prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] They told you that you were going to lead an army, 10,000 men strong, they didn't tell you it contained only a single trained soldier, and 9,999 support musicians. | "Sir, we've got reports from the Northern front," the adjutant stated in a dry voice. The general looked at him expectantly.
"The 3rd combined division has secured Kehner river and is currently building an outpost for further excursions."
The general nodded contently.
"However," the adjutant continued, "the Luhner cavalry division has suffered a defeat at Argot forest; an ambush. A sergeant in their company has sold information to our enemies, I am afraid. He has been made an example out of."
"Shit," the general growled. "Luhner company was our best cavalry division. Send word to the capital requesting additional horses. Now, if that is all-" he started getting up.
"Actually." the adjutant slowly added, "there is... one more report you'll want to hear." His words were oddly cautious as if he was afraid of them.
"Well?" the general said, sitting back down. "Get on with it."
"It's the Iron Drakes, sir."
The general slouched in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The Iron Drakes were an elite company of heavily armoured soldiers with a penchant for fire. They've killed everyone he threw at them and at this point, he was at his wit's end as to how to deal with them.
"Who'd they slaughter this time?" he sighed.
"They, uh... they've been defeated, sir."
The general looked up at him with noticeable surprise.
"*What*? When? By whom?!" he said.
"Yesterday, sir. The messenger arrived just a few hours ago. And it was the, uh... the Tromb company."
The general stared daggers at his adjutant. He considered whether he was playing a prank on him, but he was a loyal aid for years now and not known for a sense of humour.
"There *must* be a clerical error then. A scribe with one too many head injuries. The Tromb company is *literally* just several thousand musicians-"
"And one trained soldier, sir. Plus the commander," the adjutant interrupted.
"Sure, right, Karl, the veteran, and the commander is... isn't he new?"
"Completely, sir. He was assigned to the company to help them while they were transferring from west to north. Just rookie escort duty."
"Then how, pray tell, could a load of musicians - and *one* soldier - defeat the most decorated company of soldiers we have ever faced?"
"Sir, the commander ordered the musicians to play music while Karl single-handedly rushed the enemy."
"That's-"
"Sir, do you know the song 'No man can harm me, no fire can burn me'?"
The general looked down at his desk trying to remember. "^(And then no man... harm... I shall walk... fire...)" he muttered. "Yes, I remember."
"So the musicians played it and, well, inspired Karl to the point where he quite literally embodied the lyrics. The Iron Drakes could not land a single blow and he walked through their fires as if it was a pleasant breeze."
The general sat in stunned silence.
"And apparently, his eyes started glowing at some point," the adjutant added.
The silence continued.
"And also his sword broke and he started picking up rocks and killing them with those. Rock and stone, general. *That's* what he used," the adjutant said as if he didn't believe his own words.
The general, at last, managed to recover some composure.
"You say a messenger brought these news?" he asked. His aid nodded.
"Bring him in. I want to hear it from him directly."
The adjutant motioned his hand and a young, freckled man walked in. He was clutching a banner with a drake covered in iron plates on it - the banner of the Iron Drakes. That was proof enough that the Drakes were indeed defeated.
"Lad, I want you to tell me *everything* you saw," the general said. The messenger nervously looked at him for a moment before speaking.
"WHAT? COULD YOU SPEAK UP PLEASE?" he yelled. | "Right, all 9,999 of you line up here to receive your special vests before we enter battle," Sergei said with a grin.
"What makes them special?" asked one musician hesitantly.
"Oh, they contain reinforced plates to protect you in battle," Sergei explained.
"Why arent we getting any weapons?" asked another musician.
"Uh, you'll be supported by artillery. We just need you to get close enough to make the enemy surrender," Sergei said.
Later that day...
Boom! Boom! Kaboom!
Musicians in suicide bomber vests exploded left and right, taking out several enemy soldiers with them.
"Keep running!" Sergei ordered another group musicians. "Run at that formation!"
Boom! Boom! He triggered more vests as the musicians ran.
The battle concluded with Sergei and half of his army taking control of the enemy capital.
"Good work men!" Sergei shouted.
"Now, I need you to form a marching band when we march into town..." | 2022-09-23T10:19:14 | 2022-09-23T09:44:12 | 277 | 41 |
[WP] Weapons are enchanted by performing incredible feats with them. The harder the feat, the stronger the enchantment.
For example, a rifle used in WWII might become magical, or a lucky ring that someone had on while free running might suddenly become a ring of agility, etc. | "Why are we here?" I demanded angrily.
My teacher looked to me with that smile he always wore, that infuriating one that said to be patient and trust him. "Have faith, my young squire." I could tell my irritation was amusing him, but I didn't care. I was supposed to be preparing for my tournament, my first ever, on which I placed my pride as my master's pupil and a future knight. And he had brought me to a damn circus.
"Master, why are we here? Should we not be with the royal blacksmith, so he can begin work on my sword? It takes time to forge a perfect blade."
"That it does, my impatient pupil," My master said, "Time we do not have. Even a perfectly balanced weapon takes time to master, and your tournament is in less than a week. Even the best smithy would not finish your weapon in time."
I crossed my arms petulantly. I knew I was being unreasonable. He was right, I would never have a new sword made in time. Of all the blasted luck, to have my father's blade broken during a sparring match. My opponent had used a Trained Blade, one that was built for rending steel. Even so, that did not explain why we were HERE. "Shouldn't we be at the armory, at least? I'm sure the forgemaster would let me borrow one for the tournament."
Master tsk'd. "The tournament allows Trained Blades. There is every possibility that the Swordrender will be there as well. And if you are unprepared, he will best you again. No, you need more than the common enchanted blades in the armory. You need something special. So I thought I'd introduce you to an old friend." As he said that, he stopped at one of the tents, a gaudy, yellow thing splashed with pink and orange dyes. The very sight made my stomach turn.
My master shot me a sharp look, noting the disgust on my face. "It is of utmost importance that you treat him with respect. He is a master sword trainer. You would do well to remember that, no matter his... eccentricities."
I swallowed, nodding. Seeing my determination, he let out a satisfied grunt, before turning to sweep aside the curtain.
"HIYA! I'M BOPO THE CLOWN!"
I leaped back in shock as the gaily dressed buffoon popped up out of nowhere. He was dressed in ridiculously garish clothing, all blues and reds and yellows with no one thing matching the other. He swept off his hat, the bells tinkling wildly as he pitched forward in a deep bow. I could swear I heard fabric rip as he did it.
I shot my master a look, as if to plead. "Surely not."
Master just smirked, removing his cap and lowering himself into a far more refined bow. "Master Bopo, I am pleased to see you again."
"The pleasure is all mine! All mine, Mister... Whatchername!" The fool said with a goofy smile. Needless to say I was quite taken aback by the exchange, not just the utter lack of respect with which he treated my master, but the similarly great regard my master seemed to have for him. He must be a great Trainer indeed, to get away with such tomfoolery. I hastily followed my master's lead, sketching a hasty bow to the clown.
"So, what brings you to Bopo the Clown's lovely home?" Bopo asked, snapping out of his bow into a standing flip, coming to land on one hand. My eyes widened at the show of strength and agility. Perhaps Master was onto something here.
"We have come to peruse your wares," My master said, "If that is alright with you."
"Of course! Of course! Wouldn't be much of a business if I didn't!" He grinned, tumbling forward into a somersault before jumping to his feet and spinning toward a large purple curtain hanging near one corner of the tent. He swept the fabric away with a flourish, revealing half a dozen long, narrow rapiers. "Behold, my latest batch of dancing blades! Most are claimed already, but I have one left. Better get 'em while supplies last!" He shot me an exaggerated wink.
I gave the narrow blades a critical look. "What's so special about these swords?"
"Why I'm glad you asked!" He said happily, "Only a fool would buy a product blind, and I don't see any fools here, do you?"
I coughed politely.
"Right!" He continued, picking a blade from the middle. "Observe!" He flipped the blade into the air, and stuck out his index finger, the sword landing on it's edge just above the guard. "It's perfectly balanced," He said, flicking the pommel. The sword gyrated for a moment, before returning to perfect parallel with the ground. Then he winked, tossed the sword up, and caught it again, this time on his pinkie, half way up the blade. Again, it remained in perfect balance.
"Amazing," I widened my eyes in shock.
Grinning, Bopo once again threw the sword, sending it arching high into the air before following it with a backflip. Landing solidly, he bent his knees, folded his arms and leaned backwards until his torso was suspended horizontally a few inches from the ground. I gasped as the sword plummeted toward his face, only to land point-first on the tip of his painted nose.
"Another fine work," My master said warmly, offering a round of applause.
Bopo righted himself with a flourish, once again taking the blade in hand. He held it out to me, pommel first. "Try it, young man."
I respectfully took the sword from his hands, stepping into the middle of the tent to give it a few practice swings. It was amazing. The weight was there, but there was no resistance. The sword moved exactly as I intended, as if by it's own power, needing only my direction to give it purpose. I ran my finger up the blade. "It's dull!"
"Not so my friend!" Bopo said cheerily, "You could easily eviscerate either one of us with a flick of your wrist!" He flicked a playing care out of his sleeve, the paper square flying in a perfect arc to slice itself lengthwise across the blade. "I train all my swords that way! What use is a Trained Blade if you're just going to lose a finger?" He held up his left hand and wiggled his digits, and for the first time I noticed that there were only four.
"Oh," I said humbly.
"Fear not! A lesson learned is a lesson earned!" He laughed. Then he gave me a conspiratory look. "Would you like to see how I do it?"
I nodded, eyes wide, but my master raised objection. "Now Bopo, I know you like to show off, but if you go revealing trade secrets like that you'll never stay in business."
