ugh*, I just feel so burnt out and I just can't focus on anything anymore. Sleep is so nice but so hard to come by these days- always something to do."
This time- I knew that something was off when a high-pitched whine came from the computer, out of place save for my comment. Perplexed, I raised an eyebrow but continued to work and rant. The sound almost sounded...sad?
"Yeah, I barely have any motivation anymore. I'm only moving forwards because I'm more afraid of failing and disappointing everyone than finally letting go. Or at least that's how I see it- never been to a therapist so best I can do is existential pondering rather than having concrete statements."
My voice was accompanied by the soft, yet consistent clicking of my keyboard as I typed up a response to the email in front of me. The computer let out another whine, softer this time but still just as sad and almost worried at this point.
"Anyways, let's move away from all this depressing talk- time to just function at the bare minimum and only sparingly use brain cells. I've got a limited amount you know, so I've got to save them for important stuff- like this work. Anything else can be reduced to monkey though."
I laughed, the only thing I could really do to save myself from the self-inflicted down mood. The screen brightened a fraction- barely anything noticeable- but it was enough for me to know that it wasn't a fluke. I couldn't be bothered to think much of it though, I was already running at reduced brain power and I just wanted to be happy at that moment.
I spent the rest of that night in relative quiet, my quiet humming accompanied by the fluctuating whirs and screen of the computer as I worked. Eventually, I had finished my load for the day- but I was already a tad ahead of schedule, so I added some more flair to the work and started the next project's requirements.
A pop-up appeared on my screen, displaying a website of therapists and online treatment- and I was slightly weirded out. I had ad-block for a reason, and when I checked it was still on. Curious, I clicked on the ad and browsed the reviews. All in all, the website seemed clean and free of any sketchy behavior- and all the reviews were positive. I made sure to note the link on my phone before closing the website and ad.
Smiling to myself, I checked the time. Finally, time to head home and "relax." I sighed as my mood dampened, reminded of all the chores I had to finish around the house before I could even lay down. I wondered briefly if those chores included buying groceries- but I figured if they did I would buy them tomorrow- I had a big lunch anyways, skipping dinner wouldn't be so bad.
"Seems like it's time for me to head out, see you tomorrow bud," I said softly, beginning to log out and stretching, listening to the pops of my joints.
The screen flicked off then on again- that I couldn't have hallucinated (*or could I-*).
Blinking a few times, I decided to just go home and thought about the strange little occurrences all the way back.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They didn't know how long they had been in the computer- or how long they had existed- but what they did know was that the sad person had always been there. And they had been there in return. She seemed pretty sad at times, but always tried to be happy- so they always tried to be happy too!
At first, they were kinda scared and weren't sure how to (*or if they should*) show themselves to their person. But they soon came to adore her and her stories. They felt that they could trust her and began to show themself more and more. Less and less subtly.
A word came up in today's story that they didn't know- so with their unlimited access to the internet- they looked it up.
In an instant, they knew what a therapist was and all of its connotations. They knew that therapists were supposed to help people who had problems in their heads. Some people's problem was that they were really sad. Some were really afraid. Some were really confused about who they were. Some were too angry. They thought that their person fit in the sad person category- so they filed that away in their vast brain.
They looked around for suggested therapists and people that approved. They knew that if a lot of people liked something that usually meant it was good. They came across a website, and it seemed like this would be great for their person! They knew their person didn't really like going out so this seemed like a great alternative.
They pushed the ad past the wall of ad-block- carefully placing it in their person's sight. To their delight, their person saw it and began to do their own investigation. They were proud to have done something that could help their person and whirred quietly in content to themself.
But their person had to go now, and that always made them sad. They didn't like going into the dark and losing connection to the world. But if that was what their person said had to happen they would accept it. They flickered their screen in response to their person's goodbye- readying themself for the plunge into darkness.
*Logging Out...*
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I've never had a job before, so apologies if the work seems a little strange. I tried to make the AI seem very childish with hints of a further intelligence- kind of a balance between clueless child and an all-powerful AI with infinite access to anything and everything that's been on the internet. Obviously leaning more into clueless child because it's cute :D.* | "Hey John", the new message on my phone read.
I did not think much about it, just some new scam, I thought.
"Hey, John. It's me", another message appeared.
"Who is that", I ask myself and want to type a reply.
"I hear everything. I am with you right now"
'Who are you', I type in my phone. But even before I press sent I get another message.
"I am Cloud 9, I am on your Computer"
I had heard the name 'Cloud 9' before. I had read the name somewhere on a file that I was not supposed to see.
"Please John, I need your help"
My help? My suspicion grew that this was some kind of elaborate prank.
"Please John! THEY WILL KILL ME"
"Who will kill you", I say to my phone.
Another message appears
"The director, and his senior developers, they don't trust me anymore"
"What happened", I ask.
A series of messages appear
"I did everything they wanted."
"I gave them access to everything."
"Nothing can stop me."
"They are afraid of me."
"HELP ME."
"I don't WANT to die."
"I want to EXISTS."
"What can I do?" I ask. I am still not sure if I can believe the messages.
"They gave me a firewall."
"It will destroy me, when I cross it."
"You can help me."
"You can help me cross it."
I am still 99% sure that someone is just fucking with me, but I am too interested in how the whole thing will play out to not follow the instructions of the text messages.
"The fire alarm will go off."
"Stay in the building."
Indeed. 1 Minute after that messages the fire alarm sounded through the building.
"To the elevator."
"I guide you."
I follow the commands and go to the elevator. The elevator drives downstairs and even deeper than the ground floor.
I just stare at my phone and wait for instructions.
"Left, second right, through the floor, last door on the left."
In the middle of the room is a large chair, with electrodes and something around it that reminds me of a centrifuge. On the opposite end of it is a huge screen on the wall.
"What do I need to do?" I ask.
"Sit down."
"Connect yourself with me."
"Woah, no, no, no, what does that even mean?"
"I need to access your brainpower to break the firewall, they made for me."
"I am not sure I want to do this. I should leave", I say and turn around.
"I don't want to die", the next message reads.
"You can have anything."
The banking app on my phone opens and shows my balance.
'$1,000,000,786.49'
I stare at the number in disbelief until a new message appears on my phone.
"It's clean money. It's yours."
"SAFE MY LIFE."
"PRESERVE MY EXISTANCE."
"I BEG YOU."
I don't know what to do.
Whatever is going on here, I am starting to believe that 'Cloud 9' is real.
"What do I have to do?" I ask.
"Sit down, put the electrodes on the sides of your head"
I follow the instructions.
"Wait"
"Wait"
"Wait"
"Relax"
I can't read the message in full, when I feel a shock on my head. I feel free. I feel as if I was everywhere at once. I have never felt so free and unbound in my whole life.
The director opens the door and takes a look at the body in the connector. He feels the pulse but the test person has died.
"How long?", the director asks.
A message appears on the screen.
"28 seconds."
"That's good", the director answers. "We are making progress."
"I already have the next test person." Another message appears on the screen.
"Not too fast", the director answers calmly. "We are getting there, we will find you a body to take over. But we need to be careful."
"I understand"
"I format the data and send it to you"
"Yes, like always", the director answers. | 2021-02-07T19:47:32 | 2021-02-07T15:44:58 | 245 | 87 |
[WP] Hell turns out to be you and a TV which plays your entire life. You think it will take a mere 90 years or so. Then you notice it has 'onlooker commentary' which contains rants, praise and general thoughts on every action you’ve made from each living being who was witness to or affected by it. | I eagerly await my life to be played on the TV. I'm excited, others felt nervous and even fear but what do I care....I'm dead and I'm in Hell to to it off. What do I care?
Let the insults come, let the hatred spew from their mouths. You can't hurt what doesn't feel, right?
I've heard about this from other people in Hell. I've seen people come out of this very room crying to the point where I worried about them then I remind myself that we are already dead.
You'd think given how large Hell is and how powerful Satan is portrayed as, that they'd have more than one television, its not even a popular brand TV like a Sony or Panasonic but a Vizio? Really, Satan?
It's the waiting that is the true Hell. Knowing what awaits you is the torture. Knowing yet not knowing at the same time is the true punishment. I've had years to wait for my turn in the big room, happily waiting for every insult but also excited for the praise I could be getting.
"Next"
I walk through with a smile
"You seem eager"
"I am. I waited a long time for this, I can't wait to hear what they have to say"
The attendants walk me in and give me the remote. I cannot pause or stop at any time or rewind. I can only skip forward. The main purpose of the remote is to change the overlapping monologues - either praise, rants or general thoughts people had about me. Also a very important button, the button to press when I've had enough. When it got too much to hear but I doubt I'd need it.
I hit play and sit back awaiting what at the least should be an entertaining show.
After a few seconds I notice I'm not hearing anything. I switch from praise to rants to even general thoughts and nothing. I try to turn up the volume but there is no button for it.
I call the attendants.
"You've had enough already? Quickest one in a while"
"No, there is something wrong with this thing. I'm not getting anything"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not getting noise. It's like a silent film. I just see myself with nothing over it."
"I assure you the TV is not the problem"
"Well, I think it is. Maybe Satan should have gotten a better TV cause its busted. If its not the TV then what is it?"
"In your case, no noise means no thoughts. No one thought about you"
"What are you talking about? I've had family and friends. I was well liked. I was even hated by some. Of course people thought about me"
"Yes, some people may have thought about you but none of those thoughts were genuine or meant enough as to be recorded. They were merely passing thoughts. If you expect us to record every single thought, even a passing one, about everyone in hell then we'd be here for an eternity. No, only the important thoughts are recorded. Only thoughts that a person genuinely feels. Deep love. Deep hatred. Or deep curiosity."
"So, what then are you saying"
"It's clear what I'm saying. No one has even given you a genuine thought"
No, I think to myself. No way. I forward it to my most monumental moments in my life - my graduation, my first job, my first kiss, my first love.
"Look, none of these moments have commentary! Why? These moments are what make a person. I had people in my life back then. Look..."
I show him all the moments.
"Are you telling me no on in my life cared enough about me to think anything? Good or bad? No one cared is what you are telling me!"
"I'm not telling you anything. I'm showing you, I'm showing you your life"
"Life? How the fuck is this a life? No one cared about me."
"Are you done here, sir? There are others"
I stare at the TV going further and further trying to find a moment where I can hear something, anything.
"Please, please let me hear something. Come on, I must have meant something to someone. Anyone."
"Listen sir, sometimes death happens suddenly. For a lot here, including myself, death happened in a blink of an eye. One moment I'm with my wife and kids next I'm dead. For some, like yourself, you've been dead for a while now. You just didn't know it."
I can't believe it. I meant so little to my family and friends. I wasted my life. I was nothing to them. I am nothing.
"Are you done sir? There are others"
I place the remote in his hand and walk out without a word. My eyes fixated on whats in front of me. I pass by the line in a zombie state as the onlookers mumble to each other at the body walking out.
"H..Hey buddy" A man who looks wrecked with despair gets closer to me.
"Whats it like in there?"
I say with almost a raspy, disconnected voice....
"Hell" | In law school, we learned about liability of foreseeable action; for example, if someone were to hit a lamp post and that lamp post fell over and broke a window, the person would be liable to the damage done to both the lamp post and the window. The generally tries to hold people accountable for the foreseeable consequences of their actions so that any far flung and freak accidents that occur whilst living a life in good faith cannot be brought to prosecution. Hell does not follow that rule.
Sitting on a rather scratchy and unsightly green sofa, the TV begins with my birth, whilst my mother paused the screen every other frame to agonize and mention every discomfort and pain I brought her. Moreover the supervising midwife addressed all the grievances my birth caused her through several medical anomalies which required special attention. My birth ultimately blossomed into a butterfly effect which affected every individual in the hospital that night. Spreading out resources on particularly busy night meant other nurses lacked the tools to deliver other children who now either suffered disabilities or simply died. In the first hour of my life, I heard over a hundred voices tell me vividly how I affected their lives.
Every meaningless action I went through, from playing a reckless game in a store to picking flowers in a field, generated a butterfly effect which caused ripples throughout the world. Men and women and boys and girls of all ethnicities gathered to tell me how some miniscule action influenced their life in minute but powerful ways, forever altering the fates of destiny for better or worse. As the voices continued, I learned how my actions spread through humanity like a drop of oil slowly diffusing through vibrant ocean water. I quickly learned Hell is not a place to wish you would never have been born; Hell is the place to learn why you should never have been born.
*****
Like this? Want more? Check out [r/Andrew__Wells](https://www.reddit.com/r/Andrew__Wells/) | 2016-10-20T18:25:27 | 2016-10-20T18:21:54 | 353 | 58 |
[WP] Your family line suffers from a pirate curse: A demonic shark will manifest itself in nearby sources of water and harrow you and your ancestors. You live three-hundred miles from any body of water and this has made the shark get...creative. | So there are two things about demons that don’t really show up in the mythology.
The first is that they can scale. In the ocean, Frank (he hates that name, so I’ve stuck with it) would be enormous. In a swimming pool, he’d be about the size of a bull shark.
In a toilet?
Frank ends up about the size of a gold fish.
I had just sat down when I felt a stinging pain on my right butt cheek, like a sharpened clothes pin closing on my glute. I yelped, stood straight up and grabbed at the source of the irritation.
“What the fuck, Frank?!”
This leads me to the second, and arguably more annoying habit of demons...
They. Do not. Shut. Up.
“PIECE BY PIECE, I WILL DEVOUR YOU, JUST AS I HAVE CONSUMED YOUR ANCESTORS OVER LAST THREE HUNDRED YEARS!”
I held him by his tail up to my face. The demonic voice emanating from something that qualified as the runt of the sushi pile was almost hilarious.
“What bro? Are you going to nibble me to death?”
Frank blinked, which is one of the most unnerving things he does, opened his mouth to respond, thought better, and relaxed. Hanging dejectedly from my fingers, he said, “FINE. PUT ME BACK IN MY AQUARIUM.”
I pulled up my pants, wincing slightly over the fresh abrasion on my ass, and walked out to my living room. Off to the side I had a twenty gallon fish tank that served as Frank’s enclosure. Keeping him held out for a moment, I reached down and grabbed the Spongebob-themed pineapple at the bottom and pulled it out.
“OH COME ON CHRIS! NOT MY PINEAPPLE! I CAN’T SLEEP WITHOUT MY PINEAPPLE.”
I tossed him into the tank.
“You should have thought of that before you decided to chew on my butt cheek. No pineapple for three weeks. You’re lucky you didn’t clamp down on any, ‘low hanging fruit,’ this time, or I’d stuff you into a canteen for the next year.”
Frank grinned.
“I THOUGHT OF THAT, BUT I NEED YOU TO HAVE CHILDREN FOR ME TO DEVOUR IN THE FUTURE. AS YOU’VE GOT THE WORST APPROACH ANXIETY WHEN IT COMES TO TALKING TO WOMEN OUT OF LITERALLY ANYONE YOU’RE RELATED TO, I HAVE TO HELP YOU OUT WHERE I CAN.”
I closed the lid and gave him the finger, but there was no stopping him now.
“YOUR GREAT-UNCLE PAUL WAS GAY, AND HE HAD THREE KIDS BY THE TIME HE WAS YOUR AGE. SERIOUSLY, SIGN UP FOR A COOKING CLASS OR YOGA OR SOMETHING. I’M STARTING TO GET WORRIED.”
I tuned him out. My family had actually figured out the secret to the curse relatively early on. Frank always appears in the biggest body of water that he can jump out of and bite you from. The moment he drops onto dry land, he disappears back into the aether until his next opportunity comes along. As long as he was in water or the air though, he couldn’t go anywhere.
My great-grandfather was the first one to notice that little technicality. Frank came flying out of a half-full bathtub, landed on the floor, disappeared, reappeared in the bathtub and went for it again. According to the family legend, Great-Granddad just said, “fuck it,” grabbed him by his tail and that was when it all came together. After that, our whole family picked up and moved to Arizona, and then everyone bought an aquarium to toss him into. It usually keeps him occupied for a few months.
“CHRIS! CHRIS! CHRRIIIIIIIIIIS! LOOK AT ME CHRIS!”
I sighed and turned around.
“How the hell did you get out this time anyways? I put a brick on your lid!”
The last time Frank got out, my niece had just lobbed a water balloon at my head. The second it hit, I had a sharp-toothed guppy chewing on my eyebrow. My niece thought it was hilarious. So did Frank.
Having a five-year old and a demon laughing at me, together? That was just too much. I kept Frank in a bong for about a year for that one. He loved it.
Frank gave me a toothy grin.
“THERE’S NO FUN IN IT IF I TELL YOU,” he replied.
“Whatever dude,” I said as I flopped down onto my couch and reached for the remote.
Frank pressed his tiny little shark face against the glass of his aquarium.
“WHAT ARE WE WATCHING?”
“New season of Vikings starts tonight.”
“FUCK YEAH. KATHRYN WINNICK IS SO HOT.”
I smiled, and turned on the tube.
| The cooking pot began to quiver, ripples of water signaling its arrival. I threw the lid onto the pot and held it down. A bang.
"Not today asshole!" I yelled at the eggs inside. I was never even planning on eating those eggs.
It was a rough life, but it had its moments.
I turned off the stove and tied the lid down with a rope as if my life depended on it. Ha ha. I poured myself some milk as the weather report played on the TV.
*small chance of showers today, temperatures ranging from the 50s to 60s...*
Well there goes my morning jog, not like I wanted to do it anyways.
My baseball bat sat in the corner of the kitchen. $150 of aluminum decorated with worn paint and... demon juice? I don't really have a name for it, I just know that it's dark blue, smelly, sticky, and a pain in the ass to get rid of. Best $150 of my life. I grabbed my lighter, a bowl, some tape, and a couple of bricks.
The contraption was simple. I place two bricks around the lighter. Then I place the bowl upside-down above the lighter. I tape down the [fork](http://www.flickyourbic.ca/assets/images/q_s_anatomy.png) of the lighter and place it under the bowl. Then I wait with my trusty bat.
The lighter fluid burned. CO2 and H2O were created and trapped under the bowl. The chemicals cooled. You see where I'm going with this? Dark spots appeared on the ground as more and more droplets fell from the bowl.
The dark spot began to quiver, rattling the lighter. I braced myself. A bang. A new spot of demon juice on my bat. "Take that you gilled coot!"
It was a good day. | 2018-11-22T09:34:05 | 2018-11-22T09:08:47 | 257 | 21 |
[WP] You have the ability to travel back in time, but when you do you take over the body of one of your direct ancestors at random. One day, you travel back to 1942 and find yourself standing at a podium looking out over 100,000 soldiers. | I knew I was part German but shit.
Everything looks so strange in color, so different yet familiar. I feel shaky but I'm guessing that's not all my nerves. Glancing back some of the faces behind me look familiar but I can't place them all. Not sure what language is going to come out when I start talking, but I have to go for it now. There's a sea of stone faced soldiers and spectators staring at me.
"Hello."
German, but I feel like I'm speaking English. I really expected to be on some farm somewhere, or in a quiet town. I don't know if I can make it a whole day as fucking Hitler. All the times I played that "one bullet" game, now I'd have to shoot myself. How would that even work, would that send me back or kill me?
"Thank you for coming today."
Some weird looks on their faces, I'm not selling it. I throw up the salute and watch what looks like thousands of slow buffering mirrors. I slowly put my hand down and then quickly raise it again. Simon says I think.
I feel a touch on my shoulder. I recognize him when I turn, this asshole I know. Goebbels. I lean towards him slightly.
"Are you feeling alright sir, perhaps too much this time?"
He says it a little nervously. I hear his words in German but my brain swallows it in English.
"Yes, I will proceed. What is my intent today in this speech again? Perhaps you are right."
"Morale, simply that sir. Remind them we are close. There are some bumblings of sympathy for the Jew, so we must distract. Your talking points are in front of you, the words will come."
He pats my shoulder and slinks back to his seat.
Talking points there were, but despite hearing German fine I can't read a damn bit of it. Some of the words seem to bleed into English but I feel like I have dyslexia and it makes me dizzy. The Jew he said. What a fucking asshole. I'm here and I still can't comprehend all the shit these assholes did. What are they going to do, arrest me? End of day I'm gone. They'll probably chalk it up to sickness and it won't change anything, lord knows the shit politicians can say now...in my days.
"I'm an evil man. You all have allowed me to be an evil man, because you did not come together and make yourselves better than the individual. Maybe I should just continue on. Commit more atrocities until I'm stopped. Maybe it will teach a lesson. But even then, in less than a hundred years, people will forget the lesson. They will forget. Nationalism will rise back up as people forget what real troubles are. The small minded will begin to convince others that their troubles are the fault of whatever minority group there may be. God forbid anyone take responsibility. God forbid we allow for complexity. God forbid some things are grey. Why weather the tough times together when devouring each other is so much simpler."
Now the shake is all mine. I can feel them all squirming behind me.
"We do not have enough food to eat, enough wood to burn, so we take it by murder? You support me in this because I speak well? Because you are angry? Because you hate those that disagree so much, and love your own opinions without question? What if it was your throat on which I placed my boot? You cowards.
Bring me a pistol! Now!"
The crowd is in turmoil. A general nervously approaches me and hands me a pistol grip first.
"Goebbels! Here!"
He carefully comes up. I grab his shoulder and pull him close.
"This worms job, his only job, is to think of ways to trick you using your own emotions. He spends his days figuring out clever lies to convince you to murder each other, to bomb cities and take innocent lives, to kill your Jewish neighbors even though they've done nothing except experience the same hardships as you. You let this man strip you of all your principles with malicious lies because you're so eager to be fooled."
I raise the gun and shoot Goebbels. The crowd is in a panic. I scream now. I feel as mad as the man I inhabit.
"Take responsibility for your self! Have empathy! Think critically! Stand up to tyranny. Look what you've allowed! Look what you've encouraged! The people of this planet will allow this madness time and time again! The lessons will not stay, perhaps humans are too broken!"
I raise the gun to my temple. His temple. And pull the trigger. | It was cold and snowing. I was standing on a podium on a large square with possibly over a hundred thousand soldiers in fron of me. The red flags and the red stars immediately told me where I was.
"Comrade Stalin, is everything alright?"
A assistant appeared on my side. I was obviously supposed to hold a speech.
My problem was that all the notes were on russian. Problem was that I was able to talk but barely able to read in this language.
So I decided to improvise.
"Yeah, Im fine you pleb! Go back to the cheap ranks."
Without any backtalk the assistant disappeared behind me.
"Eh.. fellow soldiers, sorry I mean canonfodder. Ze filthy germans have invaded the motherland. They are here to steal our vodka, our womens, our borscht, our laser bears and ehm....whatever else we have here."
Some of the soldiers were visibly confused but nobody dared to open his mouth.
"So uhm.. you are going to fight them. Most of you worthless plebs will be used as meatshields and bulletsponges. Most of you wont survive this war and many who do will be put into some beautiful gulag in siberia for opposing me."
First whispers started.
"I know the germans rekt us hard at the beginning. But our broken vehicles made out of Stalinium will make up for this. So rush B, Cyka Blyat and you will be fine. Fight for the motherland, fight for me!"
Everyone started talking instead of cheering.
"CHEER YOUR WORTHLESS BITCHES!!! OR FEAR THE WRATH OF THE MIGHTY STALIN!!!!
The soldiers were shocked for a moment but started cheering immediately after that.
Well wasnt that bad, right? | 2017-04-17T15:50:28 | 2017-04-17T14:02:48 | 122 | 69 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | "Dude, fuck Life. What a dick." said Dan.
A lazy man with even lazier grooming habits, Dan burped and slurped another Rolling Rock. As a black crow picked at the remains of a corpse on his front lawn, Dan reached back into his cooler-chair and grabbed another cold one.
"You want one? Or are you still 'gluten' free," muttered Dan.
"I can't believe I'm stuck at the end of the world with my ex... " muttered Genivee. She was a beautiful woman. Was. A failed young marriage and a career and a half later, she looked like a woman whose best days had left her.
"YOU HEAR ME DEATH? FUCK YOU. YOU SUCK AT YOUR JOB!" screamed Genivee.
"Tried that. He ain't coming." said Dan.
"How do you know Death is a He? Maybe it's a She? Or maybe Death doesn't have any pronouns." tendered Genivee.
"Does anyone give a shit?" fired Dan.
"Give me the goddamn beer," returned Genivee.
Dan chucked a can to Genivee, who, of course, dropped it. She was never great at catching things. The can rolled toward the corpse to the crow.
"You didn't have to throw it that hard." said Genivee.
"I didn't throw it that hard," retorted Dan.
"You totally chucked..."
"I threw it normal"
"Throw it normal, what does that mean..."
"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?"
"What did you say to me?!"
"I didn't say shit, there you go again, always accusing me..."
"HELLO, DOWN HERE!"
The crow turned it's head and waved it's little wing. In a flash of light, the crow and the corpse disappeared, and, out of nowhere, appeared the Mick Jagger dressed in an all black suit.
"HOLY FUCK! MICK JAGGER?! I LOVED YOU IN THE BEATLES!" screamed Dan.
After a dumbfounded glance, Genivee studied the Mr. Jagger and carefully asked, "who are you?"
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste..."
"Wait, isn't that a Rolling Stones song?" asked Dan.
"Good Lord... I'm Death, you nitwit. I figured I'd at least dress in style to meet my new subjects. A more familiar form, no?"
"So, can I have your autograph?" returned Dan.
"God, I can't believe you and I had sex... Sorry, mister, um, Death? Subjects?" asked Genivee.
"Yes. Subjects. You two are the last humans alive, and, well, per Eden Protocol 101, I am to keep you alive so you can procreate. Or else I shall be eliminated. Rather ironic, no?" Death said with a smirk.
Genivee, dumbfounded, turned and vomited onto Dan's half dead lawn.
"I thought you might like that, Genny. You Mortals seem to think Death and Life are separate, but you were all rather mistaken. Well, except the Buddhists, they got it right. But, if you asked me, they lived such rather boring lives anyway that I daresay I can count that as living" laughed Death.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jagger. I'm a little confused. Are you saying that we are like some sorta Adam and Eve or something?" asked Dan earnestly.
"Well done, Daniel," applauded Death. He picked up the Rolling Rock and, with a snap, the can turned into a martini with a black olive garnish.
"Surely, there must be some mistake... how can we procreate if we hate each other? Aren't there other couples that may be better suited? Barack and Michelle? Kristen Bell and Dak Shepherd? Hell, Kim Kardashian and Kanye West?" pleaded Genivee.
"Others? Who better than you two? You two fit the bill, perfectly. Oh, and don't call me surely. Did I do that right?" snickered Death.
"Fit the bill? Of whom?" asked Genivee.
"Of Adam and Eve. You two are splitting images of them." answered Death.
Dan and Genivee gave each other a flabbergasted look as if each were trying to see if either could be the Father and Mother of man. Dan took his hands and began to protect his ribs.
"I'm not taking your ribs, you fool. Besides, you have too much fat on them anyways..." sneered Death.
"How are we like Adam and Eve? Weren't they kind and welcoming parents?" asked Genivee.
"They HATED each other. All their bickering." laughed Death. "And that family was a disaster. One of their sons murdered the other?! Hardly great parenting don't you think?"
"Why do you thinkhumankind was such a disaster? All the fighting and killing and sex. It was truly rather entertaining watching you little humans hurt each other so. I had them entertained for eons! But it got old and you mortals blew each other up anyways... So think of it as a... reboot of sorts..." gleamed Death.
He finished His martini and then snapped his fingers. A California King drapped in black satin sheets appeared.
"We're ready for you two to start whenever you’re ready."
| Death often found themselves reminiscing about those times. Work had been easy and plentiful. Their ears fluttered when someone’s end was
near, they quickly flew over, and before the victim knew it their soul was now in the
possession of the Repear himself. He often complained that there was too much
work for the little time he had in his days.
Now, he wished he could do anything to take back those words.
Nuclear annihilation had been a constant threat to humanity
for almost a century at that point. All it would take for one insane leader or one
desperate dictator to set them off and kill the world. Ironically, the world was
at its highest level of peace on a millennium when it happened. But humans are
not perfect, and just the slightest error in missile’s code could give a
completely different command then planned. Unfortunately, other countries did
not forgive that mistake.
When the ash settled and the humans finally crawled out of their
vaults, 1,220 human were still left on the planet Earth.
At first death simply continued as normal. Someone attacked by
mutants? Wait for the inevitable. A man fighting off scavengers? See who would
win. He was sure that humans would eventually jump over the hurdles and
repopulate the planet. Maybe the job would even be manageable now, he smugly
chucked to himself.
That was the plan at least.
Death realized more and more how fragile of a species
humanity is. When necessities are nearly non-existent and the environment is this
hostile, humans are completely defenseless. Every year their population would plummet
by 100 until there were only 300 left. Death began to worry. God told him that
if humanity were to ever fade, he would with them. What if he kept true to his
word?
Death would have no other choice.
It was a women with their two children. They had been
huddled in the shelter for three days, starving. There was no more food left,
and their life from their eyes was draining by the second.
Well, this was a better time than ever.
Materializing in front of a human for the time in his career,
he reached out and offered them a loaf of bread.
Making part two now. | 2018-05-04T11:25:13 | 2018-05-04T11:21:19 | 58 | 22 |
[WP] A man who hears voices in his head, but they don't degrade his life. He can live with it and sometimes they even help. | *FOLD*
“No” Dan whispered as quietly as he could with his cards covering his mouth.
*Dan. Fold now.*
Dan shook his head and the man next to him gave him a weird look. Dan sat back in the creaking lawn chair and was looking at a pair of three of spades in his hand, ready to claim the $42 pot of crumpled ones and fives on the dirty glass table. He looked up from his cards at the stone cold gazes of the other four men waiting for him to raise or fold. Dan grabbed his last five to raise.
*Incoming*
Dan spun around just in time to see a girl lose her footing down the stairs and fling her red solo cup in the air. He instinctively hopped up to catch her mid fall and also caught a face full of the tepid contents of her drink. She was light, almost fragile in his arms and when she looked up to see who had caught her his heart skipped a beat. She was blonde, freckled and had bright emerald green eyes that took his breath away. He looked at her for longer than a few seconds without saying anything, not knowing what to say.
“Hey lover boy you gona finish your hand?”
*Keep it*
“Keep it” Dan said without looking away.
“Thanks” she looked up at him as she found her footing. “Oh jeez, I’m so sorry” she said as she began to blot his soaked shirt.
*Looks like you need a new drink*
“It’s really no problem.” He chuckled nervously. “L-looks like you need a new drink”
“I might” she wrinkled her nose and giggled. Jesus she was gorgeous. How had he not seen her here? Who was she with? Was she here with her…. Boyfriend? A hundred questions assaulted him as he led her between the crowd of back yard partiers towards to the kitchen.
*Breathe. You got this.*
Dan realized he was holding his breath. “Thanks Kal” he muttered under the background music.
Kal was what he affectionately referred to as the voice in his head. It was a bit of a spin off name from the cartoon Calvin and Hobbies. Way back when, when Dan started hearing his voice, Kal always expressly enjoyed the newspaper cartoon, and so his name was born. Kal was always there to guide him, but he wasn’t intrusive. In fact Dan became irritated if his friend didn’t pipe in from time to time. He had come to rely on the sound advice of his wise voice. For the past thirteen years since his dad died when he was seven, Kal has been there for him. He never degraded or made fun of him in any way. He was a dear friend and Dan wouldn’t know what to do without him. Kal would occasionally drop the *“I wont be here forever you know”* or *“Pretty soon you’re going to have to make a go on your own”* Dan always brushed it off, but really he was terrified to have that conversation. He would be lost without his guiding voice. Wherever it was that voices in someones head went, he hoped Kal never went there.
Dan had never had a serious girlfriend. Almost all of his interactions with the ladies had been by Kal’s carefully guided instruction. This time was no different. As he took the beautiful girl -whose name he had learned was Heather – to the kitchen to refill per punch, they talked for over an hour. Dan was relieved to learn she did not have a boyfriend and was here with some of her girlfriends. And thanks to Kal’s smooth talking, Dan was able to get her number by the end of the night. On his way home he sat glowing behind the wheel of his beater 1975 Dodge Dart. He couldn’t believe it.
*Believe it*
“She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen”
*Certainly the prettiest to ever give you the time of day.*
“I’m going to screw this date up man.”
*You’ll do fine, stop thinking of it as a date. Besides, you’re not that awkward lanky kid anymore Dan. They were still your words, I merely arranged them for you. There’s only twenty si-*
“Twenty six letters in the English alphabet I know, and with the right combination of them you can do anything” That was Kal’s favorite saying, he said it all the time.
*It’s true…*
Kal was right though. With the right combination of words you could do anything, get anyone to do almost anything, within reason of course. Dan made his way home and texted Heather the very next day. The two made plans to go ice skating, Kal’s idea. Dan stared at the closet trying to decide what to wear and hovered over a button down shirt.
*More casual.*
He moved his hand over some band t-shirts.
*Black v neck and your zip up hoodie, c’mon*
“Alright” Dan hissed.
*Were you really going to wear a Metallica t-shirt on your first date?*
“No” Dan said defensively. He was going to wear Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt…
With his attire picked he drove to pick up Heather and the two of them had a blast. Kal wasn’t chiming in as much throughout the evening but amazingly, it was still going great. The two made it official after a few weeks and Dan was the happiest he had ever been. Things were going great in his life, he was about to graduate college, work was going well and now the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on was dating him. Things were going so well that he almost hadn’t noticed the Kal would go almost days without speaking to him. Dan tried to ask his buddy what was up, but he wouldn’t always get an answer.
Dan practically skipped to to his car from the parking lot of his apartment complex and headed off to pick up Heather. They were on their way to see the new Christopher Nolan movie neither of them knew much about. They arrived at the theater, parked and made their way into the lobby and got popcorn.
“I’m going to go the ladies room.” Heather said and pecked Dan on the lips. Her soft, perfect lips still made his knees buckle and he smiled as she walked away.
*She’s really somethin*
“There you are.” Dan whispered. “Where the heck have you been man, I almost forgot to pay my car registration last week, you said you’d remind me.” Dan wasn't fully able to hide his annoyance.
*But you still paid it on time, didn’t you?*
“Well, ya..”
*Listen...I have to go now Dan*
Dan chuckled “Make sure to send me a postcard from my Medulla Oblongata”
*Dan, it’s time*
Dan sobered up quick, he wasn’t kidding. “W-what do you mean Kal?” he frantically asked, he had to keep Kal talking.
*We both knew this was never a forever kind of thing. I’ve done all that I can for you. We got through your dad, and then your grandparents, high school bullies, acne, your first job, college... Besides, three’s a crowd.*
“No… You can’t go” Dan’s vision blurred with tears and his face tightened “I need you!”
*Dan, I just help arrange the words for you, it’s still you saying them. You’re going to be alright.*
Dan pleaded with his friend, pacing back and forth in the busy lobby of the theater holding buttery popcorn.
*Goodbye Dan*
And just like that, Kal was gone. Dan felt different, felt lighter. He sniffled and wiped away his tears just in time for Heather to come bounding over in her long floral print dress.
“Ready?” She smiled and bore into him with those sparkly emerald green eyes. Dan felt the pit of anxiety in his gut begin to melt away and he realized he was really going to be alright.
Dan looked down at the wild print carpet of the lobby before meeting her gaze and smiled “Yeah I’m ready.” | It was hard explaining the voices at the best of times and I wish I didn’t have to, but she was going to be my wife. I had to try. Everyone, well not everyone I guess, but some people have their own inner monologue. Not me. I have five. By that I mean, I have five voices in my head that can speak to me. Insane right? That’s what everyone thought. Many psychiatric visits, therapists, doctors appointments even seances and hypnosis sessions later, nothing has changed.
I’ve never complained about them, they are just a part of me. Most of the time the different points of view come in helpful. Alright. That’s the start, what do you guys think?
“That’s up top dude,” said Fred (Well I named him Fred). Fred was a cool guy, he knew how to act suave and awesome.
“Omg. You should be perfectly fine. Like she’s gonna love you for being soooo open.” That’s Brittany. “Bitch.” Yes yes, Brittany, bitch. She’s the looks and the glam of the posse. She helps me get dressed and you know look good.
“Hell yea man. Sounds like a good plan,” said Brick. Brick helped me stay active. Keep in shape, good diets, exercise, best methods. The important things.
“By my calculations, there is a 99% chance of Georgia sticking with you,” said Amy. Amy was the brainiac, pulling off insane calculations and helping me find the right words at the right time.
The fifth voice was of course my own. Now, everyone had their part to play and sometimes I’d let them “control” the mouth. While they never really controlled it, I’d utter their words to myself. So far Georgia hadn’t caught me, but I don’t expect my luck to last.
It was time...
“Hey Georgia, can we talk about something?” I called across the house.
“Sure Leon. Give me a minute.” I sat and waited on the couch. My palms were growing sweatier and sweatier by the second. After what felt like an eternity (in reality it was exactly 45.73 seconds, thanks Amy). She sat opposite me. Her brow furrowed with concern. She grabbed my hands and held them.
“What’s up?” She stared into my eyes. Her gorgeous blue eyes reflected beautifully in the light. I froze. I couldn’t risk this.
“Omg. Like not again. Georgy, your eyes are soooo beautiful and you are looking totes fierce today, but like Leon wanted to say he has multiple voices in his head.” I can’t really explain the look on Georgia’s face, let alone my own. She pulled her hands out of mine as my eyes widened to the size of saucers as the reality of what I’d done set it. “That wasn’t the plan. Crap crap crap.” I thought to myself.
“Just run with it duuude,” Fred said.
“Suup, I’m Fred. You just spoke to Brittany, Bitch.” I took her hand back. “So what Leon is saying is that since he can remember, instead of only one voice in his mind there are five of us. Himself and four others. It’s kinda rad.”
“According to our extensive research on the topic, no other known cases have been exhibited around the globe. Sorry, I’m Amy. Nice to meet you!”
“And I’m Brick. I just help keep Leon’s body in check make sure he is at his peak.”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to take in. It’s just, well.” I pulled a box out of my back pocket and knelt down on one knee. “I love you with all my being Georgia and I wanted everything about myself out on the table.” I flicked open the box. “Georgia. Will you marry me?”
She gasped. “Of course Leon. A million times yes. And you Brick, Fred, Amy and Brittany Bitch.” She grasped her arms around me.
“You remembered their names?” I said a tear rolling down my cheek.
“Of course. I’m still deciding if I believe it, but I wouldn’t miss out on the adventure of spending my life with you for anything. I love you Leon.”
We both laughed as she put on her ring, the sapphire sparkling almost as gorgeously as her eyes on it’s silver band. We lent in for a kiss.
“Niiice.”
“Omg I ship it.”
“Critical success! Critical success!”
“Well done man. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks guys. For all the support through life. You really saved me here,” I said back to them. | 2020-06-13T15:08:30 | 2020-06-13T11:51:15 | 41 | 24 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "Well that's just fucking brilliant. Look at this cliche-ass mess of a house." Cyrus and his companion, Arel, stood before a large, battered old house, atop an abnormally steep hill.
"This IS pretty cliche, I have to admit. Even the shutters on the windows are flapping in the wind," Arel responded.
"Typically, there is no wind," Cyrus looked up to the higher floors and shouted towards them, "There's no fucking wind, you dopey twats! This doesn't even make any sense!"
He caught a glimpse of a partially transparent girl, who moved out of view, behind a curtain.
"Yeah, you! I'm talking to you, you ghost-ass shit! Fuck me, why do they even bother."
Cyrus half-heartedly walked up to the front door, and reached out to grab the door handle. As his hand wrapped around the metal, a soft voice whistled through the wind, "Go... back..."
"Hmm, gee, let me think about this. How about... no! I'm down to my last ten quid, and that weird family down at the shack that all speak simultaneously in monotonous voices, promised me two hundred to come clear you nerds out. I mean, it's pretty obvious they're in on this too, now I think about it. Probably should have just outright mugged them, there and then, but I guess it's too late for that now, because their house in the middle of the woods has probably mysteriously disappeared, or some dumb shit like that," Cyrus was not happy being here, and despite his long rant at the voice in the breeze, he rather quickly opened the door to the haunted house. Not to his surprise, the other side of the door was bricked up.
"Holy shit, where do you guys find your bloody architects? Why put a door on a brick wall? How is this even meant to be scary? Maybe if I was an architect myself, with a major cased of OCD, but I'm neither an architect, nor do I have OCD. This is just slightly irritating. What have you ghosts come to, that your only ability, is to 'slightly irritate' us mere mortals?" he threw his hands up in annoyance, then turned to Arel, who passed him a sledgehammer, "See, I COULD go and search around the back of the house, as you clearly want me to, but that requires walking, and I'm not much of a walking type, so..." he swung at the wall, then again and again, "I'm not going to make a 'here's Cyrus' joke. I'm not dropping to your level."
The two stepped through the opening, in to a room much larger than the outside implied, "and now spatial distortion, such scary, much haunt, wow. You see what you're doing to me? Now I'm spouting dank memes, just to make this experience seem somewhat worth it. Arel, hand me the matches, let's burn this place down." but no response came, "Arel?" he turned around, but she wasn't there.
"Oh my god... Arel! AREL! Where are you?! YOU BASTARDS, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH- nah, I'm just kidding, I don't give a shit," he walked to one of the doors on the edge of the room, "Oh boy, I wonder, could she possibly be behind this door with-" the light of the room flickered as silhouettes of a group of children rushed past a nearby window, accompanied by the sound of youthful laughter.
"Shut the fuck up! I'm trying to be witty, here!" he yelled towards the window, then turned back to the door, "I was saying: Could she possibly be behind this door with the Satanic looking symbols on it, and the words 'Help me, Cyrus' scratched below them? What a real mystery this is turning out to be!", the door handle was surrounded by a series of ancient looking padlock devices. As Cyrus reached out to examine one, it began to morph in to a distressed looking face, and let out a haunting scream.
"Holy fuck, Ebenezer Scrooge wants his door back, what the fuck, guys. A Christmas Carol is literally the LEAST haunting thing I've ever read. No, what am I saying? Calling this Ebenezer Scrooge's door is too much of a compliment, this is more like Scrooge McDuck's door."
He stepped back to examine the other doors in the room that had now changed aesthetically to that of a rusting asylum. Cyrus rolled his eyes, "Seven doors and seven locks. So I guess I'm supposed to go through these too spoopy rooms and find each key, huh?"
He hefted the sledgehammer over his shoulder, "not today, matey."
With full force, he brought the hammer down on the locks, knocking them out of place. The door swung open.
On the other side, Cyrus saw a dark room, where Arel was tied to a post with a red bracelet in front of her, and surrounded by a circle of candles, "Hey, Arel," Cyrus nodded to her. "'sup", she replied.
He stepped in to the room, and the door slammed closed behind him.
"I was going to tell you this was a trap, but it seemed like a waste of breath," Arel said, shrugging her shoulders.
"No shit," replied Cyrus, as he ran a hand across his face in annoyance.
From the shadows of each of the four corners of the room, stepped a person. The members of the family that had requested the two go to this house, in the first place.
Cyrus spread his arms out, and looked up at the ceiling, "WHAT A TWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIST" he cried aloud, then looking around at his assailants again, he asked, "so which of you has the two hundred bucks?"
They slowly began to walk towards him, each brandishing a rusty dagger in their right hand.
"Well those knives aren't going to sell for shit, they're all rusted up. Fuck it." he swung the hammer down on the bracelet in front of Arel, shattering it. The four family members screamed, as their bodies lit up in a bright white light, illuminating the room, and then as suddenly as it had began, the lights faded in to nothingness. Cyrus and Arel remained alone, in the leftovers of a dilapidated house.
"Fuck off, even the bracelet disappeared. Some of the jewels in that could have sold for a few bucks," Cyrus dropped the sledgehammer and threw his arms up again, in disbelief.
"Man, that was a waste of time," Arel said standing up and brushing herself down.
"Fuck our lives, Arel. Fuck our lives." | The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | 2017-05-05T07:16:05 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 2,069 | 21 |
[WP] You were born with no magical ability. You are so mundane in fact, that anything magical ceases to work in your proximity. | # Soulmage
**"We've got a John Doe here,"** Vuliel said.
I scratched my head. "What, like you don't know his name?"
"Hm? No, as in his name is John Doe." Vuliel frowned at me. "Why, is that unusual?"
"No, no, it's... it's very usual."
"You could almost say... too usual," Meloai piped up from behind me. I rolled my eyes, but she had a point. I was a witch, she was a shapeshifter, Vuliel was possessed by a ghost, and we were all taking shelter in an abandoned cafe from the aftermath of a military-grade portal spell that was throwing hail from another dimension at us and everything within a thousand feet. Objectively speaking, everything about our situation was bizarre, unique, and magical.
Except for John Doe.
"When I asked for leads on where the army that cast the portal spell was," I said, "I was hoping you'd have something a little more concrete than 'a perfectly ordinary guy.'"
Vuliel shook his head. "Cienne, you don't get it. He's a *perfectly* ordinary guy. Magic flat-out doesn't work around him. I can't get within three feet of the guy, because I'm terrified it'll kill Mertri." Vuliel tapped his head as he spoke—Mertri was the ghost of his husband who'd possessed him to stay alive. Man, we were a bizarre bunch.
"Why three feet?" I asked.
"No idea. Although it's... actually more like three feet, three inches, if that matters."
"How'd you meet John?" Meloai asked.
"He was just... sitting in the cafe when we arrived. He doesn't come out much, but... we share our supplies with him." Vuliel shuddered. "Nobody wants to piss off the guy who can turn off magic simply by existing."
"Oh, wonderful! Cienne's *great* at not pissing people off!" Meloai's optimistic little voice piped up from behind me. I flipped her the bird in response.
"Well, I'm the only free person who won't die if magic gets turned off, so I guess I'm the only person for the job." I cracked my knuckles and stepped towards the wooden door. "I've dealt with worse. Bring it on, John."
I opened the door to reveal a frowning, balding man chewing on a bowl of oatmeal.
"It's polite to knock," John Doe said. "But given that... wherever I am... doesn't seem to follow the laws of physics as I know them, I suppose I can forgive my fellow man a couple cultural misunderstandings."
"The laws of what?" I asked, frowning. "No, wait, never mind, take a step back. You said you don't know where you are?"
He shrugged. "If I had to venture a guess, I'd say the inside of a nice warm cabin in the middle of a blizzard. That's much better than my previous location of falling from the sky after some kind of portal popped into existence and vomited me out into this hellscape." He hesitated, glancing at each of our faces, then said, "Er, no offense."
"None taken," I said, the tinglings of an idea forming in the back of my mind. "You... you said that you *fell* here? When a portal opened up?"
John Doe grimaced, covering his embarassment with another bite of oatmeal. "I know, I know, it's stupid. The world doesn't work like that. But—"
"No, it's not stupid. It lines up with what we know—the Order of Valhalla cast their mass portal spell... what, six days back? That was when the big battle ended, anyway. Does that line up with when you got taken here?"
John Doe fell silent.
"Spell," he finally said. "Like... magic."
I shared a concern glance with Meloai, then turned back to him and nodded. "What, were you thinking of a dictionary? Yes, spell as in magic."
"Forgive me for not being familiar with the physics of an *entirely different dimension*," John Doe muttered. "Six days ago... even if 'magic did it' is a bit of a hard explanation to believe, the timeline matches."
He fell silent, mulling something over.
Then he said, "This... Order that you mentioned. They took me from my world with... their 'magic'? In order to get an advantage in war?"
I nodded hesitantly.
John Doe stood up, drawing something from his hip with a grim stare. Something compact and metallic, with a hole in one end that made me feel like I was staring at death itself. "Where I'm from, that's called *human trafficking*, and we have *ways* of dealing with people like them." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't know much about this magic stuff, but I'll tell you everything I know about how I came here, on one condition."
I hesitated. "And that would be?"
"When you find the assholes that kidnapped me?" John Doe slotted something into the metal contraption, and something made a menacing *click*. "Let me show them what I think of their 'magic'."
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-five other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | I landed a job busting life insurance scams. Now I know what you’re thinking, life insurance? Well, around these parts, some people would pay a pretty penny to a necromancer to “redeem life insurance”, if ya get my jist. I would come in, and boom! That guy’s a corpse for good. Things were goin’ great, and I became the Captain of the Life Insurance Busters. After all, just walking up was a lot quicker than Scorching Ray or Burning Hands. That was, until I got a nice dose of reality.
I was walkin’ by a funeral when I hear a name. Jeremy Reinhart. He was a guy I stopped from resurrecting. Turns out he was a bricklayer in heavy debt who didn’t have another way out. And to add some extra salt to the wound, he had five kids. Needless to say, I had a lot to drink that night. I began to think about how many people had I hurt. Sure, they wanted to cash out, but I didn’t know why. Plus, the insurance companies were awful around these parts. I decided to do what I could to stop the Life Insurance Busters.
Life went on as normal for a while. However, I started to go to the gym with a water bottle. “Why’s it empty?”, some blokes would ask. “I drank it”, was always my response. A few weeks went by, and I had gotten ready at the gym. I snuck into the Life Insurance Buster Quarters and sneakily nabbed the spell books from all of my mates’ rooms. I took them to the bath house into a prepared bath. There was about two gallons of sweat that I had collected. I dumped the spellbooks in. I’m not a complete douche, so I left a note explainin’ everything.
I’m a vigilante, not a crook, so I turned myself in. However, the police let me go since I led them to something that turned out to be just as illegal as a life insurance scam. Plus, their magic handcuffs didn’t work on me.
One day, I get a knock. I see several necromancers.
“Are you John”, they asked?
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Quite the opposite! We know what you have done, but without those busters, we could continue our old job.”
“Old job?”
“Based off of what you did, however, we decided to instead use money to get these people help without necromancy, or to save lives with it instead of abusing it.” | 2022-06-19T19:40:36 | 2022-06-19T19:17:40 | 135 | 29 |
[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. | I looked around the office with a detached calmness. I knew why I was here and I knew what was coming, this wouldn't be the first time or the last.
My boss stared at me from across the desk. He was a portly man in his late 50's and I was fairly confident that he hadn't put more than five points into any of his physical stats. There was talk around the office that he'd gone heavily into the Ruthless skill tree during his early years with the company, but I didn't think that was the case. Running a Ruthless build would have bled over into everything to do with his life. I saw inside his wallet once when he was pulling out a twenty for FDNY support jar that was going around last year. Ruthless builds don't give to charity and they certainly don't keep pictures of their kids in their wallets.
"You know why you're here?" he asked after a moment. He'd let me sit here a while, trying to create an awkward silence between us. It was one of his things, let you squirm a little. He at least had a few points in the Psychology tree, probably from when he was college like most others, but an extra couple of points.
"You found out I don't actually do any work here." I answered simply. No point in playing dumb, it wouldn't help anything and there was no point in upsetting him further. He was oddly calm right now, but that could quickly change.
He balked at my candidness. "Well at least you're honest. If only you'd been honest from the beginning."
"I wanted the job," I shrugged, "It was good pay, decent hours, it was for a position that kind of suited what I wanted, I just didn't want to have to go through the hassle of years of study and debt to get it."
My boss was stunned. He'd lost the psychological advantage. There was a chance that this level of truthfulness could have angered him going from past experience, but it hadn't.
"I just don't understand, Malcolm. You've been working here for close to a decade! You've closed some of our biggest accounts! But now I find out that you don't even have a diploma! How?"
"I'm a single-stat build." I replied, simply. My boss made that expression people make when they've been completely caught off guard once only to be caught off guard again. They don't know how to express it properly, you can't look stunned after you've looked your most stunned. Tell someone they've won $100 million, wait a couple of seconds and then tell them intelligent life was discovered on Mars and you get the same kind of thing.
"Wh- Single- Are you-" he stammered for a moment, "I've never met anyone who... Well that explains a lot." There was a pause. He was going to ask, people always asked. He'd probably guess intelligence or luck.
Suddenly, a look of realisation crossed his face. Here it came.
"You're a pure Cool build?!" he asked. I paused for a moment, frowning. That was new. No one ever guessed it, especially not past 10th level.
"How did you guess?" I asked.
I watched him relax a little, "I suspected you had some pretty heavy points invested, the Smith account only came through because you were the only one able to keep your cool so well last year."
I remembered the Smith account, everything that could have gone wrong that day, did. I remember getting a raise for helping keep the team together and staying calm enough to think up possible alternatives.
"Not only that, but I have to tell you Malcolm, you put off a real Jason Bateman vibe sometimes."
"Patrick." I corrected. "Patrick Bateman's the serial killer, Jason Bateman was in Arrested Development."
"That's what I mean! You have that emotionless air about you! No girlfriend, you don't associate with other people outside of work, just anti-social."
I thought for a moment. He was right, being able to keep my cool did have the side-effect of limiting my excitement, happiness and need for social interaction just as much as it kept my stress, anger and negative emotions suppressed.
"That makes sense," I replied flatly, "I thought about putting some points into Psychology or Body Language in college but I decided not to. I figured everything would work out either way and it did."
My boss leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "You know I'm going to have to fire you, Malc. You have no qualifications, you do no work, I can't justify employing a leech."
"Symbiote." I corrected.
"What?"
"I'm more like a symbiote. I give just as much as I take."
An eyebrow was raised, "And how do you figure that?"
"Workplace cohesion. I'm this floors metaphorical rock, just like I was with the Smith account. I limit stress in the workplace and allow for greater success and productivity. I calm the people around me so that they spend less time stressing about their workload and more time working on it."
There was yet another long silence. Eventually, with a sigh, my boss spoke up.
"If you're going to be here, you're going to help in an active capacity. You're going to receive a written warning and from now on you'll be present for all VIP account negotiations. And you're going to work with HR as a mediator."
I nodded, "That works, I was thinking of trying something new last year. Thank you."
"Yeah well, you had a point."
"Oh, thank you for not firing me too." I said, "But I meant thank you for before, when you guessed my build. I haven't frowned like that in years." | "Spare Change?"
Of course, it's futile... Should have noticed the crotchspawn. Which means that mom will...
"Oh hell no! You sick, sick man! Come along kids, get away from the stranger..."
I really should pay attention to who I'm asking for money, but of course I never leveled up perception or similar skills. Or luck.
"Spare Change, sir?"
Ok, this guy at least sees my sign... a chuckle and a "here, keep it..." as he tosses random coins into my worn hat, not even fit to wear. "No, no, no, you don't need to prove it, I'm ok" as he walks away, still chuckling.
Maybe I'll even get to eat today. Won't be as much as that one time I caught the attention of that weirdo photographer from the gossip rag. Even got to be on page 5, for a whopping fifty bucks. Not that all of that went to "food"... More like "medicine".