"HA!" Bopo scoffed, "Ha-HA! I'd like to see anyone copy Bopo's techniques! Observe!" He grabbed another sword off the rack and balanced it by the tip, before tilting his head back and dropping his jaw. Master and I watched in somewhat disgusted fascination as he slowly fed the gleaming blade inch by inch down his gullet. In less than a minute the entire length of the sword had disappeared down his throat, the crossguards resting on his cheeks. He winked, and I could see a smile around the edges of the sword. Then he carefully extracted it.
Master gave him another round of applause, and this time I joined. "Amazing," I said.
Bopo smiled. "Show the sword you trust it, and it will never betray you. Take that with you, my young friend, and treat it well. I'll let your master over here foot the bill!" He chuckled and winked before turning back to master. A few minutes later, the gold was exchanged, and I had a new weapon. Tradition dictated that I name name it, and so I decided on Olivia. It seemed a fitting name for a dancer.
"Oh, and one more thing!" Bopo shouted after us as we were leaving. "That one has a lousy sense of humor! If it starts telling a bunch of knock-knock jokes, just remember one thing: NO REFUNDS!" | It’d been ages since I’d seen my family, I’ve spent my entire savings for this chance. And my time had come. For the longest I’d been struck by mediocrity in all my political endeavors... This is my chance. I know he existed and perished in Florence. Niccolò Machiavelli, a man whose voice would lay the framework for many to follow, had a voice and a reason governing all of his motives. It wasn’t enough to analyze his text, to study night and day worshipping his methods... No. This would be the ultimate feat of replication. I planned the flight from my home in Binghamton, leaving my loving family all just to satiate my hunger for success. Which for the longest time has gone without notice. Left my loving daughters, and my beautiful wife. Oh the regret she must carry in her soul for marrying a failure of a person as I.
My plan was simple, in the wee hours of the morning I would drive to the burial site and take what was rightfully and always intended to be mine. His ring, he wore it during every speech. Every movement. It was bound to have some form of divinity to it. There’d been cases of people finding these “Divine Artifacts” as I’d referred to them. Nevertheless they were special articles or relics that granted the finder an ability based on the nature and difficulty of the task they achieved. For example on the news some lucky bloke found Da Vinci’s notebook at a street market. A simple fellow as he was known was granted the intelligence to invent, paint, and even engineer great things. Somebody with no education! The media thought it was a facade, some form of supernatural false hype. This was the genuine article however.
*BANG*
Lost in my thought I’d realized I’d just hit the casket of Machiavelli’s grave. There was no more than a few inches of dirt separating me from my destiny. I lift the casket cover and what I find throws me into a horrified stupor. I’d no idea what my eyes fell upon however I was amazed and confused. He was alive, this man who’d been buried for almost five hundred fucking years had been alive this whole time. He hadn’t aged a bit and the artwork had portrayed him perfectly.
“Thank you” he said entirely nonchalant about just being taken out of his grave.
After a few minutes of stunned silence I noticed his quill, a glowing feather, sticking out of his coats pocket.
“I’d been in there for quite some time, thank you for freeing me from that box” he spoke an old, delicate version of Italian. I now understood this mans political knowledge to a further extreme, he knew what to say and had the voice to project his feelings.
“How are you alive” I spoke as softly as I could trying to imitate his level of intellect, all the which was probably smashed to pieces by the fact that my Italian was broken and essentially useless.
“I’m not sure, however this quill of mine is glowing and I recall it to be the one I wrote all my books with.”
That was it, the gears finally clicked, he changed the course of human history. As long as people remembered his writing and his teachings he’d live on. A Divine Artifact useless for anybody but himself.
I let out a sigh.
“What’s bothering you fellow” his heroic voice consoles me.
“You’re quite possibly the most influential writer of your time. Your political theory is still practiced today, and you died five hundred years ago.”
Then with one word he blew all my insecurities away. One small word so insignificantly used in modern life he used it to console a grown man.
“So?”
“People remember you, they will remember you. When I die I’ll be known as a failed politician whose hackneyed beliefs led him to his demise.”
“Your beliefs will not lead you to your fall, they will lead you to those with similar beliefs, and you must lead them. Be their voice of reason. Speak particularly loud for the weak my friend, it is those minds whom of which you should appeal to.”
I was so astonished, five minutes of life and he’s already formulated a plan of what should be done for my horrendous situation.
“Thank you” I said, warm tears rolling down my face.
“Do what you will with the information I’ve given you, you seem to be the most intelligent pupil I’ve ever had.”
I asked him what his plan was with his newfound freedom.
“I will go back to sleep. And I will help another lost soul in need of guidance. Do me a favor on your way out though friend, will you?” He said with a coy grin.
“Anything” I replied without hesitation.
“Bury me so nobody knows of this interaction.” He said sternly.
“Of course” I said, my words and manhood being torn to pieces by the knot in my throat.
I climb out of his grave and before he closes his casket he gives me a reassuring wink to what I can only speculate is his sign of good faith. I began filling in the grave, tearing up at the idea of burying my teacher, the best one I’ve ever had. Words could not describe the impalpable feeling of pride I have. The newfound confidence of learning from the best. No. Nothing compares to it at all.
| 2017-12-05T13:40:17 | 2017-12-05T12:45:44 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] A world where days have started repeating twice. Everyone experiences the second day as a do-over of the first but only the actions and consequences of that second day end up carrying forward in time. | "Haha" the laughter was the only sound heard in the dark office besides flickering lights smashed in and the rattle of the old air conditioner. "That makes it 89 wins for me! Most in the office!" John stood up victorious. The office was his kingdom for the day now. He always enjoyed winning because it meant he could do something productive like read a book or watch a movie, even masturbate when he felt like it. An empty office was a perfect office to him.
He wiped the blood from his hands onto his nice Purple Label jacket and gave out a large sigh as if he had just completed something that had never done before. The reality of it was that he was done the same exact thing 89 other times and it had been done to him countless times on top of that.
"God Gerry, I can't believe you lasted as long as you did." He kicked the limp, plump body that was leaking blood all over the diamond patterned carpet. "But," He wagged his finger at the pile of absent flesh, "You did have a good idea hiding in that vent," He sat down in a slump, exhausted from his victory, "That's a new one."
The silence was what he liked best as he began to carve his name into Gerry's desk with the bloody hunter's knife. Now, the rules of Office arena were that you could not use a blade over 3 inches, but John liked to toe the line of authority and his was 5. They'd catch on sooner or later, but hell Susan used a shotgun only two weeks ago and she didn't get much of a punishment other than the stoning the following Double Day.
"Dammit, I've got to call Mr. Becker back about his deposition." John picked up the phone on the desk and listened for a tone. Buuuuuuuuuuh. Good, no one took out the phone lines yet, which was odd because they were usually down by noon. He dialed up Mr. Becker hoping he was still alive.
The recording started, "You have reached Louis Becker, you've called on a Double Day so I won't be in the office right now. You can reach me at my bunker number of 908-765-8976. Thanks and have a safe Double Day."
"Ugh, pussy," John dialed the bunker
"Hello!?" Becker answered in a hurried voice
"Um, Mr. Becker, its John from Cardman, Goise and Pierce."
"Now... is just not a good time John. Call back tomorrow on the--- No! Please don't hurt her---, Just call back in Real Time John" The phone dropped, but John could hear everything going on on the other end of the receiver. He hung up. There was only so much he could stomach. Well, someone found Beck's bunker which means doing any business on future DDays is slim. The relocation of that bunker is going to take at least a week of orderly DDays to get that fixed. He swiveled to the window, around Gerry, and looked down; fire in mid-town, the military barricade down the street was abandoned. Yup, it was a bad one today.
He pulled a desk drawer open and his lips involuntarily curled to a wry smile.
"You always have good stuff Gerry," He pulled out a container that held a needle and small baggie of Heroine, "Oh, you be quiet over there and quit your bitching," He talked at the motionless body that once was Gerry, "It will be here tomorrow like nothing ever happened." | Not sure I understand the premise completely. If everyone remembers the first day, doesn't it still have consequences by virtue of being part of their memories? If you break my thumbs on day one, I would still be angry at you even if i woke up with healed thumbs on day two... | 2014-07-03T11:29:00 | 2014-07-03T10:57:38 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead.
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | It's been about a day since I've stopped taking my meds. Why am I not dead yet? Could it be? Am I immune? Damn I can't tell anyone, they'll probably dissect me or something. Wait. No wait hold on. What if... What if the virus is a lie? How could I possibly know. I could probably pull an experiment, but who would willingly give up their life for my curiousity. or .... Why does it have to be willingly? I know the perfect person for this. My roommate Steve. I wouldn't feel bad even if that douchebag died.
And that's how it started. I took out my phone and began recording myself.
"Hi there, my name is ThisIsDark, and as of 2 days I have not taken my medicine. You know exactly what I'm talking about. The medicine that's supposedly keeping us alive from "Apocalypse" that virus that can supposedly wipe out humanity. That means one of two things are true, either I'm immune or the virus is all a huge fucking HOAX. That's what we're going to test today boys and girls."
I hold up a pill box to the camera.
"In my hand is my roommate Steve's pillbox. I know what you're thinking, and yes that's exactly what I'm going to do. I have replaced Steve's pills with sugar pills. And I know I'm an asshole for doing this but I need to know. Also Steve is a huge jackass, trust me you wouldn't like him."
I put Steve's pillbox in the medicine cabinet where it belongs and wait.
-----------------------------------------
"Okay it has now been two days."
I move the camera to show steve, and promptly return to my room.
"IT'S A FUCKING HOAX." are the first words out of my mouth.
"All our lives we've been told apocalypse could kill us all if we didn't take our pills and look at me. I haven't taken any pills in 4 days and I'm alive and kicking!" I kick a chair in my room to emphasize my point.
"Even freaking STEVE isn't dead yet! This proves it. Apocalypse isn't real! Stop paying for the pills people! The government has been lying to us!"