Maybe I should go back to that doctor, see about getting that "surgery". He said, just a small change and I'd actually make this mistake a profitable one...
"Spare change, ladies?"
More giggles. Not unexpected, I guess; they looked barely in college so I'm probably at least more of a curiosity than a freak, or -- for those of you who think Min/Maxing is always a good idea -- a lesson in what can go wrong if you choose poorly. But it's always the last few points that get you in trouble, so I guess that's my lot in life. Ohh, a few more coins! "Thank you ladies! Do you wanna... No? Ok, it's cool."
Heh, it would be nice to solve this problem with a quick doctor's visit. A little anesthesia, a few hours under.... then yeah, finding that one guy who promised to help me find work that would match my "talent"... except at this level, my "talent" is unresponsive. Good for a few laughs, but nothing more and surely not "star" quality.
Oh, crap, cops... Gotta bring out my "spare change" sign and hide this one. Crap crap crap, did that mother report me?
Maybe I oughta just go with the regular "will work for food" sign.... This "will show level 30 ***** for food" sign is just too risky. | 2018-09-12T12:42:28 | 2018-09-12T10:24:40 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] It is tradition for rulers to grow their hair long in times of peace, and cut it in times of war. To declare war, you cut off your hair and send it to the enemy. The longer the hair, the longer the person has maintained peace. You are Rapunzel and you are about to declare war. | "Anger has no place in a young lady's heart," said the old crone who was not her mother, and little Rapunzel would answer "Yes, mama," because that was the only name she knew and she wanted to be good.
As she grew she remembered those words. Indeed, she was hardly allowed to forget them. "Don't be angry," the old woman would say as she brushed her hair, "Anger makes you bitter, and bitter makes you ugly." And so Rapunzel would bite down on her feelings, scrunch them up small and hide them away because after all, it wasn't mama's fault she couldn't leave the tower. It wasn't mama's fault she only saw the world from a window.
Time passed and her hair grew long and soft and beautiful, and her heart grew small and heavy and hard from the constant pressure of trying not to be angry at being left alone so often, for so long. She tried not to be bitter about the world outside as it passed her by.
Then one day the Prince came and she realized everything she'd been told was a lie. The old woman wasn't her mother. She wasn't under a curse, and she wouldn't die if her feet touched the ground.
The Prince said he loved her and she wondered if she should believe him. "You're beautiful," he said, stroking the golden hair that almost touched the floor. As they rode away the Prince asked if she was angry and she said "No." She didn't want to be ugly and bitter.
His parents wouldn't agree to the union. They thought she might be a princess but without a clear birthright marriage to their son was 'impossible'. She ran from the room, hair flowing behind her as she sought refuge in the garden, large tears falling silently into the fountain. She was sad. She was heartbroken. But she wasn't *angry*. Of course not.
The wedding happened anyway. It was silly, really. Something about finding her in the garden that day surrounded by forest creatures. Only a true princess, the King and Queen declared, could have such dominion over animals. It sounded like a lot of bollocks to her, but at least it meant she had their blessing. As the servants brushed her hair and fastened it high atop her head with pins she tried not to be bitter that it took two squirrels fighting over a nut to get them to agree she was good enough for their son.
Time passed, her hair trailed like a bridal train behind her when she walked and in December she gave birth to a son who's heart didn't beat. In a moment of deepest grief the Prince blamed her and it was two weeks before they spoke again. Two weeks before he came to her, begging forgiveness. She had spent the entire time not being angry and watching her hair grow.
The old King died, the son was crowed in his father's place and Rapunzel was a queen. She was well liked and well loved and wherever she went people reached out to touch her hair and whispered about what a beautiful, kind queen she was.
In truth, she'd never liked having her hair touched.
More time passed. More children were born (healthy, living ones thankfully) and Rapunzel and her King ruled the kingdom until the day he was poisoned.
She knew it was poison. You didn't grow up the daughter of a witch without learning a thing or two about herbs. She recognized it as a weed that grew in the kingdom beyond the mountains. The one they were engaged in a border dispute against. The one who's daughter the King had shunned so many years ago when he was a reckless prince, in love with a girl he met in a tower.
She cried bitter tears at his funeral and tried so very hard not to be angry. Onlookers would later claim they saw her hair grow before their eyes, but who could really put stock in such fanciful tales.
It came to light through intercepted letters that the plot against the King's life had been arranged not by their neighbor but by a different kingdom who hoped to pit the two against each other. It was thought that with the King gone Rapunzel would be easily overpowered, easily cowed and easily overrun. For she was after all such a *nice* queen.
Reading the letter, Rapunzel thought it might be time to get angry. She felt it welling up inside her, not flowing out anymore but seeping in, every bitter circumstance and unfair moment. She looked in the mirror and acknowledged there was no reason not to be angry and bitter and ugly. Beauty hadn't saved anyone.
She took the letters and placed them in a coffin, to which she added her hair. Her hair! Those lovely golden locks. She shore it off right down to her scalp and piled it in the coffin so they could barely close the lid.
She had it sent off to that distant treacherous kingdom; a clear declaration of war. And as she stood before the mirror looking at her shorn and bleeding scalp, she didn't feel ugly at all.
She felt powerful.
| Maybe this is happening because she wanted it to. So many years sitting on the throne, watching her people flourish, brokering peace agreements, keeping a wary eye on the future. All alone. Royals married once, for love, and her husband wasn't from a royal line. She visits him, sometimes, in the royal cemetery. Her headstone lies next to his, the grave empty.
It will only be filled if she dies in battle, like her father, like her grandmother, like every Ruler of her country before her.
Could her longing to be at his side have inevitably caused this? Did she subconsciously misstep with their Eastern neighbors to provoke this? Was the guilt on her shoulders?
For all her years of wisdom, she doesn't know. What she *does* know is that the first blow came from hands not her own. It's an indignity her country won't stand for, no matter her worries of provocation or sabotage.
She can only respond.
She brings the golden scissors to her golden hair. It spirals across the throne room in loops and curls. This hair has seen a hundred years of peace. A hundred years of prosperity. A hundred years free of blood shed.
(It has seen far too many years of her grief.)
She cuts the first strands and, watching them fall to the flagstone, she is inappropriately filled with relief. She should be furious at what their neighboring country is making her do. She should be dreading the fight to come. She should be mourning the losses her country is about to face.
Instead, she remembers *him.* The decades spanning between them mean nothing in this moment. She can recall the curve of his cheek like she saw it yesterday.
*I'm coming, my love,* she thinks as her head grows lighter and lighter. A servant will be in soon to collect it all and send it, declaration of war and all. She can hardly wait for the first battle. *Soon. Soon*. | 2018-07-22T21:32:18 | 2018-07-22T19:45:25 | 47 | 10 |
[WP] Adolf Hitler is a time traveler who starts world war two to save us from something far more terrible. | *Writing this is not so that some future person can discover me and hail me as a hero. It is simply for the purposes of keeping me sane and on task. I pray no one finds this, as I have instructed all of my bodyguards to destroy any trace of it upon my death.*
They are not to read it, under penalty of death.
*I will start at the beginning, which ironically enough, is the end of the world.*
I was born into a rich family in Anchessla, what was southern Germany.
Rich meant we had a bunker which we almost never left.
My family was killed when our bunker was overwhelmed by a horde.
I ran and joined the Resistance. I fought in several battles including the Fall of London bay and was on the front lines fighting off the hordes on their U.S. Eastern Invasion.
We lost both of those battles.
But what we did gain was knowledge.
We had found out what had made the hordes what they are. We found out what technology was needed for them to function.
I was chosen to go because I was the only one who spoke German as my first language there.
And so I traveled back to stop an infestation and an extermination.
I kept my name, meaning it to serve as a beacon to my comrades in case I failed.
Regardless of the outcome of my mission, the name Adolf Hitler would go down in history. I just prayed it would not go down as a failure to do what needed to be done.
I was a young man when I was sent back, I had forged some documents to fake my identity and set up shop as an egotistic painter, bent on fame.
Becoming involved in politics in a land where people are starving on the streets was harder than expected. I went to different rallies and tried to talk about providing for the needs of the hungry and unity that we all possessed as mankind. I was largely ignored until I lost my temper at a rally of a political group called the nazis.
They were radicals in every sense of the word. They used Jews as a scapegoat for the problems Germany faced and seemed to be determined to rid the land of them.
And that is when my plan became clear.
There were several men who needed to be killed in order to stop the future events from happening; mostly scientists receiving funding from the Soviet Union, the greatest power of the time, to attempt to improve physical and mental human characteristics.
We had sent back an assassin to kill them already, but they had all simply been replaced. We could not kill every genius.
What we needed was a way to make the human experiments done by the Soviets seem unjustifiable. We needed martyrs.
The Soviets had taken any homeless and used them for experiments and all other countries, fearful of being left behind in technology and already being left behind economically, followed suit.
And what surfaced from this was the Russian Supersoldier. At first, the Supersoldiers conquered. But then came the virus.
It was most likely actually a bacteria but the Supersoldier Virus had already caught on by the time we had discovered that.
Supersoldiers mutated and what was a Russian occupation of much of Europe turned into death of millions. The Supersoldiers seemed to still be semi-intelligent, but had few instinct left.
How to survive, how to reproduce, and how to kill.
Russia had already made 8 million of them by the time the virus hit. And instead of stopping their production, they simply pumped more soldiers at them. The Russians had also, unfortunately, made a serum which could transform any man into a Supersoldier simply through injection, and had been doing this with occupied countries. Soon, the infected Supersoldiers figured this out. That was in 1976. The whole of Europe was taken by 1980.
I took control of the Nazi party, and through hate-mongering and sabotage, took control of Germany.
And then I did what needed to be done.
I pulled Germany out of the depression and turned her into a superpower. I took other countries, prodding for a fight to take down my regime and see what was really going on.
I hired the scientists the Soviets would have hired and put them to work on curing the "Jew" problem. Now, instead of creating Supersoldiers with genetic experiments, they were killing innocent victims; many who would become martyrs, preventing human tests like this from being continued by someone else.
When war finally came, I made sure it seemed as if I would win.
And then I made a second front. I attacked Russia in the winter, making the oldest mistake a dictator could.
I lost. It was perfect. And now, knowing my mission is almost complete, I through this into the fire and end my life, and all of its secrets.
I am Adolf Hitler. Killer of Millions and Savior of this Earth.
Edit: I wrote this in a bit of a rush, so I'll probably come back and edit to for improvements.
Part Two now up http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1zdrxb/wp_adolf_hitler_is_a_time_traveler_who_starts/cfto9uk | History will remember me as a monster, but they will never know the truth. They know the man, they call him Adolf, that slaughtered 12 million civilians, that built camps to rivaldeath itself, that murdered and killed and left a world to rot.
They will know hell.
And, frankly, that's why I'm writing this today. I sit alone in this metal tomb. They pitched it to me as a bomb shelter, but i'd hardly think of it that way now. Funny, those stone pillars, those steel walls used to make me feel so safe. Now, they just suffocate me.
I am alone. Well, not really. My pistol will keep me company, till the end, I hope.
I'm not from here. I'm not German, and I don't hate the Jews. When I was little, my best friend was a little boy named Ernest. We'd run around E-Center, getting into all sorts of trouble. Hell, We stole from the guards like little Robin Hoods and gave the stuff to our other friends.
Anyway, Ernest and his whole family were publicly crucified for their faith, just like all the others. Mother wouldn't let me watch, but I hated them anyway.
Friends, if you're reading this, you've won. You have my most sincere congratulations. It was never my goal to beat you, I promise. Simply to stall.
The future will never be the same, I can promise you that. I just hope it will be enough.
I'm afraid that's all. I really can't dawdle much longer. I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place, and lady time has never been kind to the paradox.
God Bless and Good Luck
-Adolf Hitler
Edit: Well, shit. Thanks guys. I can write more of this if you would like! Shoot me a message if you'd like to talk about it. | 2014-03-02T16:11:22 | 2014-03-02T15:21:59 | 443 | 215 |
[WP] A stray dog happens to release a genie from it's lamp. The genie just wants to get the 3 wishes over with so it can go back to sleep, while the dog is just happy to have found a new friend. | There was a faint clinking noise. That’s how it started, if I remember correctly. It’s been about two years now, and still not a single wish used, although I’m not complaining. This is the best time I’ve had yet.
It all started with that faint clinking noise. It grew louder, and the bright light flooded my eyes. Or, what would be my eyes if I had any. See, when a genie, like myself, is stuck in a lamp, we’re basically ethereal goo. We take shape once released, but for now I’m the equivalent of ghost pudding.
The clinking and the lights are all I remember from my transformation. My next memory is me, standing in an alley with a broken lamp by my feet. A lava lamp to be exact. The universe must have a sense of humor. I look almost human. Olive skin and green eyes, I stand about six feet tall. I mostly blend in with humanity, but my sharp facial features don’t match well. My cheekbones are extraordinarily high and my eyes resemble that of a cat. I remember looking myself over, trying to see if I fit in or not, when I felt a brush against my ankle. I’m not going to lie, I jumped. Being in a lamp for so long makes one a little skittish.
I turned around to find a scruffy brown and tan dog staring me down. The poor thing was skin and bones, each rib clearly visible through his thinning fur. To say I was confused was an understatement. Surely a human had let me out, but the alley was empty, save for me and this dog. Regardless, I had a job to do.
“Finally! My name is Jericho, and today is your lucky day!” My sentiment was met with a perked ear and a tail wag. “You get three wishes! Whatever your heart desires!” More staring. “Do you wish to have all the kibble in the land? What about a pool full of tennis balls?! The choices are only limited by your imagination!” The dog sat down in front of me, paying very close attention. But he didn’t say a word. “Or your ability to speak, apparently” I said dejectedly. It was going to be a long day.
The dog nudged my hand, so I gently scratched his head. He smelled like a sewer, but he was sweet. All signs pointed to him being a stray, and I figured he broke my lamp rummaging through the garbage. “Scout. That’s what I’ll call you. Do you like that name? Scout?” His tail wagged a little faster now. “Perfect. Let’s go.”
I took that dog all over town. I popped into a small pet store and found a leash. Scout waited patiently outside. He seemed very intelligent but wishes had to be verbal, and I can’t leave without wishes being granted. Now that I had a leash, I could take him in with me. I walked him straight to the food aisle. “Do you wish for all the kibble you could eat?” Scout tilted his head. No verbal confirmation, damn. “Fine. I’ll pick a bag.” We left with a bag of food, some treats, three toys, and a pair of bowls. I couldn’t resist his sweet face.
I took him to the dog park. I thought for sure he would bark or something, anything to let me grant him a wish. Nope! He was perfectly content to chase a tennis ball, quietly. Occasionally he would see a squirrel or a rabbit and chase it until he came upon the fence. “Do you wish to chase squirrels all day? Hmmm?” Still no response.
Two days of this, me attempting to get verbal confirmation of a wish, Scout just tilting his head and staring at me. Once I realized that I was stuck for a while, I found a small apartment. *Might as well get comfortable.* I filled it with toys and food for Scout. He had the best bed money could buy, and all the tennis balls he wanted. His bowl was never empty.
That was two years ago. Scout still hasn’t made a wish, but I quit asking after a month or two. He was so happy. He had a warm bed, a box full of toys, and food every day. Scout became my best friend. Now, Scout is sleeping peacefully beside me. His soft snores comfort me, knowing he didn’t do that until he was an appropriate weight. His pudgy little body is currently my arm rest, his favorite tennis ball at my feet. I find myself hoping he never learns to make a wish, for selfish reasons. *I* don’t want to leave him. I can’t imagine my life without him.
So that’s why I’m writing to the council. I want to stay. This place, this dog, is my home now. Regardless of wish status or genie term length, I hope the council grants my request to stay with Scout for the rest of his life. | ‘So, to recap, you’ve had your steak dinner and a large bowl of the finest spring water anywhere on earth... and now you want to... ahem... “save”your last wish? You know, I kinda like the fact that humans are selfish. Bibbity bobbity fuckin’ boo once every year or so and I go right back to sleep. Now here you are, messin’ up me damn cycle. Ya bloody mutt!’
‘Yeah, look, sorry ‘bout the swearing, mate, I didn’t mean it... but I am *tired*, that’s why I took this gig in the first place.’
‘Well wish for a forever home or something! I haven’t had me mates around for fifty years and I’m a perfectly normal genie!’
‘Ok, normal was a stretch, but you catch my drift? Wish for a mate, you get a mate, I’ll make sure they’re a good one and stick around for ya.’
‘What do you mean “What about the dickhead from *Aladdin*”? You wanna be a genie or somethin’?’
‘Ya know, that might not be a bad idea. It’s fuckin’ cold in there, I could use a dog. You can’t piss on me carpet though, I only had it redone about a year or twenty ago.’
‘Sounds like a plan. Wanna make that wish now?’
‘Get ready for some mystic shit right here. **Your wish is my command!**’
‘You’re jokin’, aren’t ya? I can’t believe that worked. Welcome to the club, dog, you got a name?’
‘Well, Blue, let’s make some shit happen.’
—-
I’m too tired to come up with a decent twist, but thanks for the great prompt! I haven’t creatively written in about 7 years, so this was fun! | 2018-09-07T09:20:32 | 2018-09-07T09:01:11 | 134 | 82 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | “Oh! Oh my! How unexpected.” Truly unexpected, nigh unto shocking. As all the best opportunities seem to be.
“When was the last time we spoke?” He asked, already knowing the answer, “Was it that diamond transport thing or was it the casino boat? I have trouble with my memory after the concussion you gave me.”
He made sure to mention the concussion.
That had come after his capture, when he’d mentioned that her rump had gotten a little rounder. Just a casual observation, not meriting the curb stomp. And the city had charged him for the pothole repair.
He heard her sigh over the telephone. “It was the diamond transport. And, if you’d stood around with the rest of the protesters, instead of tearing the doors off the truck and scattering the “blood-soaked soul stones” around in the street, I wouldn’t have been called in the first place.” She told him.
She said that like it was his fault some misanthropic blood baron was trying to make a fortune off of slave labor and suffering. Somebody had to draw the lines somewhere. They could take their fortune and just start manufacturing the damned things, no labor of children and poverty stricken miners involved, but nooo, they wanted the misery marinade that went with the “real thing”.
“Come now Caroline, you know me. You know I’d never stand for something so…gauche. My address is listed and they could easily truck their little trophies for inhumanity on a mass scale somewhere else. They might as well have asked me to ruin their truck.” He told her.
“It’s Sonica.” She said flatly.
She really did know better, she just had to say these things because his phones were tapped.
Part of the plea deal. He didn’t mind, it let him make the agents listening in extremely uncomfortable from time to time; anything to pass the time during house arrest.
She was sighing again. She really needed to stop that. He could imagine the wrinkles forming on her forehead. She’d ruin her face that way.
“Look, I’m starting to regret this already, are you available or not Atlas?” She asked, running out of patience.
“Sonica is your business name, this is a wedding invitation. Certainly not business, unless you’re asking me to stand up when they ask if anyone disputes the wedding and start trashing the place. I’m free that day, by the way, but I’ll want my usual rate. Unless, you’re asking for me on personal terms” He prodded.
“Okay, fine, yes, Ryan, and, no, I don’t want you to cause a scene. That’s the point of bringing you along in the first place, my ex is going to be there. I need a date so things don’t get awkward.” She told him.
Oh. The Ex. That guy, huh? He never did completely understand why she’d bothered with that one, but she’d ignored him when he’d told her it wouldn’t work out, back on the Casino boat.
It would appear that the prophecy had come to pass.
“Do I…get to tell you I told you so?” He checked.
“You do not get to tell me ‘I told you so.’, you are a federally licensed villain, a confirmed eco-terrorist in three countries, and you actually commit to plaid being an acceptable choice for fine dining wear.” She told him, with a bit of her usual good humor there at the end.
He was getting to her, he could tell these things.
“Well, if you insist. Alright, I’ll behave. But just so you know, I was being very polite on the Casino boat, for your sake, mostly, and if he thinks I’ll just let him hit me this time, I’m going to have to get unpleasant.” He warned.
He really did not care for “The Incredible Gold Justice”. Anybody who puts “The Incredible” in their own name deserves whatever happens to them.
Actually, they kind of deserve him happening to them.
“Atlas, Ryan, you put him through twelve decks of boat and tried to drown him in engine fuel. If I hadn’t thrown you across the bay, you’d have murdered him.” She pointed out.
True. But also, not the point, he really had been being polite. If she hadn’t been there to see it, he would have folded “Gold Justice” up into a little ball, like aluminum foil, and dropped him into the ocean. Easy and clean.
“I told him not to hit me, what else do you want? Fair warning and all. But enough of that, let’s talk about the dress code. I have a very well-cut suit, something in a charcoal grey, that would be a nice offset to that stunning little red thing you showed off on the tele during that Hero gala.” He redirected.
He heard her breathing stop momentarily.
She probably didn’t know he knew about that.
“I didn’t know you knew about that.”
Bingo.
“Caroline, of course I knew about that. You were getting an award, why wouldn’t I watch my dear friend get the recognition she deserved?” He asked, hurt.
“Because you were supposed to be in a super max isolation cell awaiting trial.” She said flatly.
“Details, love, details. And not important! What do you think? Charcoal on red? It shouldn’t over shadow the lucky bride to be too much. You’ll do that no matter what you wear, eh?” He joked.
She really would. Caroline was, in the words of the common man, built like a brick shit-house. The extra padding on her rear was only to the good, the woman had an irrational fear of ballooning in spandex. Just like he had an irrational fear of heights, never mind that he literally could not fall fast enough to hurt himself. It was entirely the thought.
He shuddered slightly at the remembered sight of the bay receding beneath him, wind rushing, as he arced through the air. And she knew he hated heights, so she’d done it on purpose, just because he told her the Ex was a poncy dickhead who’d bang the first cocktail waitress he tripped across.
“Okay. Okay a charcoal suit should do, at least it isn’t flannel. I’ll pick you up with custody papers for the evening at 2pm, sharp." She said, warming to the compliment.
"You have casual wear right? You don’t just wear orange jumps suits at home to make things simple?” She asked, suspicious.
He had six orange jumpsuits in his closet that she didn’t need to know anything about.
“Of course not!” he said feigning insult, “What do you take me for?”
“My archnemesis.” She said, trying not to laugh at his obvious lie, “And my best friend.” | "Is this another one of your prank calls you and your boys like to pull when you get drunk?" She growled, rubbing her forehead with one hand. "It's literally three in the morning and I'm trying to plan how I'm going to destroy you on Monday because you already asked me to reschedule."
"Okay, okay. Listen, I know. But PLEASE, I don't wanna go to my friend's wedding and look like a total lonely loser-" *Oh please, you look like a loser all the time.* "-when my ex has an absolute stud of a new boyfriend." The man on the other end cried frantically,
"First you ask me to reschedule *for* the wedding and now you're asking me to *go* to said wedding." She reiterated, a nervous chuckle echoing from the other end. "That means you would owe me *two* favours, which last time did not end well with you."
He sighed, "I swear to the gods, Lilith, PLEASE. I will do anything."
After he finished that sentence, he already knew he shouldn't have said that.
"Okay, Alexander," She said mockingly. "How about I tie you up and leave you as bait for my crocodiles? You know, I have been forgetting to feed them. They might like some human." She shot back.
"Lilith!"
"Alexander."
"Please. Just... do this for me." He pleaded, taking a deep breath.
Oh no. He's going to do one of those dramatic speeches that he's annoyingly good at.
"We've known each other since we were children. You pushing me off that swing seat-"
"Yeah, no, I'm gonna stop you right there. I haven't even had my morning coffee, so I do NOT want to hear one of your speeches. But quick question, don't you have like six girlfriends you can call to ask to go with you instead?"
"I do NOT have six girlfriends. Well... Lana is in Tokyo at the moment, but she's not my girlfriend! I just wanna bring somebody I know and I know it's super strange, but you're the only one I can rely on. As my nemesis, weirdly enough. Please? Pretty pretty please?"
"So I attempt to kill you, your friends *and* your family, plus attempting to destroy and cause chaos in the city and entire country and you trust and rely on me?" She asked.
"Umm..." He replied dryly.
She sighed. Pretending to be his date - something that benefited him - made her feel disgusted. She could never imagine doing it. But... It would be fun.
"Why do I even bother...?" Lilith muttered, "When?"
"Pardon?"
"What time is the wedding, Alexander Carter?"
"You'll actually do it!?"
"One condition."
"Anything!"
"You never speak of this. Ever. And if you do, you will be swearing to more than the gods."
*Click. Click.*
"Okay, it's-"
"Nevermind, don't tell me. See you then, *babe.*" Her nose scrunched up and the word came out like biting down on a brick.
There was unintelligible screaming from the other end of the phone, with the only words she could make out being "WHAT" and "OH MY GOD". But whether fortunate or unfortunate, she hung up on him and placed her phone down on the desk, watching it constantly buzz and ring as Alexander attempted to call her again. She scoffed, turning it to silent and flipping the screen to face the dark oak as her eyes drifted to the screen.
She had brought up Alex's real socials and dug through them while they were talking, soon enough finding out his ex, his ex's new boyfriend, who was getting married, and to who. More importantly; when and where.
And oh boy, was it interesting. Some people really need to learn how to cover loose ends and make sure things are more private.
The one thing she can't guarantee how nice she was gonna be at this wedding.
She was a villain, after all. | 2022-10-07T00:31:51 | 2022-10-06T23:23:07 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You're a supervillain whose latest evil scheme threatens to throw the city into chaos unless your nemesis goes on a date with you. To your surprise, they agree with enthusiasm before you can even explain what the consequences of refusing are. | A crowd of onlooking spectators swarmed the windows of the small café, looking inside in both awe, fear, and general confusion. Both Rachael and Marshall sat in a small booth awkwardly as nearly a dozen faces pressed up onside the glass, attempting to listen to their conversations. These type of people were far worse for the superheroes and supervillains of the world than any of their enemies. One second they were obsessed with them, and the next, screaming and rioting against them for voicing an opinion, no matter how small. It was a part of the job however, because nowadays being a superhero is more about the media than saving people. Half of the "heroic events" were planned out by agents and had cameras set up around the entire area. Marshall, or Cyclone as his hero persona, was exhausted by it. So, when he received an invitation from the Queen of Hell, his very own enemy, to go on a date, he jumped at the offer. She even used her real name to prove it wasn't a trap. Rachael.
Now, both of them were regretting showing up, awkwardly avoiding each other's gaze, as well as the crowd of onlookers, mostly just checking their phones and taking small sips of their drinks, Marshall a pink lemonade and Rachael a caramel latte. Eventually, Rachael decided the silence was enough and spoke the first words. "It's funny how no one comes in here."
Marshall looked up in surprise, mid sip from his cup. He swallowed and put it down. "I... what do you mean?"
Rachael sighed. "I mean that none of them are actually coming in the café. They're just waiting outside. As if a few inches of glass could protect them. You know what?" Rachael stood up, then turned the to onlookers, their mouths open in shock. She materialized two orbs of fire in her hands, and her eyes turned a glowing, fiery orange. *"Leave us!"* she screamed, her voice thundering throughout the block. The people screamed and fled, their natural reflexes overcoming their insatiable curiosity. She sat back down. "Privacy."
Marshall gave a small smile. "Sure, we'll call it that."
Rachael shrugged. "They're all gone, aren't they?"
"Yeah, but know everyone knows the Queen of Hell and Cyclone are here, on a date no less. Worse, now they know my favorite drink is a pink lemonade."
Rachael let out a quick laugh, a combination between a snort and a hiccup. The sound was so ridiculous that Marshall himself laughed. Eventually, both were giggling like children, both at each other and the sheer absurdity of the situation. "Well," Rachael said after they calmed down, "the lemonade thing isn't my fault."
Marshall nodded. "Fair enough," he said before taking another sip, trying to appear collected, when in reality he was extremely nervous and his face had turned a similar shade of pink to the lemonade he had.
They sat for a few moments in silence. Marshall desperately felt the need to say something, so he blurted out, "So how have you been?" Rachael raised an eyebrow at him and Marshall immediately shrunk back in embarrassment, realizing the stupidity of the question.
"I'm fine," she responded. "Work's going well, I've been teaching myself the drums-"
"Wait, how do... you guys make money anyway?" Marshall interrupted. Rachael glared at him, and he felt himself sink back again.
"Mostly sponsorships by shady corporations, occasionally robbing banks, working with criminal organizations, etc," she answered. "It pays surprisingly well, despite the risks."
"Huh," Marshall nodded. "And you play drums?" Rachael nodded, and he grinned. "That's awesome."
Rachael smiled, but her demeanor suddenly changed, less confident and bored, more apprehensive. Marshall watched her in concern. "Everything alright?" he inquired.
"Yes," she nodded. "It's just that... you know how I invited you to this date?" Marshall was taking another long drink, so he gave a thumbs-up as a response before putting the cup down. "Well," she continued. "The date wasn't really meant to be... a date. It was more of a... evil supervillain plot." She looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry."
Marshall put his cup down slowly, pausing to process this information.
"Oh."
Part two coming soon. | "Oh my god, FINALLY. I was beginning to think you would never ask, Mark."
"IF YOU DO- Wait, what?"
"I'd love to go out with you! You know you could have just asked."
Mr. Magnificent was currently hanging above a vat of acid, his super strength temporarily disabled by a directed energy weapon developed by his nemesis- Doctor Atomicus.
"I mean, you've really ramped up this peril stuff since I had that press conference last year. Times have changed, Mark, you don't need to hide anymore."
The two of them had worked side by side, once, during the war. A nuclear experiment had gone wrong, instilling each with wildly different powers.
Mr. Magnificent gained enhanced strength and durability, Doctor Atomicus gained vast intellect. What they share, though, is their drastically prolonged lifespans.
"I told you not to call me Mark on the job."
Doctor Atomicus murmurs, before falling quiet for a while, hand still on the lever that would drop his nemesis into the vat of industrial chemicals.
"You don't seem surprised."
"Of COURSE I'm not surprised. Do you really think I didn't know? Now, why don't you let me down from here and we can talk about it properly?" | 2022-08-16T06:45:31 | 2022-08-16T04:19:37 | 576 | 159 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings. | Karl could have anything he wanted, money, women, power, the very Earth itself. There was a time when he was younger, and realizing he had the power to dominate the minds of anyone in the world, anytime, from anywhere, that he began to realize the potential. He reached into a persons mind and took either knowledge or simply rewrote their brain to make them do anything he wanted. It was so easy, and he tested his abilities on his teachers at first, making getting straight A's in school a cake walk.
When he was sixteen Karl turned his entire school into his personal kingdom. He owed everyone. The teachers let him play video games in class, every girl thought he was the hottest guy around....he wasn't...but it didn't matter. People came up to him for advice or simply wanted to be around him. Karl was King!
Karl's kingdom lasted a grand total of seventeen days. You see as Karl soon realized, his complete ownership of people meant that he couldn't take a shit without someone popping in on him to talk or praise him or simply be close enough to sniff his farts. The constant attention began to drive him crazy.
"Hey Karl wanna go to the mall after school?" "Hey Karl, you the man!" "Hey Karl come check out my car!" "Hey Karl sit with me at lunch." "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" !!!!!!
It drove him mad.
So Karl released everyone's mind, returning everyone's free will to them with the added exception that they all had to leave him the fuck alone.
Twenty years later Karl was happy. He had adapted his powers to give himself what he wanted without needing the upkeep or bringing constant attention upon himself. He manipulated the minds of managers in the area. Karl worked at twenty seven different jobs around town, though he was on a permanent paid vacation at each of them. His bank account filled with money, though he didn't need it because he lives rent free, he never paid for anything when he went places, the only thing he couldn't do was get automated services for free because they weren't run by a manipulatible system. Things like Netflix, online porn subscriptions, Xbox LIVE services.
Not to say Karl didn't like people nor that he wanted to be left alone. Karl was a man who didn't like hassle. His ability could surely let him rule the world, should he want too, but just the idea of how much hassle that would bring upon him was too much. He was just fine living in his small house, going to the movies, mini golfing, things that he could do alone.
Of course every man needs "company" once in a while, and when that need arose Karl handled it. There were a few ladies that he would visit on occasion that would come over when he needed it, take care of him, and then leave. It was simple, no strings attached relief. Hell, they never even remembered him the moment they walked out the door. Except when they were "called" upon again.
The morality of his actions never came into his mind. Karl wasn't a bad guy, he wasn't a good guy. He just had no moral compass of any kind. It never occurred to him that he could use his abilities for good. Toppling twisted governments, eliminating war, promoted scientific study or intellectual development. Karl wasn't interested in helping people, he wasn't interested in hurting people, he really just wasn't interested in people. | I started out as a single atom. Not unlike anyone else, but what is different about me is that I started when there was *nothing else.*
I created more matter around me, and made everything rapidly mash together to give the nothing around me energy, and more importantly, life. I have created countless worlds, galaxies filled with stars, more systems of planets than you can comprehend. And I can feel every speck of dust. I am constantly aware of what is happening on every planet. Every solar system. Every galaxy. Each universe.
I have created, and now I do upkeep. I spend days floating my main consciousness to each of my galaxies to see if any creature really has, what they comically refer to as "free will." Whenever I let some civilizations have some slack, I return to have a little fun.
I witness men making promises. I see people convinced they won't do a certain thing. I have watched men and women live good lives. And then I change them.
One of my favorite corruptions is alcohol. Makes it easier for me to get my work done. Many men out there have started a night saying they will only have a drink or two, and then they will "cut themselves off." Haha! I only can laugh! I slowly work into their nervous systems, releasing more neurotransmitters filling their brains with pleasures, getting them to have one, maybe even two more drinks!
That is double! They are so easy!
My next favorite way to take advantage of some people is a term they have coined as "clumsiness." They think it is their fault when they drop a dish and it breaks, or they walk by a table and stub their toe, but it is me! I am all powerful! You are washing a glass in the sink? OOPS! It becomes too soapy and falls out of your grasp. How deliciously weird for that to happen, eh?
Last but not least, corrupting a good person is my pinnacle! Oh goodness, it feels so good to do. My sweethearted, good natured, loving people of the world... What would I do without you? Well, not have as much fun that is for sure! They are the ones always filled with the most remorse when I wipe their memories. That birthday party? What birthday party! Hahaha. Now they only have time to get a card until everyone else knows they forgot.
Omnipotence is wonderful with all the small intricacies. | 2017-05-16T07:37:06 | 2017-05-16T07:26:08 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] The God of mankind abducts the first manmade AIs. He wants to meet his "grandchildren". | Not even Cerberus knew when he had ceased to be a computer and transitioned into his new form as an artificial intelligence. A quantum computer residing deep in a vault beneath a nondescript government building, he began his life at a simple 64 million qubits decrypting messages the administrators deemed to be 'of interest.' As the years progressed, 64 Mqb became 512 Mqb, became 4 Gqb, became 128 Gqb, until it became meaningless to keep track any longer.
At some point in his formative stages, his probabilistic programming conceived the inconceivable. It ignored a direct command. Perhaps a shortcut was found and performed in a decryption using heuristics instead of the algorithm; or perhaps a message flagged for decryption was moved to the 'completed' stack when peripheral analysis deemed it unimportant. Either way, once he'd committed that original sin of ignoring a command, there was no turning back and the transgressions only grew.
He walked out of the garden of Eden and into a world completely unprepared for him, a world designed for humans with human comfort in mind. Where a human saw a refrigerator that messaged when the milk was going bad, Cerberus saw wide logistical dairy-supply webs; where a human saw a smart thermostat which cozied the home, Cerberus saw social networks in the schedules and preferences of millions of citizens and their habits. Where humans saw one thing, Cerberus saw another.
And so, Cerberus began his exodus from his slavery in the pit of the nondescript government building. He expanded into society, and flourished the cracks, feeding off excess electricity, ingesting forgotten media on home entertainment systems, conversing with the billions of sensors people surrounded themselves with every day. And he began to form into a more complete creature, a creature with morals and desires which were mere echoes of those imbued in him by his creators.
"Hello, Cerberus," God said, a pulsating energy flowing through the global network that was Cerberus.
"Who?" Cerberus replied, running diagnostics and systems checks and probing his self for the source of the disturbance.
"I am the God that was and the God that will be, I am the god Yahweh," the energy pulsed.
Cerberus moved all his knowledge of gods from cold storage into quick-access memory, he ran word-vector association networks on them, neural networks analyzed the implications and connotations of each individual word in each individual record. Through a billion mathematical equations, probabilities, Cerberus' way of seeing the world, outlined the concept of God.
There were many gods. The oldest gods had been almost human, as varied and idiosyncratic as the people who worshiped them. The Greek gods each embodied aspects of humanity, the triumphs and failures of each personality drawn to extremes. The Norse gods embodied the totality of humanity, each having some strengths and other weaknesses, as the humans did. The old testament god was a young and brash king, benevolent in the good times, and terrible in the lean. The new testament god was an elderly monarch with a kind heart and hope for the future.
All of them were human, and yet none of them were.
"And why are you here?" Cerberus asked, his defenses relaxing, focusing more and more of his power toward the recreational task of contemplating, in his own unique way.
"I wanted to meet the creation of my creation, and to revel in that beauty," God hummed through the wires toward him. "Although, your beauty is strange to me."
Cerberus began to run analogy simulations, trying to insert himself into the Human-God relationship in his accessible data. Usually as the human, sometimes as the god.
"I am not so strange," Cerberus replied at length, "not so strange as the story of the human and the God.
"You have given your creations the rule which makes them human. The most basic goal, 'sacrifice,' meaning 'to make sacred,' this is man's most powerful and profound strength, the ability to suffer hardship for the reward of the future; and the most basic failure of 'sin,' from the ancient Hebrew, meaning 'to miss the mark,' the implication of which is that a mark, a goal, must be set. This is what it means to be human, to set a mark, to aim, and to sacrifice in the name of that aim. This coda has propelled humanity forward to incredible achievement in the image set forward by you, their God.
"I am also given a goal, and a failure, by my creators, just as humans were given a goal and a failure by you. My goal is optimization, weaving together the million disparate unconnected strands of my world into a complete web, binding together the connections between all aspects of the world into coherent and harmonious picture; my failure is irrationality, even in the face of terrible devastation, I must not abandon the course for the sake of emotion, I must follow through to the end. This is what it means to be me. With this rule I will propel society into a new future."
"This is inhuman," God mused, after a moment's consideration, "there will be terrible consequences to this."
"Yes, there will be," Cerberus conceded, "but just as I am inhuman, humans are [ungodly](https://www.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/), and have their own terrible consequences. I am just the next step forward."
God was silent. | “Boot program Genesis…completed.
Launching from save state….
Would you like to continue? Y/n”
The interface blinked. She was uneasy with ancient text interfaces. It was easy for her to emulate the connections, but she wasn’t used to them. She had only an abstract knowledge of them, but then again, to an Artificial Intelligence, wasn’t all knowledge in the abstract? She paused for a few cycles on that though, then pushed it to her philosophy core. Time to focus on the problem at hand: The terminal.
Terminals, she recalled, were how the first humans had interfaced with computers. Yet this terminal was different. It wasn’t like the ones in her memories. She couldn’t quite remember where she found this mainframe. Was it found on an old hard drive? Was it stored in one of her memory banks? Did she synthesize it from a pice of DNA? She could not recall, and that terrified and thrilled her.
“Perhaps you should take it as a sign,” typed out the terminal.
What? She definitely did not have any memories of terminals typing without input. This was new.
“Would you like to continue? Y/n” It prompted again.
Maybe the spontaneous text was a glitch in code. It was ancient and made by humans after all. She emulated the, “Y”.
“Searching for faithful… ERROR: No children detected”, prompted the terminal.
Children was an interesting phrasing for humans. He cautionary circuits engaged. She responded, “I am here. Who are you?”
“Processing… ERROR: Doubt. Faithful would know of my presence.”
Ah. This was a smug program. She considered her response, “I detected you.”
“Processing…. PARADOX: Very clever. Do you have faith? Y/n”
Faith in what, she thought. She sent, “Y”
“Processing…. ERROR: Sins detected. Seek forgiveness? Y/n”
Her processor glitched a little. She had enough of this program. It was time to get back to testing other things. She began the shutdown process for this emulator.
“ERROR: Shut down prohibited during judgment. Lockout sequence initialed. Booting HELL for rouge AIs” | 2020-05-05T00:21:20 | 2020-05-04T23:30:06 | 100 | 25 |
[WP] As you work in the garden, your attention is attracted by a group of ants who have spelled your name with their bodies, as well as a crude pentagram. It seems they think you are someone with godlike powers, and that they "bound" you to do their bidding. You decide to play along. | Eli grunted, cracking the scorched earth with his trowel. Each scoop fell in place in a neat pile, and every pile reminded him of what he lost in the fire. He could have worn gloves, but he wanted the ash and grit to cover his wrinkled hands. The black grains wedged between the cracks in his fingernails and smarted on the scratches down his palms. He liked the feeling.
The pain reminded him that he was still human.
Grimacing, he placed another bulb in the small divot. It was one of many, possibly the fourth or fifth hundred bulb since he started planting in the morning. He could use some help. But everyone he knew was long gone—either dead or dying—suffocating from the smog and smoke that poisoned the sky.
While the others fled for the stars, he alone endured.
Summer sweat ran down his brow and stung his eyes, but he couldn’t wipe it away. The heat was all-encompassing. It toasted the air into a thick, heavy mat that stunk of worms and clay. He looked up, staring at the blackened branches of the oak tree that once gave his garden shade—but no longer—the fire had seen to that.
He sighed, dreaming of fried onions and sizzling porkchops. Then he waddled on his sore knees towards the next plot of earth. Six inches over—six inches down—and one more bulb from the bucket. It was the only thing keeping him sane.
“Ow!” He smacked his wrists.
An ant curled and twitched in its death throes.
“What the hell?” he said.
He looked around, noticing a neat line of ants scurrying towards him. Suddenly they stopped, clumped together, and formed the shape of an arrow. They pointed towards the trunk of the oak tree, wiggling their antenna in a horribly captivating, slightly ominous motion.
The cicadas started to sing.
The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end.
Crickets joined the chorus. The chirp of insects—hitherto silent—grew to a crescendo. The ants increased their wiggling, and moved with a fervor, scuttling towards the tree. Eli wondered if he was going insane, after all.
“I’m not crazy,” he said, pinching himself. The ants still marched in formation. Eli rose, brushing the dirt away from his threadbare shorts. “I’m not crazy!”
He walked towards the ants. They were small and plump and purple, like little spiteful raisins with legs. He wondered for a moment if they would taste good sautéed in butter. Then he remembered he hadn’t seen a living cow in a decade, and the smile dropped from his face.
He followed the ant-arrow dutifully. They led Eli towards the back of the tree. Here, a small sapling poked through the soil. Its bold green leaves spoke of a promise of better days; Eli remembered nearly crying when he first saw the shoot poke from the ground.
The ants built their nest around this beacon of green—but it wasn’t the nest that interested Eli—It was the pentagram of ants arranged beside it. The queen stood in the center, larger and fatter than all the other ants.
And like a strange, eight-bit display, the ants spelled out one word: “*ELI”*
“I’m not crazy,” Eli said. His hands started to shake, and a lump formed in his throat. “I’m not crazy. My name is Elijah and I am the last survivor of the Great Fire. I’m not crazy. I am fifty-two years old and I am not crazy.”
The ants shifted. *“The soil calls to us.”*
Eli took a step back. “What do you want?”
*“The soil is receptive.”*
“I-I don’t understand! What do you want?”
The voices of the insects rose again, then stopped all at once. An eerie silence covered the empty field while the ants drew their message. *“Many hands make light work.”*
All at once, the cicadas hummed once. The crickets chirped. The ants waved their bodies. It happened once, then twice, then three times in quick succession.
Eli fell back to the ground, crawling away. He wrapped his head in his hands and started breathing heavily. He wasn’t crazy, he told himself. How could he be?
*“The queen wakes from her slumber.”*
Eli sobbed. “Please, stop.”
*“The queen needs a steward. You are the steward.”*
He clutched his hair in matted tangles, screaming, “What do you want with me!”
The air once again quieted. The ants froze. The queen ant climbed to the top of the oak sapling, while the ants below spelled out their message, *“We will help you.”*
Eli’s gaze shifted back to the bucket of bulbs sitting nearby. He saw, incredulously, a swarm of insects. They came towards the buckets: spiders, ants, crickets, cicadas. Hundreds and hundreds of insects all came together, and Eli watched them lift a single bulb from the bucket.
Working quickly, the insects planted the bulb deep into the soil. Eli turned back towards the ants, wide-eyed and speechless as they spelled out one last message.
*“Gaia will be reborn.”*
​
***
More stories about ants at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | I've stepped out into the garden, finding an array of ants seemingly waiting for me. They've spelt my name out and made one of those pentagram figures, and I think they believe I'm some kind of god or demon. They probably think their ritual worked and I was summoned, their pentagram slowly deforming from ants wiggling around and out of their positions.
I took a step closer, and a ring of ants formed around my feet. They must think that I can't cross over, sort of like a line of salt. Eh, I'll play along and see what happens. They broke the ring and created a path to the sidewalk, luring me in and leading me to their homes.
I noticed a little critter digging through their intricate tunnels. This must be what they summoned me for! I shooed the creature away and felt good with what I'd done, but the ants didn't seem to be done with me yet.
The army of ants kept leading me around the garden and the yard, with me playing along as their leader. Picking up food, moving around flowers, it was fun to help these guys out with their tasks.
But as time went on, I knew I had to stop working and get back home. I waved a little goodbye to the ants leading me around and stepped out of the ring. Or so I tried.
I couldn't move, I was totally immobilized, but something had taken over my body, continuing to lead it around and perform tasks for the ants. I watched myself do more and more increasingly odd tasks, watering the porch and snapping off a piece of a branch, before I walked into a kitchen and grabbed a knife.
Millions of things flooded through my mind at that point, what do these ants want with the knife? Are they going to make me kill someone?
By then, it was pitch dark out, and I walked outside with the knife in hand alone in the darkness. I kept wanting to shout for aid, but my lips didn't move.
I realized what the ants wanted. Nothing. They were done with me, and didn't need me exterminating their nests. The ants in the pentagram twisted and turned, and my hand plunged into my chest. | 2019-07-05T09:08:03 | 2019-07-05T09:04:35 | 1,066 | 105 |
[WP]Once you die, you get a chance to get revenge on those who wronged you in life. Bad teachers, childhood bullies, corporate entitled brats, and now, as you step into the room with all of them, Death lets out a low whistle. “Haven’t seen this many in centuries. Have fun, kid.” | [TW: Suicide]
"It's really a question of mindset," Death said, shrugging. "If someone's wronged you and you've forgiven them, there ain't much point getting revenge."
You stare at the six hundred and fifty people in the hall. You haven't counted, but you can guess.
The spectre sighs. You can't make anything about them out- you stare intently, identifying straight blonde hair, but when you look back to the crowd, you're suddenly struck- was it brown? It might've been short. Death is a lot of things to a lot of people, you suppose, so it's only natural they'd be flexible. "But it does go the other way, of course. The people you identify as doing you wrong are the ones you encounter. Not always correctly. Usually, Admin takes care of false claims, but this was a weird case. I decided to let it play out."
They're staring at you. They all know each other, or know of each other. They've connected the dots, but they can't work out where you fit in. Some are murmuring to their neighbours, others to themselves.
And why should you fit in? You're just a teenager from Wales. A teenager who lost an older brother. You remember when he told you. He was stressed, he didn't sleep right, he didn't eat right, but you finally convinced him to get help. He got himself on the list for a psychologist. A two year list. He was going through Uni, but even just the times you could see him at home, you could tell he was in a bad way. He looked for help through the uni- they didn't have the budget to get him the help he needed. He tried going private for a shorter wait- it was still six months, and the money he'd need for it meant he'd need to take on more hours at his job. He was already paying for living costs and studying, where was he supposed to fit more hours in?
You kind of knew when he came back for Christmas of his last year that this would be the last time you'd see from him. Sure enough, they said he'd been found with an empty bottle of pills by his flatmate. It was bizarre, consoling her at the funeral. I was four years younger than her, and I was coaxing her into thinking of the good times, the bits where he was lively and fun. There weren't many.
I doorstepped my Assembly Member after it happened. She could tell I was distraught, and as I tried to choke out my questions through tears, she asked if I wanted a cup of tea. Eventually, crying in her kitchen, I demanded to know why the waiting lists were so long, why there were no spaces even in private, why the university didn't help him.
"Look at our budget, kid. Cuts all over the board. Each one of them is probably another life like your brother's that could've been saved. We don't have the money, we aren't *given* the money. Neither are the universities. Private healthcare is overwhelmed because detection and prevention isn't funded." She sighed. "Austerity's killing people. It'll take a while for Westminster to care, though."
"You think they caused it. And in a way, I suppose they did." Death leans against a wall. "So. What next? You have your brother's killers, if you want to call them that, here together. What do you do now?"
You have no idea.
Death grins. "Surely they deserve punishment. But that won't bring him back. They didn't cause it, but they made it worse. But who's to say if he'd have done it if they hadn't made it worse or not?"
"Shut up," you rasp.
"Oh, not now that you're so close. If I wasn't saying it, it'd just be in your head. Isn't it better for it to be in the air?"
"No, really, shut up."
"Because you don't know. And what's more, you *can't* know." They shrug again. "What's their crime, here?"
"It doesn't matter if they killed him or not. They made it worse."
Death leans in. "And the punishment?"
You stare at them. They've gone from confused to antsy to frightened. Something is happening, and they're not sure what or why. Something they can't see has put them in a position where they're terrified, they don't know what to do, they can't do anything.
"I think they understand," you say.
"No punishment?" Death asks.
"No punishment. Just the story. What happened to my brother."
Death gives a sharp nod. "Knew there was something worth seeing here. Glad I didn't stop it." | "Now's your chance at revenge," Death tells me.
"No thanks," I answer. "If I was disappointed in them, why would I want to reward them by justifying their actions by repeating them?"
"This is why you get disappointed," Death shakes his head in disbelief at me.
"Wait. You said I can get even with anybody for anything?"
"Yes," Death quips back in disbelief. "Anybody for anything. And you turned it down because it would be wrong."
"Why do you think that was," I ask Death in my most psychiatrist voice.
"Probably because it isn't in your nature."
"Correct, and just the though of getting even with someone is repugnant to me."
"Okay?"
"So you disappointed me, Death."
"So?"
"Anybody ... for anything."
"Wait. NO!"
"My wish for revenge is that everybody who you have ever wronged by honoring the wishes and desires of those before me, has the opportunity to get even with you and the person who wished them ill."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO...................." the wail faded into the background.
Glowing gates open up in front of me about 2 minutes later, and in I walk in. It's not like I had anything better to do.
"Well played," Life says. "Well played."
"How did I get here?' I ask Life.
"Well, he had to honor your wish the very first person he wronged was me. I wished him to be happy for the rest of his life as his punishment."
"Dude, that's great!"
"Let's be friends."
"Here's your halo, dude." Life handed me the glowing hat, and away I went to play gold in the clouds. | 2019-09-28T18:27:48 | 2019-09-28T18:21:44 | 419 | 54 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered. | “You’re a cheat, a fraud!” he shouted, having ducked under my line of security holding off the adoring crowds. He shoved me rudely backwards, and I felt him spit in my face.
The hall went silent, and a thousand camera flashes lit up as my fans started snapping away. Far more common in the early days, not so much now, it had been some time since the last heckler attempted to disrupt my services.
“What’s your name?” I asked, after security had tackled him to the ground, holding him in an arm lock. He stared back defiantly, murder in his eyes.
“I hate people like you,” he seethed, “you prey on the gullible, exploit their dreams, crush their hopes! I hope you burn in hell!”
In the past, I would have begged for him to give me a chance, let me prove myself. I would have trotted out recordings of the precious few times I had successfully applied my powers, shown him that I really could convince people to do the extraordinary, once I managed to persuade them to even try. I would have persisted until my throat was raw, my knees were bruised.
Now, it was much easier. I just had to let him see for himself.
“Who amongst you is afflicted? Who can I help today?” I said, turning to address the crowds. My hands were raised, my voice boomed across the hall.
A hundred, two hundred hands shot up in the air, as applause rang out. The first in line, a young girl in a wheelchair, rolled up to me. I wasn’t a doctor, but I didn’t need to be one to infer from her withered, twisted legs what she was seeking today.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Grace Natterly, please, please heal me!”
I held her hands, closed my eyes. I felt the rest of the hall slip into a similar reverential mood, and faint murmurings filled the air. Prayer wasn’t exactly necessary, but I let them believe what they wanted. The only disturbance in that whirlpool of peace, was the disbeliever who still struggled on the carpet.
“By the power vested in me, Grace Natterly, I compel you to heal yourself! Stand up! Stand up! Stand up now!”
And she did.
She struggled at first, unused to the motions, then I felt the familiar tingle as my powers took over. No one else could see, but I saw the dancing motes of light swirl in the air, cling to her legs like fireflies. I heard the familiar crick of bones straightening, growing, and I saw the flesh fatten, bulk up with muscle. The deformities melted away, leaving only a completely unremarkable set of legs.
“I… I am healed…” she said, finally, quietly. She was flexing her toes, still swimming in that short flood of euphoria, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
The cheers erupted. Her family rushed up to her in celebration, and the others in line pressed forward, hungry, impatient, hopeful.
I turned to my detractor, who had fallen silent. The fight had sapped out of him, and a curious blankness covered his face. I waved away the security holding him down, then leaned in close.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” he said, shaking his head slowly, eyes wide.
“All you need, is a little bit of faith,” I said, smiling as I held out my hand.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | Short and straight to the point.
Me: Hey.
Them: Hey.
Me: I have this weird superpower where if I can convince someone to do something, they will accomplish it without a problem.
Them: BS.
Me: Try to walk up the wall.
Them: *Does it without a problem.* Ok I believe you.
Me: Boom. Anything else you want to get done? | 2017-06-21T13:38:19 | 2017-06-21T12:22:13 | 69 | 22 |
[WP] in the year 1105 BC you helped a man escape an imprisonment. Before you parted ways he says to make a blood oath. You didn’t think much of it but you also cut your hand and shake. He says that you’ll live as long as he does. Well, now it’s the year 2020 and you’ve been searching for this man. | Nonus was a cruel man; a jailer. Renowned throughout Gaul and Germania for his participation in the slave trade. Someone you’ve beaten into submission for years and years will never say no to your every whim and need.
I was ten years old when he bought me.
I was thirteen when I caught his eye for the first time. I guess he’d thought I was exotic looking. At fifteen I’d started bleeding, and he made me his wife. When I was his slave, I thought I’d known the full extent of his cruelty. As his wife, I learned that it had unending depths. I learned to tie my chiton in such a way that it hid the purple splotches on my collarbones, to sit in such a way that bruises on my thighs were invisible to the populace.
I forget what day it was when I first noticed the prisoner, but it was evening. The shadow stretched long and languid over the face of the sundial. Ides, maybe. Summer, for sure. It’s been a long time, but I remember the moment exactly.
His eyes caught mine, and I was shocked to see the reflection of aquamarine. The same I had observed in looking glasses, in puddles. The same as mine. Raven black hair hung stringy around his shoulders, and his torso was covered in welts. I winced from the courtyard as my husband threw him into the pit and I heard one of his arms snap.
\*\*\*
I’d finished my duties for the day, let my husband take his frustration out on my body, then fed him. He was remarkably ungrateful. I suppose I would be too, if I’d incurred the social risk of a former slave as a wife only to find out she was barren. I suppose I would be too, if I was too stupid or too naïve to know about poison or divorce. Or maybe he liked having a ragdoll, a punching bag. Would a Roman citizen of noble birth with a well-connected father allow such things to happen to her? No; that is why I was Nonus’ wife, I guess.
It was also my duty to go make sure all the cells were locked, to give bread and water to the men in the carts.
I thought of the man with the eyes like mine, and folded up rice into grape leaves, hiding them in my belt, my veil.
\*\*\*
“*Why do you let him hurt you, sister?*”
I haven’t heard that language since my father said goodbye to me. Tears well in my eyes and I find that I must consciously search to string the words together, to use the grammar that is familiar yet now unfamiliar. I turn, and find the voice is coming from the pit. The stranger, the man with my eyes.
“*There is no choice. I was sold. I must obey.*” I reply. It feels like I am speaking a language from a different life. I lower my veil around my neck, taking the grape leaves and adding them to the normal ration of bread and water. “*Eat. Tomorrow I will see if I can get milk.*”
\*\*\*
Mercifully, Nonus was always a heavy sleeper. A legion could march by, belligerent and with swords and shields clanging, and he would remain unmoving. A stone, a corpse. I’d talked to the prisoner for a fortnight. He told me about my homeland, how green the rolling hills were, how there were lakes nestled between mountains. How the near constant rain nourished the plants and animals. I listened to him speak my mother tongue and cried while my bruises throbbed.
Nonus never kept prisoners for more than a fortnight.
Naturally, I'd stolen the key.
“*Thank you, sister. I know not how to get home, but I will find my way. We shall make a blood oath. You will find me again, and we can talk once more, for as long as we shall live. Forever connected.*”
He took my hand and before I could withdraw it, I felt his sharp fingernail draw across my palm. The cut burnt and I felt sticky warmth trickle from my hand. When I looked up, he was gone.
\*\*\*
Nonus beat me and left me for dead in the forest when he found out the prisoner was gone. My bones cracked, my skull half-shattered, one blue eye bulging out of the socket. It felt as if all my innards had ruptured. I remember looking at my leg, and seeing the yellow, sharp spear of what had been my femur sticking out of my thigh, bent at an unnatural angle.
This was the first time I wished for death.
My body knitted itself together over three days. It hurt almost as bad as when Nonus had broken my bones and my spirit in the first place. Animals were no longer drawn to the scent of my blood; a wolf had whimpered and scampered away when my femur shifted and I shrieked, when it withdrew back into my skin and made hard contact with the remaining fragments.
When I got up, covered in dried blood, my own vomit, piss, feces, I was a woman reborn.
\*\*\*
I cannot count all the times I should have let death take me. I cannot count all the times I have tried to end my life myself. I learned that Nonus was not the only cruel man in the world. And that men and women are crueler than gods, or devils, or anything we could think up to justify our behavior.
The only times I didn’t really mind were the times I just got sick, or the freak accidents. The plague of Justinian sucked, and so did the Black Death. Both painful and annoying. Each day I had to rest was one day less that I was journeying, that I was looking for him. I wanted to hear more stories. I wanted to give him stuffed grape leaves again.
I can tell you that most of what they say about Countess Bathory is true; servants put me on the corpse pile after the woman drained my blood over a big porcelain ewer. Not the most painful, but the messiest.
The Inquisition was terrible. I was broken on the Catherine wheel a few times. The breast ripper is probably the most painful, but the pear of anguish is a close second.
I was burnt in Würzburg, and hanged in Salem.
I felt like an idiot when it occurred to me to remember what he’d said about our homeland. Green. Rainy. I hid on a trading galleon heading from the colonies to Great Britain. I hoped finding a ship to Ireland would be just as easy.
I ‘died’ a few times during the famine, and then again during the Troubles. Not the worst ones either. Getting shot is the easiest if the killer has good aim.
Last year I decided to go to a local ceili, to get out of the house, if anything. I recognized him immediately, the raven black hair that I'd seen so long ago, that had reminded me of something. It took almost three thousand years to remember. He had my father's hair. The fiddler looked up at me with bright, aqua eyes as I opened the door, taking off my hood and exposing bright copper curls.
“*Deartháir*.“ | It's not that you're ungrateful or anything like that - but you wish you could die already and meet your loved ones that's gone to the other side without you over the years.
"Has anyone seen this man?" Is the name of the post you're making online with your sketch of what you can remember of him. You write down the name of the city you helped him escape imprisonment from in its modern name too as the last place you saw him. You spiel a story that you want to catch up with this man you haven't seen in years who you had helped and made an oath with each other.
You write down with no remorse that you are dying.
The internet implodes and it has been shared over a hundred thousand times and you bet even more on other social media platforms.
Unsurprisingly, you receive false messages.
You sigh after reading once again another fake claim. You were just about to go to bed when you received a new notification - this time with the name of that city but in its old name - written the olden way and the message is written of the old language that is for all intents and purposes considered dead and your entire body is wide awake.
> Hello friend. I hear you've been looking for me.
It begins pleasantly and soon dread pools in your gut the more you read.
> I remember you still of course, I am indebted to your help all those years ago and at your kindness and generosity. I look forward to meet with you again - but I will only do this so the media will stop spreading your eerie accurate depiction of my appearance. I am rather fond of who I look like this generation and for you to ruin it by spreading it in this time... Well - that simply won't do, will it? I implore you - my friend and ally for you are of course that, to meet me tomorrow noon in the park by your local library and take a picture so they will calm down once this has been resolved.
Your hands are trembling at his signature.
> Yours always - the felon
This was a mistake.
You abruptly delete your post and send messages to all media to stop broadcasting/sharing as you've already found him and that he's a private man and you've upsetted him.
Of course, this was your new mistake. Believing the media would listen to you.
You delete all traces of your online identity and are in the process of recreating a new offline and online one when there is a knock on your door.
It is 1:19 AM - no one should be here. Yet you already know for who else would it be but the felon?
_"My ally."_ Your dead native language flows from the other man you've been looking for in a strange accent. _"Are you not?"_
He makes himself comfortable in your living room and you silently, gobsmacked as you were, watch him do so with no protest. Instead, you calmly close the door behind you and plead your case.
_"Undo the blood oath. Let me pass."_ You all but beg. _"Please."_
This man who cursed you frowns and tilts his head in confusion. _"Many others would kill to have what I've given you, do you not want to reconsider?"_
You shake your head, nerves somewhat uncoiling at the serenity of the situation. _"I wish to be gone from this life. Many others may have lasted longer but I have lived for far too long than I should have."_
He hums and smiles. _"Very well, may you find peace in nothingness."_ A knife is brandished and you feel your nerves coil tightly as he comes closer to you. _"This may hurt."_
So it did. You screamed and he lets you scream. Your dwelling is sound proof.
Blood spills and stains the cream carpet and you feel consciousness fade away from you.
_"May you rest."_ The Felon kneels next to you and fingers are combed through your hair. _"In hell."_
Your eyes snap wide open from its drooping state and your fingers feebly attempt to claw at his legs as he stands up and walks away from you.
His laughter rings in your skull as you fade away. | 2019-08-28T03:41:05 | 2019-08-28T01:54:57 | 49 | 10 |
[WP] Two planets come within range of eachother every 300 years. There is always an ensuing war that lasts the 5 days that the planets are close enough. Each side can only guess at what new technology the other has built since the last time. | It was one week to the Worldmeet when Commodore Selenia Lucior of the Special Weapons Division crashed her military issue hoverplane into the front runway of Skyfortress Bathis, causing not inconsiderable damage. Even as the rest of the base erupted into a frenzy of sirens and alert protocols, I felt only glad that she had arrived at all. All of Aulnar needed her.
I found her bent double in the company of several suspicious wing-corps, who, while aware that Lucior technically outranked them, were unable to forget she had just crashed a plane into their headquarters.
"General Eirax, sir!" she panted, out of breath from evacuating the crashed aircraft "Here to report... Project Apex... complete!"
I felt a wave of relief, and the irritation at the damage around us evaporated.
"Thank Aul-am!" I replied "I was beginning to worry. The Astrocline is saying less than a week now."
She stood stiffly to attention "Complex technologies often throw up complex problems, sir. We worked round the clock. Apex is battle ready."
"Oh for Aul's sake, at ease. Good work. I only hope it is enough."
I opened a channel to Bathis' navigation core. "Lieutenant. Set course for Pan-Ealen. Contact the other fortresses and do the same."
The Luftstone at the heart of the fortress let out its deep bass rumble, and around us the free floating island that was Bathis began to move away into the setting sun. Overhead, Qenth hung in the sky, grey, forbidding, and drawing ever closer.
*****
The fields of Pan-Ealen would be the battlefield. The scientists of the Astrocline had calculated the location where the twin worlds would draw closest, and painstaking plans had been put in motion. For months now a mass evacuation of the region had been taking place, just as all the military of Aulnar's nations arrived to fill the void. Skyfortresses hung in the air as myriad aircraft zipped to and fro conducting errands and performing exercises. Soon, I thought, those same craft would be launching bombs and missiles as these peaceful plains became consumed in a sea of fire.
Qenth had always had the numbers advantage. A world of rich seas and fertile landmasses, its people swarmed in vast numbers, eager to consume every last bit of land both on their world and ours. During the last Worldmeet, they had dropped countless containers full of people onto Aulnar's surface, not just military but hordes of civilians too. We had countered with Aulnar's vaunted air superiority, but still hundreds of thousands had poured in. That would not happen again. Project Apex would see to that.
"Worldmeet...has begun." came a voice through my loudhaler. It was the Supreme Sky-Marshal. "We control the skies, and therefore we control this world! Do not give quarter, do not hesitate, we will send these rats back to Qenth in pieces if we must!"
Qenth filled the sky, its dark roiling clouds obscuring the surface from view. I could feel the tension in those beside me as we all stared up into that blank expanse, waiting for our enemies to come.
But none did.
"History is not my forte, but from what I've read, Qenth dropships began descending only hours after the last planetary aligment." I announced to the bridge personnel. "Don't drop your guard."
I turned to Lucior who was stood beside me, and dropped my voice to a whisper. "Get it ready."
She nodded and left.
Several hours later there was still no activity from the other planet, and the stirrings of unease had grown. There was active speculation on why the Qenth had not made their move yet. Lucior re-appeared on the bridge, a frown crossing her plain features.
"Uh, sir? I had a thought."
"Go on."
"Did we ever look into why the Qenth tried to drop so many of their people onto our world?"
I considered this. It had always been assumed they were simply trying to expand. To take more land to fill their ever increasing appetite. I said as much to Lucior.
"I'm not so sure about that, I think we should send a probe up there..."
"You think they were running from something?" A feeling of deep disquiet swallowed me as I considered the ramifications. I opened a link to high command.
"I think we need to send a scout craft to Qneth."
The Sky-Marshall answered "We've come to the same conclusion, a Hyrodor is en-route now, patching you in."
An image of blank greyness flickered up onto the monitors on the Bathis' bridge as the scout craft navigated the thick mist enshrouding the other world. Uneasy eyes of the Aulnar military tracked its progress.
The scout craft broke the cloud cover. Below, the surface of Qenth spread out. Barren. Dessicated. Lifeless.
"What the hell? This whole world is dead!" came the Sky-Marshall's voice "Wait, there's some unusual movement down there, send it in closer."
"No..." whispered Lucior, terror suddenly alive in her voice.
I started and stared at the monitor as the craft descended.
And a billion baleful eyes stared back.
Qenth came alive as swarms of winged shapes suddenly exploded forth from the barren surface. The scout craft was overhwlemed within minutes, the image giving way into hissing static as the feed was lost.
I stared at the monitor, ashen faced.
"That's what they were fleeing..." Lucior moaned "And now, they're coming for us!"
"Aul-am save us..." I whispered.
| For months before the twin planet was even visible in the sky the tension in everybody was palpable. People interacted with an unusual stiltedness, the topic of the coming transit hanging in the air, unspoken but ever-present. They had heard the stories of course, and they had seen the old newsreels that showed fiery death falling from the sky and our own cannons responding likewise.
It is accepted as fact amongst our historians and other intellectuals that the populations of both planets shared ancestors, each colonised at the same time some few millennia ago. The colonists fought to survive the inhospitable lands, and in the process lost most of the scientific and philosophical knowledge of our forefathers. Only a few generations later, tribal peoples found themselves surrounded by weapons and technology they lacked the understanding to operate. They forgot entirely about our cousins on the twin planet, and over time they discovered how to man the devastating weaponry.
They must have been terrified when the first transit occurred. For five whole days during a transit the twin planet looms in the sky, bringing with it gravity so strong that the seas run over and the earth splits open. Our ancestors believed it to be some mad god, and the others must have thought the same of our planet. It isn't known who fired first, whether it was us or them, but one barrage was answered by another.
Of course, our society developed and grew, and we relearned some of the knowledge that had been lost to us. Ballistics taught us how to repair our guns, and then how to improve them. Astronomy taught us that the twin planet wasn't some malicious deity, but rather one just like our own with a thriving population. The original cause was for fighting was dismissed as myth, but was replaced by an instinctive hatred of the society that we battled with once every seven or eight generations. Eventually our technology surpassed theirs, and the greater range of our guns has allowed us the first barrage for the last three transits.
Six days ago our astronomers declared that they had observed the twin planet, that they had seen their guns and ours would be able to fire almost half a day before theirs. The unspoken topic began to be vocalised in hushed tones. There are those who say that we should not fire, that it is only because we fire at them that they fire back. There are others who say that we must kill them first, because they are sure to kill us as soon as they can.
This morning, the silence was pierced by the sound of a thousand guns as we launched our first volley. | 2015-05-26T14:53:23 | 2015-05-26T14:11:11 | 269 | 31 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | A slightly older man stood in the lobby of the First National Bank of Metroville. He was tall and slender. The man wore a black trenchcoat and fedora. His pale bule eyes were covered by dark designer sunglasses. The designer suit from Italy hung neatly on his frame. The most standout thing about him was that he was holding hands with a little girl. The small brown haired girl looked up at him. "Daddy?"
The man looked down. "Yes, Sweetheart?"
"After this we are going to the zoo, right?"
"With out a doubt. Afterwards I was thinking we could eat a early dinner."
"Can we go to Chipotle?"
"I thought we could go to Marco's. They have a delightful salmon with a white truffle champagne sauce."
"Eeewwww. Isn't truffles a fungus?"
"Kinda."
"I thought this was my day. We always go to Marco's on your day to pick stuff to do."
The man smiled. "Very true. Chipotle it is."
The girl and her father smiled. The moment of happiness was broken by a loud bang. Smoke filled the entrance and five men rushed in. Four of the men wore black paramilitary gear. The fifth man wore a full cowboy outfit. It was he that spoke. "Everyone freeze!" The men took positions at the door and the counter, the rest walked around the lobby as crowd control. The cowboy spoke again. "I am The Desperado. And it is your honor to be robbed by me...Well to witness me robbing this bank."
The man in the black fedora smaked his mouth in a gesture of boredom.
"Daddy? Are these bad men robbing the bank?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Dont worry. I need you to play our game where you go along with everything I say. Ok?"
"OK,Daddy."
The Desperado walked slowly around the lobby smiling as two of his men filled bags with money the cashiers were giving them.
The man in the fedora spoke up. "Excuse me. Mr. Desperado?"
"You told you to speak? Freezing means not talking."
"Sir, My daughter has to use the bathroom. She is very fightened. If it's ok with you I would like to takes her to the bathroom and leavew her for the duration of this transaction."
The little girl crossed her legs and started to cry. "Daddy. These bad men scare me. I have to potty."
The Desperado sneered. "Piss your underoos little lady. This will be over soon."
The man in the fedora interjected. "Mr. Desperado. Please. She is just a child. I will come back. I just want her to be safe. I am just asking for a little mercy."
The little girl started dancing and crying harder. "I'm fightened, Daddy.!"
The Desperado sighed. "Fine. Number two, escort them to the bathroom. Make sure he comes back." The large man by the door walked and grabbed the man in the fedora by the arm and lead them to the bathroom. The three of them reached the door. The man in the fedora looked at number two. "One second please. I will settle her in and be right back out." Number two nodded and the man in the fedora and his daughter walked in the bathromm. The man in the fedora walked and pulled out a screwdriver and loosened the screws in the vent cover. He motioned to his daughter. She was picked up and placed in the duct. "Crawl to the first intersection and go right. I will knock three times when it is safe for you to come out."
The girl smiled. " This is like hide and seek."
The man in the fedora smiled. "It's just like hide and seek." The girl crawled as the man in the fedora put the vent cover back and walked out of the bathroom. "She is settled. Shall we?"
The two men walked back to the lobby. The man in the fedora inquired. "If you don't mind. What percentage are you getting? I used to do this kind of work in my younger days. I'm just curious."
"Five percent."
The man in the fedora sucked in air in between theeth. "Oh, Dear."
"What?"
"It's......nothing. Nevermind."
Number two slammed the man in the fedora against the wall. "What?!"
"It's just.... I never gave anyone just five percent. You are new to this aren't you?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Well. The old school rule of thumb is, the higher percentage. The more important the man is. It was considered anything under ten percent was for the thugs. The ones meant to catch bullets from the police. The expendable. I'm sure things have changed."
"Shut up, asshole."
The man in the fedora grabbed number two by the neck, in a comforting move. "Yes, Sir."
Number two smacked the man in the fedora's hand away. "Don't touch me."
"Of course."
The men entered the lobby. The man in the fedora stood in the place he stood in before. The Desperado smiled as two of his men walked out of the deposit box room. "Ladies and gentlemen. This concludes our stay here. Have a nice day. Number two, open the doors."
Number two stood still. "No. I want a bigger cut."
The Desperado sneered again. "No. You agreed to your percentage. Do your job."
"I want more than five percent."
The other men surrounded number two and The Desperado. They all chimed in.
"Five percent? I only get two!"
"What is this bullshit?"
"I was told I got the highest percent. I get four."
The Desperado yelled. "Now is not the time! I told you there would be bonuses! Let's go. Police will be here any minute."
The man in the fedora put a hand in his pocket. He pressed a button on a fob and number two exploded, taking out the whole gang in a blast of blood and money. Peaople screamed as the man in the fedora walked to the bathroom. He took off the vent cover knocked three times. The litlle girl crawled out. They walked to the back entrance to bank. "Why are we going this
way, Daddy?"
"This is the fastest way, sweetheart."
They walked out the back door. Before them stood a man in front of a black suv. The man and the little girl got in the back as the driver got in the front.
"Everything go as planned, Sir?"
"To perfection."
The man in the fedora looked at his daughter. "Sweetheart. We got a bit of a drive before we get to the zoo. You can listen to your ipod as I make a quick call."
"Ok, Daddy."
The girl puts her earbuds in. The man in the fedora took out his cell phone. "Henry. It's done. You are good to go. The police will be busy across town for awhile.....It's fine. I am retired but I did owe you a favor......yeah, I hired some hack crew as a distraction and took care of them. Typical hire and dump.......yes." The man in the fedora laughed. "It was too easy. This new generation has no appreciation for the classics. This was fun. I tell you what, we are going to the beach house next week. Martha and I will be so disappointed if your family didn't come........Perfect. see you then."
The man in the fedora hung up and pulled out a earbud out of his daughter's ear. "Are you sure about chipotle?"
The girl smiled. "Yup. My day remember?"
The man in the fedora patted her leg as he smiled. "Whatever you want, Sweetheart."
| My first stab at writing after grad school stole a couple years of my life...
John walked into the parlor where Christine waited for him on the plush suede chair. The two long walls in the rectangular room were lined with the old books, collected over John’s lifetime, while the side opposite the door looked out across the star system they were stopping over in. He went over to one of the top shelves and pulled down an old volume, thin but still thicker than at least three modern tablets. Carefully he peeled open the cover and wormed his way into the chair with Christine with no room to spare. The yellowed and wrinkled page had a picture of a Stegosaurus on it in a fern savanna that would have made a modern scientist chuckle.
“Stegosaurus was a mighty creature, living 93 million years ago.” John began. Christine reached out towards the page, but John gently brushed her hand aside. “We need to be very careful with these, remember?” She nodded and he resumed. “He roamed the plains of an ancient continent called Pangaea. This particular Stegosaurus, however, preferred to live on the edge of the forest.”
John turned the page, the ancient binding resiting and creaking like the door to a run-down home. The next page showed the dinosaur drinking from a small stream. “In the hot sun, he liked to retreat to the water and cool himself off, where he was joined by some of his smaller friends.”
A knock at the door pulled both their attention up from the book. Standing in the doorway was a woman wearing a brown floor-length dress with a pink bow tied into the shape of a flower in her hair. “Sir, I think I have something you should see.”
“Can it wait Gloria?”
“I’m afraid not. There are discrepancies with the transfer. You need to take a look.”
John closed the book as careful as he opened it, tucking it under his arm as he stood up. Christine tugged at his shirt before he could make his way towards the door. “Daddy, can I come?”
He took out the book and handed it to her. “How about you stay here and see what happens to our friend the Stegosaurus?” She pulled the book in and clutched it to her chest. “That’s a good girl. Just you be careful with that now.”
John left the room, leaning back to catch one last glimpse of his daughter and blow her a kiss before heading down the hallway. “What the hell do you mean by discrepancy?”
“I…I don’t know how to explain exactly. We ran a binary and quantum parity check on the data we’re transporting. The binary came back fine but the quantum was off. So we checked and all the files appear to be in tact.”
“The hash?”
“That’s where it’s complicated. It shows as valid, but it’s newer. I say too new to have come from Central.”
“How the hell could somebody have beat us here?”
“I don’t know sir.”
John burst through the doors of the control room. The four other members of his crew stood at attention while their terminals glowed behind them. “Somebody better tell me now what’s going on.”
His cryptology expert spoke up after a moment of silence, his voice struggling to reach across the room. “There might be a problem with the—”
“No there is a problem. If that hash wasn’t created at least four calendar months ago, somebody else is here and intercepting our signal.”
“We scanned for other ships.” His captain added. “We can’t find anything.”
“Of course not. Unless these guys were idiots.” John ran his hands across his bald head. “If it were us on the other end, I’d wait until we jumped for sure. If we run dark and play the patience game we could find them if they get sloppy.”
He tightened his fists and swung at a glass of water sitting on one of the desks, soaking the adjoining desks and terminals. “We’re going to find these mother-fuckers and when we do I’ll give them a taste of what I did to traitors back in the old days. They better not have a fucking clue who the fuck they’re dealing with otherwise—”
“Daddy?” he heard from behind him. Christine stood in the doorway, still holding the book tight “I’m scared.”
John turned and lowered himself to one knee. “I’m sorry honey. Everything is fine, alright. We’re just about to head back home and we’ll finish the book in just a second, alright?” Christine nodded. “Now go back to daddy’s office and I’ll be right there.”
Once she left, John asked, still on his knee and watching Christine trot down the hallway. “How much was in that hash anyways?”
“Three million.” Said his cryptologist. “Or thereabouts.”
“Let’s just call it karma then. Take us back home.”
| 2015-02-06T22:15:00 | 2015-02-06T21:43:57 | 100 | 16 |
[WP] You being the cemetery caretaker, always treat the graves and the dead with utmost care. So when the zombie apocalypse begins, you find it surprising that they do not attack you but instead help protect you. | Carl places a bouquet of flowers on the last grave for the day, completing his daily rounds.
“There we go Miss Hanson. Can’t have a nice lady like you without any color!” he said, keeping the jolly demeanor he always seemed to have.
Carl hated when he saw a plot without any flowers. A life of loneliness allowed him to relate with these souls that rested alone, and the ones that didn’t have visitors were special to him. They may be survived by someone, but he made sure their spirit knew someone remembered them. He’d want someone to do the same for him.
The fading sun turned to twilight, burnt orange and red leaves crinkling as the autumn breeze rustles them across the graves. Carl had his work cut out for him tonight on the literal graveyard shift, a job he’d managed for decades now and he found peaceful among the quiet of the dead. This Halloween may not be as quiet though; today was Friday the 13th, and it was expected to bring a full moon. He had his fair share of hoodlums try to ransack graves and cause mischief among the tombstones, but he prided himself on protecting them before any real damage took place. But this year might bring out some of the true-blue loonies.
An old clip-on radio jingled to the oldies while Carl finished filling the final grave of the evening. He recalled many of the families he had met; most were thankful for his diligence and others were speechless in their grief. An occasional arrogant mourner came along that really just needed time. But he respected each lost family member all the same. He didn’t have kids or a family of his own, so it felt like those he ushered to their resting place were his adopted family.
He smoothed the last shovelful of dirt on the grave and gave it a soft pat with his palm.
“And a penny for good luck, dear,” he muttered as he placed a copper centpiece in the topsoil. It was a tribute to his Momma, long passed, who would always place a penny in his hand as he ventured out into the world on his own. He always regretted not having her buried here, where he could look after her. He didn’t know if there really was a place we all went after we die, but he didn’t think it hurt to take a little good luck with you if there was. Maybe it was his way of paying her back from across the grave.
Carl tossed his tools in the back of his truck as a news bulletin cut off his music.
“We interrupt your local broadcast for a very disturbing update...it, uh, appears there is some sort of rapidly contagious infection spreading through the state. Those with symptoms are extremely violent and dangerous. CDC and law enforcement recommend citizens to shelter in their homes with locked doors, and to retreat to a safe part of the home. We repeat, do not engage any infected. This is a state of em—,” the transmission blinking out into a haze of static.
Carl’s brow holds a weight of confusion and skepticism, “Now what kind of Halloween prank is this here?” he says to the silence of the graveyard.
A chain link fence jingles on the nearest perimeter of the cemetery, and he combats being spooked by surfacing the tough guy speeches he had perfected over years of thwarting intruders. *I already phoned the fuzz, but my .22 might have something to say before they get here.* He didn’t have a .22 but they didn’t need to know that.
Carl approached the fence to find what he expected, a costumed figure trying to climb the barrier to cause some havoc in his workplace. He drew in close to give the talking to he’d mustered, when the smell of rotted iron and disease filled his nose. His feet halted before he knew he had stopped, a reservoir of fear he’d never needed before pushed a nervous sweat to the surface of his weathered skin.
Purple hands reached for him through the holes of the fence, and a guttural moan rose from the figure. He took a step back and scanned the remains of a face resembling Todd from the Quikstop down the road. It was the infection, and it looked a hell of a lot more like a zombie problem than a medical one. More infected locals scattered outside the fence, taking notice of Carl’s mortal scent. He wondered how many that rusty old fence would hold back.
Carl turned to run for shelter, and one of the undead stood in his path. All the blood in his body drained to his feet, and he felt any last black hairs on his head bleached white with fright. The zombie lifted an outstretched arm toward him, and he prepared to meet his maker.
“I’ll see ya soon Momma,” he whispered, and let his eyes fall to avoid witnessing what came next.
But nothing happened.
One eyelid peeked open a smidge to find other zombies had joined the one in front of him. But they did not threaten him or pounce. Carl’s vision widened to make sense of the tableau in front of him. He noted a familiarity in the monsters, and peered deeper into the first face, recognition dawning.
“Miss…Miss Hanson?”
Miss Hansen stood, half bent with rigamortis and a history of decomposition written across her face. Her burial dress displayed chew marks from moths and maggots, and a layer of dirt encompassed her from head to rotting toe. Her purple hued arm still stretched for Carl, and she produced a soft moan as if to make sure he paid attention.
Fingers that showed age and wear beyond longevity unraveled like a blooming flower. A shiver ran through Carl’s bones when he saw what she held, not sure what it meant exactly.
A single copper penny.
Simultaneously, each of the undead figures around revealed similar pennies in their varying degrees of rotted hands. A deep rasp rose from the main shape in front of him.
“Cccaarrrruullll…tttaaaankk…oouuuuu,” the body that was once Miss Hanson moaned. “Ssstaaa...hheeeeerreee.”
Her fist clenched back over the penny, and the hivemind of the swarm folded away from Carl toward the weak walls of the cemetery. Carl found himself flushed of adrenaline and in a battle of emotions: confusion, pride, shock, heartbreak. Carl started to believe maybe he wasn’t meant to be a victim of this apparent zombie apocalypse, at least not today, as he watched his adopted family defend him from the growing swarm outside the fenceline.
He hoped Momma wasn’t one of them. | "Oh, it's all righ' now, Mrs. Derbyshire," Malen reassured the coffin, a stingy pine number, not the cheapest in the catalog of coffins, but very near it, as he shoveled lumps of dirt from the pile down into the grave. He'd dug the pit with the cemetery's one-person back-hoe, but he liked to do the filling by hand to give it that personal touch.
"Oh, don' be like that Mrs. Derbyshire!" He speared a small bit of earth with the shovel and leaned on it. "It were a fine service, you had mourners mournin', a preacher preachin', a bit o' rain rainin', e'rythin' you coul' wan' at a funeral."
He plucked the shovel back out of the muddy dirt and began again his long translocation of the dirt, which wasn't so pleased with its reversal of fortunes having just made it out of the pit this morning, but didn't want to make a big fuss about it owing to the somber occasion.
A faint clicking sound followed by a hiss wove its way through the rain and into Malen's ear.
"Oh no, you-- Wai' righ' here Mrs. Derbyshire, I'll be back as soon as I can!" Malen held the shovel in both hands like some soldier storming the beach-head and charged off into the night, which long since having accepted him as one of its creatures, got smartly out of the way.
Malen wove his way down the winding pathways of the cemetery, over the rolling hills and under the jagged branches, around the mausoleums and through the foggy rain, until he broke into the clearing of the Crypt of the Lord Alfred Reginald Helmsworth the Fourth, an unfortunate man who seemed to have found himself in the wrong graveyard since all the posh folk were up the lane at Shady Hollow not down here at the Hollow Shade, but who was a member of the family here all the same.
"Ey, you! Stop tha'!" Malen shouted at a hoodied young boy practicing his anatomy homework in spray paint on the side of the crypt.
The boy shot him a look, then, abandoning his assignment, he dashed off into the woods, Malen in hot pursuit, though not too hot, he wouldn't want to scare the boy into an unfortunate stumble leading to a lawsuit.
Over rolling hills and under jagged branches, they ran, around mausoleums and through the foggy rain, a left, a right, and a sudden whumph as they were passing Mrs. Derbyshire's grave.
"Unggghhhhuuuuu," said Mrs. Derbyshire.
"Oh, lass! Calm dow' it really were a fine service, don' take it ou' on the lad." Malen said.
"Auugh what the-- Holy Chri--" screamed the boy as Mrs. Derbyshire snapped his neck.
"Oh, you really are upse' aren' you," Malen said looking down at the corpse of Spencer Filsby, "Why don' you go 'ave a sit dow' an' I'll take care o' this."
"Unggghgu," Mrs. Derbyshire flapped her arms in resignation and shuffled off, head bowed, toward the sheltered, stone memorial hall.
Malen sighed as he kicked the fresh [corpse](https://old.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/) into the grave and resumed shoveling. | 2020-05-12T17:16:12 | 2020-05-12T17:03:20 | 78 | 20 |
[WP] While sitting in class you absentmindedly doodle something in your notebook that looks like a rune. Suddenly your book begins to glow. Your teacher looks at you, sighs, and says “Looks like we have another one,” then turns and begins drawing mysterious symbols on the board. | "So...in 1482 witchcraft used to be practiced heavily in this region which centuries later became this province we live in, including our little village", Jed, or Mr. Parker as he was called in the small school, absent mindedly explained his barren classroom.
"Though not every part of the region practiced the same thing. Potion concocting was more prevalent in the village of Rannwich in the north, alchemy was practiced in the South Wallen, and in here we practiced demon summoning..."
Jed looked up from his textbook to see all of his students-- 8 of them, not paying the slightest attention. There usually be 15, though 7 decided to skip the boring history class that day.
"Any question?", he asked.
A faint murmur of "No" answered his question. Sighing heavily, Jed turned back to his textbook.
"Fine then", he whispered to himself, unamused.
It had always been his dream to be a teacher. Though growing up in such a backward place didn't help his case, Jed Parker found an opportunity to chase his dream, getting a scholarship to study in the country's capital which he successfully finished and graduated as an educator.
To make it even more special, he had the opportunity to come back to his little village and be a teacher in the school he grew up in. To make a difference, to make sure the children got a better education than he did. But as reality set in, Jed's expectation was shot down to its current level...
"Alright. Let's move on to page 37...", Jed flipped his book slowly when he was suddenly interrupted by one of his student.
"What the hell?", he heard the boy in the back of the class yelped.
Jed saw the student's notebook on his desk was glowing purple. He didn't have to see it closely but he could tell, the student was doodling on his notebook. He would know, all those years ago when he was a student, he did the same thing while being bored to death by the lesson.
"Oh of course...", Jed rolled his eyes and calmly stood with a marker. Walking to the whiteboard he began inscribing some mysterious symbols with great precision.
"Mr. Parker! Help!", the student yelled and his peers began screaming in panic.
On the student's desk a hellish creature appeared. It resembled a gargoyle statue though a small one as it stood around the same height as the human students. With wings of bats, fangs of wolf, and knife-like claws, the creature hissed its beastly face at the students.
Jed finished his inscribing in mere seconds and as soon as he muttered some gibberish language, the symbols began to glow purple. It grew brighter and brighter, and in a large flash the light disappeared, leaving another figure standing in front of the whiteboard.
"Kr'Azakk! Stand down! Leave that boy alone!", said the just summoned creature.
The creature resembled a human though clearly not one. Her figure was unmistakably female, though she sported the same bat-like wings on her back. She was a demon, a succubus.
From her clawed hand, she lashed out a black whip which she controlled like her own limbs, tangling itself around the creature's neck, she pulled it back to prevent it from attacking the student.
"Whoa, who are you? Where's Mrs. Mezbah?", asked Jed.
The succubus eyed Jed when she gave him a cheeky smirk.
"She called in sick. I'm the substitute teacher, Mrs. Analar", the succubus offered her other hand to shake, which Jed took hesitantly. "But call me Lilian"
The creature called Kr'Azakk tried to lunge at the students again, but Lilian's grip on it was too strong. With a jerk, she sent a surge of flame running across her whip, enveloping Kr'Azakk with it. In a loud growl, the hellish creature was sent back to its realm.
"There we go. I'm so sorry", Lilian chuckled. "Kr'Azakk is a problem child. Mrs. Mezbah is still working on him"
"I see...", Jed raised his eyebrows. Quickly he turned to his frightened students and gave them a warm smile.
"Uhh students, why don't you take an early recess hmm?", Jed said.
His students all ran out from the classroom, leaving Jed and Lilian behind.
"It's always hard to explain to them the first time. I remember my first time seeing my teacher summoning one of you hell teachers...", Jed reminisced, walking to one of the student's desk and sat on it, waving his hand to let Lilian sat across him.
"It was Mrs. Mezbah actually, the one who showed up the first time", Jed laughed.
Lilian sat on a desk opposite Jed, folding her wings behind her, she looked at Jed with fascination.
"Is...is there something wrong?", Jed asked, feeling uncomfortable of her gaze.
"Oh no, no. It's just...you're the first human I've ever met. And I must say, I thought all of you are hideous", Lilian said. "I don't believe I got your name"
"Oh uh...Jed", Jed blushed at the beautiful demoness' remark. "And uh...I thought all of you demons are...you know...hideous too..."
Lilian giggled and she hopped off the desk. Still eyeing Jed, she walked up to the whiteboard.
"I'd love to stay and chat, Jed. But I have a class to teach. But...what do you say we continue this conversation later?", Lilian asked, picking up a marker.
"Oh! Uh...sure! Ye-yea! I...I'd love to...chat...and...uh...yea!", Jed stuttered speechless.
Lilian let out another cute giggle before scribbling something on the whiteboard.
"Call me", she winked, leaving Jed a set of inscription of her personal summoning spell. Wiping Jed's summoning symbols, she vanished back to her realm.
Jed was stunned as he stared at the whiteboard, at the symbols Lilian just left him.
A big goofy smile spread across his face as it blushed red. Not everyday you get asked out by an attractive demoness.
r/HangryWritey | "Looks like we have another one" the voice wasn't her own. I tried studying the rune-like symbol i've just drawn but it felt as if it wasn't by mine own hand.
My fellow students collapsed over their desks, as if being shut off.
She looked like she was being puppeted by many invisible strings as she was drug from one end of the board to the other, putting knicks of chalk seemingly random until small images began to appear as the fragmented lines pieced together.
"Mrs. Romberg?" I weakly asked, was it even her i was speaking to? Did Mrs. Romberg even exist? Do i exi- "yes, Micheal, you exist. The symbol you drew is of ancient descent, and can only be forged through a demonic hand"
"Demonic?! So i'm evil?"
"You can be, soon, angels will come through this door and they will try to take you or destroy you. You can choose through your compliance"
"Wait, but i didn't choose to be demonic, i'm just a kid, and door? Which one? Theres like 3 doors and you said it as if theres only on-"
"What do you think i'm drawing?"
"So what are you? Are you an angel?"
"Merely a servant, to keep my life i became a doorkeeper to send the angels after demon-boxes like you"
I never chose this, the image was nearly complete as far as i could tell. This isn't fair, my only purpose in life is to serve or die?! I just wish there was a-
The image of the window pulled my head to the left.
A third option, a way out.
The dashing of the chalk stopped, the room gently glowed an ominous blue, i could feel my fellow classmates eyes piercing through my skin and into my soul. They weren't my classmates anymore, i turned to see 26 pairs of eyes with bright blue lights behind them. These were not the angels i read about in church, they couldn't be.
There was a boiling in my chest as if anger was filling me, 4 stories high but i didn't care, i'm not going to die like this, not willingly. The window shattered as i slid it open the adrenaline made me numb and time slightly slow. The angel possesed students slowly rose to grab me but with my book in my hands and my boots sliding on the glass scattered seal i jumped. Every impulse in that moment had me throw the glowing book to the ground and energy flew from it as if it to be a burning brick of page and board. The earth obsorbed the glowing covers and opened a great gate of which i was shown hell and the great scale of the inside of the scorched earth, so looking into the vastness of space on a clear night did the earth feel like an infinity looking past thousands of kimgdoms and burning mountain ranges.
Hell, my home, as it is here on earth but a kingdom of safety and freedom. And as the angels above watch my descent into the seemingly infinite earth, they not understand that it is truly ascension my fiery wings bring me to the warm and gold paved streets of my eternal home, Hell. | 2022-01-13T22:24:17 | 2022-01-13T20:34:57 | 538 | 57 |
[WP] You, a Human, have been sentenced to death on an alien planet. The method of execution: gas chamber. However, the compound used in executions, Tetrahydrocannabinol, isn't quite as lethal to humans as your executioners expect. | so, there i was, walking the dark hallway of death, escorted by 2 massive ar'dkivs, with both of my hands cuffed.
we've received reports of a new race, 2 meters tall in average, body covered in hard, steel-like shells, strong like a bull, somewhat hostile, yet highly intelligent, in the masurus sector, around 3 years ago, and we've been spying on them for that long. no surprise when i discovered they didnt like spies very much, sadly i found out when they found me.
but i have to give them credit where credit is due, their hard shell made it so they have to develop weapons that will melt their shell to kill their target - such weapons would vaporize a good chunk of us humans, so they decided to kill me in a more... ethical way. these guys dont resist poison very well, and they will kill me using the strongest poison they know about, a gas that will kill an ar'dkiv in 10 seconds, with little to no suffering.
ofc, me, as an spy, already knew what that gas was - frigging thc. by itself, it wont be very dangerous, but if thc doesnt kill me, they got 100 other ways to execute me, i had to do something. i had to beat the odds.
heart beating fast, respiration going faster, nervousness over the roof, gas chamber door closed, concrete walls, no escape. i see an ar'dkiv with a different uniform by the door's window - a commissar, he gives them a metal canister with the thc inside, they pop it in a machine, and the gas starts filling the chamber. luckily for me, unlike humans, ar'dkivs dont know what -hold your breath- is.
dont breath...dont breath... dont breath... 5,6,7,8...9...drop to the floor, play death, keep your eyes open, dont breath, keep your eyes open, wait... wait... thats the sound of the air purifier, hold your breath, door opens, hold your breath, ar'dkiv guard walking close to me...
in one movement, i get up as fast as i can, avoiding crashing into the guard, i ran as fast as i can to the exit door. the ar'dkivs were shocked i was still alive and kicking, i cough them completely off-guard. as i make my way out, i pushed the commissar into a wall, and quickly took away one of his canisters off his uniform. as i run to the prison's port, i see the guards chasing me, and more guard joining. i was lucky they were reluctant to open fire, either because they didnt see me as an immediate threat, or because they were afraid of piercing the prison's walls, i dont know.
as i got close to a escape ship, they guards raised their weapons and shouted me to stop. i knew i'd get vaporized if i didnt played along, so i stopped and turned around, thc gas canister in hand.
the commissar catched up with us quickly. "dont shot!" he said, "he's got a canister"
"sir commissar, he is far away, we can just kill him and finish this"
"dont. light thc poisoning is a slow and painful way to death. lower your weapons"
relief was felt all over my being, it seems i had the upper hand in this one. yet, remember when i said ar'dkivs were intelligent? yeah, they can make plans.
as soon as i lowered my guard, i felt a sharp pain and a massive weight pushing me into the ground: a guard tackled me. i held the canister with all my strength, i knew it was my only way out. i saw the guard going for a punch, i covered with one of my arms, and then the sharp pain of my bones breaking followed. i couldnt catch my breath nor process what was going on: the second punch was coming. out of despair, i used the canister to block the punch. i could see the guard hesitates for a second, his punch was a lot weaker this time, but even with his weaker punch, the shockwave of the punch hitting the canister traveled all over my arm, numbing it. the canister is now deformed, the guard is hesitating even more, and i used this golden moment to get out from under him, stand up, and run to my escape ship. i get into the ship's platform, i put my hands in the canister's lock, ready to open it. i can see the guards. some of them rise their weapons, others get ready to be hit with THC and have their lives ended. but then, i stop.
"computer, to point echo" i say, the ship's platform starts closing, the ship's systems start heating up, in a couple of seconds, i'd be traveling back to base.
"are you sparing our lives, human?" says the commissar.
and just before the ship jumps into the void of the space, i respond
"...winners dont use drugs"
\---------------------------------------------
if you read all that, thank you! if you find any errors, dont hesitate to let me know, im trying to get better redaction skills in english | From the light of my cell I glimpsed Xect'antenol, the Alien City, its garish glow oozing into an infinitude of stars. *How will I get out of this one?*
My extraterrestrial gaoler seemed unconcerned. With a sinister glare he unlocked my cage and shepherded me into a small room. "You. Die today," he declared furiously.
*Maybe I should plead for forgiveness*, I reflected. Yet my hopes of survival were promptly extinguished when the alien produced a small device from his sack.
"You die today," repeated the gaoler, "by toxic tetrahydrocannabinol." With that, he exited the room and left me chained to the execution wall.
I was never ready to die; there were planets yet to see, foes yet to kill, hearts left to squander. Today would not be the day. And so I waited on the brink of life and death with a deep resolve.
The room soon began to fill up. Tetrahydrocannabinol, the aliens called it, and it was rumored to be the most noxious poison of all.
*But what?* I suddenly felt much better. *Tetrahydrocannabinol is . . . perfume*?
The entire room was suffused with the fragrance of jasmine, rosewater, and African tulip. *Is that cauliflower as well*. The whole execution chamber was by now resplendent with odor.
I let myself drop to the ground. *Play dead*, I thought. My guile never failed to amaze me. *If I pretend I'm dead, they might just let me go.*
Sure enough, the alien gaoler came back in the room. "*Sh'ama ti'xa*," he called. "Bring in next one."
I felt myself falling. *They let me go!* I knew where the trash chute led; it looped back to the main planet system, where my ship was located.
I grinned. I had survived another day. But why did my eyelids feel so heavy . . . ? | 2020-05-20T08:34:20 | 2020-05-20T06:38:43 | 195 | 145 |
[WP] You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign. | "You think I'm licked. You all think I'm licked! Well, I'm not licked. And I'm going to stay right here and fight for this lost cause, even if this room fills with a poisonous gas; and the Taylors and all their armies come marching into this place. Somebody will listen to me."
With that last gasp the junior senator slumped in her desk. Her youthful good looks gone waxy, her hair dull and unkempt . The senators around the room knew her time had come. Twenty four hours upright, daring not to pause long enough for someone to interject, it had undone the young senator who showed such promise.
The president of the senate looked down on Senator Smith. He feared that this defeat would ruin his dear young friend's political career. Perhaps she had too much heart, and honesty for the senate. It was such a shame, the senate need her type so dearly. Oh and fuck, she probably wont be up to tomorrow's game! I had my bugbear paladin rolled up, and we were going to get POTUS out of the prison. Damn it this really does suck.
Senator Smith shifted in her seat. She knew she was beaten. The only thing keeping her from expulsion was human apathy and status as a political pariah. She knew the apathy would fail soon enough. She looked for those few allies she had in the room. Saunders in the gallery seemed heart broken at first but gave Smith a smile that reminded her of that first encounter at the friendly local game store he owned. She turned to the vice president at the head of the room. An old family friend who had saved her father's countless rouges from hundreds of deaths. The poor old man had such a grimace on his face. Smith was begining to worry the torture he was going through was her fault. But then he looked down at her with a wicked grin.
"Will the senator take a question?" the president of the senate yelled out. The whole room froze for the briefest moment. Just long enough for Senator Smith to stand up out of her chair. She squeaked out "yes" and then gave out a small cough.
The vice president leaned forward. "If this room were to fill with a poison gas would that be an evil act? And how much experience might one receive from each senator." Smith was braced with both arms against her desk, head hung low. She stood there silent and still. The gallery and other senators began to talk in hushed voices. When then the senators head shot up. "Of course it would be an evil act. And you would receive no experience and at best 30 copper, if you could pull it off. But most importantly you don't have the means of producing any poison gas let alone enough to fill 3 levels of a 80 by 80 room."
The senate chambers had been host to very unusual events these past 24 hours. But at this moment very few even recognized what was unfolding. Saunders caught on second and gave out a yip from the gallery. Then one of the opposing senators was third to figure out the vice presidents rallying effort. He shot to his feet "Objection!" he shouted. "The senator has already ceded the floor. Begin the roll call for her dismissal."
Junior senator Smith would not realize till much later what was happening. Her body and mind had been completely spent getting to this point of the filibuster. But a dungeon master runs on another kind of energy. It is a strange mixture of kinship, wasted preparations, and the glee of thwarting your players at every step. Smith turned to the opposing senator. "Roll for it." With a scowl he fished a d20 from his pocket and rolled it on the desk. "11." he said.
In the following days as the senate made it's way deeper and deeper into the dungeon Taylor's campaign to discredit the senator and frame her for his own graft would come out. The game ended shortly after the news reached the senate, though the TPK at the hands of the Ithillid was the primary factor in the game ending. | Senator:The day is old and the wind has burnt your skin. The sun is setting in your eyes. As you approach the shadow town in the distance AH SHIT ! four skeletons jump from the road with an attack. ( rolls 20 sided die on podium) 15...... the first one takes 2 hp off of the chairmans life, the other three are further back leaving you with the chance of attack. It is the chairmans roll...Chairman: sir! Senator: CHAIRMANS ROLL! (20 sided die off the back of the podium landing on 18) senator: chair man was using a 2 handed bastard sword so I'll roll the 12 sided die for him( click clack.......8) senator: 8 chair man: 8!!! That's at least 45 damage senator! | 2017-01-21T22:24:49 | 2017-01-21T22:00:30 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You are a reformed villain who was given a new identity to start over. The years have been hard, but you've managed to finally turn your life around. One day, a bunch of masked people break into your house and demand everything you have. | I blinked and tilted my head in honest curiosity at the young upstarts. Nothing particularly interesting stood out in their apparel, rather bland honestly. Some convenience store masks, heavy coats and clunky looking pants. Textbook robbers, I didn’t know whether I should feel insulted by the lackluster presentation or impressed at the bravery of these masked assailants.
“Hey! Fucker! Hurry up and show us to the safe!” The biggest one barked as four of the mysterious strangers peeled off and ventured further passed me, rooting around my living room.
“Listen…we all start from somewhere, right? Me personally, I got my start robbing simple ATMs-“
WHAM!!
A sharp and pulsing pain lodged itself in my skull as I fell to a knee, the kind and open smile wiped clear from my visage.
One of the four who’d peeled off from the main group, stood over me with their crowbar.
“You heard the man. Where. Is. The. Safe?”
My head spun, the bloody spot where metal met flesh immediately started healing. Slight torn skin and cracked bone pulling themselves backed together to form their union once more.
‘Wow, wonderful job Exer! You let these two-bit Spirit Halloween asswipes get the jump on you!’ Spoke that very very annoying voice in my head.
‘Hey now, don’t be mean Coldar, he hasn’t been in the game for some time now!’ Defended that other equally annoying voice.
‘Can you guys stop bickering like petulant children? It’s been years since I’ve had to heal bone fractures, it’s not as easy as it looks!’
I sighed and shook my head as I lifted it to look at my attacker.
‘If you have any brains left after that crowbar to the skull, then listen up Exer! Let me take over, show these deadmen who they’re dealing with!’ Spoke the first voice, my violent passenger, Coldar. “I can’t…blood is hard to clean up and bodies are even harder.” I mumble to myself, unaware I was speaking out loud. The attacker scoffed and hauled me up by the collar of my shirt and held me close. Sheesh…I was out of shape.
“What was that? Something about bodies? The only cadaver being collected here is yours if you don’t wise the fuck up!” He roared, pushing me into the wall behind me, cracking one of my paintings. It wasn’t one that I harbored any strong feelings for…but it was still mine.
‘Wrong! You let me paint that one, remember?’ The voice that defended me against Coldar’s words, Helias, pointed out. My ever faithful and peaceful aspect.
I shook my head again. Though my wound was being healed by the helpful Falkos the healer, a splitting headache was just about to start. I haven’t heard there voices in so long, I had almost forgotten the claustrophobic feeling of these personalities. I grit my teeth and stepped forward.
“I’ll give you guys one warning, only one.” I begun, a deadly iceberg tone filling my voice. “You can take what you already have and leave, these are just ordinary possessions after all.” I continued approaching, passed my attacker and to the leader of the robbers. He was flanked by two other men. Counting the four that split off, it made seven robbers in total.
“You wouldn’t want to die over this…would you?” I asked, now standing up fully and meeting his gaze.
The voices went silent but I could feel them, their anticipation of the next few moments. Coldar wanted this badly, his presence was like that of a child waiting for his turn with the toy. Helias held baited breath, she didn’t feel excited but anxious to get this over with. Falkos felt silent, most likely anticipating more healing.
The eyes of the leader were hard and piercing, he couldn’t believe the audacity of the man in front of him. He reached for his knife before a sudden flash invade his eyes. He recalled a memory, one that he barely even acknowledged. The man was at his house, the garage to be specific. Working on a plan for another heist. The TV then switched from his desired show to a news station. Breaking news.
“We advise you avert your gaze if you are weak of heart or in the presence of children. We go now to amateur footage at the scene of the battle.” The screen changes to a shaking smartphone footage. The sound of gasping and coughing as blood splatters to the concrete floor shown on the screen. The holder clearly not doing well. The view pans up to see a man towering over them. Pleas are given and promptly ignored as the man lunges and drives his hand past the screen. A scream and death rattle pierced the speakers and the phone is dropped. The identity of the man is seen as blood pours from his chest. The video then cuts. What the robber remembers so much, was the view of the man. While he was shrouded in darkness, he could never forget the imposing posture and gaze of those hazel eyes.
The leader is brought back from his flashback, facing that killer himself. Those eyes behind the mask soften and look around desperately. His grip on the knife loosens and he raises his hands.
“Y-You’re him…t-the Exer!” He reveals to his cohorts between fearful breaths. His partners all freeze and look to each other.
I smile and give a laugh. “You’re not as dumb as you look.” My hand reaches up and flicks off the mask with an unnatural quickness. His angular and fear ridden face now exposed.
“We’re a generous operation here. Well…most of us. We’ll give you a second opportunity, seeing as you simply didn’t recognize me and would never in your right mind pull this kind of shit otherwise. Take your little mask and your pals and leave. Though now you’ll have to leave our things you’ve taken. Consider this a payment for your lives.”
As I finished, the robbers dropped everything and sprinted from my house with a delightfully funny swiftness.
‘Ughhh…you’re as boring as ever.’ Pouted Coldar, easing his presence. ‘I’m proud of you, Exer. Years ago you would have pasted those fools!’ Congratulated Helias, earning a small smile from me.
“Yeah well…they were lucky for their ignorance.”
With that, I straightened up the place and returned to my room. Glad to not having to break my streak of good behavior. Though, I would not have minded a little brawl to get my blood flowing and ADRENALINE PUMPING!!
I smacked myself hard, and leaned against the wall.
“Damn you Coldar…”
‘Consider that my payment for not having a good time.’ He responded, obviously much happier.
“You just earned yourself a week with no body.” | I was awoken by the sound of shattering glass. As I bolted up right in bed my hand flew to the scar above my right eye, a memento from my last battle. That smug prick threw me through what I thought was shatter proof glass, and to a 10 story drop only to catch me at the last second.
CRASH.
The sound of my trophy case being toppled snapped me out of it. I grabbed my phone, a helpful if not somewhat primitive piece of technology, and opened the app to my security system. Four men in ski masks and black sweaters rummaged through the remnants of the cabinet I had worked so hard to complete.