I cut off the video and navigate to the youtube app. I upload it and share links to it everywhere I can. Facebook, Reddit, imgur, even freaking 9gag! Screw 9gag! I'm in a frenzy telling all my friends. They all sound so confused, like I've gone crazy and obviously it sounds crazy. It's like I woke up and told them water was dry. I'm putting in serious work to share this story as far as it can go, morning until midnight. I'm started to get tired and my video only has maybe 100 views.
"Ugh, I'll deal with this tomorrow."
I head to my bed and promptly collapse.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"ughh"
I wake up around 2 pm like I usually do, like a fucking zombie. The first thing on my mind? The video. I wonder how many views it has. I log onto to youtube and damn near lose my shit. TEN MILLION VIEWS MOTHERFUCKER. I check my facebook and it's been reuploaded so much I have no idea how many views it's actually gotten. It's been freaking pinned on the front page as a discussion on reddit.
"Damn this blew up!"
I relish in my newfound internet fame. Well, for about a full 10 minutes until my door explodes.
"What the fuck!"
"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! DON'T MOVE! DON'T MOVE! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD! GET DOWN ON THE --- DON'T --- HANDS!
All I hear is a lot of yelling and screaming. I am fucking scared and losing my shit. One of the swat guys hits me in the face with the butt of his rifle. They shove me to the ground, stomp on my face, grab my hands and restrain me.
"Aghhh! Wha" Another rifle butt to the face.
A man walks in through my door. He has the FBI stamp on a bulletproof vest. He looks MAD.
"Are you ThisIsDark?"
"uhh, y -yes!"
"Alright, let's go!"
Two of the swat guy pick me up by each arm and carry me outside to an armored truck. They throw me into the back and the FBI guy is right there next to me.
"Let's go."
The driver starts the car and we're off.
"What's going on?" I ask dazed.
"You know exactly what's going on."
Damn it's the video isn't it.
"You fucking pigs were exploiting us and you expected me to sit by? It serves you fucking right!"
He clocks me. Holy crap you really do see stars when you get punched in the face. Is my jaw broken? Ah fuck that really hurt.
"YOU IDIOT! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"
"What are you talking about?" I managed to scream out half whimpering.
"You'll see. Until then, shut the fuck up and sit tight."
The remainder of the ride happens in silence.
"Get out."
I'm roughly shoved out of the car by the FBI guy, but I'm too scared to even say a word. They walk me into this really shady building that has no windows. I am so royally fucked. They are going to beat my ass.
"Where are we going?"
No response. Yup, they are going to beat my ass. They take me into an elevator and we make our merry way. The elevator ride is about as terrifying as the car ride. I'm bracing myself to get my ass beat. The elevator opens into .... a surprisingly nice looking office. Kind of like those control centers you see in movies. Actually this probably is one of their "control centers" or something. They escort me to a conference room with a huge TV.
"Sit down!"
I obediently get into a seat. Sitting with your hands handcuffed behind you isn't exactly comfortable. FBI guy flips on the TV. It opens to a naked guy sleeping.
"uhhhh?"
"Frank Giatto, 29, male, single, from California, works in fast food, no children."
"Okay?"
"He's dead."
"Okay?"
"Because of you."
"Whoa whoa whoa. You're saying he's dead? That's bullshit, for all I know you're making this all up and he was dead anyways. I know Apocalypse is just a hoax. I even tested it on Steve for the last couple days."
FBI guy punches the table and breaks a piece off. Oh shit I am going to get my ass beat.
"YOU AND YOUR RETARDED ROOMMATE STEVE ARE SOMEHOW FUCKING IMMUNE!"
"Bullshit!"
He starts flipping through pictures.
"Martha, Oliver, Ivan, Satoshi, John.... All dead. Because of you and your video."
"I don't see any evidence."
Then he punches me square in the jaw again. Yup I finally got my ass beat.
A woman walks in.
"Chief, we're doing all we can: sending out videos, tweets, put all the TVs on emergency broadcast channels. It's not doing anything. It's a shitshow out there!"
"uhh ... whaaa?" I manage to pick up tidbits through the ringing in my ears.
FBI guy flips the channel on the TV again.
"Paris. California. New York. Washington. Berlin. Beijing."
"No way..." I say mouth agape. They were all practically half destroyed. Massive riots and huge collateral damage.
"THIS....is what happens when you talk about things you have no idea about."
"But... but me and Steve..."
"FUCK YOU AND STEVE. YOU LUCKY FUCKERS ARE IMMUNE BUT THOSE PEOPLE OUT THERE AREN'T. In about 12 hours, every last one of those people you see on the screen right there? They're gonna drop dead where they stand."
I have fucked up.
"Isn't there anything I can do? I can make another video, or..!"
"It's too late. When people get in a frenzy like this 12 hours isn't enough to convince them to take the medicine again."
"no........."
| As I laced my tattered shoes on my aching feet, I could feel my heart pulsating in my ear drums. I'd never been so afraid. Never felt so alone. It even took me a few moments to realize that I'd been fumbling hopelessly with my laces because of how much my hands were shaking. I took a deep breath and repeated the same words that had kept me going up to this point. "He'll go for it. He has to go for it." I whispered to myself. I pushed off from my bed with a loud creak and grabbed my Lucky Stop t-shirt from the hamper. I pulled it over my head and instantly the stench overwhelmed me. However I kept my composure as I started down the steps that bombarded me with more familiar creeks and groans. I passed by the washing machine in the laundry room as I walked though the living room. The rusty old thing had stopped working weeks ago. I'd been hand washing our clothes since then, with soap that just ran out yesterday. I shuffled anxiously into the kitchen where my trusted companion sat waiting patiently.
I loved my bike, it was the only thing I owned that still looked new. As I looked at it, sweet and sour memories of my mother and I soaring through the trails in the woods flooded my mind. She was so lively and carefree then. As I pulled my bike to the front door, I glanced quickly at the guest room where my mother now slept because the stairs had become too much for her. Her breathing was a little labored, but no worst than usual. I'd placed her pill bottles on the night stand next to her for when she woke. And the clear glass vial of green liquid that kept me up at night, sat right next to them. The green glow tempting me to come closer. I turned and quickly darted out the door before my mother woke and saw me, possibly for the last time, or before I did something I'd regret.
The check that my mom recieved monthly from the government should arrive by tomorrow, I thought as I pedaled madly towards Lucky Stop. That would keep her covered for a month of vials, and so on each month wity just enough let over for food. In that case however she'd need to stop taking her pills for some period of time to afford the vials. The thought alone made me shudder with fear. As I pulled to Lucky Stop I related the words to myself once more, a little louder this time. "He'll go for it. He has to go for it." I sobbed, as tears rolled down my cheeks. On the front window was a blown up picture of that same precious glass vial bubbling with bright emerald liquid. On the picture in bold lettering was Lucky's new Lyf ad. It read 'New Low Prices, Replenish Yourself With Daily Lyf Bio Supplements Today.' I wiped my tears and entered convenience store. Lucky saw me instantly, a grim look hung on his face. However, I went forward with my proposal all the same.
"So Lucky, I know things have been slow recently, but I was hoping you could give me an advance for today. J-just enough for a couple vials. My mom's leukemia has progressed a bit and the prices of the drugs she needs now are insane. So please I just need-"
Lucky cuts me off. "Get out."
I'm dumbfounded. "I work today though and I really need the hours."
He raised his voice this time. "I said get out! I know you've been stealing vials. Why do you think I moved the supply into the back? I felt sorry for your poor mother, so I kept you on, but I have mouths to feed too. I'm afraid they're more important."
After that, I don't even remember leaving the store, but I do know that I wound up in some back alley, way downtown. My prized possession sat against the wall opposite of me, taunting me with the promises of what was and what could've been. I knew I couldn't go home, my mom couldn't take it if she found me. I pressed my head against the filthy brick wall and glanced at my bike one last time. I closed my eyes, satisfied that at the very least it was the last thing I'd see.
When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see my beloved bike was gone, probably stolen in the night. I was even more shocked to find that I was not gone. I looked up at the sun and for the first time in a long time, I smiled. Then I laughed. I laughed alone in that dank alley for hours. People passed by me and stared awkwardly or scowled. It was then that I noticed how sickly they all seemed. Many were coughing or sneezing and others just seemed genuinely miserable. I began to wonder when the last time I'd seen a person smile or crack a joke. I'm sure I'd questioned it before and chalked it up to the virus, but as I looked out from that grimy alleyway, feeling the best I had in years, I wasn't so sure anymore. | 2017-07-14T15:05:28 | 2017-07-14T12:52:49 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] "We have ancient elven magic, and even the dwarves have their ugly mountain forts. What do YOU have, human?!" "Napalm, and high-explosives, mostly..." *grumbling beard in the background* "....our forts are aesthetically pleasing though..." | Eight thousand, five hundred and fifty eight years. Not even the oldest of the dragons could remember a time of peace. The dwarves had long since retreated to their mountain cities, deep underground. The dwarven forts, once renowned throughout the land for their aesthetic lines and imposing towers, now lay in ruin atop the mountain cities that hid their people. The elves erected a mighty magic shield around their capitol. That was a thousand years ago. Now the elves are accustomed to the constant arcane bombardment that beats the shield like a drum.
Armies of orcs, goblins, and trolls scour the land and seas for any that would oppose the will of their dark master. Small nomadic tribes eke out a living, constantly fleeing war bands and circumventing the armies of darkness. Few of these wandering people remain and their numbers diminish by the year.
A blinding flash in the night sky changed everything, as it so often would in legend. So sudden it was and lasting for but a moment that many believed it to be a trick of the enemy or some mass hallucination. For others it something to hope for. But no one knew what it meant. Gnomish astronomers and elvish diviners scoured the night sky for a hint of the celestial phenomenon. The dark ones forces redoubled their efforts against the survivors, presumably fearing a change in the fates.