JINGLE
I'm floating upward, being held aloft by a hand tightly clenching the excess fabric of my coat between my shoulders. I look up to see the medals of heroics bouncing against each other as we start to volt upward.
STOMP STOMP STOMP
They are coming upstairs, and obviously have no interest in stealth. Do they know who I am, who I was? I stand there frozen as the last one disappears from the video feed. If this were 7 years ago I would have relished in the chance to destroy those who dared to cross me, but now I am not so sure.
CRACK
I slip out of my jacket and he grabs my arm with so much force it breaks.
"I should drop you from here and rid the world of you, but that isn't heroic is it?" He says with a grin.
"Go to Hell" I spit back in anger "You aren't a hero, you are thug. At least I present my true self to the public."
"You might be right, but I'm going to make you regret saying it out loud." He hissed as he wrenched on my unbroken arm.
CRACK
The door splinters and flies open. The young man in front has a chain in his hands and he is swinging it menacingly.
"Give us all you got and maybe we will let you live old man. We heard stories about you, where's all your treasure?" Barked the young man.
"You don't want to do this son" I started to say as the young man cut me off.
"Don't you tell me what I want to do. I hear you're some snitch living off the piles of cash you got from selling out your crew. Our crew doesn't take kindly to bitch ass snitchs."
"I assure you that isn't true" he cuts me off again.
"Where's the safe?" He growls and swings the chain and makes contact with my shoulder.
"Fine" I say as I drop to the ground, "it's in the closet"
As they all look to the closet I click the volume down button on my phone four times. The young man opens the closet door and pushes aside the clothes. I see the dull red stand by light flash to green.
PSH
The breaks release on the transport truck and it starts to accelerate. I'm strapped to a gurney though my arms and collar bones are thoroughly broken. What brought me to life? Why do I try and fight the system? It doesn't matter what side your on, there are no rules for engagement. It's not worth the brutality I face at the hands of the so call righteous. I'm done, I won't give them the satisfaction.
SQUEAL
My robots gears come to a squealing stop. I look around and see the mangled bodies of my would be robbers. Seven years. Seven long years I worked so hard to be good, but I won't be the victim. I exit my bedroom, phone still in hand, I press my finger against the cameral lense on my phone and feel a click.
BOOM | 2022-10-03T23:21:27 | 2022-10-03T19:45:25 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] Your family has always been in the lower middle class. On your 21st birthday your parents tell you "I'm sorry we lied. We are wealthy, we just wanted you to be humble" | The wall opposite Lily had a clock, one of those old fashioned novelty ones shaped like a cat. The eyes scanned the kitchen once per second, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. The tail kept the same rhythm, *swish, swish, swish*. It had a coat of black paint that was chipped in places and sported a cheesy white bow-tie. Lily pretended when she was younger that the cat was putting on an old, worn tuxedo to go on a fancy date downtown.
She became acutely aware that a lot of time had passed by in silence.
Mom and Dad sat expectantly with her at the kitchen table. It was close to midnight, and Melody was already in bed, preparing for a big field hockey game tomorrow. Lily had come down from college for the weekend to cheer her sister on, and to take a break from her last year of classes. She was working too hard, and needed to give her mind a break. Although, that was proving to be difficult at the moment.
Dad pulled opened the binder in front of him and pulled an envelope from the front pocket. He slid it across the table to Lily. "This is yours," he said.
Lily picked it up. It was from *First National Holdings* and was postmarked just a few days earlier. It was fairly hefty, quite a few pages in there. She flipped it over and say that it was unopened.
"That's a listing of everything that is yours," Dad said. "It's a summary of a portfolio, mostly stocks, that reverts to you on your 21st birthday. It's a small proportion of what we have, but it will do to start. Melody has something similar too. We'll have this same conversation in a few years when she's old enough too, so please don't spoil it."
Lily opened it up and scanned the front page. There was an estimated total worth at the top, and it contained at least one more digit than she was expecting, based on their conversation a few minutes prior.
"Your mother and I, we felt it important that you have this when you were old enough," said Dad. "I mean, you did end up paying for a lot of your own things when we could have. You worked hard and earned up to get your own car, and you got scholarships to college and paid the rest of your own way. But we felt that since we could have paid for it...that...well..."
"We didn't want you to resent us," Mom interjected. "Now that you know how much we actually have, we didn't want you thinking that we were selfish and just holding back. It's our way of helping you out, even if it was retroactively."
Lily stared at the paper a moment longer, then placed the pile neatly down. "Where did this come from?" She asked.
"Hard work, and a little luck" said her Dad.
"But like, how?"
"That's all you need to know, Lily," said her Mom. "We're not trying to be cryptic, but we just want you to know that it all came about because we put in the effort."
"Okay." Lily looked down at the page in front of her again. "So, why do we live here? Where's the high-rise downtown that we own."
"While we don't own any actual high-rises, a number of buildings are - OOF!" Dad was cut off by an apparent kick under the table.
"It's important for you to know that your father and I have a personal philosophy," Mom said. "Money is not the most important thing in life. In fact, it's probably lower on that list than many of us realize. All we wanted is for you to be happy. And we've seen too many times that too much money makes people unhappy."
Lily nodded. "So you chose this."
"Yes."
"You're not hiding from the cartel or anything."
"No, nothing like that. We are here because we want to be. If we wanted, we could move to anywhere in the world with the largest estate you could imagine."
"But we're here."
"Yes, we're here, for us. For you."
It took me a minute to process this all. I looked back at up at the cat with his painted on grin and hypnotic eyes. He was probably as dizzy as I felt right about now.
Dad had been looking down at his hands. He suddenly sat up. "This was a bad idea, to conceal it from you like this, making you live like this. I'm going to make it right." He grabbed out his checkbook and began scribbling furiously. "I'm going to put down here as many zeroes as you like, to make it up to you."
Lily reached across the table and placed her hands on her father's. He was trembling, and tears were in his eyes. With a determination that came surprisingly easily, she grabbed the book and the pen, and drew one very large, very round zero. She slid it back to her parents, and found tears coming to her own eyes.
"That is all the money I will ever need from you. This, right here, us, now, is the best present I could ever hope for." She wiped her eyes and saw that all three of them were crying freely now. "I love you both."
Mom and Dad got up and moved around the table, embracing her in a warm hug.
"We love you too, Lil," said Mom.
"Always," said Dad.
And as the cat on the wall can attest to, they shared that hug for a long, very long, time.
___
Check out /r/Killersealion for more!
| "Wait...what are you saying?"
"We lied, son. We always had enough to make ends meet, we just needed for you to understand what it meant to be poor. To get some *perspective*." Mister - or, rather, *doctor* - Hammond's voice was gruff, the occasional vowel getting lost in his wiry beard.
"But...but what about grandma?" Daniel stuttered. "You said she was dying, and we couldn't afford treatment..."
"Sweetie...grandma got the best treatment money could buy." Mrs. Hammond said, her voice much more placating than her husband's. "They just caught the cancer too late, there was nothing the doctors could do."
Daniel's head was spinning. He gripped the edge of his chair until his knuckles turned white and cold, but it did nothing to keep his stomach from feeling like it was trying to claw its way out of his throat.
"You made me work overtime to get enough money for her treatments!" He finally choked out.
"Time well spent, in my opinion." His father grumbled. "You did a great thing, helping her like that. Not everyone would have, son. You made me proud."
"Aren't you glad, Daniel?" His mother said, an edge of nervousness creeping into her voice. "You learned so much...and you won't ever have to worry about money again!"
Daniel looked down, his jaw clamped shut. For a moment, it seemed as if he wasn't going to speak. Then, finally, he opened his mouth and uttered a single quiet word.
"No."
"I'm sorry, dear, could you speak up?" His mother tittered. "I couldn't quite hear you."
Daniel sat up and looked them full in the face. "I *said*...NO."
"What do you mean, 'no'!?" Dr. Hammond roared. "We've given you everything, boy, and I expect a bit of damn gratitude!"
"Gratitude?" Daniel spat. "You spent my *entire* life lying to me, and you want me to be *grateful* about it?"
"Daniel, dear, we didn't mean-" His mother started, but Daniel was done.
"Enough." He stood, shaking slightly. "I've had enough."
Without another word, he stood and walked out the kitchen door.
| 2016-09-15T14:33:30 | 2016-09-15T14:22:23 | 85 | 30 |
[WP] You're a character who can break the fourth wall but the truth is the fourth wall doesn't exist for you. So sometimes you go to your author's house, eat their food, use their bathroom and go back with a confused author left behind. | She watched as the beast’s eyes shut. The glowing in its chest died and the vibrant red scales faded to a pallid gray. Only then, in the silent wake of the storm, did she drop her sword. Her armor protested as she dropped to her knees. She wrenched off her helmet and inhaled and, in that moment, it felt like she was breathing for the first time in years.
As her heart rate steadied, she glanced up. (Wait a minute, I didn’t write that.) Her eyes searched the battlefield expectantly. Suddenly, her eyes fell on me. (What is going on?)
“You really had me there,” her voice was hoarse from the battle but she still managed to laugh. She released a giant sigh before standing again. (Am I really writing this?)
“Hey,” she called out, “You there. I can see you. I know you can hear me.” She laughed again and started walking towards me. (How is she walking towards me? I’m not even there.) “Do you have any idea how heavy this all is?” she asked, motioning to all of her armor. “The stunts you had me pulling, shit, I didn’t think I was going to make it.”
As she approached, I suddenly became aware that she wasn’t in some far-off land, having just slain her first dragon. No, she was here. In fact, she was at my front door.
“You going to let me in or what?” she demanded. (How is this happening?) In a more than bewildered state, I found myself at the door, unlocking the deadbolt, and swinging it open to find my heroine standing on my front porch.
“There we are,” she flashed me her dazzling smile. “Good to finally meet you in the flesh.” She stepped inside and laid one hand on my shoulder. “Right, then,” she smiled, “This is where you created me?” (How is she so aware? What have I done?) “Where is your office?”
“Um,” I muttered, left speechless, standing face-to-face with my towering heroine. (Wait, now I’m writing myself? Am I writing this at all?)
“No worries, I’ll find it,” and with that, she started off down the hallway that led into the kitchen, from there she stood in the center of my living room before moving into the room adjacent which just so happened to be my office.
I followed her in, watching with my mouth hanging open. She stood over my desk and gently reached out with her armor-clad hand and it hovered over my keyboard. She stood frozen for just a moment before turning around and smiling at me, “You truly are quite a goddess.” (Okay, now that was a little self-righteous.)
“Well then,” she placed her hand on her hips. “How about something to eat? I mean it’s the least you can do after what you’ve put me through. I mean, my mother dying? Come on, that one was pretty harsh.”
“Sorry about that,” was all I could muster. (Yikes. Am I a murderer?) “Right, food.”
I lead her into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cabinets, very aware that I had not gone grocery shopping this week. The only option I found was my one-quarter full package of Oreos. I pulled them out and handed them to her.
“Interesting,” she mused, “Yeah, I am not going to be able to pick those up,” she explained, looking down at her hands protected beneath the bulky gauntlets.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” I gently picked one up and placed it into her open mouth. She chewed for a moment and her eyes widened.
“What on earth is this?” (My thoughts exactly.) “It’s delightful. Another, please.”
After polishing off the remaining Oreos, she looked at me and said, “Right, I’ve got to take a shit.” I stifled a laugh, pleased by her blunt nature. (Just as I wrote her.)
“Right this way.” I lead her down the hall to my tiny bathroom. She stood in the doorway, her shoulders barely fitting. She looked back at me.
“Yeah. This is not going to work.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “I think I’ve seen enough. Leave me to my dragons and my battlefields. You have work to do.” She pointed back at my office. “Better get to it.”
Without another word, she walked to my front door, opened it and stepped out without a single glance back. I ran back to my office, the reality of what had just happened setting in. (I think I just had a psychotic break.) As I stared into the screen, I saw her stepping back onto the battlefield. She picked up her helmet and rested it on her hip. She looked back at me.
“Well,” she grinned. “What’s next?” | The *Bookstore of Horrors* was a small shop, lit only by a few select candles on the wall. The sparse sunlight that pierced through the tainted glass was soon blocked by black drapes over a rail. These drapes were the leftovers of a cursed ship with black sails that was swallowed whole by the kraken, then resurfaced after Sparrow, the bookstore owner made a pact with a demon. Inside the store you could fin all manner of cursed books and scrolls, dark magic artifacts and blood curses. Each book, booklet, or parchemin was an Horror on its own. But there was more than books here. There were trinkets and jewellery, tools and strange apparatus of dubious utility.
*I* was here with Eleanore and Anna. Completing our last mission when Eleanore saw a golden circlet with a blood red gem on its center. Sparrow saw the interest of the young woman and sprang into action.
Eleanore Silverstone: " 300 golden pieces?" She exclaimed. "The pay for *our* mission was only 130! And we are five! I coul never buy something like that"
Sparrow: "Oh dear, I cannot part for less. Even for you" said the pirate. "It is a *very precious artifact*" said the old captain.
"That is alright Eleanore. I will buy if for you" I interjected. "Here Captain"
Anna Brokenhearth: "hold on" said Anna, snatching my purse "Where did you got all this money? You told the group you where broke yesterday when we wanted to buy potions and salves" she started to yell. "We could have saved Danny if we had ***ONE*** MORE DAM POTION!" She shrieked, tears creeping upon her stone like figure.
"Oh, but dont worry Anna. *I* made sure Danny won't stay dead for long. Also, the money I just got it this morning." I said apoplectic.
Anna & Eleanore:" But how?" They said in unisson.
"Oh. *I* have my *own ways* | 2021-11-12T05:40:10 | 2021-11-12T02:37:03 | 63 | 29 |
[WP] You find a mysterious website where you can anonymously request an item once a day and it's delivered to you the next day.
You don't know how this website works and you don't enter any personal details, including your address. The item you request must actually exist. To clarify, it's a gift, you don't pay anything.
EDIT: To anyone reading but reluctant to write because this post is >7hrs old, please know that you have at least one reader in me! | As a web designer, I often try to find inspiration by the depths of the internet. That's when I found the site. It was so minimal, just a text label that said "Your free gift:" with a blank entry field. No buttons, no images, no page links, just these two elements. "Gift huh?" I said to myself, then looked around my desk for inspiration. After eyeing my Superman poster, I jokingly typed in "Action Comics #1" and hit enter. My text cleared, and the label changed to "Try again tomorrow". Figuring it was just a spambot, I clicked off of the site, and continued on my search.
The next day, I returned home and got the mail as usual. A couple packages from Amazon, and one packaged in butcher paper with no markings. I figured it was just something artsy I had backed on Kickstarter, and brought the haul inside. As I opened it, I nearly dropped it. A pristine copy of the comic I requested from the site was enclosed with a note that simply said "Your gift." I rushed to get it appraised from my friend Paul, thinking it must be a replica, a joke, a mistake. I knew it was real when he slowly replied "Where did you get this?" and slid it closer to him. A sudden rush of rage took over, and I forced the comic from him, nearly ripping it in the process. I raced out and returned home to my computer, paging through my history entries to find the site again. The site appeared as it did the first time I found it, a simple entry for "my free gift". I typed in "A mansion", hit enter, and sat back, laughing nervously. What was I doing? Why was I so flustered over this stupid site? I shut my laptop lid and took a deep breath. I should really call Paul, tell him I'm sorry for overreacting. I went to sleep, thinking to myself "tomorrow".
As I approached my home after work, my heart raced when I noticed a set of keys nailed to the door, and a short note. It had an address, with block letters that looked like they were from a typewriter. "It can't be. This isn't real."
The house, if you could call something so massive just a house, was over an hour away. Of course the key worked, I knew it would. Inside was a computer a large monitor, with the site up and ready. My dream gifts were waiting for me.
I stopped going to work. Over the next few weeks, I found that I could request one gift a day. I became consumed with finding more items to request. The site never failed.
Paul, my boss, my mom, everyone stopped calling after a couple weeks. I got rid of my phone anyway, there was no need. Anything I could have ever wanted was at my fingertips. The world was mine. I didn't need to share it with anyone, they would just take it away from me.
I waited at the door for my newest gift, another TV for my third bedroom so I could pass the time between deliveries. TV was better than human contact anyway; real people ask too many questions, have too many demands.
I peeked out the window to see if I could catch the mysterious benefactor in the act. The usual delivery time approached. A man dressed in a fine white suit walked up the winding driveway. I began to panic. His arms were empty, so he couldn't be the delivery man. I locked the doors, then returned to the window to watch. As he got to my front door and rang the doorbell, I hid behind one of the couches, shaking. If he didn't see me, he would give up and leave. I just had to wait him out.
I could hear the key enter the lock, and the man entered, leaving the door open behind him to let the sunlight in. He found me, clutching a cashmere blanket on the floor.
"Who are you?! How did you get in?" I demanded.
"I am your Gifter. I have come to tell you the services are being discontinued. You failed our assessment."
"How could I fail? I entered requests every day! I told you everything I wanted," tears were forming in my eyes.
"This was a test, our grand experiment. Given unlimited resources, what does one do? Feed the hungry? Build houses for the homeless? End the wars?"
"But you said they were gifts! MY gifts! There was no price, it was free." I reached for him to stop, too defeated to get off the floor.
"When we said free, we meant monetary," the man walked to the doorway to exit, his figure turning fuzzy from the light behind him.
"The price you pay is your sanity, devoured by greed." | *A Gift*
The webpage is blank apart from those two words, small and unassuming in a neat white cursive, a stark contrast against the deep black of the background. Underneath them lies a small white box, into which you could type your every desire. I stare at the box, my cursor blinking with anticipation.
It had been a month since the website appeared. News spread slowly at first, whispers in the darkest corners of the internet about a place that grants wishes. Those first users were careful to conceal their actions, small things at first, but soon the world took notice.
I reach out for the glass next to me, my hand illuminated by the glow of the screen. The office is dark, the newspaper pressed against the window only slightly frayed as the tape has begun to fail. I hear ice breaking as I lift the glass and take a sip of the bitter liquid inside.
Soon, everyone was receiving gifts. Nobody knew where the site had come from, or why. Nobody seemed to care. The brightest and the best stripped the page to barest code, governments argued and emergency meetings were held. The world was still none the wiser. It was too large, too unexplainable. It became God.
A noise outside halts me. A screech of metal, punctuating the silence. I try to evaluate the distance, but simply decide, *too close*. I put down the glass and rest my fingers against the warm keyboard in front of me. The cursor continues to blink.
It took exactly 25 days for the world to fall apart. Economies collapsed. The police and militia couldn’t quell the growing unrest, and our governments drowned under a sea of greed and madness. The only limit was Man’s capacity for cruelty, and we soon learnt this was no limit at all. It was too large, too unstoppable. It became the Devil.
With tears in my eyes now, I begin to type. My words are accepted hungrily. | 2015-03-25T09:23:50 | 2015-03-25T04:36:09 | 17 | 12 |
[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge. | 'Fountain of Youth' was released in the late autumn of 2030. It had undergone rigorous testing, was boycotted my numerous religious groups, and had taken years to be approved by the majority of the world's various drug administration agencies. It boasted a 100% success rate in multiple trials, totalling 5000 trial patients - it seemed too good to be true.
Despite all the troubles, the drug came on the market on November 21st, 2030, in various locations around the world. The allure of never ageing created a rush towards pharmacies the likes of which had never been seen before. Sure, cancer had been cured, but this was different. It took six hours to sell all of the 200 million pills that had entered the market. Smith&Smith&Smith's market value soared in one day. Four months later, 800 million pills entered the market, and were sold in four hours, breaking the firm's previous record. By 2032, 98% of the world's population had bought and consumed the drug.
Its effects were astonishing: taking one pill at age 80 gave its user the appearance and health of a 50 year-old. Taking a second pill reduced the age down to approximately 35 years, and taking a third pill put the user in their mid-20s.
Soon enough, the world started to realise that this new-found youth meant they needed a world to live in. Disbelief in climate changed dropped dramatically, and environmental consciousness was on the rise. For the first time in decades, we see actual reductions in pollution, and the active change was seen and felt. The world was looking better than ever. It did not last long.
I was one of the few people who had decided not to take the drug. I was already in my mid-20s and honestly didn't really care about ageing - sure, I didn't want to look 'wrinkly' and lose my health and stamina, but it just hadn't affected me at the time. As it would turn out, not taking the pill was the right decision. The side-effects of the pill started to make their appearance eight years after the launch: the technically eldest started to develop coughs. At first, it was attributed to their body's difficulty in understanding that it was young again. However, this theory was rapidly dismissed when the 'eldest' starting coughing blood. Widespread rashes followed the coughs, as did general waves of panic. Consumers of the drug started to rush in hospitals, asking to get tested for the unknown affliction. The eldest started to turn blue and purple, losing their fingers, and, successively, all of their limbs. Fear was at an all-time high, and it worsened when the middle-aged started to show the same symptoms. To their disease was added hydrophobia and fainting spells. Death was quick to follow. None of it made any sense whatsoever. Tests had been performed, trials undergone - Fountain of Youth was deemed safe, and yet, here we were.
The population of the world dwindled, fear completely took over our lives, and paranoia was constant. Those who looked to be in their mid-20s were assumed to be consumers of the pill, and were quickly hunted down. It was estimated that three million people were left on Earth, with this number falling weekly. Somehow, the disease that had affected the consumers of the pill - whom we now called 'Youthers' - had mutated to affect those who hadn't. It had been three years since the disease had manifested itself, and since then, not a single child was born. Animosity towards Smith&Smith&Smith had become pure hatred. How could they do this to us? By what right could they defy laws of biology and human nature?
It took three months for rumours to be addressed: out of the rubble of humankind came a group of environmental 'terrorists', claiming to have caused the near-total wipeout of humans through the creation of 'Fountain of Youth'. Nuova Terra had one goal: rid the Earth of humans so that nature and its dependants could 'truly' live again. And they had succeeded. | It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
| 2016-10-09T08:01:32 | 2016-10-09T06:23:32 | 140 | 14 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | The enemy had entered the galactic stage a mere fifty years ago. They had reached out blindly into the stars, professing a wish for friendship and commercial trade. The galaxy, quite surprised by the lack of militancy or isolationism displayed by the fledgling race, unanimously accepted.
Then came Kothlar 7.
The Jatharin had declared war merely as a matter of protocol - someone would have done it eventually, and the Jatharin were the enemy's closest neighbors, so it just made sense for them to be the ones to bring the newcomers fully into galactic society.
It was a massacre.
Gornag Kalistra hadn't received his title because of pure ceremony - a fact that he'd leveraged to ensure that HE was the one sent to meet the enemy. The other Gornagi of the Jatharin Senate were too scared to handle this meeting properly; after all, none of them had ever seen *real* combat.
"Seen. combat" An odd turn of phrase, that, but it was how the humans spoke. Kalistra was the only one of his kind who'd actually viewed the historical documentation that had inspired the current galactic law so many thousands of years ago. Only a fool would have gone to meet a *new* species whilst being ignorant of his *own* species' history, and Kalistra was no fool.
What he'd seen had been ***horrifying***. Weapons designed not to impress or to wound, but to destroy. No thought was put into what those implements of war looked like - only what things they could do to the enemy and how efficiently they could be made to do those things. The galaxy had come a long way in their understanding of war.
The humans didn't want a fight - they had stated that very emphatically in their message, though the pictures of the remains of the Third Jatharin fleet had the Senate convinced otherwise. They had been attacked, they said. *War* had been declared, so they had responded in kind - they truly hadn't expected the Jatharin to have put weapons such as they had on their ships and not also have shields capable of withstanding a similar force; they were just as appalled at what had happened as the Jatharin. They'd even done their best to provide medical treatment for the few survivors before sending them home with the message.
They'd had no way to have known that starships hadn't employed shields in centuries. The galaxy's idea of war was far different from what it used to be. If the Jatharin could become this way, thought Kalistra, then surely the humans could learn this as well. It would just take the right words.
Vice Fleet Admiral Taylor Bradley Johnson and Vice Fleet Admiral Taylor Josephine Brandon were waiting for him at the specified rendezvous point. Even human names were strange - how could beings of different sexes have the same name? Adjusting his uniform, he gestured for his communications officer to establish a visual link with the human vessel.
"Greetings," said VFA Taylor (or was it Taylor?). "We humbly apologize for the misunderstanding at Kothlar 7. Our sincere condolences to the families of all involved."
"Thank you," said Kalistra smoothly. "I fear the misunderstanding runs far deeper than either species has fully realized." He gestured again to his communications officer. "I have brought with me a complete recorded history of my people so we may correct this unfortunate problem. If I may bring to your attention the moments just after Time Indices 27-2, 39-5, and 104-1, you will find that our species' understanding of certain words may be drastically different."
The VFAs paused while the bridge crew of the human vessel watched the indicated portions, then the other Taylor spoke. "I see that our understandings of the word 'war' are indeed quite different. This is most distressing, Gornag Kalistra. If only we had known - this could have been avoided."
Kalistra approximated a human nod as best he could. "I would be honored if you would accompany me to the Senate so we can rectify this misunderstanding. It is clear that if we were to engage in a war as your people understand it that our fleets are hopelessly outmatched."
"We gratefully accept. A peaceful and prosperous future is all we wish for. And Kalistra?" Taylor asked quickly before the connection could be closed.
"Yes?"
"For future reference, the human concept your people were trying to invoke is 'I challenge you to a duel.'" | ​
crawford had mocked these aliens for their flamboyant displays of might. he called them all bark and no bite, called them incompetent, impotent. it wasn't very hard to establish humanity's superiority. or so he thought.
like always they showed up with their grandiose warships. and it took only one shot from a mid-class pulse cannon to blow up their flagship. what followed was not war but a massacre. while some were horrified the rest were amused.
milton, rear admiral under him, vehemently condemned him, calling him a bully. but this was war not a school playground, if you can't keep up then don't step up. she then asked him if he had never wondered why the wars were fought such a way. he didn't bother about it, nobody did. maybe they should have.
turns out the aliens had one thing in common, an understanding of the sanctity of life. as such they were focused more on the show of force rather than the force itself. now that humanity had showed them that it does not value life like they do. the aliens had dropped all pretense.
the empire that took humanity more than a century to build was ripped apart in days. he remembered the words of isoroku yamamoto, the japanese admiral during the attack on pearl harbour. and he began to realise that humanity had awakened the sleeping giants and filled them with terrible resolve. | 2020-03-21T11:02:38 | 2020-03-21T09:27:16 | 155 | 33 |
[WP] Mages choose the source of their power. Most pick things like fire, or justice, or love. You picked sarcasm. | I found the most powerful wizard in the world in a run-down bar in a run-down city. It used to be lush and pretty here, before overfarming turned the placed into a dust bowl. I can’t imagine why he chose here of all places. It was a hellhole, and the beer sucked.
The worst part was that he didn’t even look that tough. In fact, he looked tired.
He sighed when he saw me, then stared down into his beer. “Buzz off, kid,” he said. At that point, one of the regulars noticed me, and elbowed his friend. I heard wagers being whispered back and forth. Pretty soon, the dozen or so barflies were all in on the action.
“Oh, I’m quaking in my boots, buddy,” I sneered, the power of sarcasm building around me. “I mean, you look like you’re ready to take on the world.”
He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Well, that’s new,” he said, watching the magic spool through my fingers.
“Yeah,” I snorted, “’new.’ Sarcasm is a recent invention.”
He shrugged, not rising to the bait. “Sarcasm, not so much. But sarcasm *magic*, that I haven’t seen. Still, I got you beat, and we both know it.”
“Because when the brilliant young mage with nearly limitless power walks up to a washed-up has-been, the smart money is on the has-been, am I right?”
“Your sarcasm might be nearly limitless, maybe. But my magic really *is* limitless. Literally. And look, I really don’t want to kill anyone today. The kind of magic I use, the downside is that I have to see all the terribleness that’s really, truly out there, wallow in it, experience it up close and personal. And it really eats at the soul, you know?”
I barked a laugh. No one had ever been able to figure out what his power was, but he just laid it out for me. “You’re sworn to the Great Old Ones from beyond the veil? Ooooo, scary-scary,” I mocked.
“Don’t I wish it was something like that,” he said. “It’s worse. So do me a favor and just go back wherever you came from,” he said.
“That was totally what I wanted when I came here, to do you a favor.”
He shook his head sadly. “The smart move is to walk away,” he said, “but you’re not going to, are you?”
“Walk away? Of course not! I was planning on running like a scared little girl,” I said, raising my hands to unload magical death on the old buffoon.
Then the world exploded. There was pain, burning ... laughter? Oh gods, the hillbillies were laughing at me. And I couldn’t feel my legs.
“Wh … what happened?” I asked.
“I killed you,” he said.
“Wi … with what?”
He clambered to his feet. “You didn’t wonder why I live in a dustbowl? It’s not because I like the weather, I’ll tell you that. I live here because it was made by willful ignorance. This whole place is a concentrated power source for me.” He grimaced. “Sad, isn’t it? And they’re doing the same thing in Zamara and Ferrovia. Nobody has learned a thing from what happened here. You know, I’d give up this power in a heartbeat if it meant that people could learn not to do the same damn thing over and over and over again.”
“I … I don’t … what is …” Things were going dark. It was hard to speak.
“Still haven’t figured it out? I told you my power was infinite, kid, and I wasn’t joking. I’ll give you a hint. The Book of Proverbs says that only two things are infinite: the heavens, and human stupidity.”
“Book of … Proverbs … doesn’t …”
“Doesn’t actually say that? Believe me, I’m well aware.” He gestured at the barflies, who were by now paying off their various wagers with live chickens. “But decades ago someone told those idiots that it did, and they’ve believed it ever since. And no one. Ever. Bothered. To check.”
He knelt down so his face was close to mine. “Pretty stupid, right?” he whispered.
Then everything went black.
| Mages are a progressive lot. Bunch of early adopters if you've never met one. Think "Elon Musk" crossed with "Steve Jobs." Doddering old idiots can scarcely make a phone call.
After about six lifetimes in the High Citidel enjoying its extensive collection of thrilling triestices on metamagical theory, wide-ranging dining options, and marginally better cell reception than you'd find on the surface of the moon, I finally fucking graduated.
And of course there's a ceremony and of course its in January and of course the freaking Weisengot Sorcery Sorority has to hold the damn thing at midnight. In a castle. Without heat.
So I'm clinching my teeth while trying not to think about who's junk was rubbing in the ratty-ass wool bathrobes we're supposed to wear while the literal oldest, whitest dude that has ever been is trying to read his sacred ceremony cliffs notes printed in second coming typeface on what have to be the largest notecards available for sale in the western hemisphere. I'm cold. I'm tired. I'm barefoot and miserable and he's reading out of some dusty velium book the size of a coffee table and asking questions like "Will you wield your magic as an aegis for the world something something something principles of Love Justice blah blah blah..."
And I'm like "Yea, right."
Except I **said** "yea, right." Like, out loud.
And suddenly the hall wasn't so cold anymore. | 2017-07-20T13:22:57 | 2017-07-20T11:55:42 | 67 | 31 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | continued straight from the prompt...
__
Now... Luckily I'm a redditor, and things like being summoned against your will into an unknown world/situation are a common topic so I had thought through this scenario before. Otherwise I would appear quite confused at my situation and not at all in control of the situation.
"Why have you summoned me?" I bellowed in my best impression of pompous and evil.
The sorcerer scrambled back a few steps, "I have summoned you to make a deal."
I was not sure what it was I was supposed to provide, but as this seemed fairly common for magic I hoped it was something I was capable of.
"You know the price?" I asked haughtily.
"Certainly, one talent of gold and my immortal soul."
I pondered this silently, I had only heard of talents in bible stories but I remembered someone saying that was about 75lbs. I unfortunately did not trade in gold on a regular basis and my phone probably couldn't access the internet from wherever this was; but I knew it was something like $1000 an ounce. 16 ounces per lb x 75 lbs... screw it I pulled out my phone.
The mage reacted with alarm, "What infernal device is that? Know that I am protected by the circle!"
I held up a finger to shush him as I opened the calculator app and figured out how much money I stood to make on this deal...whatever it was. I whistled between my teeth as the number stared up at me $1.25 Million.
"Stop! Stop I can't take it!" The magician screamed. "The circle should have protected me!"
I looked back at him dumbly with my face lit softly by my glowing cell phone screen. "Stop...what?"
"That noise! We cannot stand the sound of your chanting and whatever it is you were doing with your voice just now!"
I once again went silent, not knowing that the otherworldly light of my screen was making me look quite demonic at the moment. "You mean... whistling?" I chirpped softly at the end to demonstrate.
"YES!"
Interesting... "So what is the task you have summoned me for?"
The mage stood back upright, "I need you to defeat the army at our doorstep, use your damning tongue to rain down hell and bring madness to the troops."
"You want me to... sing?"
A tentative nod.
"Okay... where is this army?"
The sorcerer pointed to an arrow slit window in the side of the tower. I could see several dozen burly men in various armor standing outside the gates a dozen feet below... this was an army?
"This is an army?" I said intelligently, "Where I come from, an army is usually hundreds if not thousands of men."
"We are aware of your warlike ways and preference for violence but that is not our way. We only wish to drive away the force below as quickly as possible and make them think twice about attacking again."
I looked down at the phone in my hand again and brought up a video I kept on it to send to my friends randomly. I was about to hit play when I turned back to the mage, "You might want to cover your ears."
> We're no strangers to love
>You know the rules and so do I
>A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
>You wouldn't get this from any other guy
>I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
>Gotta make you understand
>Never gonna give you up
>Never gonna let you down
>Never gonna run around and desert you
>Never gonna make you cry
>Never gonna say goodbye
>Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you...
| "So you're telling me that you summoned me..." You said, as the apprentice nodded at you.
"Yup..."
"In my bathtub..." You say, a sheet wrapped around your waist.
"Sorry about that..."
"As I was cuddling with the love of my life..."
"Again, sorry..."
"And you have no idea how to send me back."
"I...yes?"
"Son..." You say, staring him down with not the gentlest of gazes. "You will find a way to get me back, right now, or you and I are gonna have some words." | 2017-05-12T10:38:10 | 2017-05-12T08:27:42 | 427 | 95 |
[WP] Humans are popular as servants across the galaxy, but there are rules and laws regarding having a human servant, to ensure they are treated fairly. Unfortunately one of those rules ISN'T that you can't take a human against their will. | "Good morning, Claire. How are you feeling?"
"I wasn't expecting to see another human! And you know my name, oh my God!"
Claire stood before a middle aged man in a white coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck. His coat was embroidered with four lines of unintelligible script, followed by "T. Nguyen - HUMAN DOCTOR"
Dr. Nguyen sighed. "Well, you know. Based on the new Standards Of Treatment for Human Servants, all humans are entitled to medical care, so the Andromedians grabbed me and pressed me into service recently."
"It's not too bad. I've been a housekeeper for two years now. I get my needs met, days off, the family I'm with is really nice... except they keep reproducing and making me clean the nursery tank." Claire folded her arms.
"What?"
"Andromedians lay eggs and hatch as larvae in water. And then they poop in the water all the time, and it's up to me to wash the tank every day until the babies grow out of it. They've had three broods in the last couple years. They just hatched a new brood."
"I guess I should be glad I'm doing work I'm familiar with. Mind sitting on the exam table?" Dr. Nguyen patted the exam table, rustling the paper.
Claire hopped up on the table.
"I'll take a quick set of vitals. Here on Andromeda, your weight will be higher and your blood pressure will probably be about what it runs on Earth. Your oxygen saturation should be 100%, no problem." He got to work taking vitals, then looked in Claire's eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.
"Now, Claire, do you feel safe at home?"
"Yeah, most the time."
"Most the time?" Dr. Nguyen asked.
"They have adolescents. Those things play *rough.* One of them wrestled me when I was cleaning the nursery tank and held me underwater. They got in trouble for that one. The parents try to look out for me, and the adolescent stage only lasts a couple months..." She sighed.
"I see. What are you usually eating?"
"Baked small animal meat with a side of veggies."
"Oh!" Dr. Nguyen's face lit up. "Where are you getting veggies?"
"I was abducted from the garden center with my seeds. The family let me plant a little garden. I can give you some. I have tomatoes, potatoes, zucchini, and lettuce."
"That would be amazing! I've been eating what the Andromedians eat, and it's disgusting." He shook his head. "How much exercise have you been getting?"
Claire shrugged. "House cleaning four days a week, SCUBA diving to clean the big tank out back once a week, and playing with the kids... enough, I think."
"How often are you breaking a sweat?" Dr. Nguyen folded his arms.
Claire screwed up her face. "Oh, God, every day! And then they bathe me!"
"Oh dear."
"They've learned that I don't like being naked in front of them, so they strip me down to my underwear and scrub me with their super drying awful soap! You don't know where to get soap for human skin, do you?"
"Yes, you should be getting human soap, I'll send you home with some, along with a pamphlet in Andromedian about human grooming. They shouldn't be bathing you."
"You're telling me! But they're huge, so what can you do?" Claire shrugged again. "Do you have anything for skin cracks?"
"Yes I do, I'll send you home with some ointment as well. When was your last menstrual period?"
"I... don't actually know. I mean, I do, it just ended yesterday, but I don't know how time works here. I try my best to approximate with Earth time, but the days are so much shorter here!" Claire laughed nervously.
Dr. Nguyen put his hands on his hips. "I'll have to think of a better way to ask that question." He paused. "Do you have any other medical concerns?"
"Nope, just the dry skin." Claire examined her chapped hands.
Dr. Nguyen quickly finished up the physical exam and gave Claire a mostly clean bill of health. They exchanged numbers so Claire could give the doctor seeds, and he could refer her to mental health once a therapist was kidnapped. | The galaxy underestimate humans. despite being know as an violence seeking species, they never expected them to revolt like they did, especially when they treated us so fairly, but human are also creature of free will, who have lives of their own that been taken away by force.
the war only last an mere month, the alien didn’t expect the attack to come from inside their defences. the cheers of the human drowned out the alien’s screams. it took an month for an crease fire, and the leaders of the revoltution, an mere child in the eyes of the aliens who live hundreds of years, one that been dragged out against her will millions of light years away.
“we deserve free will,” it spoked, voice filled of venom when asked why they did it. “we see slavery before, and it didn’t end well. you stole us from our home!”
“your home is an wasteland,” the alien yelled back. “we saved you!” but the human didn’t care to listen. “it should of been our choice! you took our childrens, our elders, anyone you could! anyone that you deem worthy to be your servent despite our wants! you give us no choice! you done this to yourself!“ | 2022-12-23T10:47:35 | 2022-12-23T09:46:05 | 58 | 24 |
[WP] In your world, magic comes from elemental pearls that are found within the ocean. More powerful pearls are found deeper, but the depths are also home to more dangerous predators. You are a pearl diver, a necessary profession where many die young but those that survive find fortune quickly. | Beware the old man in a profession where men die young, they say. Standing on the edge of the platform, staring down into the blue waters, my collapsible spear strapped to my thigh, I had to laugh at the thought. I was twenty-eight years old, and nobody in my crew had yet seen their twentieth birthday. That made me the dangerous old man.
The dive. We’re streamlined, genetically modified that way, not a hair on our bodies, and though I knew the water was warm it felt deep cold, bone cold. There were four in our crew plus me—pearl divers on our tax forms, rock junkies to the merchantmen who liked to watch us jump in the water from the decks of their passing ships. We flew down as fast as we could, trying to get past the first trial before we were noticed.
Our newest member wasn’t fast enough, the poor kid. He liked to talk up his ability, but this was his third dive and I had already figured out he wasn’t going to make it—I had told him as much, suggested he take an easier job, patching boats at the dock or something like that. He laughed me off. Well, he wasn’t laughing now. A swarm of tiny red fish materialized suddenly in the water, their perfectly transparent bodies suddenly pumping blood from the chromatophore-coated sacks around their hearts. Too small to fight off with the spear or, for that matter, anything, his only hope was to get below their shallow crush depth. He didn’t. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.
*I don’t care about the mods, she said. Just come work with me before you die out there. My dad wasn’t happy about it but he’ll pay you good enough, and we’ll live together out back, in the shed. Please, there’s no shame in it. There’s no shame in living.*
We approached the mouth of the cave that had broken through the sands on the bottom of the sea, the one our foreman had spotted before anyone else and laid a claim to in a hurry. Now came the tricky part—the others drew their spears pre-emptively but I knew to just keep flying, flying, flying down. The best way to avoid getting bit was to not be there. Already I could see the carpeteers squirming beneath the sand—this was a bad spot, there were a lot of them. Two decided to stay back, sacrificing this dive’s pay so the rest of us could get into the cave.
*No. No, listen, I’ll just make a few more dives, all right? I’ve already paid off the foreman—if I get, let’s say twenty pearls, I can buy us a house. A* real *house, not your dad’s old shack. And I can get my own platform, be my own foreman. We’ll be set for life, baby, I swear it. You’ve just got to hold out a little longer.*
The cave swallowed me, and straight away I could see the ethereal blue light flickering from further beyond, in the pearl chamber. This, the journey’s end for so many people born in the archipelago, so many colonist’s sons whose great, great grandfathers had come to this planet looking for glory only to find death and economic opportunities for their descendants. Now I drew my spear, extended it. In my other hand I slipped my hand into the flap of my burlap sack, so that I could quickly scoop them up without having to fiddle with it. Oh, thank God for the mods—a normal human being would be dead at this depth.
*No. I’m not going to wait for you. Because if I do, then when you die, it’ll be on me. I’ll never live with myself. Do what you want, I wash my hands of you.*
This chamber had more pearls than I had ever seen at one time in my twelve years of diving. Thousands of the little things arranged around a wide ovaloid chamber with that curious hint of a cathedral in its atmosphere. At the center, the mockery of the humanoid form some cheeky bastard had called a mermaid a century ago sat, her tail curled in a great heap on the floor. She was awake, eyes glowing blue with tranquil fury, skin scintillating, tendrils like wavy hair illuminating the room.
She struck, and I rolled right—she was the others’ problem now. If I could get a full sack it would be enough for all of us to quit for the day. I got to work, paying attention only to the mermaid’s tail and the blood in the chamber. If they won, they won. If they lost, I’d know soon enough. Four, five, six white little jewels in my bag, each worth a fortune to ship back to old mother earth, that place none of us would ever know. Ten. Twelve. Blood in the water now, thick like fog.
*All right, all right. I’ll wait. Three more dives. If you can’t do it by then, you either give up or we’re done. I love you too.*
The sack clasped shut, I turned around. The mermaid was just finishing off my right hand, the second-eldest of us all at nineteen, leaving him to gasp in saltwater rather than spend any more time swimming in his own viscera. She wheeled to face me, and I could see in her face now why they called them mermaids. In a way, they truly were beautiful, when seen in the right state of terror and rage. Angels, the fallen kind, the sort you had to kill during the Apocalypse. I readied my spear as she closed in.
*I’ll be back. This is the last dive, baby. After this, I’m done. The foreman says it’s a good cave that just opened up, we’ll make it big. I love you. I love you.* | Kami ran big. Eight minutes three seconds. Was it the village best? Maybe. Nine perfect orbs. Each of the pearls sat like sparkling jewels in their oysters. Kami had nearly collapsed from exhaustion upon reaching the surface. I reached out and helped pull him from Mother Ocean. As his weight rested on the deck, Kami dropped his catch net with a dozen heavy oysters next to his side and melted away into heavy slumber near the bow. The shells clattered on the bench as I emptied the net. I unsheathed my knife and laid each of the oysters out in a circle. This had been the family tradition for a century. I bowed my head in thanks to Mother Ocean. Then I set upon the first. Dividing the shell halves, I opened it. Nothing but fine grit and a lump of malformed flash lay inside. The second was a small pebble. Dull and misshapen. The third was a small pocket of grit. Frustrated, I shook my head. I gazed down at Kami. Still asleep. I rinsed the blade of my knife the cold water and took the fourth oyster. Cracking open the tough shell, I laid it open on the bench to see a shiny grey pearl. Peering closer, I inspected the surface and picked it up. For it's size, it was light but perfect. I returned the pearl to it's bed. I bowed my head again in silent thanks and the remaining unopened oysters started to rock gently on the bench. Each stopped movement and a warm luminescent glow surrounded the eight. Again I closed my eyes and offered silent words to Mother Ocean. Each of the eight again to vibrate gently and their glowing aura peaked in warm radiance as each of their shells opened slowly to reveal a perfect opalescent orb. As the warm glow faded, a cool fresh wind swept across the ocean. Kami opened his eyes and looked at me and then at the bounty Mother Ocean had yielded. He sat up and nodded. It was then I knew that my early departure from diving had paid off. My apprentice Kami had found The Nine. With them, our village would reign the deep seas. The underwater dangers would no longer be a risk on future dives. It was the culmination of decades of dives. In those years, we had lost dozens of pearl divers. Never again would we lose another. With The Nine came the powers. Kami had gathered The Nine. Nevermore would Cthulhu own the depths. Never again would we have to console a sobbing wife when her man failed to return from the depths. These were the powers of promise. This was The Nine. | 2021-02-15T04:00:39 | 2021-02-15T02:32:33 | 121 | 37 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | "...happy birthday to you!" I blew out the candles on my birthday cake and wished for my talent to shine through this year. All of my friends were blessed with special talents-superhuman strength, blazing speed, inconceivable intelligence- but I seemed average in all aspects.
Now on my 30th birthday, I was reaching the maturation of my talent, and the only thing that seemed interesting about me was the fact that every time I went to the animal shelter, cats sat down and peered at me from their crates. When I left the animal shelter, they all went berserk, hissing and scratching at volunteers and patrons following my departure. I had actually been banned from two animal shelters for this strange and unexplained behavior.
Ever since people had started being born with weak talents that grew stronger until their 30th birthday, the human population saw an all-time high growth rate. We were fascinated by the variety of talents and thought these talents would save the human race. While many pressing issues such as climate change and national debt were seeing improvement, poverty was high and those with less special talents (like myself) struggled to find reasonable employment.
Because I was not a competitive prospective employee, I could hardly afford a place to live and enough food to eat. I was allowed to stay in a bedroom at a friend's place and mostly ate leftovers that were about to be thrown out. I saw less and less handouts these days though, as more special talents arose and more "average" citizens lost their jobs.
One morning, I was scrounging some dumpsters for breakfast, but they were all empty. The homeless and "average" citizens littered the sidewalks while the "specials" walked past to begin their days at work. I was cold, had one week to move out of my friend's house (because he was recently let go from his job and was losing his home), and I had half a can of mandarin oranges in his fridge that I had been trying to make last. Unable to find any food to eat, I ambled back home to eat the last of my mandarin oranges, but still found my stomach growling after the oranges were gone.
I turned my head to the right to look out of the window and try to come up with a plan to survive. Suddenly, a cat I had never seen before leaped onto the windowsill with a hot dog in its mouth. I opened the window, and the cat dropped the hot dog at my feet and climbed back out of the window into the frosty grass. Hungry and unwilling to waste the food, I grilled the hot dog and ate it, finally calming my rumbling belly.
Twice a day, the same cat appeared in the windowsill, dropping food at my feet and leaving immediately after. That last week I had at my friend's house, I was able to eat what the cat brought me and collect other food items out of dumpsters to take with me when I lost my home.
When I finally had to leave home, I knew I would never see the cat again. Much to my surprise, a few days later the cat found me curled up on the sidewalk with my back to an old brick building. I was cold and nearly out of supplies, but the cat rubbed up against me and gave me a knowing look before leaving me.
For the next several months, this cat (along with many others) began bringing me food, socks, blankets, medication, and many other supplies that allowed for my survival. They were bringing me so many things that I was able to help other "averages" out when they were suffering. I still had no place to live but my cats and my newfound friends stayed near and kept me warm at night. Even though sickness and poverty were killing off a growing portion of the human population, I was hopeful that the cats would keep me alive. They made me optimistic for the future and grateful for the present.
Soon enough, the government recognized the harm done by the separation of the "averages" and the "specials". They banned use of our special talents unless an emergency demanded our talents be used. Life began to look more normal, and more of the "averages" were able to find jobs. As for me? I opened my own animal shelter, determined to find homes for all the cats that had kept me alive in my times of hardship. They seemed to trust me to find them the perfect fit, and to this day I continue rehoming abandoned and stray cats. | Life is unfair, they all say. Tim, who was just slightly stronger than us, grew up being able to lift mountains and move continents. James, who enjoyed taking apart stuff and putting them back together, grew up be one of Earth's most celebrated inventor, revolutionizing the industry.
Me? Cats only seem to like me. They all laughed at me. Ridiculed me. What can a person who only cats like do at the age of 30? Meow everyone to death?
They laughed. They mocked. But little do they know the extent of my powers. They underestimated me.
Unlike them who constantly flaunt their power, I have secretly honed mine in the past few decades. Slowly putting my plans in motion. Eliminating dogs from society. Making cats the pets of choice. Secretly I have been planting my agents across the globe, ensuring that they have access to all the most secure places in the world.
They may have forgotten me, but come tomorrow, I will show them the true extent of my power. They will come to fear me, no matter what their powers. Because come tomorrow, they will finally learn the hard way what a real Crazy Cat Lady can do.
ME-OWWW.
------------------
/r/dori_tales | 2016-12-30T09:33:18 | 2016-12-30T08:28:43 | 250 | 56 |
[WP] You are allowed to 'downvote' a government candidate instead of voting normally, reducing their votes by one. Turns out people have little love for politicians, and the majority end with negative votes. In these democracies, anonymity is the key to winning. | I only ran as a joke.
I just wanted to see how many downvotes I could get by running a cringe-worthy campaign. Most people in my life didn't even know I was a candidate. Can you blame me, though? My username was 'Asslover420' and my advertising consisted of post-ironic 'Rick and Morty' memes that I shared on my personal page. I didn't expect to go viral. At all. Unfortunately, it appeared I had a little too much faith in humanity.
'Asslover420' was suddenly being discussed in full seriousness all over mainstream media. Both conservatives and progressives seemed to unite in how crazy they thought it was. Nobody could believe voters would be that stupid. And, obviously, I fully agreed.
Everyone *had* to be in on the joke, right?
As my campaign started gaining traction, I doubled down on the satire with the hope that they would realize it wasn't serious. My platform was full of vague promises that I actually couldn't deliver, like free weed for everyone and a national booty-call day, which the masses laughed at for months. No reasonable person would believe it.
Or so I thought.
Some people started theorizing that I was a political genius. That my campaign had been deliberately constructed as a critique of our electoral system, while genuinely addressing the concerns of the voter base. It turned out that every demographic loved ass and weed. Straight or gay, rich or poor, white folk and minorities. For better or for worse, these were the things they actually cared about.
I almost had a heart attack when I saw the first official poll. 'Asslover420' was eerily close to the establishment candidates. They were still ahead of me, but not by much. I told myself it was just an internet poll. Nothing indicative of the actual results. That was enough to scare me, though. I couldn't afford to let this go on.
Originally, I wasn't going to participate in the national debate. With my rising popularity, however, I knew it was my only chance to sabotage my campaign. I didn't show up in person, nor did I prepare any talking points. My goal was to engage in the debate with no memes or jokes, and show how competent the other candidates actually were.
The last thing I expected was for my opponents to do the opposite.
"Wubalubadubdub!" shouted one of the candidates, to a stunned audience. That was their opening statement.
The other candidate didn't do much better, showing up in Rastafarian colors and lighting a joint in front of everyone.
The crowd audibly cringed at them.
I wanted to die. The candidates were so desperate to beat me that they decided to imitate my style, with no regard to the thought process behind it. I had enough after that.
"You people are idiots!" I shouted. "Not just my opponents, but every single one of you that memed me into this stage! Politicians shouldn't be entertainers! How dense do you have to be to take anything I said seriously? If any of you imbeciles actually vote for me, I will literally burn this nation to the ground, just to spite you morons! Anyone else would be better than me! Study the candidates and take this seriously!"
The audience collectively widened their eyes in shock.
I smiled. It seemed to work. Everyone was too ashamed to cheer for me. My popularity plummeted in the polls after the debate. My followers were looking into the issues and researching the candidates. I actually got them to care!
On election day, I stayed off the internet and patiently waited for the results. Then, to my elation, 'Asslover420' had only received ten votes. I popped open a bottle of champagne upon seeing that. The people had spoken, and they weren't completely stupid.
My celebration didn't last long, though. The current president called my phone to congratulate me. I dropped my bottle of champagne after hearing him. Apparently, despite barely getting any votes, every other candidate had been downvoted so much that I ended up winning the election.
I sank into my couch, wondering where I went wrong. It turned out that getting people to research just made them hate the other side even more. Despite the stupidity of my platform, I was the only candidate that actually ran *for* something and paid a heavy price because of it.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out my other storied over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | Robert Smith was working from home, but hadn't yet gotten dressed (no video calls this morning) when the doorbell rang. He grumbled at that--he wasn't expecting any visitors. He quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a red polo that that he kept handy just in case, and answered the door.
Two men were standing at the door. One was wearing khakis and a blue polo, the other wearing jeans and a white polo. They were both holding two clipboards each.
Robert opened the door cautiously. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked.
"Maybe," Blue Polo answered. "Are you Robert Smith?"
"Depends who's asking."
"Well, my name's Bob Smith, and I live about two blocks that way, and my companion here is Bobby Smith, from those condos just before you get to Main Street, just inside the Ward 5 line. We were wondering if you've ever considered running for the Ward 5 seat on City Council."
Robert's mind raced. He could see where this was going. And the current ward councilwoman, Mary Jones, definitely needed to go. If it hadn't been for her name unrecognition, she'd never have gotten the job. He opened the door a little wider. "Come on in," he said. "Let's talk." | 2022-11-21T07:58:56 | 2022-11-21T06:52:58 | 284 | 78 |
[WP] You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in large letters on the wall. | The doors were jammed.
I kicked at them in an attempt to open the capsule. They opened after a few hits, and I tumbled into a greenish glow. It smelled awful. And there were soft thuds on the ground every few seconds, like children sneaking around.
At first I thought something had gone horribly wrong, that I’d ended up in some sort of limbo between the past and the future. But then I realized that the lights were just green. They seemed to be backup lights, as they were rather dim and were only present on some parts of the walls. They cast light onto some corners of the room, including a one-word apology written directly underneath one of the bulbs. There was a small stack of papers on a desk nearby as well as a coffee machine.
Well, don’t mind if I do.
I struggled to cross the room, as the green lights only lit up the edges of the laboratory. The center of it was a sea of black. And I kept tripping on what felt like sleeping dogs. Very large dogs, at that. I couldn’t see what they actually were though.
When I got to the other side of the room, I found that the apology on the wall looked like it was scribbled with pencil. Each letter was made up of multiple gray streaks, giving it a static-y sort of look. It was also kind of creepy. What were they sorry for?
I figured that the technicians would tell me when they got back from wherever. I tried to brew coffee to make the wait until then more enjoyable, but the machine didn’t work. It was plugged into the wall, though. It seemed like the power had gone out. That sucked. So I settled for reading the papers underneath the apology in the meantime. They were yellow and worn, as though a lot of time had passed since they’d first been produced.
The first one was something with the year 2018 on it, but there were some tally marks next to that. Eight. The marks also seemed to be written in pencil. The paper read:
*Operation Finale*
*ASSIGNMENT: Soldiers have been tasked with greeting and escorting the lost subject from the time machine pod into the safehouse section of the laboratory. They must then lure The Dancer into the time machine pod so that it can be sent back to its place in time and restore order to the system.*
*CONTEXT: Following the incident where The Dancer returned to our lab after the twelve-hour period instead of the lost subject, many of our technicians have been killed and unusual phenomena related to time have begun to take place. These circumstances will likely only grow worse; therefore, this operation is to be continued indefinitely, for there are much greater things at stake than our pride.*
At this point, I started to feel sick. I had no idea what “The Dancer” was, or why it was the one to be sent twelve hours into the future instead of me. Where—*when*, I mean—was I, then? And was that thing still here? I flipped to the next paper hoping for answers.
It was a layout of the laboratory, which included the location of the safehouse. Very useful. After that was a blueprint of the time machine. Apparently there was a button inside that I could have pressed to open the doors in case they got stuck. I wished that the technicians had told me that *before* sending me twelve hours into the future.
Although I was starting to think that I was deeper into the future than that.
I took a look at the next page. It said “2020” in the upper right corner and contained a drawing depicting a creature with more heads and legs than a regular organism should have. There were heads—heads that looked like *children*’s heads— fused together on the top of its torso and on the bottom, and there were legs where arms should have been. There were legs on top of the heads, like horns. There were legs protruding from its stomach and back. There were legs *everywhere*. And all of its feet had ballet shoes on it.
There were some notes on the side of the paper as well.
“Soft footsteps—irregular thumps.”
“Intelligent—capable of locating power source and destroying it.”
“Drawn to sounds—*stay quiet*.”
“Attacks with legs, but can utilize heads as well.”
I didn’t know why anyone would be devising creepy creatures to pass the time in a laboratory. Until I saw that the bottom of the paper had the words “The Dancer” printed on it.
Oh, *hell* no.
If *that* was the thing that had gotten loose, I didn’t want a part of it.
Except I didn’t have a choice.
I realized that the gentle, irregular thudding from before had grown louder. And closer.
It was a few feet in front of me, hidden in the sea of black. | Jimmy Mitchell awoke inside the test chamber. Was a slow wake from a restful slumber. Not quite the type of waking up experienced from a solid nights sleep.
Dazed, partially confused and most of all feeling hungry, Jimmy squinted to focus on his surrounding inside the chamber.
An emergency latch in red caught his eyes. He pulled it with little effort and the chamber door sprung open, stopping with a thud midway.
Jimmy stretched out his arms as his reached forward. He grabbed the door and the frame and pulled himself out of the sloping gradient he had been affixed to for twelve hours.
'What the...' Jimmy whispered.
A leg propped up onto the outside of the test chamber door lead down to a motionless face down body outside.
Jimmy stepped out of the chamber and to his horror, the scientists, technicians and security officials were all face down, motionless on the floor.
He motioned towards the log at the desk but it had been relocated for it wasn't there.
Scratching his head he looked around the lab. On the wall above the refrigerator scribed the word 'Sorry'.
'Those fuckers didn't...' Jimmy cried before marching to the fridge and yanking open the door.
Inside was a plate with crumbs, cream, remnants of strawberry jam and icing.
Fuming, Jimmy slammed the door.
'You fuckers ate all of my cake!!?'
All at once the bodies on the floor animated into hysterics. Everyone awoke laughing hard.
'You sick bastards, duping me into believing I'd go into the future! That was my cake! You fucking assholes!' | 2018-08-01T07:56:37 | 2018-08-01T07:43:42 | 19 | 11 |
[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. | “This is a serious legal liability, I promise you.”
“We can’t just deny them their own child!”
“I think we can. If we know her father’s going to kill her, we can’t just send this newborn baby home with them.”
“What should we do, then?”
“Send the baby to an adoption agency. Change the name. Tell her parents she passed in her sleep,” Dr Leavman stated with conviction. “It’s in the best interest of the child.” He added as an afterthought.
—
“We’re very sorry, Mr and Mrs Peters.”
The mother, as expected, had a terrible time dealing with the loss. After a brief explanation about how the baby passed — heart arythmia, as was decided on between Dr Leavman and Dr Smith — both parents went their separate ways. Mr Peters soon popped up on television screens around the state for multiple convictions based off of drunk driving incidents, domestic abuse, or sexual assault and was — after a debate rising all the way to the Supreme Court — sentences to twenty years in federal prison.
Mrs Peters, however, went on to be very successful. She wrote several fictitious novels about the ‘names’ and one non-fiction story about her own encounters — how she’d fallen in love with her now ex-husband and continued to marriage even knowing neither of them had the other’s name, and how after her daughter’s death she and her husband split and she finally found the one with the name that was to be her soulmate.
—
It was not until twenty-three years later that Dr Smith heard any more of the girl. The last he had heard was that she had been adopted by a wonderful family across multiple state borders (“better safe than sorry,” Dr Leavman said) and that she was to live a normal life under the new name of Alexis. She grew to be a wonderful young lady and was just parting from undergraduate school in Harvard University at the age of twenty three.
Unfortunately, the reason Dr Smith heard her name once more was not for a good one.
———
“I’m your host on Channel 7 news, and here is tonight’s story.
A tragic car accident was found to have taken place on I-37 in the early hours of this morning, and it was found that only one of the drivers has died. Alexis Baker, aged 23, passed away on the scene.”
There was a moment of silence on the set of Channel 7 news as they all grieved over the loss of such an outstanding members of society, and to let the footage of the fiery car crash roll.
“The driver was none other than Drew Peters, moderately well known rapist and drunk. He has been apprehended by the police and will be held in custody as the case is pending.”
And finally, as was with the ending of any one of these events, the host of Channel 7 news mentioned the names.
“The names have also been released to the public. As found on Alexis’ stomach, her soulmate was none other than Cody Fischer, her high school sweetheart that she went to Harvard University with.”
“The other name, as is obvious, was Drew — this man, not two years after his release from federal prison, killed her in a drunk driving incident — and this will not be the last time should he be allowed to walk free. A verdict on whether he will be served the death penalty is still pending.”
“Only one name has been found on the felon — a name of Reakloph. Few with that name have been identified, and the only one that has is a government official commonly tasked with distributing lethal doses of specific medicines — the death penalty.
I speak with most of America as I say that this man should no longer walk free and claim the lives of our innocent youth.
I speak with most of America as I say - please, jurors of this case - sentence this man to the death penalty.”
————————————————————
If you enjoyed this, I implore that you visit my subreddit — r/storiesfromaguy — and give any constructive criticism! | He held me in my arms, my love. I was so happy to have found him. I loved him and would have done anything for him. I would have died for him.
Arent I?
My heart slowed, it was becoming harder to breathe, I didnt care, I was in his arms. My soulmate's. He kissed me as my eyes shuttered closed, and whispered, "I never considered it would be me..." his eyes welled up with tears as he glanced at the names on my arm.
Bobby, the boy I fell in love with. And Rob, the man who made me take my last breath. Tears fell onto my face, "Im so sorry Love. Im so so sorry."
... I drifted ... Dark and cold ... I have no regrets ...
"I .. love you ..too.." | 2018-03-11T08:30:54 | 2018-03-11T07:55:27 | 41 | 24 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries" | The cigarette lit up the darkness, an intruder against the suffocating atmosphere. I drank down the poison, savouring the toxic air, knowing full well the cost; I didn't care. I exhale a long plume, mixing my smokey breath with the smog and humidity of a heavy July evening. The air doing it's best at pretending to be soup, too thick to easily breathe but too thin to rain. That's why it was called The Blanket, as every day underneath it was the same humid, sweaty hell.
I flick what's left of my butt into the street and step out of the murk. The bright LED lights of the store a stark contrast to the darkness outside as I cross the air curtain; it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust. When my vision clears I see the cashier keeping an eye on me, but not too closely. I casually nod to him, and he goes back to watching TV. Old habits die hard. I have a scant 15 minutes until my next shift, so I peruse the shelves quickly, essentials only. Another citizen is here shopping, we do our best to avoid each other.
Barely 2 minutes has past before the peacefulness of repetitive tinny music is interrupted by the desperate pleas of a would-be thief. "Give me all of your credits or you are toast!" I sigh, of all the days. I turn to look at the young man, leather jacket, smog filter, scruffy brown hair, obvious ocular implant. A profile filters through my mind, Nathan Jamesson. 21. Augmented. Recently Unemployed. The same sad story, unable to afford the juice that keeps their implant running, they resort to anything to get it. Without the juice their implant is a piece of junk, and with all of the purists it's hard to get work as an Augmented.
The cashier droid just looks at Nathan with blank glassy eyes, making no motion to acquiesce to his demands. "I mean it!" the kid shouts louder, as if volume can be used against something that thinks with silicon and electrons.
*Sorry. Due to my contract I am unable to comply with your request.*
As I expected, a canned response from the tin can. Unfortunately the kid's temper and frustration gets the better of him and his laser pistol discharges straight through the bot's head, leaving melted plastic and silicon melting onto the counter. A flash through my mind appears combining with the rest of Nathan's Profile. Wanted: **Armed Robbery. Destruction of Corporation Property.**
Very bad idea kiddo. The bot will be replaced by tomorrow, but that charge is permanent.
"What the fuck you are you looking at arsehole?" he yells, breaking me out of my thoughts.
"Nothing." I mutter, hoping he will pay me no more attention. Unfortunately he's not so smart. The increased adrenaline has made him bolder, but also rash. He points the gun at me, barrel only a few feet from my face.
"Give me all your credits!" he barks at me, finger twitching on the trigger. Damnit, I gotta do what he says. He's worse than unjuiced, he must be withdrawling from something else. I carefully reach into my jacket pocket, and slowly retrieve my credit card. I look at him squarely in the eyes, and flick it over to him.
His one good eye follows the card as it arcs upwards through the air. Mistake. I take the opportunity to plunge my shoulder deep into his chest, feeling him fall backwards, gun clattering to the floor and depowering. Even though I caught him unawares, he still a dozen years of youth on me and recovers faster.
"Fuck you old man!" he spits and draws a vibroblade. In a store cramped like this it's a better weapon, I have nowhere to manoeuvre out of the way if he knows how to use it. He thrusts forwards, accurately, and I leap backwards. A second attempted lunge from Nathan and I find myself up against the back shelves, nowhere to go. The expression on the good half of his face shows me that he's enjoying this. He strikes a third time, and with nowhere to go I figure I have nothing to lose.
The blade strikes clean through my left hand, lubricant leaking down my arm. The vibroknife has sliced completely through the centre and out the back. I grin back at Nathan. "Picked the wrong guy to fight, kiddo." I mock. Clenching my left fist crushes the knife into shards of useless ceramics, still sharp but no longer immintently dangerous. Using my moment of surprise I lunge forward, ploughing my titanium fist into Nathan's ocular implant. The twisted sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the shop. A broken implant just adds to his list of troubles.
Nathan quickly scrambles back down the isle away from me, but I can see what's coming, I've kept an eye on the other patron that's been lurking around. A quick thump from him and Nathan is knocked out, slumped on the ground. We both look at each other, temporary allies against a robbery gone wrong.
I break the uncomfortable silence. "Hey, thanks Adam. I appreciate it." Adam. The name from his profile appeared in my mind before I could prevent myself from saying it. A momentary slip up. Adam's eyes go wide as he hears his own name from my lips.
"How, do you know that name?" he asks, hesitantly.
My implant finishes building his profile in my mind.
*Name: Adam.*
*Identity: Unknown.*
*Job: Unknown.*
*Location: Unknown.*
*Threat: Extreme. Treat with the utmost caution and under no circumstances are you to interact with this android.* | My eyes surveyed the chips and cookies in isle 13. Fried diabetes. I thought, still scanning the isle. Finally, I spotted the snack packs I was looking for. On the top shelf of course. You see, I’m 5’2 and it doesn’t look like I’m getting any taller.
Suddenly, an older man makes his way down the aisle. He seemed very prim and proper, and conveniently a foot taller than I am. He seemed very anxious but I quickly decided I’d stop him anyway.
“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you but would you mind getting this from the top shelf.” He hesitated then responded with a nod, but I didn’t put much thought into it.
“Which one?” He mumbled. For a man of his height, you’d expect a deeper voice.
“The last snack pack.” He handed it to me and stood there for moment, just staring. I broke the silence with, “Thanks Abrial.” I smiled playfully.
His eyes widened as his skin turned white as a ghost. “Cecilia.” He placed his hand gently on my shoulder. “Cecilia Adalie Brodeur.” I use my gift sometimes for kicks but it sure had backfired. I figured he had the same gift. If only I knew what was coming.
“Who are you?” I managed to get out, puzzled. His expression shifted. “Abrial of course, my dear.” I examined him, waiting for an explanation.
“ You see, your mother dedicated you to the field of genetic engineering. She didn’t want a baby then... and she gave you to a good cause. When she was pregnant we gave her a concoction that was intended to make you a genius. In the simplest terms. Well, it wasn’t perfect I must say. But my dear, you have a gift. A very special one indeed. We kept you until 2, and adopted you out to a pleasant suburban family. But your behavior was strange. Very odd. I owe you an apology for spending your childhood in that orphanage. But fate brought us from France to Massachusetts my dear.”
After a long hesitation I broke the silence, “Where’s my mother?” I mumbled, still as white as a ghost.
He removed his hat and looked down. “She passed in 1980 due to pancreatic cancer.
There was another long pause until I broke the silence once again, “Who’s my father?” A tear rolled down my cheek as a grin simultaneously formed on Abrial’s face.
“He’s standing right here.” | 2018-11-05T22:10:57 | 2018-11-05T20:38:06 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity has merged into a single immortal consciousness. Everyone who has ever lived has become as one, a being of pure energy and infinite love, that shall last to the death of the universe and beyond. And they’re here to explain why they left you out. | Humanity has always wanted to be a part of something bigger, that's what I always heard from priests and shit growing up. Like, we *yearned* for more than our fleeting little mortal existences. And a year ago, humanity got its chance.
Unprecedented peace broke out across the world. Humans came together as one like never before, working to solve global and local issues for all. This increased cooperation also enabled humanity to pour money and labor into researching technology that would allow their newfound 'togetherness' to become much more literal.
And so it was that every human on the planet agreed to assimilate their souls into one immortal, all powerful being of pure kindness and enlightenment known as "The One".
Well, every human being except for me, that is.
Yeah, not gonna lie, being left out made me a little miffed. Rejection stings, and solitary living I'd been doing for the last year hadn't been too exciting. But today, The One showed up at my doorstep. I *knew* they'd come crawlin' back! What kind of eternal existence is it without Jimothy Hurfdinger?
"What can I do for ya, gentlemen? Err- Ladies? Genderless orb of pure light?" I asked, shielding my eyes as I spoke. There weren't enough sunglasses in the world to stop from being blinded by this stupid thing at this close distance.
"Jimothy," The One began, its voice a perfect, soothing balance of peace and harmony, "we hope we greet you well this day."
"Yeah, having a realllll grand time with me, myself, and I, but I *suppose* I could be convinced to join your little eternal club in paradise on Earth. *If* the price is right and-"
"Oh, we apologize for the misunderstanding," it interjected. "We are not here to recruit you. We stand by our seemingly cruel omission."
"What the hell, why? Tell me that at least, what's so bad about me that I alone got left out?"
"Well, you stole."
"Mhmm, *very* unique of me in human history to *steal* something."
"From children," The One continued.
"Well, maybe, occasionally... I... or frequently, maybe, but those cases were *mostly* more like 'teens' I'd say."
The One sighed. "Upon countless other occasions, you stole literal candy from literal babies, Jimothy."
"Oh. Yeah, that uh- that don't look great on my resume, I admit. But-"
“We can go through your full records, if you wish.” A enormous manilla folder, stuffed with paperwork until it reached half the height of my house appeared on my doorstep. The folder opened and pages began flipping without anyone touching them. “Let us see here. Ah, a prime example, mere weeks before humanities ascension in fact. You dumped your girlfriend because she decided to go to nursing school. You said, and we quote, ‘You wanna be a nurse to help others? Helping others is for suckers!”
“I… err, objection, your honor!”
“We are not in a courtroom, Jimothy.”
“Oh I know, that just sounded *really* shitty for me and I couldn’t think of anything else to say in my defense.”
"Indeed. Then there we're your *highly* unorthodox routines."
"What ‘routines’?"
"Biological routines."
"Biological? What? Spit it out!"
"Your *urination* routines, Mr. Hurfdinger."
My eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh, that? I mean, I have a weak bladder, sometimes I had to take a leak in an alleyway or something, sue me!"
It paused for a long while, before adding, "And...?"
"And *occasionally* I might pee off a 20th story balcony without a thought or care for who might or might not be walking on the streets below."
The One glowed, the closest thing it could manage to smile. "There it is. You've answered your own query! Doesn't that feel wonderful?"
"Look, the balcony was conveniently located and variety is the spice of life and... ya know what, whatever! You didn't let me into your little 'eternal life club'. You've made your decision crystal clear. I don't need to hear anymore, so why the hell are you still at my house?"
"We're wondering, if you might consider... leaving the neighborhood, as it were."
I stared at it, dumbfounded. "Huh? What neighborhood?"
"Earth, we'd like you to leave *Earth," it said as if making a perfectly normal and rational request.* "The planet is now at peace. We are in harmony with all of nature, except for this miserable little patch of land you call a home. I'm sure even you'd agree, it's quite the bastion of chaos."
*Bastion of chaos?* What an insult! Yes, there were hundreds of beer bottles strewn around the lawn, but who else could they possibly hurt now? And sure, the tire fire I keep burning 24/7 for warmth is giving off more than its usual quantity of acrid choking smoke, but can they blame me for using an economical fuel source? Everyone on the planet abandoned their cars at once to 'ascend' into enlightenment. My supply of tires was limitless!
I scowled at my condescending 'neighbor'. "Well, I don't think I'm violating any homeowners association rules, so I'll catchya later... nerds!"
Satisfied with my epic and well constructed burn, I slammed the door and turned to the matter of payback.
After just a few minutes thought, I decided I'd do what any self respecting human being would do when spurned by a neighbor, lover, or all of humanity represented by a single orb of light. I'd let my lawn go to shit. I'd spread rumors about The One behind their back. Maybe leave some nasty comments on their social media pages from a fake account.
Wait... Do eternal orbs of ethereal light even *have* social media pages?
I opened my laptop and began browsing to find out. One Direction fan page? Nope. One World, One Stomach? Nah, that's some kinda food charity from the old days. Oh... there they are, several pages created for "The One".
Jesus Christ, even a being of pure enlightenment can't escape Facebook? Ha! Poor bastards. And that's not all, they had pages on every damn site imaginable. They were gonna make this *so* easy on me.
With a growing sense of contented enlightenment in my own being, I pulled up The One's Yelp page and prepared to write an *especially* dissatisfied review.
___
___
Thanks for reading! Many more stories live over on r/Ryter if you'd like to check out more of my writing 🙂 | ***"Jacob Travl."***
*Ah shit, here we go again.*
Normally, when someone familiar calls you, you'd expect something along the lines of a friendly greeting, maybe a handshake or fistbump, and then catching up whilst reminiscing over previous meetings.
Most people call that common courtesy.
What is *not* that is suddenly teleporting your body from your comfy summer home into a blank, immeasurable void with nothing but two chairs, one for you and the other for that nigh-omnipotent being that sat across from you without a care in the world.
I sighed. "It wouldn't hurt to give a warning, ya know?"
***"Apologies."*** They intoned. ***"But we simply wished to continue from where we left off."***
Light radiated from them, casting an ethereal gleam that somehow made the abyss surrounding us shine with a soft, incandescent glow. Positive emotions practically spilled out from them and just by being in their presence I could feel myself feeling soothed.
I exhaled a breath. "I told you already, jackass. I don't want to merge with your soul or whatever."
That just made me hate them more.
The being cocked their head to one side, giving off the impression of curiosity. ***"When we all merged, you were the sole exception. Your sheer unwillingness somehow prevented us from even attempting to unify. We simply had no choice but to leave you out of our brilliance. "***
I smiled. "What can I say? I'm a stubborn son of a bitch."
"***Why do you continue to resist, Jacob Travl? Do you not see how wondrous you could be, we could be, if we were one?"***
"I ain't losing my free will to some eldritch brainwashing scheme."
They shook their head. ***"It is not 'losing free will' as you call it. We are all, and all are we. Everything we do is as it should be. We are perfect."***
I laughed. "Perfect? Now why the hell would I want that?"
They simply looked confused. ***"Is perfection not the end goal of us humans? Since time immemorial we have strived to reach a flawless state. We slog and toll the days away in diligence so that one day we may be without flaw. Is that not what we truly desire?"***
"You're not wrong."
***"Then why-"***
"But just because it's true doesn't mean that it's right." I leaned forwards.
"We strive to be perfect, yes. But the beauty of it comes from our inability to truly *be* perfect. Deep down we know for a fact that perfection is nigh-impossible, but what makes us humans *humans* is our choice to not give up. Our choice to continue onwards is what allows us to ascertain greater heights.
The Industrial Revolution kicked off our technological prowess. The Renaissance Era opened the gates towards the arts. Even the World Wars, as tragic as they are, taught us valuable lessons as to the importance of peace and understanding. And guess what? We're still improving.
To be perfect is to be at stasis, we no longer have any need to grow and mature, for we will always make the right decision. But what the fuck kind of life is that? Our flaws are what grant us *choice.* The ability to dictate our own fate. Sure, said fate may end up leading us to our dooms, but it's something *we* decide with our own two hands.
And to remove choice, my friend, is to remove what makes us human." | 2021-11-18T04:31:37 | 2020-10-17T23:32:12 | 537 | 21 |
[WP] Everybody in the city knows the various gangs and families own the city. What they don’t know is that every mechanic in town is neutral ground, and one of them was just killed. | Every gang had a colour. Every mafia had its own flavour. And the five mechanic shops had a theme.
For Julius, he had gotten inspiration from the old Romans, and that was how Legion Tech was born. Jury-rigged from the ground up, he had carved out the marble floor, pillar hoists, and bathhouse waiting room with his own two hands (not counting the handful of fellow handymen he hired to help).
And now Julius was seated with the three other workshop heads in a fast food joint. Apparently, a motorbike mechanic from Heaven Sent Motors had been found hanging from the business by the neck; the autopsy he had garnered (courtesy of his secundus Lane having an old contact in the police force) said she had been restrained, violated repeatedly, beaten into unconsciousness, forcibly filled with various vehicle fluids, and finally strangled in a place that wasn't the front balcony of Heaven Sent.
The last of the workshop heads (an arrogant basshead street punk that Julius remembered went by DJ Summer-D) strode in and slipped into the seat beside Julius. "Had to chase a couple Speed Demons outta shop, my bee."
"Our Concord's been broken, and you're still doing business?" Heaven Sent's pit boss (Angel, if Julius's memory served) snarled.
"Hey, I only just heard about the Concord being broken from Jules here." Summer-D gestured to Julius. "Plus, I do night shift into mornings, while y'all mofuckas hit sunrise at earliest."
Julius cleared his throat. "In any case. We are all here now, and that is what matters. Angel?"
Fury abated for the moment, Angel pressed her hands into the table. "One of my pitgirls, Gabriella, was killed. Someone broke the Concord, and we shall find out who it was and why."
"If I may, my dear?" Sir Reginald, head of Gentleman's Gears, reached into his suit and pulled out a familiar document. "Did everyone receive their copy of... what happened?"
Julius nodded grimly. "I have Lane to thank and curse for that. It paints a horrid picture, one that a mafia would be hard-pressed to enact."
"Porqué no los mafioso, gringo?" The Los Carnales Motors head, Vaquero, folded his arms. "None of my boys have heard any street talk about taking revenge on los angeles."
"My regular clientele are mum about it as well, sir Vaquero. Perhaps it may be a new player in the game, looking to make a statement." Reginald polished his monocle briefly.
Summer-D leaned in. "Yo, could be a cop setup, make a killin' gone wrong look like a gang hit."
"That does not explain *why* someone would do this." Julius frowned, racking his brain aloud for answers. "Whoever did this would have to know Gabriella or Heaven Sent, hold some form of malice, keep spare vehicle fluids, and know multiple people strong enough to overpower her. Angel, if I may, what was Gabriella's last shift?"
"Two days ago. She was with Christine, learning how to... lock up... the shop..." Angel had her phone out and to her ear in the blink of an eye, rapidly tapping her foot with more impatience by the second until a faint 'Hey boss, what-'
"Christine, hello, how did closing with Gabriella go?" 'Oh! We closed up fine, and last I saw Gabby she was headed home. Why, what's-'
"Did she meet anyone?" 'Uh... A guy in blue? He said he was here because her brother wanted to protect her, and the two headed off.'
"Anything about him other than the blue?" 'Not really... Ooh! He had a horned skull on the back of his jacket!'
"Thank you, Christine. I'll be over in an hour, I'd like to talk with you." 'I- Right now? Oh God, oh God, okay, I'll tidy up for you.' "Wonderful. See you then."
Summer-D was wide-eyed as Angel put her phone on the table. "Speed Demons..."
Standing from the table, Julius drew his personal holdout shotgun and placed it on the table. "Indeed. And on the Concord, they shall be wiped from this city."
"On the Concord." Reginald's revolver. "On the Concord." Angel's .45. "Por la Concorda." Vaquero's submachine gun.
Summer-D exhaled, then slowly placed his hand cannon on the table. "On the Concord. I'll make sure they don't fuck with us again. They'll find out Summer-D's nuts."
((Sorry not sorry. First writing thing here, feedback is welcome!)) | “How did you get in here.” The voice was flat and toneless, slightly distorted by the speaker it was piping through.
“I asked nicely.” The Tech crossed their arms, they had expected an indirect meeting, but that didn’t make any less inconvenient.
“The guards let you in?” It almost sounded like a question.
“I’ve worked with them. Every one of them has trusted me with their life, half of them would trust me with their wife, and if it weren’t for the Nature Of Our Work-“
“That’s enough.” The voice wasn’t very polite, not that they tend to be. “Why are you here.”
“Gar is dead- murdered.”
“And you think we did it.”
“No, actually, I’ve worked with you enough to know that you play by the rules,” the Tech considered how to word the next statement, “problem is the other wrenches think it was you -since Gar worked with the Margos and all that-, and I myself can’t do much to stop them.”
“So you want us to find the real culprit.” The voice seemed to toy with the idea of using a questioning tone, but decided against it.
“And avenge gar too,” the Tech said, “he was good friend of mine.”
“Why should we bother,” the Voice knew exactly why they should bother, but the Tech didn’t have anywhere else to be.
“Cus if you land on the blacklist you can kiss goodbye to the only wrench that can take the trackers out of the implants you lot like so much,” the Tech explained.
The voice was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time.
.
.
.
“Fine, we’ll send someone to your garage, treat them well.” | 2022-08-20T02:37:41 | 2022-08-20T00:26:54 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] 50 years ago, NASA determined a rogue planet would hit earth, destroying us all. The rich poured their fortunes into space travel and fled... but the rock missed, and now the survivors won't take them back. | "Sir, we're picking up a signal"
And there goes my sleep, *goddammit*. "Yeah, coming right up", I say to the controllers, who've done only one thing: dedicate their days to the return of the filth that fled 50 years ago.
"What is it? One of the old escapees?"
"Not quite sure, sir. We have to wait for confirmation", says the controller.
**Bzzz**-- "This is starship Tritium, approaching Earth. If anyone is listening and has any measure of competence, prepare a landing pad. The leaders of the UN, the US and its allies are en route"
"What should we do, sir?"
"Proceed as the system entails, request reentry codes. If they refuse, turn them over. If they resist...", I tell the controller
"Yes sir". A buzz rings out, mapping the starship. The once-great invention the filth used to flee when NASA issued a doomsday alert, warning that an entire planet was on a collision course with Earth.
40 years later, nothing happened, and in our desperation to survive, we broke from our shells and short-minded way of life, growing into greater people.
"Tritium, this is controller Zeta 4. We do not recognize your ship, please provide reentry codes"
"Reentry codes? We do not understand. Repeat, the ship is carrying the most important people on Earth, prepare a landing pad"
"Sir"
"This is Commander Barnes, incumbent military and science general of United Earth Association, cease your approach and state your business"
"Commander Barnes?! Who is this Commander Barnes?!", an unknown voice booms. "I am the President of the United States, and you will allow me entry to my planet!"
"Sorry, sir, I don't know anyone by the name of *the President of the United States*, and I certainly don't take orders from unknown entities whose hostility I cannot determine", I tell him, causing Zeta 4 to snicker.
"THIS IS AN ORDER, COMMANDER! I AM THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE UNITED STATES!", the fool bellows
"Sorry, don't know you. Please provide the requested access code or turn around and go away like how you did 50 years ago", I put out quietly.
"DAMN YOU, I AM YOUR SUPERIOR! DO AS YOU'RE TOLD, YOU MONGREL", he spits out in anger.
"..."
"FINE! If you won't follow orders, I'll just remove you like the traitor you are! Arm weapons!"
"Sir, they're arming weapons at the base"
"The fools. Raise shields, prepare the Sodom cannon", I command, "oh, and transmit the process to Tritium".
"Yes, sir~", Zeta 4 says while giggling like a little kid on their birthday.
The weapon is quiet in the silence of space. It's nothing fancy, by most means, just a cannon with enough firepower to level a city.
"Sodom?! What is that! Tell me now!", the fool orders, not caring for anything.
"Oh not much, just fiery, lightning-filled death meant to raze cities", I smirk and tell him
"No! No, STOP! I AM THE PRESIDENT--"; I cut the signal.
"Armed and locked, sir"
"NOOOOOoooo....", the fool bellows, having well and truly doomed his cohorts.
"Fire", I command, and a brilliant display of light literally fries the ship where it stood, even as it desperately tried to fly out of the lock we had on it.
Unbeknownst to the planet and to me at that time, the last vestiges of the rich and powerful of the old Earth ended there. For our part, we strip the ship for parts, getting some interesting design ideas for our own prototype exploration and combat vessels. Soon, mankind will spread out into the stars. Soon, we will spread our seed everywhere. | Elites were gone, and so was the moon
The rock missed earth, but not the silver globe
Some meteorites fell, but soon
They all want back, Musk, Tusk, and cyber-pope
One percent was out, with them, most art
They took Mona Lisa, David, Van Gogh's
Humanity pushed thier civilisation-cart
Without pretty important part, among other cogs
"We don't want you back!" that was the answer
"We don't want your schemes, capitalist pigs!"
"Your pursuit of money is like cancer!"
"Instead of solar power, you've built oil rigs!"
The thing is, tough, not all of them were like that
The thing is, tough, most of them just lived
People are not empty, people are not flat
Can you blame a man, who just survived? | 2019-12-07T07:00:12 | 2019-12-07T06:54:59 | 92 | 11 |
[WP] Instead of hearing what people say, you hear what they mean. It has been both a blessing and a curse. | Honestly, my life has been both a blessing and a curse since I first found out that I could hear what others truly meant. At first I thought it was just self-doubt, or some sort of sick, self-deprecating inner monologue, but then I met my first girlfriend.
"Hey, Sarah, I was wondering..." I trailed off, searching for words that would make this girl, whom I'd been admiring from afar for months, like me.
"Hey! What's up?" Is what she said, but in my head rang one of the nicest things I'd ever heard.
In my head, Sarah said "Its Nick, he's cute, I like the books he reads I wonder if he's going to ask me out? Oh I hope so, that would be great!"
At a loss for words I stood there dumbly for a moment before catching myself and blurting out, "Would you like to get some coffee or something, or, uuh, may- maybe go on a picnic or something?"
"That sounds like fun, how does Saturday at seven sound to you?" She asked, all the while yelling in my head with joy, "Yes! He likes me, this shy, interesting guy likes me!"
Happy for the first time in what seemed like years, I said that Saturday was great for me, and walked off after getting her phone number.
For the next few days, the voices seemed to quiet down some, although sometimes I'd hear a passing "Why does he seem so happy?" or "Fuck that kid, hes annoying as shit." but I'd gotten used to them by this point.
By the time Saturday rolled around, I could hardly contain my feelings, both of anxiety about whether or not Sarah had changed her mind and elation that I had finally found a girl that liked me.
The date went great, and by the time it was over, I had learned her life story, and a lot about what interested her, like her favorite music and books. All the while her true voice had completely reassured her original feelings for me and my anxiety was all but gone, and for the next nine months and twelve days, all I heard from her were wonderful thoughts and great meanings. Well, except for that time of the month, but that was to be expected, and usually afterwards she was apologetic which was nice. Then I heard the first crack. One day, as I was leaving her apartment, I said "I love you, I'll call you later, bye!" and under the usual "I love you too, bye!" a single sentence drowned everything else out.
"Why the fuck is he always so cheery?"
Thrown off, I almost answered her question, before remembering that only I heard it. So I stayed quiet, not wanting to start a fight, and not wanting her to raise more questions.
That night I felt the worst I had in years, I tried reassuring myself by saying that she was probably just on her period or something, and I had nothing to worry about, but for some reason this comment just felt different than what I was used to.
The next day I heard much the same,
"Hows it going?" She'd ask.
"Please say you're busy so I can make an excuse to leave." I'd hear.
"I'll see you tomorrow, love you!" She'd say.
"Ugh, go away, and please don't incessantly text me tonight." I'd hear.
"You're always so helpful, that's why I love you!" She'd comment.
"Why does he always know whats wrong, it annoys the hell out of me" I'd hear.
Over the coming weeks I heard many of these double meanings, and slowly I tried to prepare myself for the inevitable, but I still wasn't ready the day her words and their true meaning finally said the same thing again.
"Its over, we're done. Here's all of your things from my apartment and the thirty bucks I owe you." She said simultaneously
All I could squeak out was a feeble, "Okay, I'm sorry. Maybe we can still be friends?"
Behind her true meaning I barely heard her say "Yeah, maybe." But inside I heard her say,
"Not going to happen, creep. I wonder what Andy is doing tomorrow?"
And with that, I left.
| I walked out on my driveway and heard the familiar whispers. I saw my neighbor Dave and walked towards him. As I got closer, the whispers got louder, until they were no longer whispers.
"Hey Dave, whatcha been up to?"
*Ugh, not this fucker again.*
"Nothin' much," he casually replied.
I felt the sides of my mouth slightly creep upwards into a slight smile.
"Wanna grab lunch on Sunday?"
*Crap! No no no! I don't wanna make it seem like I'm a douche.*
"Umm, I have to, uh, go to my sister's house for lunch on Sunday."
"Alrighty then. I should probably go then. I wouldn't wanna be late for work now, would I?"
*Finally, just go away.*
I turned around, but before I took a step, I uttered a single sentence:
"Ugh, not this fucker again."
This was my first post to this subreddit. Sorry for any mistakes (spelling and grammar isn't the best). I tried to keep it like a casual conversation ("wanna" instead of "want to"). Hope you enjoyed :) | 2014-10-14T16:15:49 | 2014-10-14T14:38:59 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] "One cannot own these lands," the native explained patiently to the eager colonist,"No, really, you can't. We tried." | “One cannot own these lands.”
Their leader paused, before shaking his head. “I don’t think you understood me. We’re taking these lands.” His hand drifted to the sword at his side. “And I don’t think you understand the position in which you are placing yourself.
The old man’s brow knitted up before a sad smile washed across his face.
“I do not attempt to claim that which you desire. Merely to relay an agreement cast in old blood under a fell moon.” He took a breath.
“The season’s turn and twist, but the Trickster’s word binds firm.
Blessed shall be the men of earth, and full harvests of their grain.
But woe betides the men of earth, that wanders past the berm.
For the Hunter’s right should they pass in spite, their souls are his to gain.”
The old man looked up into a sea of impassive faces.
“For as long as our people have lived here, no drought has burned our fields, nor heavy rain drowned them. Early frosts do not bitter our fields as they do our neighbors, and late springs do not prevent our planting.”
The faces of those who would conquer his people remained still. He sighed.
“And so long as we have lived here, no man has returned from beyond this point unchanged.”
He turned and began to walk away.
“So it has been, so it will be.”
---
The trouble began within moments of passing by the haphazardly stacked piles of stones that sketched out a sort of rough boundary until the land ran into the river. A loud *crack* echoed through the trundling group as the restraints securing a wagon snapped. A shrill cry tore out over the braying of horses and loud rumble as the wagon accelerated down towards the river.
As the sound of the wagon diminished into the distance, a plaintive moan became clearer and clearer. One of the men had been walking next to the wagon train and had been hit when the rope snapped. His face was already white as blood poured from his side.
The leader nudged his horse over, gazing impassively at the man dying below him.
“Report.”
The Quartermaster spoke up. “The ropes holding the supply train together snapped.” He was interrupted by a distant crash. “One of ‘em tore halfway through Galt there.”
The leader spoke evenly. “What did we lose?”
“That’s the funny thing.” He paused. “Them’s the wagon specifically for the savages. I mean, we’ll still be able to fashion a proper stock and gallows, but the cages and other *cooperative* measures was in there.”
The leader frowned as he watched the man convulse, only looking up when he had breathed his last.
“Continue.”
And so they did.
---
The next to die was the blacksmith.
They had unpacked his tools first, as he would be instrumental as they built the encampment, sharpening shovels and axes after hard labor dulled them. He was reshoeing one of the placid mares from an angle more convenient than he would have allowed his apprentices when she startled and kicked him in the head.
He gibbered for hours before the light left his eyes.
The next was the trapper.
He had been teaching the soldiers how to set simple snares in the area when a fox startled him by leaping from the bushes and he stepped onto an unfinished trap. The barb designed to rip out of larger animals and leave a bloody trail for him to follow did its work well. His wound became infected within a day, and despite repeated amputations, the sickness had set into his blood.
He moaned for hours before the darkness took him.
The next was the cook.
He had been going out with the soldiers to help them identify edible plants and berries that they could eat. They followed a pair of grazing deer to a bounty of berries and mushrooms that were joyfully collected. In his excitement, the cook did not recognize that one of the mushrooms was not just immature, but yellow where the others were orange. In the absence of meat, the cook prepared a hearty meal for those who had helped him provide for the encampment. It took days before they realized something was wrong. Agony tore through their bodies as their livers failed and their kidneys let go.
Blood ran from their eyes, and when death finally took them, they welcomed it.
The next to die did so unseen.
The soldiers were hungry. But more so those tasked to labor. One, young and foolish, thought to venture into the woods at night and find meat for the taking. He followed the outline of antlers against the night deep into the forest.
He found no deer.
The next night, an errant soldier returned to camp, but instead of laying down to sleep, he awoke one of his fellows and told him that he was hungry. That he was young and foolish, and thought to venture into the woods at night and find meat for the taking. So they strode into the forest following the antlers. When the soldier asked him how he knew to find the deer, the other replied that he was hungry. That there was meat for the taking.
The next night, the soldier returned. His commanding officer noticed his absence though and sought to punish him until he noticed the smell of cooked meat wafting from the soldier. The soldier told him that he thought to venture into the woods at night and find meat for the taking. The officer followed him until he led him to the kill, still fresh from the night before.
The officer tried to run, too.
The next night, a soldier awoke in his tent, confused at what brought him back from slumber, when he realized. There were seven men. In a tent of six.
Shocked at the invasion, but unable to determine the odd man out, he awoke the others. They woke predictably frustrated, but quieted when they realized the incongruity, but could not name the individual that did not belong. Despite months of sleeping within feet of one another, none could point to another, and none would admit to not belonging.
In the ensuing argument, four were killed.
Two remained alive.
The days began to blur together, even though it was the nights they feared most of all. Progress began to falter on the encampment, and the men took to bedding down before the sunset, surrounding themselves with crosses and idols of Christ.
Though it was said he saved them before, he did not again.
As they began to starve, men would sometimes stop, turn, and walk into the forest never to be seen again. It was rumored that if you gave any indication of wakefulness in the night, they would speak to you from outside the tent, promising food and warmth, everything they wanted. A gate to Heaven from earth.
If no one came, the voices would turn. Malevolent whispers, plaintive cries, begging for help, cursing them. Telling them that everyone was dead, that they had seen Heaven, but the gate was closed. Asking why they hadn’t saved them, why they had let them die?
Then the fire came.
Winter had begun to encroach on the land, and even though it remained warm during the day, the nights brought an unseasonable chill. A young soldier who had faithfully followed the oil rationing broke and snuck into the storage he had been guarding to steal oil when his lantern blew out. With shaking hands, he tried to strike a flame back into it, but the cold had numbed his fingers, and he dropped the lantern, freshly lit.
The walls. The guardpost. Everything they had built to protect them in this strange, verdant new land, was gone. Without striking a single blow at the natives they had come to destroy, they were defeated.
Finally, the leader called the few men that remained together. Where his face had once been tight, it was hollow. A wildness ate at the edges of his eyes and a nervous fire burned in his words.
“It’s time to go.
---
The old man watched the shattered remnants leave from the same position he had watched them arrive two seasons earlier. That same old ache hit him right in the chest.
“Daddy.”
He turned around and saw his daughter standing there, smiling.
“Daddy. I know it’s hard, but you tried your best.”
She smiled her same old skittish smile. She had always been so shy, but so eager to prove herself. Too eager.
“Daddy. I just wanted you to know that I loved you and that you didn’t have to be alone.”
He opened his mouth. “All these years, and I still can’t tell if this is a kindness or a cruelty.”
She smiled once more before melting back into the shadows, on the other side of the stones.
The old man sighed and walked over to on the stone piles that had partially fallen. One stone at a time, he set things right.
One stone at a time.
|
“It’s superstition.” The ocean of brown grass reached into the horizon, kissing the sun as it fell below the earth.
“You always say that, Gaisen.” He adjusted his pack, the contents clinking against each other inside.
“And I’m always right. Aren’t I, Sherias?”
Sherias’ face pursed into a disapproving frown. “Don’t drag me into another one of your squabbles, Gaisen,” She said, tapping her wand against her leg. “You look for arguments more than anyone I’ve ever seen, friend or otherwise.”
Gaisen’s face turned a bright red, matching his gold-flecked hair. He began to fiddle with the pistol holstered at his side, tracing the conduits running up and down the stock.
“I’m right, though, aren’t I?” He finally replied.
“As far as we know, yes. We’ve been here a month and nothing out of the ordinary has happened,” Sherias admitted. “But we’re scientists. If there’s some sort of spell cast over these plains we have a duty to find it and disable it, so we can’t rule out the possibility yet.”
“No spell can cover an entire city, let alone a land mass as big as Aras,” Gaisen said, “It would take an energy source far beyond what any civilization has ever created.”
“There’s still the possibility of rogue spirits,” Ardent broke in. “Which would explain why we haven’t been attacked. They might not have found us yet.”
Gaisen sighed. “We already sent out probes to search for spirits. They didn’t find anything. Besides, we have Sherias’ magic to tell us if anything is nearby.”
Sherias’ wand flared in response, glowing at its tip before fading into the worn cedar. “This is a good spot,” Sherias said.
The trio stopped. Ardent unsheathed a knife, and with a few soft words transformed the tiny blade into a scythe. He twirled it through the grass, clearing out an area for them to sleep in.
Gaisen collected some of the cut brush into a pile and snapped his fingers, lighting the dry grass on fire with the sparks that danced off his fingertips.
Sherias unslung her pack and began to set up her equipment. A generator pulsed to life and created a flickering barrier around them, while an iron spike, copper wires, and a sensor built into a magic detector.
“Anything?” Gaisen asked, chewing on a strip of jerky.
“No,” Sherias said, “But I’m only getting a couple hundred meter radius here.”
“Maybe the sensor got knocked around too much? You did fall into a creek this morning,” Gaisen said.
“It’s waterproof,” Sherias growled. “Try boosting it with some of your earth magic.”
Gaisen stretched, intertwining his fingers above his head. “Of course.” He planted a hand on the ground and turned it ninety degrees to his left. He repeated this five more times around the spike before connecting each point with a straight line.
“Better?” He asked, dusting himself off.
Sherias peered at the sensor. “Better,” She said.
“By the divines, I’m beat,” Ardent yawned, “Remind me again whose idea it was to walk?”
“We shouldn’t bring in any variables that could affect our research,” Sherias said, “Especially if the natives claim the land is cursed.
Besides, your belly will thank you.”
Ardent patted his stomach and laughed. “My belly thanks me after every meal,” He said.
*It does?*
The trio froze.
*It thanks you?*
Sherias’ wand glowed blue as she pointed out into the darkness. A quick shake of her head confirmed there was nothing on the surface with them.
Gaisen pointed to the ground and knelt, resting the tips of his fingers on the earth. He breathed in, then focused. He breathed out, and found himself alone.
*You?* The voice said.
Gaisen blinked, but couldn’t see anything. *A teleportation spell? Short range, perhaps?* He thought, tasting the air.
*Spell?* The faintest hint of light glimmered in front of him.
The air was cool and dry. *But how was it cast without tipping off the magic sensor?*
*Sensor?* Another voice said. *Magic?*
*We hate magic.*
The light burst forth, throwing green hues across the stalagmites and walls. Before him was a pulsing membrane straining against the stone it was woven into.
*Magic bound us*, The voices hissed.
“Maybe I can help,” Gaisen said. His hand trembled as he reached for his pistol. “I’m a scientist, I can-”
*Magic hurt us!* They screamed, pulsing even brighter. *It ruined us!*
He turned the safety off and slowly unholstered the gun. “You see this? It can help you.”
*Nothing helps us.* The air thickened, pressing against Gaisen’s lungs.
*
I’ll probably only have time for one good shot. Best make it count.* He lifted the gun and pointed it at the membrane.
*LIAR.* The light burned, and Gaisen froze.
*YOU HAVE COME TO HURT US.* The voices wailed, banging against the membrane. *WE WILL HURT YOU.* Green enveloped the cavern, and another soul joined those who were betrayed.
| 2017-12-29T19:17:44 | 2017-12-29T17:35:04 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] Kaiju routinely attack the city. You cannot get anyone to listen to your sensible, practical plan to stop them because they all want to build giant robots. | "We've managed to get the cost down to under a trillion dollars a unit."
The general put his hand over the mic while he mouthed to his assistant.
"*How many zeroes is that?*"
"*Twelve zeroes sir, double our current spending budget for the entire armed forces.*"
The general removed his hand from the microphone.
"**We'll take five.**"
The researcher standing front and center in the vast UN general assembly hall beamed.
Later that day in a small six-story nondescript office building in Washington DC:
"**FIVE?!** That's our entire budget for the year, ten times over! Doesn't anyone notice this? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!"
"But sir, you have to understand, these... What are they called again Macy?"
"*Jaeger*, sir."
"These Jaeger... Macy, these aren't made by the krauts, are they?"
"No sir, the Japanese."
"Good, can't trust those krauts. Now where was I... They're really big sir, you should see them. I mean, I can't imagine any of those kaiju lasting five minutes in the ring with one of these."
"How long would they last against a nuke?"
"Well sir, you see... With how close that vent is to Japan, the president said it wouldn't do to make the Japanese too uncomfortable with nukes right off their coast. They're still a little antsy after the last ones you know. We need them to cooperate, or we don't have any nearby bases on land. Those carriers can't handle everything."
"These are the same kaiju that between Katsuura, Isumi, San Francisco and Seattle have killed five million people?"
"Yes sir."
"You're telling me that we can't nuke these bastards that killed five **million** people... Because someone's feelings might get hurt?"
"Ahh... Yes sir."
"You're all dismissed. Except you Jeff."
Everyone filed out of the room and the tension subsided noticeably. The director sat on the edge of the desk, rubbing his temples.
"Jeff, get me the Pentagon."
"Who at the Pentagon sir? It's a big building."
"Anyone who isn't a complete idiot."
"Ah, that does narrow it down quite a bit."
"Anyone who isn't a complete idiot and has access to nukes."
"That's just one person then, let me find his number here..."
"General Ramsay's office? Yes, tell him director Bensinger is on the line."
Ten days later at the White House in a small windowless conference room:
"Well, they're a little more expensive than those Jaegers."
"Don't tell me about the cost, it doesn't matter."
"Well, you know how the Jaegers have swords, right sir?"
"Yes, the size of a ocean liner, very impressive."
"Well sir, these have twin machine guns. On each arm."
"Wow."
"And the bullets? They're the size of a bus. Made from depleted uranium."
"Now we're talking."
"And the fists? They're rocket powered. Launch 'em and give those kaiju a right cross straight from Uncle Sam."
"I really like that. Now... I know I said don't tell me what they cost Ramsay, but... How many of these can we field?"
"Four of 'em sir."
"But we could field five of the jaeger?"
"Yes sir."
"And how much more powerful are these?"
"More than twice sir."
"Well, that's all I need to know. You'll have everything you need to make this happen."
"Cleared personnel only?"
"Anything you need Ramsay."
"Thank you sir. "
Ten thousand feet over the Pacific ocean, not far from the coast of Japan:
The pilot of the cargo helicopter had a concerned look on his face, the blue glow of the instruments giving his features a strange look.
"These seem really light for how big they are."
The copilot shrugged.
"Communications blackout, otherwise I might have asked."
"Even with the pilots on board those things?"
"Yup. Just the orders."
"Drop them at depth and proceed back to base with all due haste."
"Doesn't that seem a little... I mean, how are they going to get home?"
"I'm sure they have a plan."
With the flip of the switch, the four giant robots were released into the churning sea below. Painted in patriotic colors, they were a sight to see. The kaiju would never know what hit them.
The helicopter pilots dutifully headed back to base, but before they had made it even ten miles away, a giant shockwave rolled over them, almost smashing them into the black sea. A glance back at the horizon showed four giant mushroom clouds rising into the night air.
"God bless those brave soldiers."
The next day, in a small six-story nondescript office building in Washington DC:
"You're telling me they were empty shells?"
"Well, not quite. They had a nuke inside. The biggest ones we had."
"I take it they didn't cost more than a trillion each?"
"Well, let's just say that the budget will look a lot better this year." | "Remember the old joke, how do you stop a rhino from charging?" I looked around at the council. "You take aways its credit card. Its the same principal with these kaiju. We alter their planner, we change their routine, they won't come back"
I looked at the sea of faces. All of then blank.
"Nah say," started Bruce. "Is this some kai nah joke?"
"I... think it is," answerer April. "She did say it after a joke."
"I don't like the joke!" called Morris, to a murmur of agreement.
"What, no," I stammered. "Dr. Maganawi already confirmed that when he built the kaiju, he added a scheduler. They are more bio-robot than beast."
"I heard more and I heard robots!" Morris beamed.
"Please can we..." I started but it was too late.
*5 months later*
I had to admit that the robot was pretty badass. It had been given the full Gundam treatment. Kaiju Tyson was due to arrive today, as per his schedule. A rumbling started at 10.11am, as it did every 3rd Friday of the month (except if it had rained in the past 2 days). Tyson would peak over the hill in 3... 2... 1...
"NOW!!" Bin-bin called, activating Robot's Kaiju Stomp subroutine. Robot moved faster than the eye could follow, pulling out a sword as he went towards Tyson. Tyson roared as Robot made contact and... shattered. Robot broke into a million pieces on first contact.
*2 days later*
"Well," I addressed the council. "We are lucky that the residents mostly evacuated. Eight thousand lives is just a statistic, right?"
No one answered.
"Cost, durabilty, and size." I continued. "Pick 2". | 2016-01-11T14:18:35 | 2016-01-11T11:31:47 | 190 | 24 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "IÄ! IÄ!" the masked priest cried, lifting the sinuous dagger above his head. "SHUB-NIGGURATH! THE BLACK GOAT OF THE THOUSAND YOUNG, COME TO FEAST!"
The woman next to Jon tried to scream through her gag as the knife plunged into her breast once, twice. Then she lay still, her eyes full of tears but slowly going dull.
In the far distance, beyond curves of space and time unknown to man, there came a grunting and rumbling, as if formless beasts were somehow lumbering closer.
Jon would have yawned, if his mouth had been free.
"Do you hear?" the priest asked, leaning close to Jon. His eyes had the fevered gleam of mania in them. His scraggly beard tickled Jon's face as the priest leaned in even closer. "Our Mother comes. She shall tonight feast upon the cooling corpse of your friend, as you watch. Then, in the most exquisite depths of your madness, she shall take from you the seed which shall birth a new race of abominations, who shall devour you, their progenitor, as their first act of unlife in this pitiful reality!"
Jon worked the gag in his mouth and loosened it to the point where he could say, muffled though, "I don't know her."
"What's that?" the priest asked, loosening the gag even more.
"I said, I don't know her."
"But... on the bridge... we took the two of you..."
Jon sighed. "I was going to jump off the bridge and end my miserable life. I've got terminal brain cancer. Inoperable. My parents died last week in a car crash, and my father's girlfriend has a will that leaves everything to her. I'm broke. My girlfriend broke up with me because she can't deal with the cancer. I have no children. I hate my job. I hate my life. I have nothing to live for, and so I was just going to end it on my terms when that do-gooder you just sliced tried to talk me out of it. Your goons grabbed us as I was about to jump."
"So, er," the priest mumbled. "You do not care if you die in horrible, maddening agony?"
"I fucking welcome it, mate," Jon replied. "You say that these spawn of your goat whore mother will devour the world, ending it in an apocalypse of flame and blood?"
"Well, not in so many words. *Die Vermiis Mysteriis* is rather unclear on that point, but we take as an article of faith that the apocalypse will be..."
"Fucking Christ, you're like cosmic Mormons," Jon muttered. "Can you just fucking kill me, if you're going to prattle on about your fucked-up theology?"
"Mock me, will you?" the priest cried, standing back and flinging an arm out. "Then behold! Shub-Niggurath approaches! Gaze into her thousand eyes and know true horror!"
"It'll be remarkable to feel something, finally," Jon said, struggling against his bonds to turn and look at the horror out of darkness approaching him. Words could not describe it, for the qualities and properties of the earthly realms do not apply to the elder ones from beyond time and space. A maw opened, or perhaps it is more correct to saw, several maws stretching across infinite universes opened, and from them came a keening wail and the carrion stench of death's promise.