Exactly one month after the heavenly flare another stellar event occurred. This time *everyone* saw it. It was if the stars themselves were falling in the east. Trails of ash and fire marked the passage of the objects as they raced for the surface. The heavens roared and the people panicked. Surely the end was nigh.
But then all was silent and the night was still. The objects must have impacted somewhere yet no sound had been heard. As quickly as the event had started it had ended.
A week later the elves where startled when the bombardment on their shield abruptly ended. The dwarves waited anxiously, yet no attacks came from the surface tunnels. The gnomish refuges found themselves in the clear, with no armies to dodge or patrols to evade. The dragons awoke from their ancient slumber in their hidden realm, the threat apparently gone, or at the very least weakened to the point that their magics told them to arise.
Slowly but surely, a representative of each race arrived at the elven capitol to discuss this unexpected turn of events. No one really knew what had happened. Lone wanderers and crazed mystics spoke of an army that had arisen in the east and challenged the dark lord, pushing him back and forcing him to call upon his forces scattered as they were upon the world.
It was decided that an expedition must be sent to investigate. Each of the races would choose a representative to the east to observe the events there and report back. One of the dragons agreed to carry this group there and back.
The mismatched party of scouts quietly flew east, their minds filled with trepidation and dread. Was it all a ruse? Was this a trick by the enemy to draw the survivors from their hiding places?
What they found was arguably worse.
It started on the second day of their travels. The air felt wrong... ionized, the magic common to their world disrupted and sundered. The third day revealed pillars of smoke on the horizon. The fourth, fields of dead orcs, goblins, and trolls.
The once beautiful forests and plains of the east were now little more than ash and mud, inter spaced with lakes of blood and hills of eviscerated corpses. To a man the scouts were sickened by what they saw that day.
The fifth day revealed what was left of the Dark One's army. The army that had terrorized a world for generations innumerable now numbered a mere hundred thousand and fled like panicked birds to the north. There was no order, no leadership evident in the scattered hordes flight. In every direction, the remnants of the dark army fled.
The sixth day changed the lives of these adventurous souls forever. In the distance, just cresting the horizon a large camp could be spotted surrounding a cluster of massive structures. A wall that rivaled that which the dwarves could build surrounded the complex. From a series of towers, strange magicks arced forward and struck a small shield that an infamous dark lord and his most loyal minions could be seen hiding behind.
Every now and then a figure or two could be seen trying to flee the Dark One's shield, only to be struck down by the horseless chariots that patrolled the area or the wingless drakes that hovered menacingly about the complex.
As the explorers took this all in a pair of metal constructs blazed past the dragon that carried them sending them into tumble. Their dragon ally was quick to right themselves and no one was thrown off, but they found themselves in a perilous situation as more of the supersonic constructs shot past them. They were quick to flee, but soon realized they weren't being attacked but instead herded away from the Dark Lord's position. With little further prompting they were quick to vacate the area.
Suddenly, the party was blinded as a pillar of azure energy struck down from the heavens atop the Dark One's cover. The sound was if thunder echoed all around them continuously. A few seconds later the eye searing light abated revealing a smoking crater where the Dark One had stood but moments prior.
At that time a pair of the metal constructs that had herded the dragon and its passengers away came to rest silently but a few yards away, floating effortlessly in the air. The natives eyed these strange beings warily. It was obvious should the constructs and their allies wish it, they were dead.
A voice spoke from one of the constructs in the trade tongue.
"We are humanity. We traveled the stars to meet others in the hope of brotherhood and trade. We came in peace. Yet these you see before you offered us nothing but war and hatred. What do you offer?" | "Aesthetically pleasing? Maybe. Perhaps by your kinds standards, but not to us. Although I admit they are in a sense when you compare them to the dwarves ugly forts. However... Unlike theirs, yours appear like thin ice, without magic, they seem fragile, no doubt they will shatter and crumble under a child elf pressure magic. Your explosives you spoke of, they're long and pointy, they're structurally weak. You throw yours against the dwarves spherical explosives, there is no doubt your explosives will break in mid air. The napalm? Sounds like oil and fire, which the orcs have and used since the beginning of time. Child's play! Your kind is weak! You have so much land still available in your human realm, yet you're somehow on the brink of destroying it through unsustainable living practice. Our ancestors were crazy to seal your kind away to live in such rich realm. It was a terrible waste. Your race is a mistake. We shall send you back... but ready yourselves, we will take that realm back..."
The elf guards shoved the human representatives through the portal that connected the human realm and the ancient realm, where the elves, dwarves, and orcs reluctantly lived in peace. The elder elf waves his hand and the portal closes. The human representatives debriefed their meetings with the ancient races to world leaders. Concerned whisperings filled the halls at the U.N. headquarters. There was no choice, war had just been declared.
In two weeks, the war ended. The ancient races surrendered... "To have declared war on the human race was a mistake that we the elven, dwarven, and orcish leaders admit. The human race... Possessed powers and knowledge we did not understand. Technology that surpassed the dwarves, explosives packed with magic that erased our army in a flash. Fire that stuck and burned hotter than anything we have seen. Heavily armored man made giant birds that flew faster than any magical winds we could create and threw lighting down at our men. Also their ugly mobile forts that were impenetrable and threw tiny but devastating explosives. The human race is nothing to be messed with. The only logical explanation as to how such a powerful race came to be, is they were created using the best parts of all of us. They have the superior understanding of technology from the dwarves, the superior understanding of nature's magic from the elves, and brutality that exceeds even the orcs. We write this message as a warning to any other race that may exist in other realms. It is too late for us, the humans will come for us, and should you be discovered by them, they will come for you too. | 2019-02-03T22:29:34 | 2019-02-03T22:19:31 | 137 | 29 |
[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. | Two names, two purposes.
One will kill one will complete.
No way to tell the difference.
At least that's the idea behind the names. I personally think they are both there to mess with you.
You can spend your whole life looking for your soulmate only to find you killer, or worse running from your killer only to find they are you soulmate.
The system was made to fail, and in my case a pain in the ass too, having to shave my head and use 2 mirrors to see one of the names, and hop on one foot to see the other. Some would say that makes it easy, because surely the one on my head is my soulmate, it's too important of a spot not to be, but that falls apart when the name on my foot is my own, because who would be killed by someone with your own name, therefore it must be my soulmate's
Their just grasping at straws, and even if that did help it doesn't matter because I'm avoid both the names like the plague. Kinda a shame though. I did meet someone the other day who was very attractive and shared my name. My exit was more than awkward. But even so they both might as well be killers for me.
I'm in love with Elliot, and no that is not my name nor the name on my head. No Elliot is... awesome. Known them my whole life and with ever second I spend with them my love doubles, and ever second I spend away it triples.
Thats why the system was meant to fail. It has no regards to how we ourselves feel and forces people to deny relationships that could help one another and grow purely because of name. Now don't get me wrong I also belived that for a time the name was who you're best with.
But that's wrong.
I ran.
From Elliot that is, for a few years I went out and tried to find my soulmate and tried to forget Elliot, full not content and all, but I never could and I never did. Instead I thought, a lot, and I came to a realization.
Your soulmate isn't someone who is the best for you or makes you the happiest, and isn't even someone you're meant to be with. You're soulmate is your best friend. It's the person you can be you around, someone who you can lean on and Some one you, 'click' with. But none of that requires love.
Love is a choice and we get to choose and I love Elliot. Even with every day that goes by that I don't get to see them, even with the fact that they've become text on a screen, a name to a face that I've forgotten. Even the times they talk to me about problems with their soulmate, I still love them. Even if they're one foot out the door and forgetting me, leaving me, even though they don't want me to leave them. I still love them.
But that's just how life is. Sometimes you will lose a friend, even someone you love. Sometimes people just fade, and it's just a sad, sad, sad part of life. But the thing is, you just have to be strong enough for yourself, willing to do what you want to and love what who you want to.
The system is shit, and the only thing it does correctly is predict your killer.
Even in my case.
It's weird, how warm your own blood feels, and peaceful it is doing what you want. | “John Smith. And fuckin.... John Smith. WHAT THE FUCK!” Andrea yelled, looking at her friends arm.
“I know right. Stupid.” Tally remarked. She’d had this reaction before.
“So ya gotta find two John Smith’s?”
“I hope so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I only need to find one.” | 2018-03-11T07:33:45 | 2018-03-11T07:26:50 | 177 | 78 |
[WP] You’re cursed with immortality, not because you sold your soul or you’re a sort of immortal creature but because a few thousand years ago, you stepped on the back of Death’s robe and being the petty shit Death is, he hasn’t forgiven you since.
Edit: okay, wow, I definitely did not expect this to get so popular and to the front page. It was just a little random thing! Thank you so much everyone! I love all your entries! | “Pray for death? Why would I do that? He’s an asshole”
This was my message sent to the EZ-Comm translation module I’d installed to communicate with these tall slimy fucks. Who knows what it will actually relay to the Korthonian ship blotting out the galaxy in my view port.
The earth is dead, well, all life on earth is dead. I’d never imagined I’d live to the 28th century... especially considering that I was born in the dark times after we set foot on the moon but before we’d travelled beyond it.
And now here I am stuck on the wrong side of a blockade, just another dumpy freighter pilot trying to navigate the neon gray boring reality of space travel. I had settled in to wait on violence when the unmistakable smell overpowered me.
“I can smell you! Stop being dramatic and trying to make an entrance!”
The door from the cargo bay rattled and finally opened, out stepped Death. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, skulls aren’t very expressive.
“Excuse me for trying to bring some Gravitas to my station in existence. Every movie humans have ever made about space and spaceships has had sliding doors. I am amused that you are too poor for them.” Death did his impression of laughter that sounds like dead leaves blowing around on concrete.
“They’re stupid, and they’re heavy and they take up extra space. Why screw with a design that’s been fine for millennia?” Internally I agreed but this feud was too entrenched and petty to admit he was right about anything.
“So what brings you to my floating palace you stinky ageless asshole? You ready to let me die?” I looked at him over the top edge of my smartpad... hope rising in my chest.
“No, oh my no.” He pantomimed wiping tears from his cheeks as he was now apparently laughing hard enough to cry. “No Micheal I’ve come to offer one last chance for you to apologize and beg me to forgive you and admit you to Hell.”
This was too much.
“Hey fuck you! All I did was step on your goddamn robes that were dragging the ground! You were wearing them too baggy! We all stepped on each other’s shit back then. It is not my fault that you happen to be an eldritch ageless being that was at that rave to pickup an OD!” My face was hot and red.
“This is your last chance Jonathan. The Korthonians do indeed have something worse than death, and they are coming on a shuttle to deliver you to it at this very moment.” His head tipped to the side in thought “which was your name? It’s been so long.”
I shrug, like I know? It’s been centuries.
“Very well. I suppose an X or a thumbprint will do.” He snapped his skeletal fingers and they made a sound like twigs breaking. The oft discussed and debated formal apology appeared out of thin air. “I told you before. I’m not...” I stopped as he held up his hand. “You see I have made a concession. I will not charge you the dry cleaning fee.”
This has been a bone of contention from the very outset. My eyes narrowed as I read the addended passage. “Why are you suddenly ready to give up on the core of this disagreement?”
He slumped his shoulders in what looked like defeat. “The Powers That Be have grown tired of our battle and wish to close your account. It’s an anomaly and an aberration they can no longer ignore.” The furrow in my forehead deepened as I frowned harder in deeper puzzlement.
“The last time we chatted, you said they didn’t care. What’s changed?” Death glanced out the port at the shuttle that was slowly listing in this direction from the Korthonian ship.
Things slid into place in my mind.
“Oh, so they really have something that will take me somewhere that you can’t retrieve me from.” My jaw went slack. I hadn’t been surprised in a very long time.
Death nodded and produced a quill from thin air and motioned to the apology. “The Powers That Be are not sure what will happen if we lose you from our system.” I hadn’t budged because I smelled victory... and rotting death. As I stared at him he began tenting his fingers and tapping them together as only the truly nervous do.
“Ok, one final concession. I will redirect you from Tartarus to Limbo. There we will have... a trial?” He was in a far more conciliatory mood than he had ever been. He also seemed genuinely scared, which I admit was unnerving.
I furtively scratched my mark on the document. Death nodded and the document and quill disappeared in a puff of oily black smoke. A yawning darkdoorway appeared and he motioned me to pass through it before him as we left this world for the next.
“You do know you stepped in your own vomit that evening?” I nodded and shrugged Death shook his head “there were dog feces as well...” I chuckled “Hey man, that’s just life in the big city.”
Death looked rather indignant somehow. “Here is where I leave you. I shall be back to argue our dispute in due time.”
I looked around and shrugged. Limbo was very gray.
“Do not assume you are free from our dispute James. I will have you know we amended our policy specifically for that dog.”
“What?”
“_All_ dogs do not go to heaven. That animal went to Hell as you still may.”
(I’ve never done this before, and I’m on my phone. Be uh... not terrible?) | Death, you are surprised to learn, looks rather a lot like Harrison Ford.
He has that same leering smirk, anyways; you see it in flashes, bending around a corner in the sidewalk, reflecting off the windows of cars plunging past you as you linger, one foot edging off the curb, trying to catch his eye. He won't ever look at you.
You spent several months trying to corner him back in the summer of 1970, after Woodstock, when you decided you had experienced all the best this little rock had to offer and it was time to board your flight off this astral plane. You don't find him in hospices - you figure it was a good thing to volunteer regardless - and whatever horror you find in the sweltering jungles of Vietnam, it isn't him.
It's years, decades, before you see him again. These days you've got a good eye, though. These days you catch him dripping down the cheeks of widows, their hands like pale spiders as they brush death off their cheeks, as they tap folded tissue paper against their red-painted lips. Sometimes you glimpse him reflecting back off the wide eyes of children as they gleam strangely, cat-like, in the dark.
Sometimes you hear the shush of his robes snapping against your ankles, cold and sharp, a reminder to you that you are not forgiven. The touch of him always makes you stumble, and laugh.
Sometimes you feel that death is all you see.
You meet a girl on a street corner in the soaking rain. She is smiling at you, glowing like a star. You haven't felt awake in decades but your eyes are open now and you see the rain water catching on her eyelashes, you see the streaking headlights of passing cars like sunsets in fast motion.
She steps off the curb.
You see him with the edge of your eye: his tousled hair, his Harrison Ford smile. The girl is still turned back towards you, and she doesn't see him, and she doesn't hear the bus screeching, and she doesn't expect the blow - not of the bus, but of that Harrison Ford smile, twisting into a leer as she stumbles against the cool crush of his body. You know what she is feeling at this moment: the shocking cold, the hard angles, the buzzing in her ears.
Death catches your eye, his hands folded in his leather jacket. Flips a wink, and you're gone. | 2018-10-12T11:42:03 | 2018-10-12T10:54:10 | 55 | 22 |
[WP] The first and greatest superhero and villain of all time respectively were said to have killed each other in combat. Decades later the current greatest supervillain is instantly annihilated upon threatening an elderly couple outside their remote cottage, and the truth becomes known | “Honey, do you want Earl Grey or English Breakfast with your Scones?”
“Earl Grey please James.”
“With honey, not sugar” they both said at the same time.
“Jinx!” interjected an excited Jenevieve.
“Damnit!” exclaimed James. “Not when I’m bringing the tea! And don’t start without me!”
“Sorry,” chuckled Jenevieve “And I won’t. Even though you fall asleep halfway all the time.”
James steps into the den, with a tray full of scones, jam, butter and a kettle of Earl Grey for both him and his wife of 20 years.
“Can you move the blanket please.”
Jenevieve playfully move the blanket to her side as James sets down the tray of delicious snacks and tea.
“Very funny,” James dryly states “so what are we watching?”
“This show I found on Netflix, Gankutsuou.”
“Another anime? Is it like FMA: Brotherhood?”
“Look at you, using TLAs for anime! So proud!”
Jenevieve beamed at a sheepish looking James, as she pinched his cheek.
A ping on their phones alerted them to movement outside their home within 200 meters and moving closer.
They both opened up the app and took a look at the security cameras.
They saw a man wreathed in fire walking on the grass straight to their house.
“What’s that idiot doing?!?!” Exclaimed a distraught James. “That’s the best lawn I’ve had in 4 years, and that imbecile is just walking on it! Is he blind?! Can’t he see the path literally a meter to his left?!”
Meanwhile Jenevieve, ran a image match search on their intruder. “Interesting,” she mused “ the new top supervillain. Goes by the name of Inferno, hasn’t really done much a few hundred million net worth and about 3 billion in property damage.” She states to James
“Amateur” James said getting a dark tone in his voice.
Jenevieve looked up at James “Do you want to handle this? Or can I finally have some fun?” She purred getting a gleam in her eye that told of great pain and torment for the poor sod.
“I’ll take care of it.” James sighed “Already lost the lawn can’t stand to lose the garden too.”
“How dare you! That was one time! I didn’t know you’re friend would be that useless. He just disintegrated after getting smacked a few hundred feet.”
“Yeah into my favourite coffee spot. Had the flowers and view and the apple strudel outside of Germany. The clean up took 2 weeks and even then we could scrape enough of him off the floor and walls to fill a matchbox.”
“Oops” Jenevieve shrugged playfully. She got out from underneath the blankets poured herself some tea, sliced open a scone and started buttering it.
“Deal with the little shit before I finish.” She ordered.
The finality and coldness of the order would’ve made her former henchmen shit themselves silly.
As it was James just rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes your highness, as you wish.” Got up and headed out the door.
That’s when the dogs started barking at the intruder. He wan now roughly a 100 metres from the house.
James steps out, as he’s putting of his cardigan. And walks down the steps of the porch, onto the pathway and towards the flaming hot turd who in his infinite wisdom has decided to ruin his lawn.
Jenevieve looked through the door, as James used his nuclear eyes to disintegrate the intruder to nothing more than ash, that blew away in the late summer breeze. She bit her scone, “only got halfway through, we really need to keep up with our training.” She thought.
She looked out towards James crouched down over the burnt out streak of his lawn. “But perhaps another scone wouldn’t hurt.” | In 1993 the greatest superhero and villain battled it out in the Atlantic ocean, where in that year, the European coast was sent back by fifty miles due to their impact. They were believed to be dead at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean for 27 years. Well in that same year my parents married each other.
Theorists have stated that Devil Hound and Tempest are still alive somewhere because they couldn't die. Well they were partially right. I was born ten years after my parents grand battle over the Atlantic, and somehow managed to keep their secret from the world. It wasn't until I was at tech school about 20 minutes away that we saw on the news that Infernos was dead one block away with lightning and hellfire burns. His last words were "Oak Forest. " All I thought was "Shit, now we gotta move. " | 2020-09-02T09:17:07 | 2020-09-02T07:57:56 | 112 | 79 |
[WP] A story where the last line is a question and the first line is an answer to that question.
EDIT: Great stories everyone! Just finally had time to read them! Didn't think it would get in front page but really enjoying the interesting stories you've all come up with! | "Not a damn thing." Pete dumped the deer carcass onto the counter at the Sunoco. "We've been out hunting all day, and you haven't done a damn thing."
"I put sheet metal over the windows," Ricky said.
"Angie did that!" Pete said. "You watched her while she worked."
Ricky wiped his forehead. "It's not like that. We had to be sure the metal covered the windows, so, you know, one of us had to stay back to, to see."