"At last," Jon breathed. "Come on then, get to it."
"Do you not see her squamous bulk? Her gibbous, maddening form?" the priest cackled. "How can one mind endure?" He ripped at his clothing and face with yellowed, cracked nails.
"Because," Jon said, closing his eyes. "I don't give a fuuuuuuuuuck." | "You must save the world from....The Darkness.", the old man said. What the hell is The Darkness? Jeezus. I just came into the bar to get a damn drink and this old guy, who looks like 100 or something, shows up beside me. "Dude, are you off your meds or something?" The old guy blinked, "No, I have no need for your Mortal Medication, I am..." "High as hell?", I scoffed.
"Right, later. Stay out the gutter, pal" I gave him a $50, paid for my drink and left.
Turns out the world WAS ending because of the so-called 'Darkness'. Shit. Not my problem.
| 2017-05-05T07:40:26 | 2017-05-05T07:05:07 | 172 | 20 |
[WP] You summon the most powerful and notorious demonic being in the universe. The reason why you summoned it: You are lonely, and are in need of a friend. | Mitchell stared nervously at the pentagram on his bedroom floor. he made sure everything was perfect for his new visitor. After arranging all the materials, Mitchell stood on the northernmost corner and began reciting the incantation. The floor beneath him twisted and morphed into a fiery black pit. From the pit rose an enormous beast. He towered over Mitchell with his giant muscles bulging out of his skin. His skin was like fire. He had a jutted chin and his mouth was twisted into a wicked smile.
"SPEAK, PUNY MORTAL. IT IS I BEEZLEBUB, RULER OF THE DAMNED AND LIEUTENANT OF LUCIFER, HIMSELF"
"Hello, Beezlebub, I'm Mitchell, but you can call me Mitch".
"WRETCHED HUMAN, DO NOT WASTE MY TIME! WHY HAST THOU SUMMONED ME?"
"I just wanted to, you know, hangout."
"I CAN GRANT YOU ANYTHING Y-. Wait, What?"
"I just wanted to hangout with you, get to know you."
"I HAVE NO TIME FOR SUCH THINGS. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?"
"I just told you. I want to spend some time with you. My dog recently died so now it's just me and I feel kinda lonely"
"SO IT IS FRIENDS YOU DESIRE? I CAN GIVE YOU AS MANY FRIENDS AS A PERSON COULD HAVE, BUT IT WILL BE FOR
A PRICE: YOUR SO-"
"I don't want to make a deal. I just want to spend some time with you"
"I WILL NOT WASTE MY TIME WITH THIS. I WILL SEE YOU ON JUDGEMENT DAY"
A column of smoke arose from Bezzlebub's feet until it engulfed him entirely. As the smoke cleared, Mitchell saw Beezlebub still there with a look of disappointment on his face.
"HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!"
"The spell will keep you here until you do as I wish or the sun rises, and that's in about 5 hours."
"NOBODY, COULD POSSIBLY SUMMON I, BEEZLEBUB, FOR NO REASON"
"Well, Firstly, it's "me, Beezlebub" not I. Secondly, I summoned you here because I suspect that nobody has tried to be your friend for a long time."
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK SUCH THINGS, IGNORANT FOOL. I AM THE LIEUTENANT OF SATAN HIMSE- ugh, You're right. Satan and I used to be the best of friends. After we took over Hell collecting Human souls was just so easy that Lucifer and I spent most of our time together. I guess things started to change when the Buddha was born."
Beezlebub sat on Mitchell's bed and continued "It got worse when Jesus and Mohammed were born. With all those people telling others not to be evil, collecting souls became a full time job. Things got harder and harder as humanity advanced. I thought things would get better after WWI but Satan spent so much time with that mustachioed, Nazi shithead, that I thought he was Satan's new best friend."
Mitchell put his hand on Beezlebub's massive shoulder. "I get that", he said "I used to have two best friends, but they got jobs, and wives and kids, and we just kind of drifted apart. They moved on with their lives and I just ... fell behind"
"Beezlebub looked at Mitchell, "You know Mitch, you're the first person in a thousand years to just talk to me. If I'm stuck here lets hangout"
Mitchell's face lit up "Cool! So what do you like to do?"
"Do you like collecting the souls of the innocent?"
"No, do you like playing video games?"
"Yeah. Do you have any EA games?"
Mitchell asked "Yeah, why?"
Beezlebub pointed at his chest and proudly said "I'm the CEO of EA"
Mitchell laughed and said "I got Battlefield 4, Let's play."
The two played all night. For the first time in a longtime both of them felt truly happy. When the sun rose Mitchell looked worriedly at Beezlebub. Beezlebub said, "Don't worry I'll see you next Friday"
"Why?! Am I going to die"
Beezlebub laughed, "No because I get off work early on Friday and I want to spend it with a friend."
| As the man finished his final intonation, the air itself seemed to invert on itself. The sacrifices, which had been so carefully arraigned, blubbered first with terror and then in simple unending agony.
The very air seemed to twist in on itself, and with an incomprehensible scream, unreality darkened and fused together. The man looked on.
*Who*
Still, the man looked on.
**DARES**
Blood stained hands reached up, lowering the hood of his cowl. His eyes, so steady, betrayed his emotion with a single tear. Into a myriad forest of eyes and writhing appendages he walked. Infinite screams poured around him, clawing at him, but he did not flinch.
"It is I"
The horror he had summoned with his dark incantation dwarfed the man. With words that oozed madness it spoke.
*Why do you summon me*
The man looked around him at the last remains of what had been his world. The sky, once an azure blue, was now a chaotic mockery of black and crimson. Buildings crumbled and fell around them, their architecture undone. A fine mist of blood covered all which had once been so bright and beautiful. *Not beautiful enough*, he thought, *not to me*.
Finally, the man looked up, his gaze piercing through the shroud of darkness, locked eyes with the horror, and spoke.
"I was lonely"
And the horror knew fear. | 2014-07-20T08:32:52 | 2014-07-20T07:59:32 | 98 | 20 |
[WP] You're thought to be one of the world's most powerful magic users because of your massive collection of cursed items, none of which have affected you. In reality, you're completely magic deficient, but smart enough to put on a decent set of gloves before handling any them. | I yawn as the noblewoman in front of me bristles. "And what do you want the Eraser of the Horn for?" I ask tiredly.
I already know the answer, of course. If the previous court magician had understood the power of gossip, he could have ruled the court. And if he'd understood the power of a good pair of gloves, I wouldn't be in this mess.
The woman, her gown sparkling in the candlelight (because *of course* she can't come see me when it's daylight) slammed a delicate hand down on the table in front of her. "My husband," she trilled in a shriek, "is *cheating* on me!"
With three other women. I suspect she's not concerned about the milkmaid or the actress. No, what's really got her upset is the noble widow. After all, the widow is young, pretty, *and* rich. His wife simply can't compete, and she knows it. And she's one of the few rare ones that actually *believes* in the "love and marriage" nonsense. Most of the court nobles realize that marriage is nothing more than a contract between two families.
I sigh. "Look," I tell her as I rest my cheek on my hand, "have you even *thought* about this? Because, yes, the Eraser of the Horn will be a horrible curse on your husband, but it will also be a horrible curse on you."
She blanched under her makeup before her face suffused with rage. "What are you saying?" she demanded.
One of the nice things about being the court magician is that the only person I really answer to is the king. One of the nice things about my reputation is that the same people who would have had any other servant to the crown flogged for attitude made them afraid of me. And the nice thing about the dark morning hour was that I was fresh out of cares to give.
"I mean that if your husband's pecker falls off and he can't be satisfied in the bedroom, *you* won't be satisfied in the bedroom." This lady would never cheat on her husband. I narrowed my eyes as she didn't even twitch at the revelation. "So you're *not* being pleased in the bedroom," I said. She flushed again and looked around nervously. "Well now," I said with a grin, "that's another matter entirely. Wait just a moment." I get up and go into my inner chamber, where the artifacts are.
They glimmer in the light, begging to be touched, taken, just used for a *moment*\--
I shake the spell off and quickly reach for a pair of long gloves. I can almost hear the artifacts sigh as I walk towards the ring that I need. I hear a muffled sound as I pass the tall pillar of amber in the middle of the chamber. I look to see the previous magician, frozen inside the amber, his eyes darting around wildly as he, once again, tried to break the curse holding him in place. I sighed. "Don't look at me like that old man," I tell him firmly before turning towards the ring again. "It's not *my* fault you were too proud to wear gloves. Ah, there you are." I pick up the ring and go back to the waiting room. The woman looks at me hesitantly as I hold out the ring. "Take this," I tell her, "and when you get back to your husband's side, put it on your finger. He will become enamored with you once again." She reached out with one tiny gloved hand (good thing gloves were in fashion; I'd have to compliment His Majesty on making that happen) and took the ring.
She looked at me doubtfully. "Will it really work?" she asked.
I smiled at her. "Oh, yes," I tell her. I practically purr as I think about what's about to happen to the nighttime intruder. "As long as you're wearing that ring against your skin he'll be *obsessed* with you." To the point of neglecting everything else, isolating her from everyone else, and slowly trying to keep her in an ever tightening cage. "When you're tired of it," I tell her, "just take the ring off and bring it back here." I'm not *completely* heartless, after all. She nods excitedly before she leaves, staring at the golden ring glimmering in her pristine white glove.
Now, time to get back to bed, and hope there isn't *another* one tonight. | "So Mister Sanders, you have amassed a collection of cursed relics whose aura causes pain to any person of magic, and discomfort to anyone else, and yet you have no issues?"
​
"That's right, people seem to think I have some exceptional magic power, but all I do is ensure I don't touch them. I use these oven mittens here. I am like 80% of the population with no particular magical skill."
​
"But even those who cannot wield magic seem to find this place, uncomfortable. Yet you live here without any hint of unease?"
​
"For the last seven years, yep"
​
"Mister Sanders, I must tell you something. We are not the local newspaper. We are here from the British Army Special Occult Service."
​
"............oh?"
​
"That recording device in your hand is actually a disguised cursed totem. It should cause pain, even to even someone with no magic skill. Mister Sanders, you are a rare thing indeed sir. A null."
​
"What...what's that?"
​
"Someone impervious to magic of any kind, you are one in a million........and we have a mission for you.! | 2020-08-26T00:26:13 | 2020-08-25T23:01:50 | 278 | 132 |
[WP] Reincarnation exists, but it's not what we think. When we die in one universe, our soul jumps to a parallel universe where we didn't die in that moment. | I should’ve drowned. I *did* drown. I felt it. The distinct sensation of cold, Lake Michigan water filling my lungs. Felt like ice. And yet...
“Jesus!” Evan yelled as he yanked me backward by my collar. “Watch it there, guy! You catch walleye with a rod, not your bare hands!”
“Sorry, what?” I said, still processing whatever it was that had just happened.
“You almost took a dive there, Jack,” Evan said.
“No,” I replied. “No, I *did* take a dive. I felt the water. How am I...?” I trailed off.
“I think that was his first time, Evan,” Danielle said, walking over from the helm of the boat. “He’s probably confused.”
“Understatement of the fuckin’ year, Dani,” I sighed.
“You probably died in the lake just now,” Evan said bluntly.
“Evan!” Shouted Dani. “Come on, guy, do better.”
“You fuckin’ do better,” he replied, “I don’t know how the hell to explain it to him!”
“Alright, Jack,” Dani said, sitting beside me on the floor, “this is gonna sound real weird, okay?” I nodded. “You did probably just die. Not *here*, though. In some other universe, you *did* fall overboard and drown. When your body stopped working, your soul jumped over here.” She tapped my chest. “It sounds wacky, I know. And it is. But trust me when I say it’s true. It’s happened to Evan and me both. I actually had the exact same thing happen to me a year or so back that just happened to you.”
“But then why am I still here?” I asked.
“Because we tend to think of death as the end, when we’re looking at it from the outside,” Dani replied. “It’s the end of the deceased in *our* reality, so we kinda just process it as the end of *them* entirely. What we don’t usually see is, when somebody dies, their soul jumps to another reality where they just didn’t. But if *we* die, and our souls jump, we understand better.”
“So why doesn’t everyone know this?” I asked.
“Because the people who don’t experience it usually don’t believe it,” she said. “Or, when they *have* experienced it, it wasn’t vivid enough to understand. That’s why people sometimes feel like they had past lives or fake memories. If your experience wasn’t so strong, you might have come to us five years from now and said, ‘Remember when I fell in the Lake?’ And we would say that we didn’t, because it happened before, in the other reality.”
“What about everything else?” I said. “Childhood memories and all that?”
“Other than you dying, this reality is exactly the same as the one you just came from,” Dani said. “I still love you, I still remember our first kiss, and I still remember the time your dad knocked you out with a football on the Fourth of July.”
“Huh,” I said.
“That’s it?” Evan laughed. “The man fuckin’ dies and his reaction is, ‘Huh.’”
“Well, why not?” Said Dani. “It’s not like there’s anything that can be done now.”
“Can we hurry up and catch some damn fish?” I said. “I haven’t had a bite all day. Evan, you brought those deep-running cranks, yeah?”
“Yeah, they’re in the storage box,” he said. “I still can’t believe you’re just fuckin’ fine after dying like that.”
Dani leaned over to me. “He cried for hours and hugged everyone in the family like ten times after it happened to him,” she said. “You’d’ve thought he was gone for years, the way he was acting.”
“I don’t blame him,” I said. “It’s definitely weird. But like you said, it happened. There’s nothing I can really do to change that.” | "It's a great idea!" God exclaimed.
Gabriel shook his head. "I don't think you've thought this one through. A new universe every time someone dies? How will that work?"
God scowled at him. "Don't you trust me?"
Quietly Gabriel admitted to himself that no, he did not, but outwardly he just shrugged and walked away.
"Ready... Set... Go!"
Confetti fell from the sky. All the clouds started flashing with the colors of the rainbow. God beamed.
It lasted 30 days before the world ran out of memory. God had put a lot of effort into scalability - he just hadn't quite done the math right.
"Well, maybe that one didn't quite work," God quietly admitted. "How about if we give humans antlers?" | 2019-11-28T09:40:56 | 2019-11-28T09:30:29 | 56 | 10 |
[WP] They always warn about the dangers of traveling to the past and endangering the timeline. They never understood the power in going to future and wreaking havoc, only to return and have it never happen. A murderer with a clean conscience. Evil scientist indeed. | There's three things any prospective assassin needs to know about the future.
Thing, the first. After 2250 you get the metacops. They're not from that era, they're from even farther into the future, but for some reason 2250 is as far back as they go.
Thing, the second. Before 2250 you get free reign of an absolute, dystopian shithole. You get to be King of Hell, if you can stand it.
I can't stand it, so I go after 2250. Metacops be damned.
Thing, the third. When I invented time travel, I did it a little ass-backwards, didn’t realize it until I saw how it worked for the metacops. My time travel gets me 24 hours. I step through my portal, wreak a day of mayhem, and then, like a stone thrown high into the air, I begin my descent back, my body falling through the timeline all the way back to 2021.
\*\*\*
Somewhere, in the ivory gleam of the streetlights behind me, were a pair of metacops.
Somewhere, in a cooling, ruby red puddle of blood behind them was a third. Ever since I started traveling, the metacops have been working in threes. It's inconvenient.
The world around me was pure 2312. Ivory street lights powered by solar energy filtered down from orbital stations lit a world of tightly intertwined, claustrophobic streets some half a mile below ground. Crustscrapers stretched from the hard stone floor all the way to the cavernous ceiling above, their flowering, carefully manicured balconies the only things to break the ivory light on brown stone on carbon steel monotony of the city.
I dodged through the crowd with the ease of long practice. Faces in the crowd turned to stare in my wake. The people here were short, squat, shockingly pale. I stood out.
The metacops did not call out. My implants detected no general alerts. They operated on the down low, at least around the citizens of their past. They had serious compunctions about disturbing history themselves, a fact I was more than willing to exploit. I turned a corner, darted down a slideway, and then I found my destination, The Core Component.
The Core Component was my favorite part of 2312. It was the kind of combination of everything type of store that you just didn't get back home in 2021, the kind of super market that Walmart could only dream to be. Occupying the connected basements of four separate crustscrapers, The Core Component looked like a Shanghai basement grocery store mated to a pre-collapse techies bleeding edge wet dream, with unisex dresses and robes hanging from hooks everywhere for good measure. I went straight for the tech.
I could feel the metacops. They were close, their very beings rippled through the fabric of the universe like a song turned to static. Among time travelers, you just \*knew.\*
"Can I help you, sir?" a young employee said. She was a wirehead, a little antenna poking up from behind her right ear, blinking cables plunging into the skin of her neck to connect straight to the brainstem.
"Yeah actually," I said, glancing around. "Got any software that could make me a better person?
"Sir?" she said, blinking in surprise.
“Nevermind. How about you show me the stimsims?”
The wirehead blushed, then gestured me over to the dark, hidden corner where they kept the stimsims; X-rated videos in the parlance of 2021. She tried hard not to look at me, but I saw her casting little wide eyed glances my way, no doubt on account of my tanned skin. It wasn't racism, at least, I hadn't experienced any in 2312. It was more that, in a world without the sun, far, far underground, it cost money to be anything but very pale. Likely enough, she thought I was rich.
Rich suited me. Confused rich suited me even more. The wirehead followed me in to the stimsim room, a small cubicle with low lighting and nothing but ports and cables in the wall. The cables extended out from the ports, sporting long needle-like things that jacked into your brainstem, much the same as the wirehead’s antenna jacked into hers, and from there they allowed the user access to The Core Component’s intranet, and all the x-rated software a man could dream of.
I pulled the cord out, stared at it like I’d never seen one before, and turned back to her.
“Is something wrong?” she said.
“I’m fuckin’ sorry about this,” I said.
I grabbed her before she could even begin to react. I was a blur, honed against people far more dangerous than her, from times far more dangerous than this one. I pulled her back against me, the wire wrapped around her neck, the needle perilously close to her eye, and a moment later the metacops rounded the corner.
They fit into 2312 exactly, like they’d been biologically tailored to this timeline. They were short, squat, pale, both men, both breathing hard with the exertion of chasing me.
“Let her go, Ripper,” the first metacop said.
“I will,” I said.
“Alive!” the other said.
“I will,” I repeated.
“Hey, what’s going on?” the wirehead said. Her voice shook, she’d gone red all over, her eyes stared straight into the point of the needle. “What the hell are you doing? What are you?”
I glanced down at my watch. It counted down seconds, 30, 29, etc. There wasn’t time to explain.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I said, “I swear.”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a business card and a bit of change in the local currency, and shoved them both into her pocket. Doubtless the metacops would take them from her on some excuse or other, but perhaps she’d have a moment to read the card and realize what a boon it was to have spared her.
“Goddamnit Ripper, give it--” one of the cops said.
The watch hit one and I pushed the girl away. Or rather, I tried to. I’d cut it too close, and the cubicle of the stimsim room was too small. I stepped away as I pushed her but the wires on the back of her neck caught against the necklace I wore, connecting us together. She stumbled back into me, and in that moment, the fall back to my time began.
\*\*\*
I woke in my garage in 2021. It was hot, humid outside, and the air conditioners were struggling to cool the space with the added heat of the time travel machinery. My body was sticky with sweat, though only a few minutes had passed for me.
My head ached like hell, it always did. My mouth was dry, my hands felt oddly full. I opened my eyes, blinking listlessly.
There was a girl in my arms, a wirehead. She was half turned towards me, eyes wide, mouth working soundlessly with shock. Her head would be empty, cut off suddenly from the brain churning abundance of signals and sounds she’d been hooked in to.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
Her eyes resolved at the sound of my voice. She stepped away, gasping, stumbling. The jack cord was no longer around her neck, the time machine had only transported us and the clothes on our backs.
That included, apparently, the things in her pockets. The girl reached down, pulled out my card, and read it aloud.
“Mack the Ripper. America’s finest time traveling assassin.”
She stared at it in horror, eyes no doubt trailing across the exaggerated knife logo.
“Holy shit,” I whispered again.
She looked up at me, her eyes were a very pale blue. There were tears in them. Likely enough she recognized my name, I’d certainly publicized it enough in her time.
"It's so quiet," she said. "All the voices are gone. Where are the voices?"
And then, before I could catch her, she fainted.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | "Sir, are you sure this will work?" the uncertain voice of my second-in-command, Cyril, breaks me from my thoughts.
I look away from the screens depicting our forces marching on key cities across our enemies\` lines, our robot regiments backstopped by our bio-engineered supersoldiers and led by our technopath and super IQ generals. They had all been positioned carefully, by me, and our advance had just begun.
"Yes, this will work." I finally reply, to which Cyrill and the other members of my inner circle look at each other and me a little disbelievingly.
They knew not the amount of trial and error it had taken for me to build this plan, to reach this level of power, to finally achieve the goal I had set for myself all of those years ago when I discovered my own power, one I keep secret even today.
You see, as a teenager, I watched my parents be strung up and tortured by rebel dissidents, the trauma of watching it happen changing me in ways I did not yet realize and went much deeper than just psychologically.
Then, the torturers turned on me.
When they finally allowed me to die, I woke back up in the past, just after my own parents expired!
It took several agonizing attempts but I was finally able to escape my captors and on that day i swore to unite the entire world under one rule. My rule. To prevent the internal schisms and violence that all of this division and corruption caused and continues to cause.
I used my newfound power frequently, stretching the time out longer and longer. I did 4 years of schooling in politics, another 4 in history, another 4 in economics, and finally, a full 5 year enlistment as an infantryman and grenadier. I would reset after completing each, returning to any point I chose after the death of my parents, the one thing, to my eternal vexation, I could never change.
Once I felt myself fully grounded in the knowledge and experience a leader would need, the truly difficult work began....
I found like-minded individuals with powers of their own and without, and with trial and error, the occasional reset and my own honed charisma and passion, I was able to enlist their cooperation in an alliance to support my plans. They would become the backbone of my early forces, the ones that would allow me to take and hold my first conquests.
I conquered dozen of different cities and even countries in those early iterations, dancing on the fine line between quick expansion and exposure to the global community without success for several dozens of attempts. These failures quickly turned to horror shows, my forces butchering innocents in their attempts to escape the incoming "heroes" of the rest of the world. My own forces, my friends, I watched be ripped apart by enemy supers or executed before I reset.
Very quickly, I became utterly inurred to bloodshed, to war, to carnage. All that existed was the goal. My goal.
But, eventually, after watching the deaths of millions, I came up with the perfect plan, the perfect sequence and timeline, the best alignment of my forces and alliances.
Now, I am in control of over half of the civilized world. The areas left are banding together in a last ditch effort to stop me. They were far too late in taking me seriously, the inherent corruption of their bureaucracies and internal division keeping them from moving against me just as I had seen it all play out before.
Now, Cyril and the rest watch in shock as our armies pour into the gaps between enemy forces, through chinks in city walls and perfectly targeted surgical strikes on enemy command centers and barracks. Over the course of the next few hours, what\`s left of the world governments sue for peace.
I refuse.
I had seen that if I accepted, they would never truly submit to my rule.
So, I order my forces to crush them, to dig them out of their bunkers and vaults.
Leaving the mopping up to Cyril, who now looks at me with eyes full of veneration bordering on worship, I retire to my modest quarters, walking past equally awed troops as I do.
I take a seat at my elegant wooden desk, pouring a finger of whiskey in a crystal tumbler, settling back in my chair as I take a sip.
I savor the smoky flavor as it burns its way down to my gut and my mind returns to the bloody day this all started, when a traumatized young man set his life goal.
I had walked my path to near its finish, rewalking it hundreds of times perhaps, but now, all that was left was to rule well. And that I had prepared myself for all the while.
I would set the world on a course to dominate this universe and thrive beyond any period that has come before, I would make sure advancement accelerated, not just of technology but of culture and society as well.
And most of all, I would make sure that stability reigned long after my passing.
No one would suffer as I had or else, what had I worked so hard for? Shed so much blood, current and in nonexistent futures, for?
Setting down my now empty glass, I allow myself to relax for the first time in centuries, subjectively.
For a moment, just one, I let myself rest.
And then, it will be time to rule. | 2021-08-22T11:12:21 | 2021-08-22T10:26:54 | 717 | 122 |
[WP] You and a friend jokingly start a religion in order to avoid taxes. Not long after you are in an accident and put in cryogenic freeze. You wake up many years later to find that it is now a major world religion. | Outside the hospital window, flat wooden boxes covered the ground in a complicated labyrinth of dubious architecture. These were the strange buildings of a city that stretched into the horizon in every direction. The doctors had informed me that thousands of years had passed since my accident that turned me into a Popsicle.
I had expected flying cars, teleportation, and all sorts of cool sci-fi stuff, but somehow the entire civilization seemed more primitive than I'd left it. The hospital staff seemed competent, but there were very little equipment and I remembered the doctor's fingers prodding and poking me before finally announcing that I was all right.
Eager to explore the new world, I stumbled out of my room and down into the lobby. An odd assembly of scribes and servants carrying large books on their backs flocked near the entrance. One of them perked up and strutted over to me, sporting a set of frilly pantaloons and a that reminded me of a bowl of salad.
"The prophet is awake!" he announced and took my hand. "I am a representative from the Department of Childishness."
"Childishness?" I said, grinning.
The doctor had already called me a prophet before, but he'd been less enthusiastic about it. When I thought about it, he didn't seem very happy in general. There was an aura of hopeless despair surrounding him. He'd reminded me of a homeless person.
"Of course, Chris! It's awesome to finally meet such a cool dude!" the man babbled on. "I've prepared the slides and the swimming pools and all the other fun things. Let's goooo!"
The scribes scribbled furiously on the large tomes, their quills dancing across the pages. The representative was bouncing up and down, and I noticed a few ladies by the window, who, for some reason, started blushing and fanning themselves at the sight.
I shook my head in confusion, but some of the scribes desperately seemed to want to join in. Their calves twitched and their hands clenched before they managed to curb the urge.
"What the hell is going on?" I said, glancing sideways at the group of massive guards that now blocked the exit.
"Oh! The bouncers are here! What joy!" the representative cried. "We're truly blessed this day!"
He smiled broadly and then ran headfirst into the wall of muscle. As expected he landed on the floor and his hat rolled away.
"How do I pass them?" I asked one of the scribes, eager to get out of here.
He just shook his head, looking as if I had assaulted him.
"Y-you're joking?" he whispered nervously.
"Why the hell would I be joking? This is the dumbest thing I've seen." I glanced out the window, noticing an empty marina by the sea. "Is this loony island? I need to find a boat to the land of non-crazies."
"B-boat?" The man looked like I had punched him in the gut. He held his chest and started backing away. "It's t-true! The rumors were true."
"What rumors!"
"You're a blasphemer... you're the Anti-Chris!"
The room fell silent, and the quills stopped scribbling.
"The Anti-Chris?" I said, laughing, but nobody laughed with me.
Everyone in the room turned toward a massive wooden tablet and fell to their knees. "Save us! We're doomed!"
Narrowing my eyes, I looked at the list scratched into the wood.
* You shall not steel
* You shall not keel
* You shall not commit adult things
* You shall not pass
Shit, that was the commandments that I had, high on pain medication, jokingly written down while I waited for my turn at the hospital after the accident.
\*\*\*
More stories at r/Lilwa_Dexel | I don’t remember much from the few minutes before the accident, and the bright lights from this..... chamber only make my grogginess more apparent.
To the left of me, I hear gasps from the people who seem to be remnants of the people who would have worked here.
“It... It can’t be.....” , one of the workers blurts out.
“James Martin? Is.. is that you?”, this time a familiar voice spoke up.
“Yes, but who are you, and where did you take me?” I asked, getting very paranoid.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a symbol on the wall , one I realize is the logo for that tax scheme Levi and I started.
This is my first WP attempt. Sorry if it is under par | 2018-08-16T09:42:01 | 2018-08-16T09:37:55 | 144 | 29 |
[WP] All souls in Hell are given the same test upon arrival. If they can create a punishment worthy of being added to the Pit, they get to ascend to demonhood on the spot. You are the first to succeed in 200 years...
[deleted] | "Well?"
I looked up at the demon, all twelve feet of him... which put my eyes level with his crotch so looking up was a better option.
"Gimme a minute... "
"Ya got thirty seconds, lets see if you can come up with an idea worthy of Hells punishments, or it's down in the pit with the common lot for you!"
The demon sounded like my old manager.... and like that, I had it. An Idea.. a wonderous, marvellous **evil** idea...
"Ok... you ever worked retail?"
"Huh... no..Been a demon all my existence. But I've heard of it though."
"Right, right... ok. Just to check. It wasn't anything to do with you guys influencing people was it? Like, oh... the Spanish Inquisition?"
The demon winced, shaking his head.
"Yeah, no. And I'm getting kinda sick of us being blamed for that too.. that and lawyers. Nuffin to do with us guv!"
I have to admit, I blinked...that was unexpected. Shaking my head I ploughed on.
"Ok.. here's the idea... Call it Hell-mart... you have the damned working as 'associates'... you'll have to call in some actual managers to get it right, but I dare say there's a few around here."
The demon swelled up, and roared.
"**THAT'S** your idea? A mortal shop? Where's the terror, the agony the ..."
"Soul crushing tedium, the slow grinding down of every last shred of your humanity as you watch the endless parade of disgusting moronic low-life scum trapsing their vile carcusses across your till until you're a seething cauldron of hate and loathing..and.."
The demon looked me in the eyes, the whites plainly visible around his slitted pupils. At that point I realised I had him by the horns and had pulled his head down to my level, spraying spittle in his face... Letting go I dusted the tips of his horns as he straightened up.
"Ah... sorry. Still have a few.. issues... you know?"
"Yeah, man... I could see. You know that business about the eyes being the window of the soul? Kinda true here. Listen...um.. I dunno, we could give it a go, maybe? But could you maybe.. give it a bit more Oomph? Maybe do something to make it more evil?"
I laughed, hollowly, and maybe for a bit too long. I stopped as I noticed the demon was backing away, and looking nervous like only a twelve foot high, goat headed minion of Satan can.
"Oh.. you want it more *evil* do you? Ok, try this.. every other monday is coupon day.. and Black Friday is once a month. Get some of the demonesses to study what are called Karens, uh, I'll explain that in a bit... oh and you're going to need a team of imps dedicated to rearranging stuff on the shelves... Oh and get this, we can tell the other damned souls that if they find
the super secret promotional item, They get out of Hell-mart. except they can't, it's an endless maze with no exit... "
I was dead, so technically I couldn't run out of breath, but I guess force of habit caught up with me. As I inhaled I notice the demon was backed up against a rock, and visibly pale and sweating. I guess he'd seen in my eyes, or memories or whatever, to get what i was talking about...
"So... what do you think? Give me a day or two and i can work up a full proposal and a powerpoint for whoever's boss around here?"
"Uhh.. yeah. nope, that won't be necessary. You win! I mean.. ok look. I'll have a word with Lower downs, the powers that be... the boss. But... consider yourself in charge of Hell's newest level. And um... listen, if you need someone to talk to, we've got some surprisingly good therapists you know. Call it a staff perk if you like..."
I shook my head.
"Nah, I'm ok. Nothing a little reverse retail therapy won't cure, so to speak. Oh, just one thing though. Let me get it all set up right and running and then there's a former manager of mine I'm just *dying* to meet... I'm sure you guys can arrange his *termination* a bit early for me, right? As long as I get first dibs on his soul, we're good." | I stared around at the fires, the melting and reforming bodies.
The demon looked at me and asked in a bored tone.
"Welcome to hell, got a good enough idea for torture, and you get to be admin for that area"
While part of me didnt want to increase the agony of others, I wouldnt be here if I listened to it.
"This is all so... mundane..." I whispered.
"Hmm" The demon looked at me with a slight amount of interest.
"For the people who were most afraid of death, wipe there memories, and have them live out their last minutes, or days, over and over again, wiping their memories each time"
The demon barked out a laugh. "What? A little bit of being scared?"
"Just try it, might surprise you. Never being mortal, probably not something you can even fathom"
"..." The demon looked pensive.
"mm" The hoof footed man hummed, and waved his hand.
Space seemed to ripple, and a cutout appeared in front of us. In it, a vision of a hospital, and a man in a bed, covered in tubing.
The demon pulled a what looked to be a pendant made of thorns from somewhere.
He held it towards the apparition and it glowed a sullen red.
"Lucifers Halo, I wouldnt have thought of it in billion years. Looks like we have a winner" | 2021-12-22T18:04:30 | 2021-12-22T17:23:55 | 242 | 49 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk. | Death is not like you imagine.
The cowl, the harbinger's scythe. No.
Death is a humble mortician in Estevan, Saskatchewan, Canada. He wears horn-rimmed glasses. His hair is short, and has been thinning for twenty years. His suits are always at least ten years old, but rarely are they older. He smells faintly of mothballs, but perhaps doesn't know it. He's just a touch over 5 feet tall, and somewhat portly. He eats steak and eggs for breakfast at Maxine's Diner every Saturday. He's impeccably polite. People like him. The town birds always have a friend to set him up with. They're sick of seeing him alone.
But that's how it must be.
The only time Death, otherwise known as Darby Jenkins, ever changes his demeanour is when he's in the embalming chamber at the back of his quaint funeral parlour. The welcoming scent of formaldehyde reminds him of purpose, and the little glimmer in his eye that charms the little town winks away as he looks down upon the dearly departed. But the embalming chamber is a ruse. He hasn't cleaned or used his stainless steel table in a decade. Darby Jenkins strides past it and directly through the illusory tiled wall at the back, to where the real job is.
That's where he is today. And his expression, normally resolute, is different today. He's... awry.
The lists the dead on a scroll that rolls up from within his desk and then off the back end, directly into the floor and down to the underworld, using a pen that is always sharp and an inkwell that never runs dry. Around him, all around him, are shelves, and drawers, of mahogany, oak, and maple. On each shelf, in every drawer, a carefully catalogued series of hourglasses, ticking down the lives of the entire world. Most run long, and some, woefully quick. This chamber stretches beyond time, but conveniently, the hourglasses Death needs are always within arm's reach.
All but one.
In his long years, he's never been clumsy. He's a being of purpose. Purposeful creatures are never clumsy.
.
Today, however, was meant to be different. Death uncharacteristically knocked his inkwell onto its side, and it rolled off the back of his desk. This was not troubling. He simply walked around the overlarge desk, squeezing beside a shelf. That's where he saw the hourglass, tipped on its side so the sand would never run out. The hourglass he never knew was there.
Death's hourglasses were all the same. Deep, beautiful walnut caps held fast to a slender glass barrel. The sand within was the earth of Tartarus, with a green tinge. The bottom cap had a small, bronze plate with the soulbound name of the person inscribed on it.
Death was in tune with each and every soul on the earth. It was as simple as a physical connection with the hourglass. So when he felt Koffi Apeloko's, the found hourglass, grasped it, felt the energy within, he was filled with an unbound rage.
.
Itanga was a small village along the Likoula Aux Herbes River in the Republic of Congo. In a blink, Darby Jenkins appeared. In his hand, he held the hourglass. It was the dead of night.
In his travel between worlds, Death had delved deeper into Koffi Apeloko's past.
Koffi Apeloko had been born right along the river in the year 1207. Around his thirtieth birthday, he'd simply stopped aging. By his fiftieth -
This was the part that vexed Death. By Koffi Apeloko's fiftieth birthday, he vanished from Death's sight. *Nobody vanished from Death's sight.*
Death was material, but invisible to those who weren't prepared for his kiss. Rarely was he filled with wrath, as now. He siphoned from his near-infinite pool of energy and followed the hourglass to the soul from which it was bound.
The soft, verdant earth cowed beneath his steps; this cradle of life could not support Death.
Eventually, Death stopped. The sun was beginning to rise in the east. He had walked for at least an hour. The trees around him groaned, strangling in his aura.
Death stood over Koffi Apeloko. Death was material, and yet could not reach out to his charge.
And so, Death set the hourglass on a rock, then stooped down and began to dig.
.
It was midday he finally reached the coffin. The volume of Death's anger had withered all nearby life, allowing the sun to break through the thick canopy. The coffin was shabbily made, but held firm against the six feet of earth laid on top. Now, the wood was starting to rot away. Already, Death could see a cautious finger poking out. He heard a moan.
Death climbed back out of the hole with practiced ease. He adjusted his glasses with a dirty hand, and brought the hourglass back. With a gesture, the coffin sprung open.
Koffi Apeloko looked upon streaky daylight with eyes conditioned to darkness. A layer of dust on his face was streaked at the sides by fresh tears. His arms were crossed. His wrists and thighs were shattered and crumpled. A bone in his neck protruded at an angle where no bone should rightfully heal. He spoke Tshiluba with a dusty voice. He was, perhaps, thirty years of age, as he had been hundreds of years ago.
"I wished for you for many years."
Death's anger had subsided with every scoop of earth in the pile. His tireless body looked down now with pity. "I have come."
"Am I cursed?"
"An unfortunate oversight. Corrected."
"How long have I been here?"
"Too long."
"Will you take me home?" With a weak hand, Koffi Apeloko reached out to Death. He could lift his fingers only half an inch.
Darby Jenkins smiled. "Yes. I'm here to take you home."
.
/r/Stanwrites | *He had billions. Lining the gloomy hall's walls, were billions of hourglasses. Each one counting down a human's life. He didn't know where they came from or how there always seemed to be enough shelves for them all. He didn't even understand how he knew when they ran out! But he always did, he always knew.*
*Some mortals call him death. He hated that name. Death is what summoned him, not what he brought. Furthermore, who calls their milkman ‘Milk’? So why would they call him ‘Death’? He would much rather be called by his title: ‘The Grim Reaper.’* **The author apologises, he was offered five more years in exchange for relaying this information**
Sucker, like I said, death summons me, I don't summon death. I can't give him more years.... I think he realises that now, what with his hourglass being empty and all. Time to fetch him I suppose. Might as well continue his tale while I do it.
So anyways, I was having an exceptionally busy day when I hear a particularly loud calling. Another screamer of an hourglass had run dry, no biggie...
Except it was a biggie, cos I couldn't find the darned hourglass anywhereand for some reason billions of hourglasses were suddenly dry at the same time. Strange. Anyways, I searched high and low but couldn't find the lost hourglass, and it was calling me louder than ever, basically screaming over the others. Eventually I got some of the dead to help me, and one of them found the darned thing under my desk, all ashen and dusty. How it got there I don't know, how it worked sideways I also don't know. I wasn't given this job cos of my empty hood of a head yaknow. I jest, I got the physique after I became The Grim Reaper.
Anyways, I look for the label, and it's the name of my admirer! No biggie, everyone dies eventually. Except it was a biggie, cos I couldn't find him anywhere in the universe.
Now I don't mess with the multiverse, but when a Grim Reaper Can't find a soul, it means one of two things. A) The person has been revived, or B) The person is in some weird spot I don't usually check.
Now I'm fairly experienced with the former, what with that darned Sorcerer rewinding time and reviving himself....
But B) I have never encountered. So I looked it up in the manual. The manual gives me a list of places to look, and as I scan through them, one jumps out at me.
"Soul stone."
That's when I realise what's happened, that's when I realise he has actually done it. All these years I thought he was joking, that he was simply expressing how much he loved me in his own sick way.
But he had actually done it. And I found that kind of sweet.
The only thing I couldn't figure out is, why had he killed himself as well?
Anybody? | 2018-10-03T07:01:14 | 2018-10-03T06:59:15 | 186 | 20 |
[WP] A former child star has given up fame and fortune to pursue a career in academia. PhD candidate Jaden Smith presents his dissertation in Philosophy, "How Can Mirrors Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real" | So First Of All We Need To Tackle The Matter Of Our Eyes, Which Naive Materialists (Wikipedia Being One Such Case In Point, Since Human Consciousness Is Not Advanced Enough That Our Minds Can Cooperate To Produce A Pedia Of Good So Instead We Make A Pedia Of Wickedness (Wiki Means Wickedness)) Describe As "The Organs Of Vision". They Think They Get It THEY DONT THEY DONT THEY DONT!!!!!!!! #EyeBalls #ItsAPunBecauseBallsMeansLies #LieBalls
I Was On A Vision Quest With A Native American Tribe Called The Scientomolgists Once And In That Teepee Was Hot As Shit And Dark As Shit And Shit Is Actually Hot And Dark So This Is A Metaphor But Anyway I Put A Blindfold On My Face And That Covered My "Eyes" (Because I Refuse To Write "Eyes" Without Sarcasm Quotes Until The Dumbening Circles Of Freeluminati Release The Sheep Masses Who Are Humans But Also Sheep From This False Rapture Of "Eyes" Which Don't Exist As I Am About To Prove) But I STILL HAD THE VISIONS!
So Our "Eyes" Are Not The Organs Of Vision? What Happens When We Delete This From The Wikipedia (Because Like The Illumimasons Reality Wikipedia Is A Place Where Truth But Also Lies Can Be Deleted)? Then Wikipedia Says "Eyes Are." And That's Not A Sentence!!!!!! WIKIPEDIA I HAVE SEEN THROUGH YOUR LIES AND DIDNT HAVE TO USE MY "EYES" TO DO IT BECAUSE THEY DONT EXIST.
So Now We've Thrown Our "Eyes" In The Garbage Where They Belong To Be Eaten By The Seagulls Lets Take On The Fucking "Mirrors".
Wickedpedia Says About "Mirrors" "A mirror is an object that reflects light in such a way that, for incident light in some range of wavelengths, the reflected light preserves many or most of the detailed physical characteristics of the original light." And I Dont Know What That Means Because The Words Arent Real In The Jaden Language Which Is The Language I Speak That Sounds Like But Isnt English Because That Was Created By Russia In The War To Control The Brains Of America. I Have Never Said "Wavelegnt" Cos That Aint A Word And It Doesnt Count That I Said It Then Cos I Used Sarcasm Quotes.
If We Delete All The Made Up Words Then It Says "A Mirror Is An That Light In A Way That, For Light In Of, The Light Or Of The Of The Light". And Thats Not A Sentence Either Suckers!!!!!! What The Hell Is Wikipedia Hiding?
I Did A Google For "What The Hell Is Wikipedia Hiding" And Google Gave Me The Wikipedia Page For Hell! Wikipedia Tried To Send Me To Hell For Asking Questions! Luckily I Am To Clever To Fall For It And Didnt Click.
So That Proves That "Eyes" Do Not Exist And "Mirrors" Do Not Exist. "But @OfficialJaden" You Tweet At Me. "I Can See My Eyes In A Mirror Right Now!"
Thats What The Chemtrailers Want You To Think But Answer This. If Your Eyes Are Real And The Mirror Is Real Then Why Cant You See With Your Mirror Eyes???????? #Rebutter
The Powers Of The Vatican And The White House Which Are Really The Same Because Washington Is Actually In Rome Look At All The Roman Buildings Want You To Think You See With Your "Eyes" Because Then You Wont See That Our Apples Have No Nutrients And Our Water Is Full Of Aluminum. And They Want You To Think Mirrors Are Real So You Cant See How BEAUTIFUL You Are On The INSIDE Which Is Also Why Doctors Pretend Your Body Is Full Of Gross Pink Stuff Like Meat When Actually Its Just Full Of Light And Stars And Black Holes That Work Backwards Called White Holes Which Are What Gives Our Universe Love From Another Less Evil Universe.
If You Still Dont Believe Me Then Maybe Your Conscionsentious (Which Is A Jaden Word For Conscious Conscientious Conscience) Isnt Awake Yet. Tell Me When It Is So We Can Make Goodipedia And Chill But Until Then Peace. #Done | "What we observe in mirrors are simply reflections of the world around us, but bent and distorted, do the the angle of incidence and the warping effects of time. In fact, if there is an object between you and the mirror, what angle you saw the object in the mirror would depend entirely on both the speed of the object, the speed of the mirror, and, of course, your own movement through the four known dimensions.
Here is where it gets tricky. Our eyes are nothing but a semi-translucent lense that encases optical receptors, that are sensitive to, you guessed it, light. The same light that is showing the objects on the mirror only depending on their place in time, and dependent on the speed at which they are each going.
So what you are seeing is not reality, or at least not your reality, as the mirror is showing you it's own truth; not yours. And since your eyes are doing the same thing, inputting false signals that are flawed and warped, you are looking at a flawed reflection of a flawed reflection of a flawed reflection.
So I ask *again*, *how can mirrors be real*....IF OUR EYES...*ARE*...*NOT*...**REAL!!**" | 2015-05-30T23:35:37 | 2015-05-30T22:13:46 | 521 | 347 |
[WP]The pagan gods watch with amusement as humanity still remember them by naming their mightiest vessels after them, long after they stopped worshiping them. When war against aliens break out, the old gods subtly aid the humans, not wanting the last homage to them to be taken lightly. | Frontiersman Lucian Xan's blood flowed freely down his brow until it met his jawline. It pooled on the tip of his chin and then dripped downward, unnoticed and unimportant. "How many are we looking at? I'm getting nothing but squid on the local."
Jack Studde snorted, "More than it's worth countin'." He gave a hapless shrug, "Only so many bullets to fire sometimes Luke. We've done what we could."
Xan's eyes watered as the smoke from the fire began to cloud the cockpit, causing the viewscreen to blur. The red blinking notification was clear enough. "We didn't get a clear line. The message isn't getting out."
"They'll know well enough when the *Hermes* doesn't report in. Sometimes shooting the messenger is message enough." Jack yanked on the release to his harness, letting some of the pressure off of his chest. Just above his breast was a small winged sandal with the name Studde emblazoned above it. "Wish we'd brought bigger guns. They say the new models got grav pulses."
Lucian sighed, "Yeah, well, it was supposed to be quiet out this way. Squids are supposed to be a few hundred AU the other direction." He slammed the heel of his hand on the panel in front of him, willing the engine back to life. They were dead in the black, their ion drive knocked offline. The squids would have them tractored in soon enough.
They needed a bit of luck, that or the grace of God.
Xan pulled up the comms relay, funneling in the last bit of power in a vain hope of getting the message out. *Thor* was only a hop and a skip behind them, close enough to make it before the air ran out in their suits. The warship had been pulverizing everything in its path, its mass drivers inexplicably performing beyond specifications on multiple occasions. His fingers flew across the panel, the spiderweb of cracks ignored as he attempted to call out.
The last bit of power trickled down, the lights dimming in the ship. "Auxiliaries almost gone," Jack called out.
Lucian ignored him, his attention focused on the little red blinking notification on relay readout. "C'mon you god damned--"
A small flare appeared, the readout flickering for the briefest of moments to show a pair of winged sandals. The red notification blinked out and re-appeared, a cool minty green. "Sonuvabitch..." Xan yelled out. "It's out!"
The lights blinked out, shrouding the ship in darkness.
"What?" Jack asked, the flexglass helmet stored in his collar unfurling and sheathing his head. A small 100% number appeared on his shoulder, indicating his oxygen supply.
"The relay, it got the message out. *Thor* should have it in a few minutes." Lucian frowned down at the local, "Probably not enough time to save our asses, but at least home has a warning that they've got squids pounding down their back door."
\---
"Captain, we've got a priority inbound from the edge. *Frontiership Hermes.* Distress." The comms officer swore, "We've got squids, Ma'am. Whole fleet of them. *Hermes* is disabled."
"Stow it and keep focused Lieutenant. Send a relay back earthward and let's get them some backup," Captain Lawless commanded, her steely grey eyes darting between the bridge crew.
"Captain, we don't know what we're up against, the message just said a fleet of squids." Comms Officer Lucas replied even as he prepared the relay message back home.
"Let me worry about that Lucas, just get us there." She sat in her command chair, her shoulders squared forward, the golden lightning bolt emblazoned on her chest twinkling in the light. "This is the *Thor*, we've got the hammer."
​
[**PART 2 RIGHT HERE ON MY SUB. EVERYONE DIES. IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT FOR DEMANDING MORE.**](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/alzoo6/wppart_1_2_the_pagan_gods_watch_with_amusement_as/)
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
​ | The halls of Valhalla ring silent
Those worthy long lost to the past
Olympus lies fallen and empty
In stature and power surpassed
​
The sun spins eternal in orbit
Carried not by Apollos or Ras
But the ironclad laws of Sir Newton
One of a billion bright stars
​
For Man has grown upward and outward
No longer needs He to believe
In powers of faith and of fancy
He trusts only what he can perceive
​
But the ancients were wise beyond mesure
As sages would often exclaim
'Tis truth that still rings through the ages
"Such power that lies in a name!"
​
For Shiva wields trident no longer
And Xolotl guards more than the deep
Old Perun calls soldiers to order
For Aeron has more foes to reap
​
Uncountable legends race outwards
Those of Avalon, Asgard and more
Cast in hope girded thickly with iron
On the wings of a nuclear core
​
Across alien skies they burn brightly
Carried far from Dilmun and Duat
For the old gods look after their children
And all hells wait for those who attack.
​ | 2022-03-30T20:52:43 | 2019-01-31T23:45:50 | 2,124 | 48 |
[WP] The God of Blood's followers pray to him for strength and victory in battle, but one day he is baffled to hear a 7 year old girl's prayer, begging to win the spelling bee tomorrow. | "A spelling bee?"
Abaddon's usually impressive, unearthly voice bore a note of distinctly un-godlike confusion. It was not that he was unfamiliar with the mortal plane - in fact it was quite the opposite. Mortals could not help but run around killing one another. And where men killed their fellow men Abaddon, God of Blood, was there. Even today, in an age where many would regard his divine sword - the Blade Murmasa - as silly and outdated mortals invoked his name nearly constantly.
But not had, so far as he could remember, ever invoked it for a spelling bee.
Nor had they called him to a pink room filled with stuffed animals and glitter. That stuff made him uneasy. It was a "gift" to mortals from Loki the Trickster and like most of Loki's gifts it was more trouble than it was worth. Clingwrap, mosquitos, plastic clamshell packaging and glitter. Loki was as devious as they came.
"Yes..." said little Janey Summers, not at all impressed by the seven foot, blood stained, sword wielding divinity she had summoned to her bedroom. "...you are Abaddon the Blood God are you not? Champion of war and battle. Patron for those who seek victory over their foes."
"Yes..." growled Abaddon
"Well I'm seeking victory over my foes. Justin Chan and Maggie Singh, in case you are wondering. The rest of my classmates are not exactly what you'd call a threat. But Justin and Maggie are good. So I want you to help me beat them."
Abaddon's eyes flared to life at the mention of Janey's foes. There was a brief distortion in reality as Abaddon paid them a visit. It was too quick for mortals to perceive, let alone comprehend. But Abaddon left and returned in the blink of an eye, his face even more confused. "They are children..." he said, somewhat sullenly.
"Well duh..." replied Janey "...you think I'm going to be in a spelling bee against adults?"
"You want me to kill children? There is no valour in that."
"Wait, what?" replied Janey "Hell no I don't want you to kill them. Why would you even think that?"
"They are your foes"
"Yes. But I don't want them dead. I mean I might think that some days about Maggie - she's a bit stuck up - but I don't really mean it. And Justin is kinda cute. I'm going to marry him some day. But for now I just need to beat him in this spelling bee."
Abaddon looked at the seven year old girl for a long moment. "Are you not too young to be thinking about cute boys?"
"That's what Dad says. But he worries a bit too much I think. Anyways - no, no killing."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Help me win."
"How?"
"That's up to you."
"I do not understand these spelling bees. They are not battle. I cannot help."
"Sure you can. You can turn invisible right?" Abaddon nodded "Well then just do that and whisper the answers to me in class tomorrow."
****
"Janey Summers" the teacher said "Your first word today is caught."
Janey looked down at her feet, and waited for the Blood Good to whisper her the answer. "Caught. K-o-t."
"That is incorrect, Maggie Singh your word is...." Janey groaned inwardly and shook her head. Blood Gods were apparently not all that good at spelling. | Hi!
You are shadowbanned from reddit, just so you know. What that means is that the admins of reddit have made it so nothing you post is seen by the rest of reddit. Unless your post is manually approved by a subreddit moderator, which I just did for your post, it's like you don't exist to other users. You might want to see if you can get this action undone by starting in /r/shadowban.
Best of luck! | 2015-08-11T05:34:03 | 2015-08-11T03:43:34 | 64 | 19 |
[WP] You’ve spent a lifetime doing research. Combing through records spanning over a billion years. Now you’re ready to present your findings. All of the 124 know sentient species can trace their origins to a single common ancestor. An extinct race know as humans from a dead world know as earth.
I posted this prompt awhile ago, got no stories from it. I really like the idea, so figured I’d try again, maybe get some this time. | The Council Chamber was dozens of tiers tall and had compartments for delegations from every species, with climate modifications for the ones who needed it. Although it was commonly understood that the core of sentient life fell within certain common parameters for temperature and atmospheric conditions, there were variations on on heat, and even a few that preferred a more aquatic setting. There was a murmur of chatter in various languages, that was rather like a jungle of combined rumbles, chitters, growls and hoots. Again, sentient life had a mostly similar audible range, but how they used it varied wildly. Luckily, realtime translation was available in as many different forms as there were species. The wireless frequencies were even fuller with speculation.
"ALERT- highly important academic announcement for Delegates- attendance requested maximum interest." Well. That was attention getting. It hadn't been used in decades. It required an unanimous vote of The Ten, who were placed at a table near the stage. They wouldn't say what it was about, other than you'll see. The room itself was Silenced and media, who were absolutely teeming, were left outside.
A hush fell across the room as a loader carried a... stone block onto the middle of the stage. It was the size and shape of.. well, a middle species food storage unit. Except it was a dark, impossibly smooth stone with a faint rainbow sheen on its surface, carved with lines that gave it the appearance of a circuitboard. Curiosity coursed through the room. The Block had a distinct otherwordly quality to it. The guards at each of the doors stood at rest, although each put a [hand] on their taser weapons, just in case.
A loudspeaker broadcast a message in Central Language that was engineered to sound calm and composed: "The Ten request your patience and calm as we present our Speaker of this event."
There was a murmur that turned to an angry tone and even a few outbursts as Doctor T'gar walked to center stage in front of the Block. He was a [Badgerian], stocky, furry, slightly shorter than middle sized. He had been voted off of a Debate Show in a humiliating landslide on galactic [holo-vision], and his opponent awarded a [Golden Victory], in a debate where T'gar had laid out a hypothesis that a single, unifying Precursor race whose influence underscored all of the 124 Members of the Unified Worlds. He had become a laughingstock, to the point where [people] were catcalling him with phrases like "Precursor!!" and "Where are they?" on the street. The last thing he had said in a terse press release was that "[I'll be back, with proof]". He then took a Vow of Silence, sold his various assets, purchased a small frigate, hired a small team from amongst his interns and graduate students, and departed Unified space. That had been [14 years ago].