Angie and Ryan set to work on the deer. They coordinated their efforts, quietly, and kept their heads down.
"It was like hanging a painting," Ricky said. "Right, Angie?"
Pete grabbed Ricky's chin. "You're not talking to her. You're talking to me. You're explaining why it doesn't matter that you never do any heavy lifting while the rest of us are busting our asses day in and day out. You're telling me why we should keep you around even though all you are is another mouth to feed, and even though most days we don't have enough food."
Ricky's adam's apple bobbed. "Tell him, Angie."
Angie set her knife down. "I'm tired of you, Ricky."
"But we were a team," Ricky said. "That's what you told me."
"That's what *you* told *me*. All I did was not disagree."
"Well... well..." Ricky patted his pockets and licked his lips. "It's a good thing I'm gonna be the biggest help ever from now on."
"That's right." Pete stepped chest to chest with Ricky and forced the smaller man out of the Sunoco. "You'll be the biggest help you've ever been. You'll help us eat by not taking our food anymore. You'll help us get work done by not being around to complain. You'll help us by fucking right off."
Ricky hopped up to get Angie and Ryan's attention. "You guys are ok with this? You can't be ok with this!"
"Goodbye, Ricky," Ryan said.
Angie grabbed a hold of the deer's skin and parted it from the meat.
"Guys!" Ricky said. "Guys?"
Pete hauled a section of metal into the doorway. "Fuck off."
*****
The piddling shitty fire crackled and hissed. It gave off more smoke than heat on account of the rain. Ricky hadn't seen a downpour this strong in years. Him and the fire were tucked under the low branches of a pine tree, mercifully free from the rain. But the wind got in, and it chilled him to the bone.
"Least I can make a fire now," he said. "Fucking Pete. 'Don't make fires, Ricky.' 'People will find us, Ricky.' Stupid Pete. He's probably freezing tonight, but I'm super warm." He tucked his hands into his armpits and pulled his knees to his chest. Pete, Angie, and Ryan would all be bundled under the quilt they'd found last week. They probably weren't cold at all. And they were perfectly dry inside the Sunoco.
"If they could see me now," he said. "If they could see Lazy Ricky, with his fire and his pine tree, they'd know I'm not useless. I can figure things out. I can find food." He pulled the three crab apples he'd scrounged in the afternoon out of his bag. The first bite made him wince, it was so sour. "I've got fruit. Fruit has vitamins. All they've got is, like, meat. They'll get scurvy. Ha!"
He munched his apples, rested his chin on his knees, and stared at the piddling shitty fire.
The tree branches shook, and two men pushed their way into the firelight. One had a big red beard and a scar on his nose. The other wore a poncho with the hood pulled over his head. They both carried rifles.
"How's it going, friend?" the guy with the beard said.
Ricky swallowed the crab apple he'd been chewing. "Fine. Thanks. Yourself?"
"Absolutely spec*tac*ular, now that we're out of the rain." The guy with the beard was missing one of his canines. "Say, you got any food you could share?"
Ricky had a single crab apple left in his bag. "I just ate my last apple," he said.
The guy in the poncho chuckled. Then he spat in the fire. It hissed.
The guy with the beard said, "That's a shame. That's a real shame." He set his rifle at his side and leaned back on his palms. "A lot of what's happened in the last few years has been unlearning things. Me and friend here have unlearned basic hygiene. We've unlearned home decoration. But there's some things people have unlearned that we haven't. Like manners. That's why I'm so glad you accepted us to your fire and asked how I was doing. You're a good guy. I can tell. You've held onto your manners."
The guy in the poncho scooped up a fistful of dirt and dropped it onto the edge of the fire. Where the dirt fell, the fire hissed and died out.
"But then there's things we've learned. New knowledge. Brand new findings. Like we're primitive scientists. We've learned, for example, that it's not the bullet that kills the body. It's the bacteria that get into the wound. We've learned that the best way to keep meat from going off is to keep the animal alive as long as you can. We've also learned that what is and isn't food is really down to the person asking the question."
A second handful of dirt hissed onto the fire. The guy in the poncho chuckled.
"So, we come here and we ask you if you've got any food, and you answer that you're all out. Which is true in a way. But if you were to ask me, I'd say you've got a ton of food, a hundred and fifty pounds at least, just sitting there. Now, what do you think of that?"
All of the saliva had left Ricky's mouth. He was aware of the blood in his veins and the meat on his bones in a way he never had before. He pictured the deer he'd seen that morning, saw Angie parting the fur from the meat, and imagined himself on the counter in its stead. "I know where you can get a deer," he said. "A whole deer. Killed this morning."
The guy with the beard sat up. "Now that's interesting."
Ricky explained about the Sunoco station, the deer, and his former friends.
The guy in the poncho scooped up a double-handful of dirt and put the fire out. In the darkness under the pine tree, the three men were only visible by their barest outlines.
"What say you take us over there and we have ourselves a feast," the guy with the beard said. "And tell me, these people, what will they be able to do to stop us from having our feast?" | Well, halfway down the pass, if you take a left, there's a place called Tohos. On the corner of Westminster and Freehan street. My mother lived in Sagganassy for all her life and everyday, at 11AM, she'd go down with Pa to Tohos. She even wanted to buy it at one point. 'We'd sell flowers and flapjacks on the corna!' she'd say in her soft, pastel voice to Pa. When Pa lost his job that dream faded, but never died in her heart. I remember she had a jar, a small mason jar with a label of yellow tape running around it. 'The Toho fund' was scrawled in chicken scratch on it.
Toho's was ran by two small, old Asian women, with beady eyes and sharp, pointed glasses. They had to be under four feet tall. They'd ran it for years, and for so long that not even Ma's elephant memory could remember when it opened. Huey had told me that they were over thousand years old. And I believed him. They were worn like a leather belt on cowboy, wrinkled and torn. 'No kids!' is what they would yell at me and Huey. They didn't believe in kids. To selfish to run a breakfast place. So, we'd make sure we puffed our chests and straightened our backs, as not to be confused as 'meddling children.'
Ma's Alzheimer's kicked in I think around '82. She'd forgotten a lot of things. Her mother's name, what she had to eat the night prior, she even forgot Huey after he died. She only remembered having one son. I stayed at her side weeping wondering what force could possibly do this to such a gentle soul. She'd start to forget me after a while, asking if I was a nurse or a doctor. She'd confuse me for Pa sometimes too. It hurt. It really did hurt.
There were only two things she remembered. Pa's face and Tohos.
It took two days of nonstop driving, but I got it. I got it for her. The jingaling of the bell had been replaced by a buzzer, but everything else was the same. The menu, the seats, the smell of fresh breakfast in the morning. Everything was the same since I had left all those years ago. Two chocolate chip flapjacks, with the fixins', extra syrup. And you already know, I kept those damn flapjacks warm for her.
I got back on the 5th. Her smile almost brought me to tears when she saw the pancakes before her. Her soft squeal of glee almost left me on the floor.
"Jeffrey? You got me Tohos?"
Jeffrey was gone. Pa was gone. But it was like the memory of Pa and Tohos meshed together into a form of such utter love. She cried as she ate them. Thanking her husband after every bite. I wasn't her husband. I was her son, but I didn't care. I stayed by her side all night, allowing her to hug her 'husband'
The next day, she ended up passing on, with a full stomach of Tohos flapjacks.
I may be living my life with Sagganessy in the rear view mirror, but I'll never forget that tiny down in Missouri. I always tell my kids the stories about Ma. Her voice and her love of freshly baked chocolate chip flapjacks, and they'll stop and listen for hours about Grammie. They'll ask questions and I'll give them answers. From how we survived on such little money and how we dealt with the world in such a hard time.
There's only one question that really brings me to tears anymore. Just the thought of Ma resting in a place so dear to her heart.
"Dad? Where'd you spread Grammie's ashes?" | 2017-08-30T15:00:46 | 2017-08-30T14:14:02 | 72 | 12 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | I tug at the wrist of my long sleeved shirt as I settle into my desk in the back of the room, my journal opened to a page of sketches. I don't make eye contact with anyone that passes by, knowing their eyes aren't going to meet mine, but will be staring at my wrist instead.
I've never felt more alone.
When the sigils started forming on all of my classmates, I knew mine had to fill in soon. The dark black outline on the inside of my wrist would one day reflect what blessing was given to me by the Rapture, when the universe was created. I imagined being able to do the most amazing things like see the future, levitate or be able to bring life to animals and plants around me.
That was six years ago.
My circle is still just that... a circle.
Mom says some people just get their power later in life, when the universe is ready to bestow it upon the recipient, but every so often I hear my father mutter something about having a defective daughter while talking to his friends.
"Hey Zero!" I hear the nasally, insufferable voice of Mandy, an Air Element Sigil. The blowing winds sign on her wrist has been ornamented by diamonds. She blows me a kiss and a harsh cold slaps across my face. I wince and reach up to the sting, feeling something drip from my cheek. I look up to see the smug grin on her face before she looks down at my arm. "Still nothing, Zero? I was hoping to slap some sense into your sigil. Or are you still defective?"
I look around, my face now growing more red with shame and embarrassment. The others are staring, some are sniggering with Mandy. I feel the cold creep up my fingers before I realize Mandy's concentration won't break until I get her to stop. My fingertips are white and I can't feel them anymore.
"Please stop..." I quietly plead. My heart hammers in my chest, my fingers are frozen to the desk. Icicles have started forming down the leg of the table.
"What was that, Zero? You'll need to speak up! Or is being useless your power?" she sneers as the cold continues to make its way up my body. My curly hair frosts over. My teeth start chattering. The laughter around me is deafening. A tear slips out of my eye and freezes to my cheek.
"Don't do this!" I manage to croak out. I take a deep breath, grit my teeth and finally screech out "STOP" but the looks on the faces around me have changed to shock. They look around the room in astonishment.