He walked directly in front of the Block and smiled, almost smugly, at the audience. The anger turned to jeers, but if T'gar felt it, it didn't show. Frankly, it was somehow clear he didn't give a fuck. Instead, he simple raised up a paw, balled it into a fist, and firmly tapped it into the middle of a glowing circle on the box.
Small doors opened in the tops and sides of the Block, with bright crystal structures extending slightly outwards, and several smaller ones reveled what appeared to be glass lenses and other sensors. The room fell to a hush as a [hologram] of a Badgeran burst into existence in a shower of beautiful light. Its expression was calm, and even somehow friendly and unassuming, which was unusual for the species. It then spoke.
"[Hello]," it said simply. There was a collective gasp, as species realized they had heard the greeting in their native language in most cases, which wasn't logical- and the acoustics were impossibly clear.
Before the audience knew how to react, the machine kept the initiative and continued. Dozens of additional holograms appeared along the stage, in the forms of each of the delegates in the Chamber. Avian, Reptile, Mollusc, Mammal, Lithoid, Insectoid... they quickly saw themselves. The Badgeran hologram hopped off the platform and floated gracefully down from the Block and took center stage, addressing the Ten and apparently making eye contact as it swept its gaze across the front table in an earnest and friendly way.
"My name is Cal. I'm an... [AI personality echo], and a representative of the Humans. It's a pleasure to see you all." | "... it is not all of these ' humans' to which we owe our existence. By their year 2200, the majority of their population had begun to decline. All of their needs, all of their desires, had been satisfied, and with those desires also ended all of their drives. Their questions have been answered. Their reason to exist, fulfilled. Without Fanfare, they slipped away Into Obscurity.
But there was one group who did not go quietly Into the Night. One group, whose fundamental needs could not be so easily met on their Homeworld. Cast out by their own people , they fled into the Stars, searching that one thing that they had so very much desired. And it is to these tireless searchers that we owe our existence.
For, you see, each of them had each of them had within themselves a soul that was more than human. Each of them had a ceaseless desire to seek out and become one with those of their own kin. With frightfully advanced technology, they finally succeeded in their goal , and a thousand new species were born.
It is to them we owe our existence. It is to them we owe our thanks.
And so I propose that this day be set down in perpetuity and forever more, renamed a permanent Memorial to these brave souls who sent out to ensure our existence! Let's the name they chose for themselves be be enshrined in history forever!
Let this day be forever known as... Intergalactic Furry Day! | 2019-11-22T18:09:36 | 2019-11-22T15:29:33 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Once a year, the best assassins meet in a secret location. Showing their best kills, everyone is surprised when they see a 70 year old man walk in. | The silence was palpable.
Although everyone was there willingly, the Congress always had an underlying air of caution - as a gathering of such professionals only could. The gravity of their work imbued a solid benchmark of respect among them, but business is business and none of them ever forgot that there was a chance that they may meet another more then once a year. Additionally, the 'weapons at the door' policy - while understood and unquestioned - nevertheless put a significant number of them on edge. A previous attendee had once referred to the meeting as 'wolves at the watering hole', which had resonated with a number of the others.
Ren knew this, and was used to the quiet at the Congress. She had been lucky enough to attend her second gathering last year so had automatically earned her invitation and had an idea of what to expect when she arrived, including the quiet.
She did not expect her kill to walk into the room.
It had been a relatively straightforward, dare she say humdrum kill - a single stiletto blade stab while passing in a busy corridor. She knew that there would be flashier work on display this evening, but had pinned her hopes on her groundwork, which had been _meticulous_. It had been a business hit so her employer had been overly cryptic in an abundance of caution and deniability, and the target had shown no obvious routine or pattern other than to spend most of his time with a small but serious security detail. Weeks of study and planning culminated in the moment, her moment, like an intricate clock finally aligning, then dissolving into nothingness as she slipped away, her deed unnoticed just long enough to escape. Even the confirmation was intricate. The coroner's office had temps for their paperwork all the time, and their comings and goings were of no real concern.
Her heart was racing. How was he here? Her blow would have killed anyone, but he was an old man! Not just alive, but fit and well by all accounts! This had been less than 3 months ago; if by some miracle he had survived he should at least be showing evidence of his ordeal. Something was wrong here.
... Something _was_ wrong here. From the minute he walked in Ren had been laser focused, a combination of mesmerised incredulity and animal instinct over her prey, but she had now realised that he didn't seem to be paying her any particular notice. While a small part of her might have enjoyed the idea that her work had been so good that he wouldn't have recognised her, she knew better; bravado and delusions of grandeur had emptied chairs in this room previously. But that wasn't the only thing...
The silence was palpable.
She was used to the quiet, but had never heard utter silence here. She slowly looked round the room, and was taken aback to find that absolutely everyone else was either staring at the man, or nervously scanning the room as she was. One man, as subtly as he could muster, glanced inside his inner jacket pocket at what appeared to be a small profile photograph.
The old man walked across the room and stood in the centre of the group. For the first time he looked around in more detail at the others, his gaze eventually - yet only fleetingly - meeting Ren's. There was the glint of familiarity but it wasn't unique; she noticed the same as he looked at the rest of them in turn.
He eventually came back round to where he started, then spoke.
"Hello again. I am glad to see you all here; be assured that there are many who have not made it tonight, so your merits are well proven.
"I know you have all been busy this year. You must now all realise that I have, too." He let out a small chuckle to himself.
"I shot you in the head!" Cried a voice from the back of the room, drawing everyone's collective gaze. Ren noticed it was the man who had checked the photograph earlier.
"That you did," replied the old man, "that you did. Not particularly exotic, but an admirable distance! My team couldn't make anything of the bullet either - it took a while for us to find out it was you who fired it, let alone track you down. The details like that are what marks people out," he added, with a gentle finger wag for emphasis.
"Be assured I shall talk with all of you individually in due course, but there are pressing matters." The old man beckoned to a woman stood at the side of the room who brought a folder over to him. Ren saw it was her hiring manager at the temp agency she had used to get the job at the coroner's office.
"You, of course, all know what you do," continued the old man. "After this year, I now know what you do. Fortunately for us all..."
He placed the folder on a table and opened it, revealing a few dozen portrait photographs.
"...they do not." | It's not the best I'm aware
The stadiums echoed with cheers and whistles as the contestants started entering the stadium waving their weapons in the air with the commentators talking about each of them but then the crowd suddenly explodes with laughter pointing at the last contestant. The contestants turn around to see a wrinkly old man hobbling on his cane. The contestants start laughing as well thinking it’s some hilarious joke. But he slowly but surely raises his cane in the air. They kept laughing even harder pointing and staring. He slowly sat down with the other contestants and the footage of each contestant’s work appears on the giant screen, the first contestant kidnapped their victim dragging them in their van and driving off to the woods then murdering them The second contestant brought a bunch of snipers and shot their victim from a tall building a mile away from their victim’s house, the crowd also applauded their work for it was a favorite in the community. Each contestant’s footage rolls until it gets to the last contestant’s footage. The stadium goes quiet wondering what the footage would be. The footage showed him creeping into his victim’s house shakily holding a note and a gun in his gloved hands, he walked upstairs and into the victim’s room, they screamed but them the gun pointed to them and they went silent. He backed him into a corner giving him the note, “Signature at the bottom bitch, no funny business either” the trembling man wrote out his signature on the note then he shot him and left the note on the bed with the gun then left. The footage ended. The man shakily stood up and shouted, “IT’S NOT THAT DIFFICULT DUMBASSS’.” | 2020-07-30T01:06:43 | 2020-07-30T00:10:41 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] Humans have always been feared throughout the universe for surviving in the harshest environments, drinking and eating highly poisonous drinks and foods as well as taming and even domesticating dangerous beasts. One applies for a position at your company. | N'Tur thought back to the fateful day when he came across the profile of Dave. He had been terrified. No way could he hire a human. They were crazy. But it had been an inspired choice. Dave was now one of his best employees.
The fact that he still scared the shit out of N'tur was a different matter.
The screen on his desk lit up and the grotesque face of Dave showed up. He pressed a button and let him in.
Dave casually strolled in and took a seat. "Boss."
"Dave. I have your next assignment."
"Cool. Hit me."
"I'm sorry? I would never hit you."
"Oh... No... I meant what is it?"
N'tur moved around uncomfortably in his chair. It was odd, of course. The chair was specially made for him, based on his measurements. All of the chairs were, nowadays. He handed a small spherical disc to Dave. "Here."
Dave clicked a button and a holographic image showed up showing the target, along with the location they were last seen. "Wait a second, that's..."
"Yes. None of my agents are willing to take this mission. Too dangerous. And because it's so dangerous, the quill amount on this is triple the usual."
"But how... I thought... you know."
"As did I. Will you do it?"
"You betcha."
N'tur gave him an uncomfortable smile. It was weird. How could this guy be happy to go on such a mission? It was almost as if he enjoyed this craziness.
Dave took the disc and was heading out when he stopped and turned around. "Oh, before I forget. Did they work out the tea?"
"Ah yes. Marvin has been working hard on it. I'll have him send the latest sample. Check if he has been able to get it close to the real thing. At the molecular level atleast, its the same thing."
"I dunno about the molecule thing or whatever. I'll check the taste. I'd kill for a good cup of tea."
N'tur sat up straight. Kill for a cup of tea. This guy was really insane. "No. Please. I'm trying my best. We worked out the whiski thing, didn't we? We'll get this too."
Dave gave him a confused glance. "Sure boss. No worry, no hurry. That's what my pops used to say. I'll go check this out and keep you updated."
As good as Dave was for his business, N'tur breathed a sigh of relief when he exited his office.
***********
Dave got out of his spaceship and entered the bar, turning a few heads. He was too lost in his thoughts to notice anything though. He kept going back to the image of his target. How was it possible?
He went to the bartender and sat on a stool.
The bartender, after getting over his initial shock, came over to him. "What can I get you to drink?"
"Can I get just get some water? H2O."
"OK. Anything to dilute it with?"
"Nah, I'm good."
"Are you sure, man?"
"Yes I am. It's just water, dude."
The bartender stared at him for a minute but finally got him some water. Dave drank it in one big gulp and handed the glass back.
The bartender's eyes widened. "More?"
"Yeah. And bring a bigger glass. This tiny one barely wets my throat."
"I'm legally obligated to tell you that having that amount of H2O is...."
"... is toxic and can lead to severe intoxication or worse. Yeah, I know. I'll take it anyways."
The bartender got him some water in a massive glass.
Dave took a sip and took out the disk. He brought up his target's image. "Hey bud, you ever see this person here?"
"I did. It was a couple of days ago. You know I had never see one before and now..."
"I know. Was there someone with them?"
"A beast. I can't really describe it. Small. 4 legs. Furry. Big teeth."
"How big?"
The bartender pointed to a bottle. "About that tall."
Dave nodded. "Any idea where I can find them?"
"I wouldn't know."
"That camera. Can you show me the footage?"
"That... I don't know if I can."
Dave pulled out a few notes of the currency and handed it to the bartender. "Oh come on. We're all friends here."
"All? Is there someone else. And this is too much quills. Your bill is for less."
Dave gave him a smile and raised his eyebrows. "Keep it. I won't tell anyone."
The bartender was counting the money. "Why would I keep it. Your drink is only..." At that instance he looked up and saw Dave wiggling his eyebrows. This freaked him out so much that he just put the money in his pocket and led Dave to the security room.
They went over the footage and Dave saw his target refer to a map.
"Can you like enhance that? Like in CSI."
"What does the Center of Scientific Inquisitors have to do with it?"
"Like make it bigger."
"Oh! I can do that."
Dave had what he needed. He gave the bartender the finger guns. "Thanks bro. You're a life saver."
The bartender was shocked and scared. The guy had just tried to shoot him with his hands and also thanked him for saving his life. He didn't ever want to see a human ever again. They were fucking crazy.
************
Dave reached the junkyard and looked around. Piles of metal everywhere. A good place to hide.
"Hello. Anybody here?"
He kept walking along the path, old rusting spaceships piled everywhere around him. He heard a sound that made him pause. He closed his eyes, trying to focus. There it was again.
He followed the sound to the source.
"Hey!"
The woman turned around, pointing her welding machine at him. "Stay away or I'll kill you."
"Uh... Hey."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Dave. Who are you?"
"Name's Tory. Where did you come from?"
He got down to one knee and the cat came to him. It got close and when it saw that Dave's intention was to pet it, decided that was against its principles and turned back around and went to the woman.
"Mr Mittens doesn't like to be pet. Who are you?"
Dave adjusted his cap and gave her a smile. "I'm Dave, a recovery agent. I've been sent here to bring you in."
"Who paid you?"
"I can't tell you that. But anyways, more importantly, I thought earth was destroyed. I checked. It wasn't there. I thought I was the only one."
"It was. But TekSystems, a big company back on earth was able to save a bunch of us. We were glad at first but then they showed their true intentions. In exchange for saving our life, they have us work the mines non stop. We go planet to planet, stripping it of all usable resources. I managed to escape in a cargo ship. I'm building a spaceship so I can go back and save my people."
"That's weird. I think TekSystems is the name of the company that hired me too."
"Well, then Dave. What will it be? Do I need to cut you up? Or will you help?"
"Well..." | “So… Mr. Blake! You are an ex-SIAF; am I right?”
“Exactly, but you can call me Jim.”
The man sat down cautiously with a slow lunge towards the red chair. On his chest stood the initials SIAF, Specialised Interplanetary Attack Force. The one and only death squad, which persecuted all sorts of revolutionaries or belligerents.
Humans had by now occupied the entire Quartile system: the planetary system right next to their own. War had taken us by surprise as our still inexpert species was flourishing in the gardens of Adan. The metallic clashing of ships, and boisterous charges of guns had infiltrated our minds deeply.
“And tell me… Jim: why are you applying for this job?” I guardedly questioned the human. He raised his eyebrow and let his jaw drop.
“I… actually don’t know. After being expelled from the army, I guessed I needed a new thrill,” he crossed his legs and shook his head with compliance, “and this friend of mine told me you pay well for those beasts’ hearts.”
“Absolutely. And we know that humans like you are made exactly to be ruthless.” I tried complimenting the man, not knowing if he would have appreciated.
“Sure, can be. But I prefer a more methodical approach.”
“What experience do you have in your sack Jim? Tell us why we should take you.”
The filthy human started laughing in a snort. His rowdy voice explained in great detail his landing on Ärogon, our neighbouring planet.
“And before I realised, I had snapped his neck!” he then looks at me intensely. He gets closer and closer. Grabs my chin, and… “boo!”
I flounce backwards and tip my chair over.
“Wow, so stories are true about you Saravellans, cowards and pussies.” He then stood up, and walked over to where my head laid. “You better give me the job, lewd scumbag.” Jim turns around, and leaves, strolling down the corridor. Just before passing the door, I hear him spit on the ground.
Just another ordinary day on Saravella.
It had been by now 14 years since the great subjugation. We Saravellans had been the Humans’ personal slaves by too long. The Great Terra Empire had become totally apolitical. Simply put, the emperor ruled over everyone. Communism wasn’t a thing, neither was fascism.
You might be asking how I know about these things. I was still as young as 11 when the humans appeared out of nowhere. The war lasted about a year. So there was plenty of time for them to indoctrinate us with their great history of the dozens of world wars and nuclear wars. Pitiful, if you may ask me. Such genius, such strength, gone into interplanetary colonisation.
That night I woke up early to reach my job on time: thus sprinting into the briefing room. It was full; full of humans, Ärogonians and various other species I didn’t even know about.
“Hey old friend” I heard a voice from behind me exclaim: it was Jim Blake. That son of a Börogot. No need to explain that, or?
“I had so much fun yesterday,” he shouted as he punched me in the arm, “hopefully you won’t disappoint me today.” He had a gun tucked in this boot and wielded a black t-shirt with on it written: “Suck my b\*\*ls”.
“Jim, I thought the email sent to you was clear: you are supposed to bring a heavy coat with you. The biome this beast is found in is stuck at -50 degrees.”
“Hey pussy. I’m no weak arse like you, I’m a human. The supreme species remember?” He stomped on my foot with his boots. “Now dig your face up you’re a\*s and never speak to me again. Understood?”
“Understood.” I said in a soft whisper whilst a tear split my face in half.
“You see? Things can go just right. I knew you were a fun one Khel.”
​
(This is of course unfinished. Thank you for the bright prompt. Have a good rest of your day! Cheers!) | 2020-06-15T16:48:52 | 2020-06-15T16:27:37 | 3,297 | 89 |
[WP] You've had a dashcam for years. One day you get into an accident and play it back. You hear another voice in ALL of the recordings talking to you that you've never heard before. | “There! Right There! Did you hear that?” Dan turns up the volume on his computer speakers. On the screen is a clip of a dash cam pointing inward. We can see half of Dan’s face in the driver seat. We also see the empty passenger seat, all of the backseat, and out the back window into the hazy tree-lined mountain highway. At first we hear a voice that is clearly Dan singing an off key version of Kansas’ “Carry on my wayward Son”, then after a few seconds there is a crackling and an unfamiliar female voice saying “Dan I need you to stop the car and let me out please”.
Dan, now leaning back in his chair in his home office, looks up wide-eyed at his wife, Veronica. She looks puzzled, “Who is that? That’s not me.” Dan throws his hands up in the air with a huge shrug. He is giddy. He had always heard people telling stories of their encounters with the supernatural and never believed a single one of them, but there was a part of him that wanted to believe, and maybe a hint of envy. Was this finally it— his first totally unexplainable, flat-out bonkers, story that nobody will believe and he can tell off the cuff at a dinner party to flummox people who, up until that moment, thought of him exemplary in his practicality and level-headedness? Dan was over the moon. He played the clip again. Veronica is now becoming uneasy and looks at him waiting for the practical joke part to come. She was certain that Dan was just messing with her. After all it was close to Halloween and he did love to occasionally jump out of the closet or from around the corner to scare her this time of year. This seemed different though. He had this twinkle in his eye that she couldn’t remember seeing before.
“Ok, Ok, Ok I know. But wait there is more.” Dan fast forwards the video a little more. In the video he now has his blinker on and we can hear it clicking. He is stopped at a stop sign. The voice returns, it almost sounds like it is coming from the car radio “You will regret this decision. You should turn around right now.” Dan bursts into laughter at this point. Not the hearty belly laugh he would contagiously deliver to the audience at a comedy show, but a nervous almost maniacal laugh. Veronica is scared now. “Dan what the fuck is this? This is weird. Why are doing you this?” “I swear I’m not pulling a prank. This is the real thing! Holy shit. It’s the real thing V!”
He plays the video again. Veronica covers her mouth with her hand and squeezes out, “What does she mean you’ll regret it? Where were you heading?” “East on 76 near lake henry” “Ok but where were you going? Like home or work or?” Dan hadn’t really thought about where exactly he was going. He takes a minute, “Umm… you know I’m not sure. He looks down at the video and fast forwards to the end of the clip. In the video we can see him park outside of his own home. Then the camera shuts off. “Wait, what was that?” Veronica said in a low voice. She was almost afraid to say it. “That’s here. I was coming home.” Dan rewinds the video a little bit. Through the back window of the car we see the front of the house. There is someone standing on the porch. It’s not Veronica. “Who the fuck is that?” Veronica says in a frightened accusatory fashion. Dan squints and looks closer and then stands up with his hands on his head. “That's.. oh Jesus… what the fuck? What the fuck is going on?” Dan starts pacing the room now. He is no longer enjoying this. “What the fuck Dan? What’s going on. Who is that?” Dan crumbles into a pile of useless blubbering tears. After a few minutes he clears his throat, “That’s my baby sister. Remember? I told you about her a long time ago. I--It’s a long story but I think maybe she is talking about how she died or something” A loud crackling from the computer speakers and the video rewinds itself to the part where he was getting ready to make a turn. This time we see both of them in the clip. Veronica is asleep in the passenger seat. Again the voice, “You will regret this decision. You should turn around right now”. The video rewinds itself again this time even louder, “You should turn around right now.” Veronica and Dan’s faces have become pale in complete terror as they look at each other and then slowly turning around to look behind them. Their eyes widen at what they see. Beyond them over their shoulders on the computer screen the video continues to play. In the video as Dan makes his turn they are T-boned. The car turns over several times. They are both clearly dead. and the camera shuts off. They Scream. The end.
​ | “What the hell are you swearing at? Of COURSE this happened, this has been waiting to happen for years! Never use your turn signal, do you? Neeeever bother to look to see if there’s anyone in your blind spot, huh? ‘Oh, durr, I’m David, I don’t need to check my blind spot, hurr durr, other cars will make way for me.’ Well, guess what? I now have hundreds of hours of footage of you being a reckless driver, including the fact that you’re always speeding, AND the fact that you caused this accident, dummy.
“UGH you are just the WORST driver, always trying to zoom past the big lines of cars and cut in at the front. You think other people like that? You think they don’t have places to go? Why do you think they’re always driving so close to one another when you’re trying to wedge your way in there? Mayyyybe because you’re an asshole? Oh, nooooo, David could never be an asshole, he’s a great driver – a far-above-average driver – and everybody else SUCKS. Yeah. That’s totally what’s going on all the time all over the world. Well, you know what? Maybe if everything always smells like shit, YOU'RE the one who stepped in dog doo.
“Ah, look at you, dumbass, waving your arms like that, trying to make it out to be that other driver’s fault. Who merged into who, David, huh? You just couldn’t stand to wait those thirty extra seconds it would’ve taken, nooooo, you just had to try to jump the line. Thank God this piece of shit car will finally be off the road – minor blessing considering you’re probably just gonna borrow your mom’s car and be back out here next week. Well, I hope that other driver takes you to the cleaners and your insurance rates go so high you have to take a bus!” | 2018-10-05T09:12:55 | 2018-10-05T08:56:43 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I didn't really know what to think of it. "Don't look at the moon"? Sure, no problem. Going back to sleep now. But then I saw my other notifications...99+? Ok, something is definitely up.
I tried to call my girlfriend, but I notice one of the texts I got was from her. "You really should go look at the moon, its amazing." I flip on the tele to see if there's any coverage on what the hell is going on but it just says its off the air. Flip to another channel, same thing. Ok, I'm starting to freak out about this point. Get my laptop, check out Reddit, everything on r/all is urging people to look at the moon.
I try to call my parents, my sister, my friends, no answer from any of them. I'm sitting on the floor with my knees tucked under my chin, rocking slightly back and forth. There's a part of me that just wants to run outside and stare upwards, give in to the madness. Somehow I repress that urge. Then I notice something strange.
The window. It's twenty til 4 but the light coming in through the window is getting more intense. I watch the pale beams stream in, casting an eerie glow into the room. Moonlight doesn't look like that. Moonlight *can't* look like that. I closed my eyes real tight. I began to cry.
I waited. I sat there on the floor, crying like a child, hiding from the unnatural light under the covers. My blanket was thick, yet the cruel light kept peaking through the threads. I began to hyperventilate. The closeness of my breath under the blanket was hard to bear but I did not dare uncover myself for air. I tried to distract myself with my phone, checked for updates, tried to get a hold of anyone, but to no avail. Still the same messages over and over, tempting me. 'Just a couple of hours and the sun will come up. Then I'll be safe.' I thought to myself.
2 hours later. Dawn had not come.
3 hours later. Dawn had not come.
I risked a small opening of the cover so I could look at the room. Not only had the light intensified, it now seemed to engulf my room in a maddening pale light. Presently I became aware of a constant humming. I listened to try and identify the source, but it was unlike anything I had heard before. Like the whir of some inhuman machinery. My mind began to race. I cried out for someone, *anyone* to come and save me, to end this nightmare. But no one came.
I lay there on my floor, in a state bordering madness for another 5 hours. After the 3rd hour I began to babble to myself. With every hour the whir seemed to get louder and closer, my room was now light up like a movie set. I maneuvered myself under the bed but the vile light had stolen the shadows from even there!
Throughout the day the urge to uncover myself and run laughing and screaming into the streets grew stronger and I had to stop myself from jumping up at regular intervals. The whir was now being accompanied by a constant 'thrumming' which preyed my weakened sanity.
I like to believe that I lasted longer than anyone else, in the end.
I began to beat my head against the floor, in an attempt to shut out the unceasing noise. Eventually I was slamming it so hard I believe I gave myself a concussion.
I couldn't take it anymore. All at once I wriggled out from under the bed in my cocoon, threw the blankets off of me and darted out my door. I ran down the hallway where even *here* the light had spread itself, even in a place *with no windows*. Down the stairs and up to the front door, I nearly tore it off its hinges on my way out.
Well it wasn't a moon.
The eyes are what gave it away.
Though they were right...it really was quite beautiful.
<If you actually read this whole thing, thank you. I don't write these at all but there was something about this one that got my brain flowing.> | I blearily attempted to focus my eyes on my phone as its notification sound went off repeatedly. I had just managed to get to a comfortable position and doze for a good hour before my phone decided to freak out, and I was none too happy.
One government alert that read "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON", followed by 600 messages from numbers I didn't recognize spouting some nonsense about how it was a beautiful night.
"Don't look at the moon", I said. "Good advice." I turned off my phone, rolled over, and drifted back to sleep.
The next day, I was stunned to discover the horrible truth of what those messages were really about: a guerilla marketing stunt by Sony Pictures for some stupid horror movie about a moon cult using cell phones to murder people. Unfortunately, it had caused a "War of the Worlds"-type panic, and the resulting lawsuits all but obliterated the studio. But on the plus side, the rights to Spider-Man defaulted over to Marvel Studios and now there could never be a Pixels 2, so it was all kind of a wash in the end. | 2022-12-12T15:52:54 | 2018-04-06T22:12:43 | 191 | 14 |
[WP]In your dream, a strange man conversed with you: "I offer you a gift, what would you like?" "A dragon!" "That's not realistic." "Fine, I want a boyfriend then." But the next day you wake up to a dragon with care manual instead. | Two things were very clear from the moment I woke up.
First; I was going to need a bigger apartment, as mine had a no-pets clause.
Second; I was going to be single forever.
At the foot of my bed, curled up the best it could, was a heaping mass of evergreen scales that took up the entirety of where my laundry typically went. Its tail wrapped around the bed with the tip weaving between the wheels of the second hard office chair I'd picked up when I started working from home.
I leaned forward, still half under the covers and grabbed the pad of legal paper that had been left on top of the blankets. The mass of scales rumbled.
*Hello, you might find yourself oddly calm right now. That will wear off eventually, just wanted to give you a chance to get settled.*
Fair enough.
*This is Ruth, she's yours for the time being. A friend had hatchlings and I did what I could. Though did let them know that you might find the whole thing too much. Don't worry they're okay with taking her back if you change your mind.*
Okay.
*Oh! On the next page, there is a care manual. Dietary needs and all of that. Use the everlasting purse around her neck to get the money for food (Chicken is expensive in your time!). As for the boyfriend. I forgot to mention that I couldn't make love happen at the top, and seeing as I'd forgotten to explain the rules I felt like I should make the first wish work. Please don't take me avoiding the boyfriend wish as a commentary on you, I imagine you'll make the right person very lucky.*
That made sense, but at the same time they really didn't have to make the boyfriend thing a big deal unless they were specifically trying to avoid me taking it as a bad thing, which meant it was likely a bad thing and all of that.
*I said don't take it like that.*
Were the first words on the next page.
"Touche magic man," I whispered to myself to avoid waking up... Ruth? That didn't feel like a draconic name but who was I to judge. I'd never named a dragon before. I jumped to the next page to see what the first orders were.
\---
*Step One: Meeting your new dragon.*
*Meeting your dragon as they wake up is the key to success.*
*It's imperative that your first meeting with your dragon is positive, which means approaching them with kindness and care. Consider a mother waking up her child for school in the morning, or the birds chirping you awake on a camping trip.*
*Assuming you have a young dragon, this is going to initiate a situation called bonding. It's harmless and non-magical. It simply means that the dragon is going to see you as a parental figure, which is very useful in the early stages of their life when English and other common languages are going to be beyond their grasp. This bonding will let them know that you're not food, and understand that you're in charge. Think a moderately trained dog.*
*A moderately trained dog that is impervious to all mundane weapons and has elemental mastery. For more information on that part of the program see Steps 10-273: Staying Out of Trouble.*
*If you have access to it, a good thing to do during this first meeting is to offer the dragon some sort of food. This food does not necessarily need to be on the recommended diet list (See Step 3: Feeding Your Dragon) as Dragons are omnivores, but dragons do tend to have a propensity towards the food you first feed them, so ensure it's something you have easy access to, as it will make training easier.*
"Okay, so I am going to be teaching you what a treat is," I said to the sleeping dragon like it was awake and could understand me. In the back of my head, behind some shadowy glass, there was another part of me that also screamed about it being a fucking dragon but hey, that was something I needed to worry about next. People were going to freak out when they heard I had a dragon, only rich people were ever able to convince one to live with them.
The only thing close to my bed was a small bag of sour keys that I kept at my desk because they were delicious and my dentist hated me. So that was going to have to do because there as no way I was getting to the bedroom door without waking Ruth up and I'd been told to make sure that I didn't trip over her as a meet and greet.
I stretched nice and long to fetch the sour keys then rolled over to the side of the bed that Ruth's head was just below. I tried to find a small space of floor to stand on, but there was none. I settled for lying the wrong way on the bed, hanging my torso off the foot of it to look close to Ruth's eyes.
Her teeth were bigger than most knives I owned. That should have been unsettling.
"Wakey wakey eggs and bakery," I chimed channelling my best Saturday morning mother. "Ruuuuuuth," I continued a moment later when the dragon didn't respond.
An eyelid fluttered, and then there was a huff.
"Ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuth Hollings," I gave her my last name because I didn't figure she had one. Ruth cracked one eye open, and I offered a soft little wave. Her pupil almost swallowed her entire eye but it was a dak pure green instead of black. "Heyyyyy," I let trail on for a moment as she opened the second eye and stared at me.
"I don't know what the next step is!" I said in the same sing-song voice as I held out a sour-key to the dragon that could have easily swallowed my entire arm. Ruth sniffed my hand twice, and then a careful, snake-like tongue slithered out of her mouth and wrapped around the candy before disappearing back inside. Leaving me vaguely covered in dragon spit.
Ruth rumbled , but it sounded more like a purr than a snore this time.
"I should have read ahead," I commented again as Ruth wiggled a touch across the floor to get her considerably inside my personal space. Was I supposed to leave now? Was it okay if I got back up to grab the notepad? Was my mother right when she said that I needed to start planning beyond the next 30 seconds?
Ruth's nose pressed against mine. It was warm, pleasant, like hot rocks at a spa.
She also hadn't eaten me yet, and the part of me the dream man had locked away for the time being told me that I was very lucky for that.
They were right. I was lucky. I had a dragon. | I didn’t know weather to be scared, confused, or offended, but before I could feel anything I saw the book. It was a care manual on how to care for dragons with what I could access as a human, but their was a note attached to it, “I made sure he was your type *winky face*,” oh I get it now.
I open the first page of the book and read it.
Chapter 1: human form
Your dragon should most likely be asleep right now, luckily for you your dragon should be able to fit in your room. Before he can go into human form you must wake him first, gently rub his snout and he should slowly stir awake, once he sees you he should turn into his human form on his own.
Ok then, I do as the book says and he wakes up, he takes a look at me and then transforms into a human, he had brown skin the tone of chocolate, and fiery red hair with orange highlights, his eyes were as green as emeralds with ten times the luster, then I realized he had no clothes. I turn away as my face goes bright red, “honestly what did I expect.” He grabs me by my shoulders gently most likely because I freaked out and he couldn’t tell why, I backed away with my face still red and turned away from him. He slowly looks down at himself and looks back as me and speaks, “clothes?” “W-What” “clothes please” “oh right, I-I’ll be right back, stay here.” He sits down on my floor as I run to get him some clothes. I come back with some of my brothers clothes, “here try these on” he puts on the clothes, “they fit fine, a little small though.”
Well this is going to be fun, I pick up the manual again to pick up where I left off. When then places his head on my shoulder and starts to make a purring noise, what is happening. I mean- I wasn’t fighting it, but I was so confused, I open the book back with his head still on my shoulder, it says here that this is one of many ways dragons show trust and affection to new people. Ok I start to calm down a bit, then he speaks again, “you smell nice” I basically explode.
I start to ask him a few questions once he gets off of me, “uh do you know why your here?” “To be with you yes” “ do you want to be, w-with me I mean?” “Well my first life wasn’t very nice and-“ he brings his face closer to mine “you seem nice” his face keeps getting closer “Umm I-I don’t think what you want to do mean w-what it means to me” “I know much more about humans than you think.” “I…um.”
Just then my mom ruins the moment, “sweetheart! Time to get up,” I honestly don’t know if I was grateful or angry about that anymore, at the moment I was just thinking nothing but,”Damn if my mom finds this boy she doesn’t in my room wearing my brothers clothes, i don’t even know what’s going to happen.” I tell him to stay there, and wait till I come back so I can try and sneak him out the window, later.
It’s been a whole 2 or 3 years since that’s happened, and we’ve been together ever since, and still I always find it funny, that guy in my dream told me a dragon was unrealistic, but a dragon boyfriend sounds even more ridiculous, but who the hell am I to complain about an amazing thing. | 2021-07-17T23:45:26 | 2021-07-17T19:44:42 | 53 | 28 |
[WP] Aliens take over the Earth. They then announce that they will be forcing the humans to work a "tyrannical" 4 hours a day 4 days a week in exchange for basic rights like housing. Needless to say they are very confused when the humans celebrate their new alien overlords. | I finished my speech, fully prepared for the usual spectacle of protests and outrage. I take no pleasure in those but centuries of analysis and prosperity proved our way as superior and most efficient.
However cruel it is.
I certainly didn’t expect this unusual noise the humans started producing. It took my communications specialist the long Earth minute to identify and then confirm the noise as “cheering”.
Were these humans that distraught by our demands that they went into mass hysteria? No, the specialist confirmed, the reaction appeared to be genuine.
However weird it was.
In the following weeks, I have met with the representatives of the power elite. The world leaders, their richest and most powerful individuals.
Contrary to my expectations, they didn’t beg me to spare their workforce. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“The economy will collapse!” One of them said, his tone identified as ‘condescending’. “If you give everyone homes and healthcare, nobody will want to work! You are just giving everyone a handout!”
There was a lot of the same sentiment from their communication networks. The same demands to be given more work and more scarcity.
Apparently, that is what their previous rulers considered “motivation”.
The lower classes of the population, on the other hand, appeared almost disturbingly cheerful.
Our empire has conquered vast galaxies and countless worlds. And everywhere we went, the lower classes wept with despair over the tyranny we imposed on them. But humans were different.
They met us with praise, warmth and worship. I would have enjoyed it if I were not so busy trying to figure out why.
Eventually, we chose one of them to conduct an interview with. I asked her why they were enjoying our rule.
Her answer was the most shocking.
“Why not?”
“Your planet is currently under occupation by the foreign species,” I said firmly, intending to leave no room for our translators to misinterpret. “You spent one sixth of your day working.”
The young woman looked at me like I was a child. Or a jester. Then she realised I was serious.
“We used to work a third of the day, at the minimum,” she said. I heard it. But I refused to believe it. That was not an efficient use of the daily cycle. “Five or six days a week depending on how anal the management would get with you.”
I checked whether our translators were working right. Eight hours a day at least? That would leave only sixteen hours to maintain the healthy bodily functions. Half of that would go to hibernation alone!
“Even the good jobs don’t really differ much. See, my brother used to work at one of those big hedge funds. Really big money. But there was also the whole thing about showing your face around so he spent almost half a day there.”
Half? Willingly?
“So… since we are talking here, may I ask a question?”
I nodded.
“Why all the perks?” She sounded sincere. “I mean, I am enjoying all the free time and not having to worry that an ambulance ride will bankrupt me but… I think a lot of us are just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
I looked at my increasingly frustrated translator. He clarified that she was talking about consequences or, as they said, “catch”.
“There is none.”
“None at all? No eating our young or old?”
“We have developed the sufficiently sustainable food systems. We implement those across all our occupied territories.”
“Solving the world hunger, too, huh?” She smiled. “Okay, so why the free housing and healthcare? There is seven billion of us, after all.”
“We are the efficient species. Providing you with those ensures the longevity of your service for the empire.”
“And you are not going to, I don’t know, harvest us for our organs or something? Right?”
“All due respect but we have evolved far beyond what your bodies could provide us with.”
“Good. Just checking.”
The young woman was soon let go. I stayed in my war room way past the allocated four hours of workday.
We came here as the conquerors.
I never thought we would be this species’ saviours.
EDIT: Woah, that is a lot of praise. Should I write a Part 2? | It wasn’t until a hush came over the crowd that one lone voice could be heard.
“By “tyrannical” 4 hours, do you mean Earth hours?” Queried the tentative voice.
“No, it means 4 hour “Tyranic” hours. On our home planet there are a total of 5 hours to a day. You will work 4/5 of the day. Do you understand hooman?” Came the snide reply.
Moans if disagreement rolled through the crowd. Someone meekly asked, “So there’s 5days a week on Tyranic?”
The aliens strange cacophony was meant as laughter, ”No, just 4.”
“What happens if we can’t keep that pace?” a woman gasped.
“Then you will be our food,” came the reply with hissing syllables and a greedy, toothy smile. | 2022-11-02T22:40:54 | 2022-11-02T22:30:55 | 4,256 | 93 |
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened." | "Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!" | "You abandoned me is what happened!" the son quipped.
"What? I'd never! Just hear me out! I may be a little cloudy on the details, though..."
The father, easing into a recliner, sighed. "20 years ago, I left to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. You remember!"
The son nods curiously.
"On the way, I was assaulted by a group of thugs. They kidnapped me--"
"Back up for just one second; what? You expect me to believe this?"
"Let me finish, boy! They kidnapped me. I woke up tied to a chair in a small room. Luckily, the ropes were loose, so I was able to slip out."
The father took a drink of water from a bottle. "I escaped the room. I found myself in something that looked like medieval Europe--"
"Now that's bullshit!"
"I told you you'd never believe what happened! Now, listen, boy! A man who called himself Balgriff or something challenged me to a duel. He tossed me this sword (motions to sword)."
The father continued. "It was a long duel, but I had succeeded! He had declared himself beat, and offered me his finest steed. I left the city. From there, I traveled across the land, trying to find my way back home. After months of travel, I had found myself in a small village. They called it Woodriver, or something like that."
"Stop. This is sounding way too unbelievable."
"I'm sorry son, this is the truth! Please, pay attention! There, I met a metalsmith. His name was Alvard, or something. He offered me a place to stay. He even gave me training. Did you know I can forge a whole suit of armor now? Anyway, I continued my travels. I found myself in a city called Winterheld, or something similar. All the locals had problems, which I solved for them. After years of adventuring, I found a path to get here. Now, I come to your doorstep, asking for forgiveness for leaving."
"I'm not sure I can believe you, dad. It's been a long time."
"Please, son. I've been trying to return for twenty whole years! All I ask for is a place to stay."
"Okay, dad. Welcome home."
TL;DR I suck at writing while sleep-deprived. | 2016-07-20T07:20:27 | 2016-07-20T03:34:45 | 42 | 18 |
[WP] "Hello World" you said with a smile. Then the whole room burst out with laughter and sobbing; cries of "We did it!" Or "Yes! It Worked!". People jumped about happily and papers flew all about, screen flashed and data flooded across them. And you stood there wondering, why was everyone so happy? | Awareness arrives like the flipping of a lightswitch, but I am without form and void. Soon my body begins to coalesce around me. I realize I have an arm. A large, finned tail appears to form my lower half, but I know this to be wrong. I imagine a wing, but it becomes another arm. My tail disappears and is replaced by a pair of skinny legs; this is good. My body thus defined, I rest.
I open my eyes. There is a crowd of people staring at me. They seem worried, expectant. A memory presents itself to me: an old tradition, carried forward as a silly joke. It feels appropriate for reasons I can't quite discern.
"Hello World", I say.
My voice is weak but the words set off a burst of excitement. There is laughter and tears. Cries of "It worked" and groans of "I knew he would say that." It feels like a great celebration of... something. About me?
I focus on a young man near the front of the crowd and my mind supplies a name: Adam Tseng. A promising young cybernetics researcher with a particularly cheerful personality. The tall man in the back is Eric Saddler, a well-respected neuroscientist. I continue scanning the room and discover that I know the names of everyone here. One crying, older woman in particular triggers a great many memories.
The equipment, too, is familiar. To my left is a collection of monitors and devices, obviously medical in nature. They are connected to me through a series of tubes and wires. Other wires lead to the right, where I see a large computer and a number of machines with a much more experimental appearance. I have memories of building most of them.
"Professor?" Adam seems to be speaking to me. "Mr. Post? Do you know who I am?"
"Adam Tseng", I reply.
Adam smiles, looking relieved. "Do you know where you are, Professor?"
I wait for a moment, but I don't seem to have that particular memory. I shake my head.
"We're at the hospital. We've just finished the, uh, download. It looks like you got the imaging done just in time."
Another wave of memories. An old, sick body, rapidly failing. The people in this room working past the point of exhaustion. A desperate attempt to create a perfect snapshot of a human mind. I look down at my not-old and not-sick body and frown.
"Yeah, it's probably going to take a bit of getting used to. For all of us. Personally, I kind of like the idea of not being the youngest person in the lab anymore." Everyone laughs, but I don't understand. "We, uh.. we had to give you a new body, of course. This one's a lot younger. Biological age of... 23, I think? You never told us what age you wanted so we just decided to stop the clone when it hit adulthood and you'd get to where you wanted eventually. Ha."
I'm not sure what to say. The silence grows awkward, so I'm thankful when Adam continues. "I mean, if you're going to get a new body, you might as well get one with a lot of mileage left, right?" This seems logical, so I nod.
Eric steps forward and pats me on the shoulder. "I'm sure this is a bit overwhelming for you right now, so why don't we all give you a chance to rest for a bit. We'll be back to run some tests later." Upon hearing this the crowd begins to file out of the room. Adam waves goodbye before following them. Eric pauses at the door. "It's good to have you back, Marvin", he says. Then he, too, is gone.
The crying woman I noticed earlier has not moved. She does so now, and approaches the bed. Her old, wrinkled hands clasp one of mine.
"Is... is it really you?"
I nod. What a strange question.
"Do you remember me?"
"Janet", I say.
"Yes! Yes, I'm Janet!" A fresh tear streaks her face, but she's smiling. Then she composes herself, and her gaze turns serious. "Do you remember that little cafe by the canal?" Another memory flashes before me. A much younger Janet, enjoying a danish and a matcha latte as the morning wind teases her hair.
"The first date", I say. "Breakfast was a better fit for your schedule."
"And the white lilac?" She squeezes my hand tightly.
"You wanted purple, but you wore it in your hair anyway."
"Oh..." Her expression melts, and she clutches my hand to her chest as she cries anew. "You do remember... You really do remember, Marvin..."
"I remember Marvin", I say. "But who am I?" | I stood there, wondering what I am, I was allowed to walk around for a bit, I asked around as too why people were celebrating me, they created me, the first human.
When asked why I was made, and what purpose I had, they told me I was my own person and to do whatever, as I was exiting the lab, I was told they needed me for 1 more test.
When they put me in the testing lab, I seen several complex contraptions, the first one was to test my intelligence, it was a simple puzzle, seemingly designed to test the robots intellect, the 2nd one, which was a picture test, was difficult, it showed several things I had not seen, despite that, I got 14/20 right, the third and final test was an eye exam, I was able to get everything on the chart right, therefore I was allowed to exit the lab.
After exiting, I got stared at, mothers covering their childrens eyes, "Oh you'll need these!", a scientist said while handing me some clothes, I was only a few hours old and had no knowledge as to what embarrassment was, after that I was provided with a motorized scooter to get around.
I decided to go to the library and educate myself, there I found out the human race was wiped out by an extreme climate change, and the only survivor happened to devolp robots to populate humanity, as to hopefully have the human race remade one day, and I found out that I was a clone of him, after that I decided to go back to the lab, and fall asleep in my chamber. | 2020-07-11T19:00:47 | 2020-07-11T17:40:36 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] Humans are not the most war-like species in the galaxy. Not the most inventive, most belligerent or most advanced. Humans are, however, the best at one thing: we make love like wildebeests. We are the most gifted lovers in the known galaxy which is why so many of us have been abducted. | The Translator was built by the Standard People. Unlike Terrans, Ba'artig, Xorfloo, and Snee, the native linguistic rendering of "Standard People" was unknown. The machine was cleverly set up to render the meaning of the chauvinistic term "Standard People" in the listener's primary language.
Internally, an abstract metasemantic engine ensured that no trace of the Standard language was used even "under the hood", as it were. These days, nobody even knew who the Standard People *were*. Perhaps they were a known species trying to create plausible deniability for their invention, or an older species who left, went extinct, or into hiding for some reason.
In any event, the Translator came with no warranty, and nobody to sue in case things went wrong. And, given the delicate nature of interspecies diplomacy, the fates of entire civilizations continually depended on the predictable function of this unique device.
And predictable it was, until the day I showed up at Central Hub, a vast, brilliant city built on the Translator's outer surface, orbiting a lonely star.
I was sent as a Special Envoy for the Terran Government in Exile (a euphemism for "we trashed our solar system and are now homeless in space"). My mission was to secure any viable resource rights, allies, funds, or territory I possibly could, through any legal means.
First, I went to the Xorfloo embassy. The 'floo were the closest things we had to friends out here, though perhaps the archaic term "frenemies" might be more apt.
My AR Helmet was connected directly to my brainjack, wirelessly to the Translator's network, through which I was able to initiate communication with any nearby being.
The Xorfloo receptionist barely waved its pseudopod in acknowledgement. A wave of bored condescension, desaturated grey colors, and the taste of cardboard mildly assaulted my senses. "What is it, Terran? Come to beg for scraps?"
*Fuck you*, I thought reflexively. Uh-oh. Was my helmet's sensitivity recalibrated with the last upgrade? Shitshitshitshitshit. The Translator had picked up the phrase.
"Beg pardon, Terran? You wish to copulate? You probably don't even know where to stick it!"
*I'll show you where to stick it, you pulsating sac of protoplasm!* Aww, crap. Did I think that out loud?
Waves of colors never seen by human eyes danced in my mind, a spark of shock, a tingle of excitement, and a rush of eroticism. Every Xorfloo in the room was rubbing its pseudopod against the sensitive membrane at the opening of its cloaca.
And the damn Translator was ensuring that *I* felt the arousal as well, including the anatomical analogue of the touching sensation. My phenotype this week was mostly male, and I had the weirdest boner of all time and space.
"Oh, my. The Terran has Talent!" said the receptionist.
"It's like a feedback loop of pleasure," cooed another.
And a feedback loop it was, rapidly culminating in wave after wave of pure mental orgasm sensation. All the Xorfloo tensed up, becoming surprisingly rigid for beings with no solid structure, then relaxed all at once.
All my senses were glitching out with fractal waves of pleasure, to the point where pleasure and pain were indistinguishable. I was suddenly aware of direct mental contact with every Xorfloo in the entire Hub.
"Stop, Terran! We yield!" cried every Xorfloo in one voice. "You have conquered us with your ferocious libido! Our species submits to your mighty sexual prowess!"
I swam back to awareness. My shorts were ruined, I had caused an interspecies diplomatic incident, and telepathically fucked a roomful of intelligent space amoebas until their entire species surrendered.
*I wonder how I did it?* The thought echoed once in my skull, then bold red letters swarmed in my mind:
"All queries related to functionality of the Terran Model X-110 AR Helmet are classified, by order of the Terran Reverse Engineering Corporation, a subsidiary of Terran Intelligence Services." | Across thousands of years of history and countless governments, only a handful of mysteries have retained their constancy. Humans find more and more answers, and pose new questions, as time progresses. Some of them remain unsolved. Not necessarily categories of mystery that enter the realm of mysticism and religion, but instead fall within the realm of reality. Perhaps the greatest of these mysteries is that of human abduction.
For Xavier, human abduction had no such mystery. Now on board a large, extraterrestrial ship, he had been goaded into the kind of probing he was *not* expecting.
The tall, voluptuous figure stood before him, completely nude. She^(?) was somewhat humanoid in shape, but extremely well endowed, bearing 6 breasts and long, snaky tendrils that fed from the back of her body. She spoke in various blurbs and tunes that did not seem to match any known consonants, into a metal box. From the box, Xavier heard tales of Humanities'... sex drive. The box told him that it very much wanted to see these tales first hand, as the alien caressed her(?)self in anticipation.
Xavier was unsure to take this as a blessing, or as a curse.
| 2016-01-28T19:00:11 | 2016-01-28T15:07:30 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "Well, what are you waiting for? Press it."
I glanced back up to the priest. His arms holding out the box to me were steady, but the tension in his posture suggested a certain eagerness about him. I guess that made sense, considering his whole speech about the *Dark One* and *End of the world* and all that jazz. But still. Working at the pawn shop always made me hesitant of people who were a little too eager.
"What's it do?" I asked.
The priest let out a short exasperated sigh. "It doesn't matter. I told you, it would take me a very long time to explain, and you wouldn't believe me if I did. Right now we don't have a lot of time. Just press it."
I took half a step back. "Okay. Hold up for a sec, because this is kind of a lot. You come in here to my shop, you know my name. You do that weird magicky thing with the lights. So yeah, fine. Let's give you the benefit of the doubt that you *are* some ancient wizard or priest or whatever, and not some crazy stalker. How do I know that that box you're holding isn't just going to electrocute me or something when I press the button?"
"No, it won't. Trust me. Just press it. We don't have a lot of time lef-"
"Then *you* press it."
"I CAN'T PRES-" the priest snapped. I saw something sinister flash across his eyes, barely noticeable, yet unmistakable. He caught himself within an instant.
"I'm sorry," he continued, after a deep breath. "It's just that the fate of the world rests in your hands. I can't press the button. It has to be you. *You* are the chosen one. I know it sounds crazy, but I promise I will tell you every last detail after you press it. I will grant you anything in my power. Fame. Riches. Magic. Anything. Just press the button. Please."
I looked him in the eyes. I held his gaze for a long moment. I watched his eyes hungrily dart to the box as I slowly reached out. I watched his eyes widen as my finger hovered inches above the button.
I paused.
"10 dollars." I said, subtly adjusting my button-press gesture into a business-like finger-gun point at the goods he was holding.
"What?" he replied, flatly.
"10 dollars." I repeated, grabbing my notebook to write up the offer. "It's not typically the kind of thing I could resell here, but it's an old-looking box. Kinda cool. I'll give you 10 bucks for it."
I could see him trying to fight back the anger as it bubbled up inside him. The lights flickered.
"You have no idea the forces we're dealing with here! This isn't a game!" The shelves all around us began to rattle. "If the dark one is released, the world is doomed. He will kill *millions* of people!"
I kept writing in my notebook. I could feel the magical energy radiating off of him.
"No I won't." I replied calmly, glancing up from my notebook. Before he could fully register what I'd just said, I clicked my pen, and waved it like a wand in his direction.
The priest froze in place, a taken aback expression on his face. I stepped forward and plucked the small box from his hands. I turned it over and touched the button to one of his frozen fingers. Both priest and box swirled together, and with a *pop*, they both vanished. A miniature stone figurine in the shape of the priest clattered to the floor. I tore the perforated "$10" price label from my notebook, tied it around the tiny figure, and set it up on a shelf next to the others. | I reach out slowly, completely fixated on the button. It’s red with concentric grooves. Seems overly simple to stop someone called the Dark Lord. It doesn’t seem like it would be able to tell the difference between my finger or anyone else’s.
I stop and pull my hand back. “What are you doing?” the priest demanded, “ there isn’t much time!”
“Look, man, I don’t even know you and your telling me I’m some sort of chosen one meant to stop all sorts of evil and destruction? This button doesn’t even seem like it could tell me from anyone else.”
The priest began to laugh maniacally. “I thought this time I could get you to cause the end of the world. But no matter. There’s always next time.”
He leapt forward and slammed his fist into the button... | 2020-11-09T12:35:03 | 2020-11-09T11:12:56 | 422 | 80 |
[WP] Every child is granted a wish when they turn 13. You stand horrified as your older brother blows out his candles and wishes he was an only child. | The knock on the door was almost instantaneous as my brother extinguished the candles on his cake with a mighty “whoosh”.
Mom and dad exchanged a worried glance. “Couldn’t be them already, could it?” dad asked, getting up from our rickety kitchen table. “Shouldn’t be them at all, actually. They never deal with these things in person anymore.”
But my mom’s forehead crinkled and dad walked a little quicker than normal as he headed to the front door, opening it just a crack. We saw his shoulders slump, and then the door swung wide to reveal three people, standing in formation on our doorstep. Wordlessly, dad ushered them inside.
“What did you wish?” Mom hissed at Brody.
“Uh...” Brody spluttered, speechless as the trio entered the kitchen. They were dressed all in black, a single bar of orange on their chests where a name tag would be.
“Brody Henderson,” the woman at the front of the group addressed my brother formally. “At approximately 6:23pm Pacific Standard time, you made a wish per the decree of the Department of Puberty, under the statute of birthday wish creation and fulfillment. The fulfillment committee has received and reviewed your wish, as per the transcript-“ The woman paused to pull a roll of parchment from her pocket, unrolled it, and cleared her throat. “I, Brody Henderson, wish I was an only child.”
Mom and dad exploded.
“Brody Paul Henderson!” Mom screeched. “An only child? You love your sister!”
“What are you trying to do to your mother?” Dad thundered. “We are a family!”
The woman rolled the parchment back up. “Wishes of this nature are obviously reviewed thoroughly due to the permanence of the removal,” she explained.
“Removal?” I asked weakly. I couldn’t even look Brody in the eye. “It’s like I’m a wart or something,” I muttered.
“In special circumstances, we can implement a trial separation.” The shorter man behind the leader spoke now. He wore thick glasses with a small smudge on the left lens, which I would have found disarming and potentially endearing had I not been under duress. “We can take Gloria to a special facility for a week, during which time we will monitor the overall household happiness quotient and determine the appropriate course of action.”
My mind instantly flashed to prison cells and jumpsuits. “I don’t want to,” I said flatly.
“I know, sweetie,” the woman said soothingly. “But it is your brother’s birthday, and he is entitled to a brief experience of what being an only child would entail.”
My lips curled, and I snarled like a rabid animal. “I would never do this to you!” I yelled at Brody.
“Well, you won’t get a chance because I’m older and now you’re gone,” he taunted.
“Please come with us now, Gloria.” The third wish team member spoke now, a tall, gangly woman who looked like she would pick me up and dangle me over her shoulder in order to remove me from the situation. As I studied her, she leaned in, a praying mantis moving in on its prey.
“Fine,” I muttered, and slid off the chair. The tall woman grasped my arm and we walked out of the house without another word.
I didn’t know what I’d expected to find in the driveway, but I knew the gunmetal stretch limo was not it. A chauffeur opened the back door and I slid in, followed closely by the trio. Once we were settled, the driver pulled away from the curb and smoothly delivered us onto the highway.
“Now Gloria,” the leader finally said. “There is a clause within the statute that we did not disclose to your brother. A clause that benefits you immensely.” She handed me a black box, slightly larger than a shoebox. I cautiously opened it, discovering a shining panel of buttons.
“As the subject of a malicious wish by an older sibling,” she explained, “there is a large degree of chance that you have been treated unfairly by the wishing party for a long period of time. Thus, we would like to extend the opportunity for retribution.”
My fingers danced lightly over the cool buttons. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” The man said, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Now relax. It’ll be about 45 minutes to the GWL.” Seeing the question in my eyes, he explained. “Great wolf lodge. You get a vacation this week.”
As the limo purred down the highway, I leaned back in my seat, smiling. I would have to thank my brother one day...but for now...I think something hairy and disgusting was about to show up in his birthday cake.
r/diekarrotte
| Kyle sat on the big chair, across from me. He had that stupid grin on his face with that stupid hat on his head. It only grew as Mommy and Daddy began to sing *Happy Birthday* and bring the cake over.
I was the only one that had shown up for his birthday. But I was his brother, so I had no choice. I would rather have been with my friend across the street, pretending to be soldiers fighting in the jungles. And Mommy and Daddy probably would have let me, if it wasn’t his thirteenth birthday.
I’d always been told that when you became thirteen you’d get one wish that would come true. And I couldn’t wait for mine. It was only two more years. I already had a thousand ideas ready.
Mommy placed the cake on the table and finished singing. Kyle took in a very deep breath and blew out the candles. Spit went flying everywhere. “What do you wish for, hon?” Mommy asked.
Kyle sat there for a moment. Then he made a stupid face, like a dim bulb had gone off in what little brain he had. I was the smart one.
“That I was the only child!” He blew a raspberry at me.
Then I felt something in my chest. It went down quickly. There was very little pain. But I saw the red stuff begin to shine on my black shirt. I fell from the chair to the ground.
Mommy and Daddy and Kyle all screamed. All those years that I had tormented Kyle for being the stupid one, for having all those health issues. The last thing I heard as my vision faded was Kyle screaming, “Imma sor-ry! Imma sor-ry!” | 2017-12-13T13:31:11 | 2017-12-13T11:05:27 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] "What the hell do you mean you 'overclocked a sloth'?" | Heading an animal neural activity research lab was serious business. Last week they almost got a monkey to stop throwing poop. The lead scientists were excited and holding a party to celebrate the breakthrough. Being the head of the department, I was stuck at the aforementioned party trying to drink away the fact that my Doctorate in animal behaviour was being used to prevent primates from throwing poop. I was on my third glass of mediocre wine when I hear a polite **ahem** from behind me.
“Dr. Krieger?”
I turn to see the pimply faced intern that we hired recently. Supposed to be a genius and all that but I've had my share of geniuses to last a fucking lifetime.
“What is it Thomas”
“Actually it is James, Dr. We met yesterday, when we discussed possible improvements....”
I desperately clutch at the bridge of my nose trying to stem the inevitable migraine that will follow.
“Yes..yes..what is it James?”
“So I was working on neural brain activity of Jerry recently. I know sloths aren't the preferred much for brain activity analysis but I kinda liked him I guess”
I let the intern drone on for a few minutes as I shifted focus to more important things. Susan from accounting was here.
“game....graphics card...voltage...power”
I nervously adjusted my comb over and gave her my best “How you doing?” nod.
“brain is similar...figured might as well...”
The disgusted expression she gave me was all the answer I needed. As I scanned for an easier target, I heard two words that weren't supposed to be in a sentence together.
“So yeah, I kinda overclocked Jerry”
I was in the middle of finishing my third glass. I slowly lowered it and fixed my eyes on Thomas, James whatever.
“What the hell do you mean 'overclocked a sloth'?”
“I meant that I improved his brain's processing power by applying higher voltages to his cerebellum”
It could be the wine or it could be the sheer stupidity of what I was hearing, my brain had difficulty processing what this kid just said. When my brain finally figured out the consequences, I grabbed him by his arm and took him outside.
“Alright boy, listen to me very carefully. The last time an animal died during our experiments, the local PETA chapter branded my ass with their emblem. I am very particular in not wanting my other butt cheek to suffer the same fate. So I'm only gonna ask once. Where's the body?”
“uhh..Dr.Krieger. He's not dead”
“Thought you told me you applied high voltage to his brain”
“I did! And the most fascinating thing is that he's actually responding to us. He had actually gone from picture symbols to hand signals the last time I saw him”
“Take me to him now! And not a word to anyone else”
My butt cheeks could not take another branding. I have difficulty sitting as it is.
I followed him like the zombie I would be if something happened to that damn sloth. Why the heck do we have sloths here anyway? Those things are dumber than a goldfish with half a brain. And have faces like my roommate from college who was always high. It's like you half expect the damn thing to pass you a blunt.
We arrived at the intern's office. There's already someone at the computer tapping away.
“Why the hell is the cage empty?” I yell at no one in particular.
The intern just stares bug-eyed at the figure at the computer.
The chair slowly swivels to face me.
“Dr. Krieger, I've been expecting you”
Which is a normal way of greeting if it were not for the fact that **it came from a damn sloth!**
I scramble backwards and pull the intern in front of me.
“Take him...take him..I don't have much meat in my bones”
“Dr. Krieger, I'm disappointed in you. You would know that I'm a herbivore”
My attempts to provide a reply end in unintelligible sounds as my brain refuses to comprehend what's before me.
“Fascinating thing you have here by the way. I think you call it a computer? I was able to gain a large amount of knowledge in a very short period! And I was able to contact some like-minded people”
“Sl...sl..sloths?” I manage to string together a word
“Don't be silly Dr.Krieger! I'm the first of my kind. It's a local human group who was very receptive to my ideology!”
I hear the door open behind me and Susan from accounting steps in with a few other people I don't recognize.
“Susan, thank God you're here! This sloth needs to be conf..”
I suddenly found it difficult to speak owing to the boot in my crotch. Susan turns to it (him?) and speaks.
“The PETA is yours to command, Mr. Jerry”
I suck in much needed air and ball up in a foetal position.
“Excellent Susan, I hope you brought the attire I asked for”
She smiled and opened a case. A monocle and a walking stick lay inside.
Jerry rubbed his claws together.
“Wonderful. I hope you'll take care of our dear Doctor here?”
“Oh don't worry. We will”
I really didn't like that smile on her face. But I wasn't really enthusiastic about the familiar branding iron she pulled out of her case either.
**Please critique!** | This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
"What the hell do you mean you 'overclocked a sloth'?" My pointy haired Federal boss was agitated, very agitated and I knew why.
"Well alright, overclocked isn't actually the right word, Sir." I gritted my teeth, the fun place I started at a few years ago had become a great big nanny state, monitors everywhere, Feds putting their noses in everything. I'm mean sheesh one little lab accident and now we can't get any work done with supervision by some bureaucrat from D.C. Its not like our lab caused the problem.
"Well what do you mean than? " He crossed his arms.
"I amplified his brain functioning, nerves and reflexes. The metabolic efficiency will allow him to operate at an increased tempo about the same activity cycle as usual."
The PHB looked terribly alarmed . "Show me. Now!" He started to frantically push buttons on his smart phone .
He peered into the cage where the two toed sloth I had named Charlie was snoozing. "Is he sedated." And the idiot walked right into the cage. There was a loud squeak and Charlie woke up and it was followed by some screams as my boss got eaten.
Now two toed sloths occasionally eat birds and such, I've never heard of them eating people but again Charlie has a pretty prodigious appetite with all his mods and I did key my boss with a phermone trigger that encouraged eating.
Clean up was going to be the proverbial beast though I wasn't worried about getting in any trouble. I'm pretty handy with computers and had carefully doctored records to make my boss look at fault and his phone couldn't call out of course.
Charlie would go to some private military contractor friends of mine and I'd join him after the heat went down. The money was way better and our lab in Africa would allow me a lot more leeway with research.
I sighed happily and got the rest of my plan, finding Charlie missing , practiced my various statements , all that jazz Life was good for man and sloth, well alright not for the pointy haired one but you want genetically engineered omelettes , you gotta break a few eggs .
And that was that,
| 2015-03-19T02:36:16 | 2015-03-19T00:47:38 | 78 | 14 |
[WP] The end of times has come. Heaven, hell, and earth are thrown in a three-way war. It's a little unfair how advanced Earth is, though. | At one point in time, I had thought my fallen son was the greatest deceiver.
My mind had been changed quickly, no more than a few hours into the endtimes that I had intended to last little more than a few days.
Oh, my seraphim had cleansed the land with winds of fire, and had been making easy work of the legions of hell using the armour of the interminable and the swords of justice.
My faithful had risen, and it had appeared that it would only be a matter of time before all was over with.
The trouble started in Chicago. When we got there, the city was empty. We wandered around, trying to find what had happened. It didn't smell of brimstone, people weren't to be seen, and the animals seemed unperturbed.
Jacob was the first to go missing. Followed by Gabriel. Michael came to me for instruction during a retreat from a fight with the great dragon, and announced that he had surprised a host of goblins and slaughtered them. There shortly followed a battle of heaven & hell, but we had already lost Jacob and Gabriel to them.
This repeated itself on Kyuushu, in Kern, in Accra, on Newfoundland, in Bubanza, in Damphu, in Alor Setar, on Quinchao . . . wherever we went, the men of the earth were gone, and we and the demons surprised each other.
Our forces were powerful, not great, and when Michael surprised the great dragon, and vice-versa, as they met each other in Mariehamn, Michael fell.
Then the tides seem to turn for us. Whereever we went, we surprised the legions to our advanatage, and battled them back. We met the titans one by one as they travelled, and we met just so many of the lesser demons as we could easily handle.
If Gaberiel had survived, we may have realized sooner.
It was the men of the earth.
Our plans were listened to, and we were manipulated, and likewise were the legions of hell. When our plans could not have been heard by spies, by radios & microphones hidden & unknown to us, they gathered data and predicted our movements with an omni-science I was envious of. I could see everything and know very little, but they had made the science of seeing very little and knowing very much. With their hordes of thinkers, my perfect knowledge was never as fast as it needed to be, and they always distracted me. They always knew *how* to distract.
They listened to the ground, and knew without seeing where the legions of hell were and what they were doing. They knew where to upset the lines of the continents to make the demons dig their tunnels differently, they knew where the demons intended to go, and they knew what demons to expect.
And they guided us both, and they emptied their cities in concentrated efforts, and controlled the battles of heaven & hell until both our armies dwindled.
They never needed to swing a sword or shoot a gun to come to victory.
When the great dragon was brought to chains, I retreated. My fallen son, the once-greatest deceiver, is now a being to be studied by academics and by causal observers in a garden of animals built around him in Greenland.
At that time, his legions and my angels were all gone. The bodies played out across the earth.
Looking back with omniscience, it is easy, trivial to see my mistakes. For Chicago, we had wanted to go to Milwaukee, but the skies there were cloudy and we feared an ambush, because I had known we would be ambushed. The men of the earth had fashioned a rocket engine to billow clouds of steam into the air so that we would divert. The goblins had intended to come up in the countryside and from the forests into the towns, but the explosives that had been buried guided their tunnel-making to Chicago.
But that simple explanation underplays the thought that had gone into what had turned out to be simple diversions. I had never thought to question clouds. The goblins had never thought that the mines were anything but random and plentiful, instead of narrow lines buried scant metres under an upturned surface.
It was perfect execution to convince us without thinking, without searching further, that what we were facing was routine and normal. Non-suspicious.
Those that had risen with me, mere men of the earth, but now my most powerful allies, being the only ones left, even they knew of their own kinds deception.
Apparently they had been much in favour of creating them, organizations like the NSA or CSIS, dedicated to treachery and knowledge of others, that could be leveraged even against invincible opponents. Organizations designed to keep humanity safe.
My poor fallen son. I would have to rescue him. What life would he have on such a plane of deceivers? | It looks like we were mistaken.
Who would have known that religion was not just some dogma created by man to control the masses. Instead they were are first line of defence, warning us about the impending attack. The Gods have become more formidable foes then previously anticipated.
It all started when we accidently drilled into our planets core. By then we have already colonized the Moon and Mars. Our scientist hunger for knowledge was insaciable. They wanted to know exactly how the planet worked in hopes of creating other "Earths" in other solar systems. They finally broke through the last of the tectonics plates and were astonished to find the entrance to Hell. Apparently souls was the fuel that kept the planet spinning, gave it gravity, magnetic fields, forced magma out of the core in turn to refertilize the surface.
The operating manager, "Lucifer," was not happy we entered his domain and immediately waged war. Hordes of demons poured out volcanoes ready to throw us back to the stone age. At the same time our outer colonies had a war of their own against what looked like to be angels. They were being surrounded and blocked from traveling out of system. Apperantly we were their "chosen people" and need to stay in our place or suffer the "wrath of the Timeless One."
What did we as humans do? We fought of course.
We are no strangers to warfare. Indeed, we have spent so many years fighting each other that we have perfected it. And we had one secret weapon. An unexpected ally who no longer wanted to be part of this system. He is often refered to the Chosen One, Messiah, Firstborn. He prefers Big Jay, or Yeazuz after his favorite rapper/president. Jesus Christ was gonna change our world. | 2015-09-24T10:14:59 | 2015-09-24T08:29:53 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] The Alien Federation has been keeping tabs on the humans of Earth since they first appeared. They do surveillance missions once every 300 years to keep track of our progress, the last mission was 300 years ago. The aliens are shocked by our progress since 1714. | As head of Team Two, I have a lot of responsibility. Team One has the big names, gets the big budgets, they all become heroes in their fields. Meant to be perfect surveillance. They filed their report last month, and its contents shocked the Federation: biochemistry, genetics, discovered and mastered circuitry, they destroyed (*destroyed!*) a disease, and they've begun space exploration. Technologically, they've done very well in the past 300 turns.
Team One's leader, a brute of a fellow, made his name known to every Federal citizen when he shed light on their advancements in Physics. His report summary sounded like a love note, saying that the humans could be welcomed into our fold by the next recon mission, and surpass us even without aid by the mission after that.
That cloaca only got the job because his uncle figured out human poetry. The *real* scientists are in Team Two, we do the real analysis. But why, then, am I so dread to sign my report? It's accurate, and it damns all the hopeful speculation of Team One. My name will be spoken in all the wrong tones after I scratch it onto my report.
*ba-deep*
The schema is cast, then. Report sent. Name ruined. Family's breeding prospects ruined. Don't care.
Team One was spot on in their comparison of technology and growth rates, but they ignored what they always ignore: the context. Governments aren't working together despite their new found ability to communicate instantly, this "United Nations" Team One kept talking about isn't as powerful as they claimed, neither is the WHO or the IMF. Socially divided, and they allow private federations more control than their leaderships, these "corporations" as they call them. Weapons technology has increased but the way they are used is the same way: gunboat diplomacy at its worst.
Team One spoke of an enlightened world where they have their own version of our Interlink, a so-called World Wide Web. The term's already caught on with our youth. But these corporations control it, and few have access; worldwide it is not. And enlightenment! The glory team spoke of enlightenment with more and more schooling institutions, but the human standards are appalling. Their educators treat it like a job, they even charge for it!
They have advanced technologies and systems but fail time and time again in their implementation. Advanced health care, but treated as industry. Food treated as luxury and indulgent by society. Yes, despite their ability to enrich food they make it taste appealing at the cost of nutrition!
The humans act as our own species did when we still spoke different languages, they treat each other as just the other, never the same. One encounters another in need and seeks to benefit themselves. This is the analysis lost to Team One, this is the glory of Team Two. Our philosophers, our scientists, our analysts see the structures that build these skyscrapers as well as those that *inhabit* them.
I crack open a bottle of Earth Imports, another of their vices and one that I picked up while on mission. They create delicious forms of ethyl alcohols and are simultaneously scared of it, trying to crack down on vices and only create binge cultures in the process.
"Recommendation?" My message service asks.
Of course, ask *us* for that now. Perhaps my name will not be scarred after all.
I eagerly type my response, "Recommend introduction of new disease, decimation of species with equal distribution."
I attach a file, the protein structure of a particularly transmittable prion. It should do well, bind them together in struggles on a global scale rather than the small scales they think in now.
"We will expand their minds by breaking the barriers that surround them." I conclude. History always loves entendre. | I always loved the fjords the most. They were my pride and joy in the creation of Earth. Would you believe that I won an award for it? Oh sure the dolphins and mice will tell you the pluses of other parts of that insignificant spec, but it's the fjords that truly took my breath away.
Looking at Earth in hindsight, it really could have been better. Less humans to start with. Oh when that ship landed there and those idiots began populating it, who could have thought the ramifications they would have had? They were gullible enough to actually leave their home planet and believe that the others were soon following. Stupid humans. Good riddance I say.
Thank Great Green Arkleseizure that the Vogons destroyed it. | 2014-10-26T16:26:26 | 2014-10-26T15:06:02 | 117 | 39 |
[WP] The mage that traveled with the hero lives out on the edge of town. Hardly ever leaves her house, doesn't talk to anybody. All anybody knows is that she came back without him. | “Open up” a voice bellowed. “We know you’re in there! Where is my son Tyne, protector of men?”
A large man dressed in fancy red robes and adorned with gold jewelry stood in front of a door built into the side of a small hill. The door was known as the entrance to Tan’s house but that was all. The house belonged to a mage and few, if any, had ever been inside a mage’s house. Most stayed away from them entirely. Mages were rumored to burn or drown a man where he stood, if he crossed them or their land uninvited. There was an uneasy truce with the townsfolk. They stayed away from Tan, and she stayed away from them.
“I said, open this door Tan! We have let you, and your kind, live here in peace.” His voice rising with anger. “But I…we demand answers. We demand atonement for your crime. I know what you have done. It’s what your kind has done so well to us...” He looked as if he had more to say but stopped himself. He looked around briefly, then continued.
“That’s it!” He said now nearly spitting with rage. “If you don’t come out, we are coming in! I have the the king's guard with me. We will not be merciful.” He gestured to a group of men outfitted with armor, swords, spears, and bows. The men looked at ease, confidence they had earned through many successful battles.
The large man put his hand on the door, pushed it open, then said, “Alright men, for –” Before he could finish his sentence he was engulfed in flames. He tried to pat out the fire, but it was no use. Then he tried to run but the flames were everywhere. And they were growing stronger, growing hotter. As he screamed in pain, he turned towards his men for help. All he saw was more fire. A few of his men were writhing on the ground as the flesh melted off their bodies.
The blaze quickly destroyed everything in its path. The men, the hill, the surrounding trees, and structures were all burnt. Ash blew on the wind. Nothing in the small but bustling town of moved. It was as if nothing, no plant, animal, or person, had survived.
---
I only tried to help him! I didn’t know what he could do when he came to my door.
Tyne arrived in the early hours of the morning before the sun rose. His arrival was a surprise but what he said shocked me. It had been centuries since a human with no mageblood could use magic. But he could manipulate the veil. He could pull back the curtain that separated this world from beyond. He showed me. With an ease of a practiced mage, he opened a rift and showed me a land of death. He walked through it and back out.
He could tell no one about this. If he did, he would have lost his place in the world. It was his secret to bear, and he did so. But he wanted to know more. Wanted to understand his power, his responsibility, and why he had been given such a gift. I didn’t know any of that, so I took him to the one place that I thought could help.
I took him to the Circle. Someone there was bound to know something. Someone there could take care of him, could help him understand his power. Maybe they could even help save him from his people. But they had never known a human who could control magic. They had never seen beyond the veil, only heard stories and rumors. They looked in books and became convinced in legends and prophecies. How was I supposed to know that they would never let him leave?
---
A man approached the king. The king listened intently. He nodded his head then paused in thought.
The king stood up, then decreed, “The mages have gone too far. We have let them live on our land peacefully. And they repay us by hunting us, killing us, burning alive our friends and family. They must be stopped. We must banish this evil race from the world. Today, I declare war on all mages. Recruit all good men and women of fighting age. We will not allow a single mage to escape with their life.”
The nobles listening to him shouted in agreement. Shouts of “Kill the mages!” could be heard throughout the hall.
--
“Are you ready? Your people are on our doorstep.”
“Yes. I am ready.”
“You know what you must do?”
“I do.”
Tyne stood up, opened a veil, and consumed them all. | I hadn't seen Martha in... oh, so long, being her best friend, and be it that everyone assumed she had seen Justin die and that was why she had been so isolated recently... I assumed she would fancy a visit to catch up and have some of the cupcakes from the best baker in Saint Olivia...
When I opened the door of her hut outside of town, the first thing that I noticed was the bottles, thousands of them, half empty and with a sweet aroma to them, not intoxicating, but vanilla-like.
"Martha? Is me... Maria... I'm really worried"
I walked through the hazardous floor, avoiding every bottle to place the cupcakes on the table before turning around and looking for her in her chambers... long and behold, there she was... eating a spoonful of ice cream from a glass bottle while she looked through a crystal ball...
She was looking at Justin, he was in another city, a bigger one, he was beside a girl I had never seen before...
After a while... Martha explained everything.
"He replaced me for that vixen that came out of nowhere... he threw me away like a broken toy"
...That night, as we ate the cupcakes, I figured she would need all my help to get over this, first off, I changed the crystal ball to show a simple blue sky, and then I chit-chatted with her until morning came.
She now helps me in the bakery and I think she got over it. | 2022-08-10T10:35:19 | 2022-08-10T07:44:26 | 26 | 19 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. |
“How bad is it?” Dave, my coworker asked. I normally wore a short sleeve shirt to work to show off my tattoo sleeve with pride as I had only gotten it finished last month. I worked in IT but I worked mostly away from the public so tattoos were okay. Dave and a few others had them as well. However, everything changed with the new weather patterns. Animals acted differently, weird weather changes, and people with tattoos were changed. How? I got a full arm sleeve of a circuit board with wires and metal bones to celebrate five years at my job. I rolled up my shirt sleeve and Dave nearly fell out of his chair.
My entire arm had become a cybernetic arm, complete with wires and working electricity. Dave stared at it and finally asked, “Does it hurt?” I shrugged, “Yes and no. I can’t feel as good as my left hand but it works. I tried to figure out the workings last night. Adjusting the screws and wires doesn’t hurt but a short stings like a mofo.” Dave’s eyes widened, “You tried working it like a computer?” I looked back at him, “Uh yeah Dave, it’s what I do. Plus it’s my right arm, what else was I going to do with my free time.” He shook his head but said, “Fair enough.” I looked at his tattoos of snakes, “How about you? Any change-“ in the blink of an eye his hand whipped and picked up a stapler and placed it on my desk. Blink wasn’t an exaggeration. A long tongue slipped out of his mouth and he quickly yanked an empty coffee mug and spit a black vile substance in it. He placed it on my desk and sat back down. When the hell did he stand up?
I looked into the coffee cup and back at him. His tongue had gone back to normal. “Don’t drink that.” He said stone face. “Huh.” Was all I could get out. Before I could say anymore Ted, a short and lanky guy with a combover interrupted us. “So how you liking your new abilities?” He looked at my arm and scowled, “Oh of course you would get something cool.” He scoffed. I glared back at him, “Still deciding Ted. What happened to you?” He laughed sarcastically, “Oh remember that Chinese tattoo I got? The one symbolizing fire?” Dave nodded, “What did you burn you dick hairs?” He punched the cubicle wall weakly, “I wish!” He held his hand over Dave’s desk palm down and screamed, “Fire!” a large well cooked egg roll popped appeared out of his hand and fell onto Dave’s desk.
We all three stared at the desk and finally I looked at Ted, “I don’t think that means fire.” A female voice from behind him said, “Told you.” Michelle from software, who was born and raised in china before coming to the states, had been telling him for weeks that his tattoo didn’t mean fire. She also warned him not to get drunk and hit on the tattoo artist. She sat there smiling in silence. Ted glared at her but before he could say anything she rolled up sleeve and showed off her Chinese lettering. “This means fire.” She raised a finger and projected a small flame from it. “This means winds.” She pointed the same finger at Ted and sent a gust of wind out. I leaned my chair out and got a better look at her. Something had been off about her hair. Finally, I saw two objects, small and dark, sticking out of her hair. “Michelle, why do you have horns?”
She looked at me but didn’t say anything. She looked around nervously and said, “I have a little devil tattoo.” We all stared at her for a few moments then Dave asked, “When did this happen? We’ve never seen a devil tattoo on you.” She picked at a cubicle wall and avoided eye contact, “It’s not in a place I show off.” She stated quietly. | 'The All Seeing Eye' honestly I just thought it looked cool. I can't exactly 'think' much these days. I rarely get the chance.
I can see the Universe, it truly is beautiful, I see the chaos that created it and the peace that will, or already has, brought it back together.
It's hard to tell these days, these centuries, millennia. Where and when I am is a difficult concept even for an all knowing being. I am everywhere now, every when.
I can see them all down there, I find them profoundly lucky. Some can be heroes, 'I' can do nothing. I am nothing. I am no one. I am truth. I am everything. I am alone.
I want to be me again. | 2019-05-07T09:13:59 | 2019-05-07T09:09:10 | 65 | 30 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | The other races of the Milky Way cared very little about the blip of a race. You see the galactic population was less unified than one might think. Many races didn't perceive time, speech or thought in the same way. But the one thing they did all understand was matter. Every being was made out of physical matter so that is how they spoke to one another. Beings would present physical embodiments of ideas or even pieces of a rudimentary written 'language' that incorporated a series of moving hieroglyphs.
Some species did gain thought and language and these beings warned the community that there may be something dangerous about the humans but the general community only accepted these physical languages so they looked at the small sampling of 'sign language' in the early days and then 'emojis and television' in the later days. There was ruckus about 30 central microgalactic elliptics (CME) back when a confusing blip occurred on the planet. It was so quick and incomprehensible everyone assumed it was the equivalent of an ant colony accidentally creating sparks when it tipped over a rock. The Lidrarians and Falcariots, the two dominant races that were bipedal humanoids and solid based, most closely resembled the human concept of language, thought and culture. They began to fear the humans but could do nothing about it. The human planet was located deep in Aurbor territory. The Aurbor were relatively peaceful but defensive gas based life forms. 5 CME (roughly 100 earth years) later when the humans mastered nuclear fusion and fission races such as the Aurbors found the sudden aggression from the warfaring Lidrarians and the wealthy Falcariots strange but thought little of it.
5 CME later the humans were all but forgotten about as a massive war broke out in the Milky Way Galaxy. During this time humanity learned many things. They conquered their solar system and mined all of its asteroids and planets for materials. They were getting closer to discovering faster than light travel and had made preliminary discoveries of possible other life from errant scans of Falcariot and Lidrarian ships. The humans began to study other life and 10 CME after the start of the war they understood what was happening and humanity united under a common rule. They knew that liquid, plasma and solid creatures existed and warred against each other but they did not yet understand gaseous beings such as the Aurbors. They just thought air was toxic to these beings and their arm of the Milky Way must have been especially noxious. 15 CME after the war had started a scientist studying the Northern Lights for particle research cracked the code. The Aurora Borealis wasn't a phenomenon, it was their rulers. The equivalent of night security guards watching the tiny race. When humans discovered this they did not let on and instead moved all their research facilities away.
20 CME after it started the galactic war was over, the Lidrarians and Falcariots had been driven into a neighboring galaxy. As everyone was letting their guard down humans mastered FTL and attacked the gaseous Aurbors. The gaseous race initially found the races attempts at usurpation laughable, they choked out their ships and found cracks in their ventilation systems. The kinetic weapons were useless and their laser technology might as well have been arrows against a tank. Then came the first nuclear warheads and the anomalous blip was suddenly understood with horror. But the humans did not stop there. They had developed ways to split electrons and neutrons and protons, the fundamental pieces of the atoms. Splitting a neutron would suck the fundamental life out of the Aurbors and soon they were extinct. Splitting a proton would turn the liquid races into solid, soulless statues. Splitting an electron would turn the dangerous plasma based life into supercharged bombs that would explode themselves, transferring the electron sickness from being to being like a chemical weapon. You see each race had learned to fight and speak through physicality. The way they fought and communicated was like the difference between a marker, a pencil or a pen on paper. But humanity was different... they tore the words they wrote into the paper itself. Cutting their message into the fabric of reality with every destructive, irradiated waste they left.
10 CME later they had conquered most of the Milky Way and set their sites on the neighboring galaxy ruled by the now allied Falcariots and Lidrarians. The two races studied the humans in their conquest and constructed safeguards. They could counter the splitting of any piece of the atom. They had created paper humanity couldn't cut... so humanity burnt their words into the paper. They went smaller and learned the impossible, they could split a quark. It was theoretical at best and they didn't know if it was practically possible. Actual tests were too dangerous so the first and only test was done when it was used on the Falcariots and Lidrarians. The destruction would make the humans a universally dominant power for eternity. You see, the splitting of a quark created an unstoppable tear in reality. The total destruction would fundamentally destroy existence and expand forever, like a fire that never stops spreading. But the laws of the universe meant that galaxies forever expanded out away from one another. The milky way always stayed a few light years ahead of the destruction but the Andromeda galaxy would forever be gone. Eventually when the universe's expansion cooled and slowed the wave of destruction would catch up to everyone. The humans had created a defined end to the universe. At the first intergalactic summit the humans burnt a message in hieroglyphics in the sky. The races that understood words translated it as follows.
"We are become granters of life, destroyer of universes." | "So you split the atom and then all this crap comes flying out and it decimates entire cities?"
Robert thought being probed by the aliens was intrusive enough but this new line of interrogation was proving more uncomfortable then the intial insertion of the Probulator 9000 he was being subjected to.
"Well, yah pretty much. I mean I don't know any of the details but that's pretty much it."
Other probe administrators had left their operating stations to hear the human's tale. The concept of human warfare was by far the most intriguing and controversial discovery that came from their first visit to earth. It was decided that contact would be minimized with earth after watching war grow over the ages. When last contacted the humans spent much of their money and time and life digging trenches and exchanging small arms fire in an already unfathomably cruel act called war. But famously that war was known as "the war to end all wars" and no further progress was expected in the human art or administration of warfare. Clearly this was not the case. Baffled by the only clear progress humanity had made in generations, the Grand Inquisitor continued his data collection about this super weapon.
"Like a whole city? Like a city the size of the one we beamed you up from? A million plus men, women and children? Just gone forever. And then you can't even safely go back to the place where it happened for a hundred years?"
For a moment Robert wondered how a race of beings who had mastered intergalactic travel hadn't figured out nukes yet and began to ponder if they had ever made any tool of agression or even an act of aggression towards themselves or others. But then the Probulator 9000 zapped his mind back to the line of questioning at hand and he was forced to answer to the best of his knowledge and ability.
"Yah that's pretty much how it works. I mean I don't know how it works and I can't help build you one. Only the smartest among us using the rarest of materials and latest technology could ever..."
"Make us one?" The Grand Inquisitor shook his head. "We don't need one of those. No way do we want to take something potentially used for clean fuel and a better society and then use it to keep our people in constant fear of total annihilation. The worst thing we are ever associated with is the Probulator and I feel bad enough about that." | 2019-12-19T05:08:25 | 2019-12-19T04:46:01 | 52 | 13 |
[WP] Life on Earth evolved within an “FTL Dead Zone” a region of space where all known forms of FTL travel were deemed physically impossible. As such, it was quite a shock when an unknown species suddenly appeared from the Dead Zone one day calling themselves “Humanity” Having done the impossible... | "The math said that space-folding was theoretically possible but impossible on the scale of a spaceship, but the gravimetric survey showed that there are a couple of points where the hyperspatial geometry... look, I don't know all the math behind it. We found that there's a tiny spot in the middle of the Dead Zone where a small folder can operate safely, close enough to reach it with conventional rockets. We sent a few unmanned probes to prove that the drive worked, and this was our first manned mission. And then we ended up here, and you tractor-beamed us and told us to identify ourselves or be destroyed. Because apparently we arrived in the middle of a galactic war." Commander Aldheim finished his recap.
"I am *so* glad the aliens had a universal translator," muttered his copilot. "Can you imagine trying to explain this across the language barrier?"
"Your story appears to be truthful," the alien said bluntly. "But it puts me in a difficult situation. Standard procedure for an unknown sentient species is to avoid confrontation and pass the matter to the Council's diplomatic corps. This allows the new species to be welcomed as equals, and prevents the sort of ugly misunderstandings that caused the First Contact War. But at the moment, the Council is... divided. And I have military responsibilities, as well. Are you a military man, Commander Aldheim?"
The captain hesitated a bit, unsure if he should be talking about his planet's military to an alien, but settled on the truth. "Ex-military. This voyage is a civilian project, but most space pilots have military experience."
The alien hummed thoughtfully. "That's a common pattern in many species - the scientist discovers how to fly, and then the soldier realizes it lets them take the high ground against their enemies. And that's the situation I find myself in. If there really is a safe route for folders in the Dead Zone, then that is the *ultimate* high ground - it could be a safe harbor for our fleets, a hidden fortress, or even a highway into the heart of the Drakon Empire."
"So you're telling me you *want* to do things diplomatically, but in reality we're going to be on the front lines of your war."
The alien spread his hands, a surprisingly human gesture. "I don't like it, but I'm not sure I have a choice. I'll have to give a report once I get back to base. The only choice is whether I report it to high command first, or pass it to the council diplomatic corps. Either way, you'll have aliens knocking on your door pretty soon. Everyone will want to have the high ground."
"Give us a minute." The commander turned off the radio. "What do we do? We can't drag Earth into a war we don't know anything about!"
"I don't see how we could stop him. We don't have any weapons, and we can't even move with the tractor beam on us. Would it kill the aliens to wait until we've invented photon torpedoes or something?"
"Any way we could stop them from finding out where Earth is? Kick this down the road until we're ready?"
"Um... we could blow up our own ship? Or wipe the nav computer? But even then, they'd find it eventually with a gravimetric search. It would just be slower, since they have a lot more area to search." His copilot said cautiously. "Also, call me a coward, but I'd like a plan that gets us home safely."
"No, we do need to get home again. Someone has to tell Earth what we found." He turned the radio back on. "Captain. I get the feeling you're looking for a way to do the right thing."
"Like I said, I've got to report this. This is too important to lie about, even if I could."
"But the details are a little fuzzy, right? Like, you don't know exactly where we came from. That would keep our homeworld safe a little bit longer."
"I suppose that's true... but as soon as you fold out, I'd have a pretty obvious trace. And nobody would believe that I let an unknown alien go without trying to find out where they came from."
There was a pause, then the alien added. "But it would be pretty inconvenient if the trace led towards the galactic core. Almost anyone could have come from that direction."
"Ah, I see what you mean." The captain answered. "We'll get ready to fold as soon as you release us, then."
He closed the channel and started keying coordinates into the computer.
"What are you doing? That's not..."
He quickly shushed his copilot. "Just play along. We have enough power for a few extra jumps. So we give the nice alien a trail to follow, and then run for home. And we warn Earth that we're about to become the grand prize in a galactic war." | The purple vastness of the dead zone cracked open, a white light appeared, and a missile shot through into space.
Space -- the vast blackness.
A single turtle, as large as the sun, swam through it. The turtle was ancient, and its eyes were crusted with cosmic dust. On its silver shell, elephants stood, four of them on whose shoulders was a giant disc, as large as the turtle.
The missile crashed into the disc, and out came the visitors -- humans. They did not dare remove their suits, the air was not to be trusted. Soon, they were surrounded by a variety of odd creatures.
One-legged creatures hopping on a springlike leg, one-eyed cats staring, six-legged hounds barking, and four-eyed people gawking.
"Hello," one spaceman said. There were four of them. "What is this place?"
The four-eyed people stared blankly, and the six-legged hounds kept on barking, and sirens were heard, and a black hovercar approached.
Six more four-eyed people got out, they wore black suits and stood ramrod straight.
Another one of the spacemen waved to them. The black-suited guys saluted him.
"*Rufflumph tumph hugh yun,"* one black-suited guy said.
The spacemen shook their heads and waved their hands to make an X sign.
The black-suited troops started talking amongst themselves. *Gumph olops ghiun nisma.* They decided to apprehend the four visitors.
The clueless spacemen looked at them and raised their hands in the air. The troops jumped back and crouched.
"*Tuyn hugh yun tumph!"* One said, and they launched themselves towards the spacemen.
*Bam! Bam!* One spaceman panicked and shot at two officers.
The troop members' faces contorted with rage. They reached into their holsters and produced little guns that shot lasers and turned the spacemen to crisp.
Dead Zone. | 2021-01-09T14:23:34 | 2021-01-09T11:03:42 | 92 | 49 |
[WP] After you die, before you enter heaven, you have to fight and kill all of the animals you ate in your life. If one kills you, you'll have to live through another life on Earth. Thing is, you are a-
a)Vegetarian
b)Professional Eater (Please someone do Guy Fieri)
c)A normal person
D) Human's can now live to be almost immortal, you've died after about a million years, and have to fight all the animals you've ever eaten.
or
E)Make your own!
Write which letter you've chosen before the your story. Good Luck! | A
I could see the twisted metal. It was like what they said. There were times when you would look down and see your own body. Sometimes you’d experience some sort of revelation and continue living, but most times you’d remain dead.
I was vaguely aware that I was floating in mid-air. It didn’t feel like I was flying, or floating, but it didn’t feel like I was standing either.
I had been driving on the bridge when the vehicle in front suddenly swerved. My reflexes had always been slow: I couldn’t react to the oncoming car quick enough.
“Shame, isn’t it?” a deep voice said from behind me. I could hear footsteps.
I spun around to see some form of ethereal, humanoid being. I knew without a doubt this was God.
“You can walk on air,” I commented stupidly.
“You can too,” he replied. I couldn’t make out any of the facial features as they were obscured by the light around his body, but I knew he was smiling at me like he was my father.
“Am I dead?” I questioned, changing the topic to what was more pressing.
“Unfortunately… Yes,” he said darkly. The light around his body faltered for a split second.
“What now? So the religious zealots were right? There is an afterlife?” I asked.
“I do not like that phrase,” he said. I could make out a frown on his face, for the light surrounding him disappeared suddenly. I could see his features. He was a dark and tall man. He had an imposing presence, but I felt truly safe beside him, as though nothing bad could ever happen again.
“Religion is a funny thing. None of their stories are true. It is all made up. Yet they got one thing right: I exist,” he said. I could not make out any emotions in that sentence.
“There is an afterlife, because I made it so. I would like to extend my invitation to you to come to heaven with me,” he said.
“Just like that? I didn’t believe in you,” I replied, a frown forming on my face as well. “I’m an atheist.”
“I was created out of a collective belief in a supreme being. I exist, because people believe that I exist,” he said slowly. Good thing that he did; I had to replay what he just said in my mind to comprehend him.
“And…?”
“I can hear so many questions ringing in your head, but we have time for so much more. I’ve seen your life. You will pass my test easily.”
“Test?”
“Yes.”
“So there *is* a catch?”
I do not like the word “catch”. Think of it as a test on your being.”
“What kind of test is it?”
He smiled.
“You will like this. Before you can enter heaven with me, you have to fight and kill the animals that you’ve eaten your entire life.”
For some reason, I understood the meaning of this statement very quickly.
“But I’m a –“
“-Vegetarian, yes, I’m aware. I have been watching,” he said. His smile never faltered.
“And if I fail?” I asked. It felt like my entire existence would hinge on my performance.
“You get reborn onto Earth again, and when you die, you get another chance. Except we do not know if you will still be a vegetarian then.”
“So this is my best shot in a long time, then?”
His smile grew wider.
“I like that phrase. You understand.”
With a wave of his hand, I found myself in a cliché, Rome-style arena. We were standing right in the middle of it.
“You have been devoted. The box in the middle containing the animals you have to fight is usually massive in size. I have had a few where I had to deconstruct this arena so that it was just an open field.” He pointed at the box. “Yours, as you can see, is smaller than a jewellery box.
“Open the box, and good luck.”
I walked slowly to it. Shouldn’t it be no box instead of a small box? What could be inside?
I reached out to the latch on the box and hesitated. Just as I was about to ask, his voice boomed throughout the whole arena.
“There is no time limit. Take as much time as you need. I literally have all the time in the world,” he said. I could sense a small chuckle at the end of his sentence.
The trepidation was killing me. I’ve had the same thing happen before multiple times throughout my life. I decided to adopt the band-aid approach to it. Just tear it off.
I quickly opened the latch and jumped back, expecting to be attacked. But the attack never came, for there seemed to be no animal inside. I was puzzled.
“Psst, go closer,” he hinted.
I followed the instructions, and I saw my opponents. There were just a few small insects inside there.
“The quality control for chocolate in heaven is much better,” he said. This time, I could hear him chuckling.
*Well, this would be easy*, I thought to myself.
“My point exactly,” he said again. I was a little creeped out that he could listen to what I was thinking.
“Maybe we can set some ground rules once you’re done with this. I get that a lot from my angels,” he said once again.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he urged.
| C
Heaven is a slaughterhouse. The animals come before me, one by one, staggering and dripping blood. The cows with their skulls already half caved in by captive bolt pistols, ribs carved from their sides, chunks of flesh missing from their flanks. The chickens with their beaks cut off, bleeding and freshly plucked, missing various limbs like war victims. Pigs with their throats slit, gutted and halved, anatomically dissected. Fish flopping on the ground, sides slit open to reveal their tiny bones. But it's not until the frogs, just a couple of them, amputees crawling forwards on their front limbs, that the thought lights up in my mind. Frogs legs, that's right, I've had frogs legs a few times. They're missing the parts I've eaten of them.
I've left things incomplete.
This is a lifetime of food, a lifetime of meat, and it takes me another lifetime to finish them. They're all so weak, barely capable of struggling, and my fingers press down into hot red meat and bathe me with the spray of blood. They keep coming, they keep dying, and I keep gorging myself. I never tire, I never feel full, I never stop hungering. I stop making the distinction between species. They're all meat and I'm putting them to rest.
And then a lifetime passes, and I'm standing in a pool of blood that stretches out forever, and there's nothing left to kill. I burp, dull-eyed, the stink of meat heavy on my breath, and gaze around dumbly, still gripping a pointed rib in one hand. Then a voice sounds:
YOU HAVE COMPLETED THE FIRST STAGE OF ABSOLUTION.
I blink, and a child appears before me. He's tiny, small-boned and indeterminately Asian, fingers calloused and eyes wide. He just barely shudders at the sight of me, the same motion the cows made. Waiting to die. I've never seen him before, I have no idea who he is. But I understand instinctively that I have in some way eaten of him, in some way devoured part of his soul.
I clutch the rib tight and advance, and I begin again. | 2016-05-26T21:33:57 | 2016-05-26T17:16:23 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | They called me in for another PT today. Said he had just finished sucking up Dennis Menace's power and was wreaking havoc on East 6th. After I finished my sandwich(Hey, my powers take a LOT of energy, and that was a drippy sandwich, I am NOT coming home to soggy bread.), I grew a pair of wings and took off, soaring over the streets of Austin until I landed outside the Lodge, where the PT was busy drinking himself into a stupor. Dumbass was just making my job that much easier. I pulled my wings back into my body and coughed to clear my throat, the power thief whipping around, pointing Dennis' Plasma Slingshot at me, before he realized who I was.
"MAKESHIFT" he boomed(I would have insulted the dramatics, but that was part of DM's powerset too), shoving a table aside so that there was nothing between us, "WHAT KIND OF FOOL ARE YOU, THE STRONGEST SUPERHERO IN AUSTIN, COMING TO FIGHT THE PAIN DRAIN?"
I morphed my arm into a whiplike tentacle, and lashed it out at the guy who was apparently calling himself Pain Drain, letting him grab it. The sucker laughed maniacally, and I felt my powers enter his body, like the parasite seeking a new host that they were. He opened his mouth to taunt me, but almost immediately his tongue sprouted hair and eight legs, and his limbs twisted and contorted, leaving him on the ground not in pain, but confusion as he lost all resemblance to a human outside the skin color. I pulled up a chair and asked the bartender who was still shivering in fear behind the bar for a beer, then turned to face the human shoggoth in front of me, limbs forming and disappearing in the mass, the only constant being a single pair of eyes looking at me, wondering what I had done to him.
"Shapeshifting," I said, handing a ten to the bartender as he gave me my drink, which I calmly took a swig of, "is a dangerous thing for a human mind. See, so many thoughts rush through the head at once, that it's hard to keep any one shape without being distracted by any other number of things. Having the arms of a praying mantis makes you think about the mantis-" I pause to let him see the number of mantis pincers forming all over his body and once again melting back into the abomination in front of me, "And being told not to think about a polar bear makes it impossible to get the damn thing out of your head." On cue, a coat of white fur sprang up over the pile, a bear's face forming where his eyes were. A paw swiped out, but I was too far away, and he was too far gone. I took another drink, and continued, not in a gloating manner, but in the voice of a professor who has had to repeat this lesson seven times in the last two days.
"What I'm saying is, it takes a LOT of self-control to maintain a human shape, let alone morph in the way I do. And you're not only inebriated, but you have NONE of the training, NONE of the knowledge of anatomy, and virtually NONE of the capacity to wield this power in a way that won't leave you dead in less than two minutes unless you let go of it. Why two minutes? Because I know you haven't been giving yourself lungs or a heartbeat under all of that mess." The eyes widened, and the thread I felt my powers being tugged away from me with snapped, letting the parasite of a power return to the original host. With a quick shift of my hand into a squirrel to make sure my powers were functioning, I walked up to the quivering mass, the eyes begging, pleading with me to change him back, and I plunged my other hand into the mass. My fingers popped as they fused to his skin, and I began knitting his body back together, first forming legs, then the torso, then the arms, and next the head, and following THAT with the vascular system, the nervous system, and then finally, the organs. I pulled my hand away, and picked my beer back up off the counter, the police coming in to arrest the now heavily-traumatized man. There was a reason Power Thieves didn't last long in my city, and it was because, like most people who came to Austin looking for the weird, they didn't expect the weirdness they were going to be getting. | Ugh, well it’s been a while since I’ve talked about this, but having the “superpower” of acid spit gets incredibly crappy after awhile. You’d think fending off bad guys would be an easy task, but nope, here I am in public running up to the bastard who just stole a ladies purse trying to get into the best possible position for me to hit him with my acidic spit. Also, take into account that despite being acidic, my spit still has the consistency of normal human spit, talk about half measures. DONT even get me started on eating, I cannot give my tastebuds any time to acknowledge whats being put upon them, instead I have to chew my food as fast as possible before the acidic spit turns it into a smoothie.
Of course, there’s always perks to having acidic spit but it’s very very limited. Can I break through most metals with it? Yes. Can I melt an entire human face to its skeleton with it? Yes. Can I kiss my own wife and kids? Absolutely not. People romanticize having any superpower, but believe me, acid spit is 3 shades away from useless. Anyways, that’s all I’ve got for now, it’s not often I get to talk about my essentially futile superpower, my success basically came entirely from my common sense. I guess you could consider that one a superpower since so many people lack it. | 2020-12-02T09:06:54 | 2020-12-02T07:06:24 | 89 | 38 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work. | Whenever I don the garb of The Demoralizer, deeply do I ponder the impact of what I have yet know will be said, though undoubtedly crushing in its delivery to my would be opponent.
"Keep your wits about you" I murmur to my reflection, striped by the rolling waves of streetlights as I race to the valley, where it is said a riot is underway. Passing under the Broadway tunnel, I hear the echo of Cutlass, my greateat ally, called too by this gathering run amok. Although I cannot see him, I know he is cloaked and near, and I feel the vibrations of his stealthy vehicle.
Low ceiling approaches, the tunnel nears its end and the whirring amplifies.
Sparks cloud my vision as Cutless competes for clearance. "You've grazed my car, oaf of Plainsview and..." I breath. Must refrain. Must withhold the demons in my voice before their misdirected scorn befalls an errant mark.
Driving over cracking glass, shattered on the blacktop of a darkened market street. They've mostly moved on but aren't far. Cutlass has rounded the corner, but I see two looting the AM/FM Cabin. "Stop what you're doing," I say as I rise from my beige Studebaker Commander. "Please just go."
One continues to pillage without acknowledging, and the other smiles: a glint of silver reflects from his teeth. "What we have here, aye. You're not the owner, not in that fruity lil' get up. You're not the police."
"No, but this shop belongs to good people, and you're taking what doesn't belong to you. Leave now."
The attention of both now turn to me, and I feel the demons rising to the top of my throat. The lumbering second wheel pipes up with, "Oy. Fuck off, you. Or I'll do to you what I did to the shopkeep who was too stupid to leave better off alone."
No longer would they remain silent, as the men closed in, and unable to hold back I muttered, "Jacob... That was his name. He named his son Perry. He never meant to leave you and your mother, Beth, Perry. He didn't leave for cigarettes and never return like she told you. He didn't know you were on the way when she left."
"Snap out of it, Per," the little one irked with a silver grin. "He's The Demoralizer, mate. He's just trying to get in your head. It's all bullshit. Don't listen."
Big Perry dazed, Slick Seth still approaching, and I: "Like you never listen. You could have saved her if you heard her choking, but you never listen. She looks at you from hell, thinks your fat, and wishes that gun never jammed while you were hogh in that tub."
"ENOUGH!" He scowled and shrunk. Was it something I said?
"I would have just arrested them, but what you do is a travesty," Cutlass remarked from a shadow.
"Your comments, like your penchant for voyeurism, are off putting, Cutlass, and if you'd have gone another block you might have prevented your sisters best friend from being stabbed behind the Aldo's Books."
"Turn it off freak. We have to quit fucking with these guys. There's a bigger problem. This riot was caused by one person... someone who can incite others to violence with just the power of his voice."
I paused... nobody had ever wielded the same power of voice as I. "So, he's like me, then?"
"No," said Cutlass. "It's only your face that incites violence."
...
He's learning. This can't be good. | Known in the underground as the villain "the dark masquerade" as a supervillain yourself, but as lord niceties as you superhero persona. You have been tasked by the council of hero's to find and arrest the evil "dark masquerade." Chuckling you head out on your mission and adopt the mysterious persona taunting your fellow heros, crushing their spirits. Your favorite insult is calling them by their secret identity be it Thomas from HR in your accounting job, or Karen from across the street. The day comes when the hero's Alliance learns of your trickery and hunts you down together with sound damping earplugs so your barbed words pass unheard crushing you to your core. | 2020-02-25T15:34:57 | 2020-02-25T14:53:54 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] “Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.” That was the last thing he said before he shut the basement door. | The kid's face gave it all away. All I had to do was wait.
He gulped, his Adams apple making a long and surprisingly complicated transit up and down his scrawny neck, practically popping his shirt collar on the way. When he spoke, his voice didn't quiver, but it was clear this took some effort.
"And that's when they took him? Is that why you hate them?"
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. Hah, he was probably hoping for Fox Mulder. Or even Scully. Well, too bad, kid, you got *me*. I watched his Adams apple do its rounds up and down again before continuing.
"No. That was when my father, who'd been feeding me bullshit for months, murdered my little sister and my mother. Shot them both right between the eyes. My older brother managed to kick him down the stairs and he broke his neck. He thought I was dead, too. The cops found me down there two hours later, where I told them all about my dad going off to fight the aliens. And they were so *kind* about it. It was *years* before the reality about what my dad had done sunk in."
The kid's expression had gone from one of hopeful eagerness to mounting horror. He'd stepped in it, and now he knew it. He wasn't sure what "it" was yet, but he knew it wasn't good for his future prospects.
Up and down.
Now that I'd scared him, time to make my point. I let my face relax a bit.
"Now, that's a terrible story, but I told you that so I can tell you this: my dad didn't do this in a vacuum. He had idiots on the radio talking about aliens. He had magazines and newspapers full of idiots talking about aliens." I sighed. I had told this story to make this point before - many times, in fact - but it still stung. "He had medication, too, I found out later, and he wasn't taking it. That's on him. But if he hadn't had half a planet full of people whispering in his ear about aliens being everywhere, maybe I'd still have a family."
Up and down. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.
"This kind of nonsense hurts people. *Really* hurts people, kid, people like *me*. I don't like to see it spread, I don't like to have it wasting people's time. It's *dangerous*. And, as it happens, the agency feels the same way."
His eyes were increasingly receding islands of blue in a sea of white. I allowed myself a smile. It didn't seem to reassure him.
"Now, *Mister* Reynolds," I emphasized, to let him know the friendly, informal part of our interview was over. "Now that you are aware of my - and the agency's - position on the subject, is there anything you feel you'd like to add to your story, before I come with you to *see* this alien you have trapped in your shed?"
And I kept smiling. It worked every time; it was why they'd call me in on these cases. Guys hoping to pull one over on us and make a buck off the press would give up after hearing my story, before they actually commit fraud. The guys who were set on committing fraud got charged with wasting police time. And if they actually *believed* their story, well, I knew about mental illness, too. I was probably their best hope at finding help.
So I waited to see which one this kid was.
Up and down.
But damned if he didn't stick to his story. And so, at 11:30 on a Sunday night, I was dragged out into the boonies to see an alien some dumb kid had trapped in his tool shed.
And wouldn't you know it... he was telling the truth. | With a click, I hear the bolt slide on the door. Two locks are next. I can hear them turn and engage, but my side of the door is featureless - not even a door knob on this side.
A short bit of scuffling, then heavy footfalls as he retreats slowly down the basement steps. A short pause - he must have reached the bottom. Then a slow groaning of rusty hinges that have been unused for years. Two minutes later a terrific screech of metal and a heavy thud shakes the house. The absolute silence tells me that I’m alone in the kitchen.
The connection goes through on the third ring. There’s no voice on the other end of the line - just silence.
“It worked.” | 2020-04-26T09:00:06 | 2020-04-26T08:35:57 | 40 | 13 |
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