"Where did she go? What did you do, Mandy!? You killed her!" the other students start all talking at once, and Mandy looks as though she's going to pass out as well. Her eyes are glued to my desk as if she's looking through me.
"What are you all talking about. I'm right here." I say, but no one hears my voice. I repeat myself. Still nothing.
Then I look down at my desk. My hands are still on the surface, but they are no longer frozen to the desk. The frost no longer clings to my body, but is held suspended in air before drifting slowly down to the floor. I move my hand and it goes *through* the desk.
...*what?*
I stand up, and look down at my desk. I turn and face Joseph who looks bewildered. I put a hand on his shoulder and it goes through his body. I jerk back and pass completely through Miles. I look down at my hands and finally see a glow coming from them. I pull up the sleeve of my shirt and look at my sigil.
It's still a circle.
Have I just become...*nothing*? | A sphere, at any angle, will always have the profile of a circle. Of all the shapes, the sphere has the lowest possible surface area to volume ratio, thus taking the least amount of energy to maintain; but the amount of energy you can hold in that sphere, well, that's virtually limitless.
Snapping a neutron star into existence for the first time was quite the experience for everyone on the playground. Sure, it was less than the size of the head of a pin, but it folded Thomas in on himself with the fiery fury of an unbridled Sun. The first plasma ejection missed the kids entirely, not that it mattered. The school, and most of the houses in that area were lost to the plasma ejections, and those that survived talked about the ground rising and falling like an earthquake. | 2020-02-26T08:49:43 | 2020-02-26T08:38:51 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] Demons have finally discovered a way to summon humans and they take great joy in summoning humans to hell to do mundane chores in revenge for humans doing that to them for centuries. | Jason stepped out of the shower, pulling on his boxers after drying off, his work clothes set aside.. and then it happened. A voice, calling his name. A shining golden circle forming on the ground.. and darkness.
Jason gave a look around at his surroundings. He crossed his arms and glared at the 10-foot goat-headed abomination in irritation; his shoulders were already beginning to be coated with ash, and his time cleaning himself seemed to have been a complete waste.
"Well, at least you waited til I had boxers on. What the fuck is it?"
The demon blinked, studying him for a moment. "I want you to do my laundry." The creature nodded behind him. Sure enough, a giant pile of various demonic armor and leathers lay there; beside a pair of massive iron cauldrons. Somehow, he was inside a house; but still, the place smelled of brimstone and ash fell from the ceiling. The floor was ankle-deep in the stuff.
For a moment, Jason seemed at a loss. He almost took a step towards the pile. Then he turned to the demon. "Well then. Your soul in exchange for some laundry work? I suppose that can work."
A loud series of coughs, and the creature backing away; "Wait, what? Soul? What are you talking about?"
Jason taps his foot on the ashen floor as if impatient. "Well, thats how it works. The summoner gives his soul in exchange for a favor, usually wealth or some such nonsense. So, you summoned me, you set the price. Now, your soul's mine after I finish with the laundry to whatever extent I consider finished."
He starts walking towards the pile, trudging through the ash, examining the two cauldrons. "Dirty water and... dirtier water. I definitely don't think you're getting your soul's worth out of it, but hey." Jason picks up one of the garments, holding it over the water.
"Wait! Wait! I can't just give you a soul, we only got those from idiots who summoned us back in the day. Us demons pretty much -are- souls."
Jason studied him for a moment. "Ahhh. So it basically amounts to eternal servitude for you? Thats not the best deal for you, but I suppose I could use a servant."
The demon frowns. "I made no such offer!"
The dirty cloth was dropped back on the pile. "Really. After this whole nonsense started up last month, us mortals started looking into it. The summoning rules are very clear. One summon, one soul. You can only ask for things within the summoned creature's power, and it can feel free to twist and bend your request however it likes. Wishing for a pot of gold might get you crushed beneath it. Not my fault if your last few victims were shmucks that didn't claim their due."
After a few moments, the demon walked up to the summoning circle, and started to scrape away at one of the lines. Jason stepped over; and kicked the creature's leg; sending it flopping to the floor clutching the limb. "Trying to break the sigil and send me back? No good. I'm not from here; I know the worst you can do is send me back."
The demon glared at him for a moment in anger, rubbing the leg. "Grr. Fine. What will it take to get rid of you without giving you my 'soul'."
\*Jason walked back over to the center of the summoning circle. "Tell you what. How long were you going to drag out this laundry washing thing if I didn't know how this worked?"
A slow look over the pile of dirty cloth. "At least a day or two. There's limits to how far we can stretch it without having to pay something back, and we've generally taken advantage of it to torture and embarass you humans for a while."
Jason leans down, placing a hand on the golden line on the floor. "I know you get all sorts of crazy powers back on earth; making wealth, tossing fire. I suspect being dragged over here gives me something special?"
The demon tilts his head. "Well. Not much really. You're not a damned soul, so you can actually hurt nearby devils by saying... certain things the damned are not allowed to say."
He laughs, clapping his hands. "Well then, how about a simple bargain then. I get to use a bit of your demonic mojo whenever I need it... within reason, lets say no more than half an hour's worth a day.. not consecutive. I go back home. And while I suspect you can't even ask me to speak.. certain words.. if another devil pisses you off, summon me back and ask me to do laundry again. Or maybe watch Hitler. And I'll just start chanting whatever bless-"
The creature shrieked, gripping his ears in pain, holding up a hand.
"Ahh.. whatever seems to work best."
The two studied each other for a moment; piercing blue eyes meeting glowing orange ones. A betaloned hand was extended; and met by an ordinary human one; albeit one smelling faintly of Old Spice. And the sigil was broken.
Back in his bathroom, covered in ash, Jason looked over himself; and started the shower running once more. He should probably thank his professor for that one. | I was sitting on my couch, feet up and watching the news. Another man who’s spirit has gone missing for multiple days when a demon summoned them. They always ask for the most menial tasks to be done, such as wash their loincloths or take the leviathan on a walk. Pretty petty if you ask me. This has been going on for a few months, everyone was fairly used to it. I mean what where puny humans going to do against demons? As I sat there remote control in hand, something tugged in my gut. I wheezed as I was violently yanked through the floor. I saw my body topple to the floor as I winced, it didn’t hurt me, but seeing your unconscious body is not exactly comforting. My spirit was slammed into the hellish earth as I lay there, gasping for breath. A horrible being stood before me, ten feet tall with horns the size of my arms and vicious, serrated teeth. His red skin glowed a bloody crimson as burning eyes of coal stared me down. “James Son of Mathias! You have been summoned to do my bidding!” He cackled, his voice rough and thick. I sighed. I knew this was going to happen. I knew it I knew it I knew it. I hoped it wouldn’t but of course I was summoned. The demon handed me a broom and pointed to what can only be described as a crude patio to the worn down brimstone house they were in. “Sweep.” I sighed and I got to my feet. The demon looked so disappointed at my compliance. Even slouching with a pout. It was almost pathetic. I sighed internally and decided to give him a show. I dramatically threw the broom to the side. “OOOH GREAT DEMON! Grant me pity! For I am just a MERE MORTAL! Not worthy of you presence! Ooooh!” The demon immediately perked up. With a huge smile the demon cried, “YOU WILL OBEY ME HUMAN! FOR I AM THE DEMON ALIZIATH! HAAHAHA!” I pretended to sob as I picked up the broom and began to sweep, trying to get this job over as soon as possible while still giving the demon a good show. | 2020-07-01T18:07:17 | 2020-07-01T16:14:27 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] "Come to me! Face your fear mortal!" "I fear NOTHING!" "Then I will show you true nothingness!" A few moments pass and the warrior before you is a crumpled mess. Your turn. "Come to me! Face your fear mortal!" | Demons are always the worst ones to face.
It's not that they're particularly strong. Dragons and Gods have them beat by a mile, and fighting a giant sucks when your biggest sword is the equivalent to a sewing needle to them. Hell, even elementals have the whole 'nigh unkillable' thing going on. But demons are definitely the most hated of the bunch, cruel and vindictive as they are, so the bounties are always high. The thing with demons, though, is that there's always some kind of trick.
When word had gotten around that a demon with a high bounty had made its lair close to the city, all the local heroes had jumped at the chance to take it down. The strongest went first, great swordsmen and women who'd bested giants, sorcerers who had reduced elementals to ash, rogues who had stolen off with a dragon's entire hoard.
The strongest were also the first to die. When their bodies were thrown at the city walls the next day, a voice bellowed into the sky: "WEAKLINGS! IS THIS THE STRONGEST YOU OFFER ME, MORTALS!? COME AND FACE YOUR FEARS!"
The next to go were the smartest. Adventurers who had bested the most nefarious of demons in battles of wit. When their bodies were next splattered against the wall, the voice roars out again, this time closer. "IDIOTS! ARE THESE THE SMARTEST YOU SEND TO ME, MORTALS!? COME AND FACE YOUR FEARS!"
More and more went, and each time they returned by being splattered against the city walls, each time that same voice bellowing a taunt, until finally it's only me and the two others in my party left to face it. It's hard refuse going out to battle the demon when the crying faces of the city residents offer anything of value they have. Even harder when your oldest companion has gagged and dragged you behind him to actually do it.
"MMMPH!" I let my protest be heard, struggling as hard as I can. We should have left this city and just gone to another one, but *noooo*, Euracles just *had* to be the courageous asshole he is. Amphire had the right idea when she had slinked away in the middle of the night. I should have gone with her. "MMMMPHHHMMM!"
"Be silent, old friend, and face your fate with courage." Euracles demands righteously, and I finally spit out the gag in my mouth.
"YOU CAN TAKE YOUR COURAGE AND STUFF IT! FRIENDS DO NOT DRAG FRIENDS TO FACE CERTAIN DEATH!" I scream, and he laughs. The son of a bitch actually *laughs*.
"We have faced worse! Now, a show of strength, friend. The fiend is before us!" He declares, and I sigh as he cuts me loose from my bonds. I consider booking it, but he's right, the demon is standing in what looks like a makeshift arena made of bone and blood. An arena we've already entered.
The creature smiles widely, it's sharp and crooked teeth glistening in the firelight provided by braziers made of... were those *ribcages?*
"SO THERE ARE STILL THOSE WITH COURAGE!" It bellows far too loudly, spreading its arms wide, its glowing golden eyes curving upwards into crescent moons of delight. Euracles draws his sword, the enchanted ice around it flowing with frost that coils downwards to the ground. "COME TO ME MORTAL! FACE YOUR FEAR!"
Euracles steps forward powerfully, his foot caving in the ground. "I fear NOTHING!" He cries, charging forward, and the demon's smile widens further.
"THEN I SHALL SHOW YOU *NOTHING!"* It declares triumphantly, and in the next moment Euracles is gone. There is no sound, no flash of light. One moment he's running forward, and the next he's just *gone*, his sword and armor clattering to the ground.
Holy shit.
The demon turns to me, its form growing larger as it smiles once again. "COME TO ME, MORTAL! FACE. YOUR. *FEAR*!" It now towers over me, and I swallow thickly.
This fucker just killed Euracles. I mean sure, he was an asshole, and he dragged me into this, but still... Actually, I don't know what I was upset about. *Fuck* Euracles.
"Uh... actually, I think I'm just gonna go." I say, gesturing behind me.
"THEN I SHALL SHOW YOU..." The figure begins to bellow, before blinking in confusion. "What?"
I nod, taking a slow step back. "Yup. You've clearly got this in the bag. The city's yours. Don't know why I need to be here." I say, and the demon tilts its head, clearly bewildered.
"But... but your friend." It stutters. "Aren't you angry that-"
"Nope!" I interrupt it, waving a hand. "Friends don't drag other friends to fight a demon with them. We're good on that front."
It shakes its head in disbelief, its mouth turning downwards into a frown as its brows furrow. "COWARDICE! YOU MUST FACE YOUR FEAR, MORTAL!"
I shrug. "Well, you know, some asshole once said that the only thing to fear is fear itself. And I'd say I've faced that one pretty well, what with me being here and all." I leave out the part where I was forcefully dragged here, instead taking a few more steps back. "So I'm just gonna..."
I trail off as its eyes widen once more, looking downwards as its body begins to swell. "IMPOSSIBLE! YOU'VE ALREADY FACED YOUR FEAR!?" It screams, and I look on with mild concern. "I REFUSE TO ACCEPT IT! TO BE BESTED BY THIS COWA-"
With a slight *pop*, the demon erupts into cinders. When they settle, the arena made of bone and blood fades away like a mirage, leaving only the demon's last screech lingering in the air. I look around, now left alone in a completely ordinary forest, and tilt my head.
I guess that was the thing with demons. There was always a trick. | "No" I reply simply with a blank face and a calm tone before turning back and walking away.
"Is that allowed?" hear someone whisper in the crowd/line waiting for their turn.
A force pulled me back, I felt the very fabric of reality drag me back toward the Eldritch God that invaded our planet and destroyed most of our civilization and forced the remaining survivors to die through their worst fears.
Needless to say, Cthulhu is kind of an asshole
"Insolent *insect!* You dare-" before he could finish his sentence I already made up my mind.
We are all gonna die anyway, there exists no way out of this scenario, and there is no path that would lead to a happy ending.
So I decided to aggravate the hell out of that tentacle monster-looking motherf*cker. What is he gonna do? Kill me faster??
"My biggest fear is having my **** being sucked by an eldritch god!" my hands reached for my pants, undoing them swiftly and letting them fall to my ankles. "So? What are you waiting for!? On your knees you fucking hentai monster, get to work! I don't have all day!"
A *deafening* silence could be heard all around. Nobody could believe that a single insignificant third-dimensional being would ever dare speak to a tenth-dimensional being like that! Both the brains of my fellow humans and the mind of the Eldritch God seemed to have trouble trying to comprehend what just happened.
"What? Are you nervous? Is it your first time?" I asked mockingly before giving the cosmic deity a once over and forcing the most disgusted grimace I could muster. "Obviously. With a look like that who would ever want to date you? And what's with all that slime on your body!? Have you heard of showers?? I bet even your mother doesn't hug you because you're so disgusting!"
"Y-you filthy-" before it could finish I interrupted him/her/it, (whatever the fuck the pronounce are for this abomination) again.
"Filthy!? Well obviously! Ever since you brought the apocalypse 4 months ago I haven't showered at all! But you still *somehow* manage to smell worse than me, and I smell like I took a bath in a septic tank!" I gagged. The smell is partly true, he does not smell good at all!
"Stop it!" the Eldritch God seemed to force the words out of its alien throat.
"y'know what? I don't want the blowjob." I put up my pants and looked the god into its many eyes. "I'll probably get some 6th dimensional STD that will make my balls fall off, gain sentience, and start devouring the planet, but that doesn't matter since I wouldn't touch you with a stick even if I was to be offered unlimited cosmic powers!" Just as I was about to go on even more into my verbal assault, I stopped as I saw something weird.
Tears started pouring out of the monster's eyes and choked sobs escaped its mouth.
Is...is it crying!?
"You are a meanie!" it yelled and took off into the skies. "I'm never coming back here again! You are a jerk!" it cried out before it left the planet's atmosphere and flew away into the infinite cosmos.
...
Did I just save the planet by bullying an Eldritch God? | 2022-12-19T00:45:50 | 2022-12-19T00:24:00 | 108 | 68 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Frank had kept his secret hidden for years. The last time he had tried to tell anyone it hadn’t gone well at all. It was his mother, and she didn’t believe him. That had been the hardest moment of his life so far. Knowing how people were going to die weighed heavy on him, but he had grown used to the burden. His own mother’s refusal to acknowledge him was devastating though. She thought he was sick and encouraged him to seek help. He tried to convince her by explaining that the things he had seen had come true, but she wouldn’t budge. They hadn’t spoken in 11 years. So he lived alone now in the city. He didn’t make friends, barely talked to anyone at all.
He worked as a programmer at a medium sized company. The work suited him fine because he could stay to himself for the most part and not have to make any close relationships. Frank took the train to work every morning and watched the people. It had become interesting to see their futures. Things they didn’t know about themselves. Every person carried with them a message that only frank could see. Some were faint and hard to see, others were bright and glowing. The brighter the message the closer it was to coming true. Each was different. Some were specific, others were vague. He was used to seeing things like “car accident” or “stroke”. The only time it really bothered him was when they were very bright. He often felt tempted to let the person know their time was close. Frank knew though where that path led, people wouldn’t believe him. So he stayed quiet.
Many years passed. Frank grew old and tired. He stopped looking at the messages, he stopped caring. He had long ago stopped trying to see his own in a reflection. It wasn’t there.
Frank was sitting alone on the train as he always did. Staring absently through the window as it came to a stop to recycle more empty faces. He happened to look at the messages of the people waiting beyond the yellow line. He saw one he didn’t remember ever seeing before. It was very faint and hard to read “Freezing”. He didn’t think much of it at the time. Later at work he saw another message walk by. Same as before, a very faint “Freezing”. This time he noticed, only because it was odd to see something new twice in the same day. Again though, he quickly forgot.
By the end of the following day he had not forgotten. It was the only thing on his mind. That message was everywhere. On hundreds of people. Was it getting brighter? Maybe a little… He couldn’t tell. As the days went by he became convinced that most everyone was going to die by freezing to death. How was this possible? What should he do? It occupied all of his thoughts. As the weeks went by the messages were getting brighter at an alarming rate. Something was coming.
Frank decided he didn’t care. He was ready for the end. Something to rid himself of this horrible nightmare that was his life. He felt for all of the people but there was nothing he could do to stop it.
It was night time when the sun exploded. That’s what saved most of the people initially. Those on the other side of the world weren’t so lucky. The radiation killed them instantly. With the atmosphere severely damaged and no warmth from the though, the freezing came quickly. There were no news reports. No people running around panicking. Frank thought there would be rioting and looting, but there wasn’t. Just quiet, cold and darkness.
| Like I said, I was always used to this up until The Moment. Even as a little boy, I had to pretend like I didn't see a picture of a broken heart over someone's head or a cartoonish smashed car. Words eventually replaced the images and they got more scientific as my vocabulary grew. Old age... cancer... coronary embolism...acute pumlonary edema... whatever. They would walk around and smile and I just kept my mouth shut. But I was always okay with it. I'm not really sure why. You get used to things just like you get used to seeing tragedy on the news every goddamn night. Then, The Moment: I saw my own fucking name over a stanger. It was raining... I couldn't move... | 2015-03-31T08:20:59 | 2015-03-31T07:48:21 | 264 | 123 |
[WP] When a person dies, an individual can volunteer to house their soul within their own body until a donor body is found. You are beginning to regret your decision. | This was not a good idea. Sure, the $15 million is nice, but I'm beginning to think that the cost may outweigh the benefit.
I suppose I should explain.
In 2047, scientists discovered how to properly convert a person's sum of memories, biases, thought patterns, dreams, and thoughts into digital data through an extremely complicated and technical process that I have no desire to explain. Essentially, they found a way to transfer one's **soul** out of one's body and into something else, be it a computer, a memory card, or even another body. Essentially, they had created a viable path to true immortality.
And that went about as well as you'd expect.
The rich and famous immediately jumped on board with the idea, the religious folks went absolutely apeshit, and the world's governments tried their absolute best to calm the storm. But nothing can stop human progress, and only 30 days after the initial announcement, it was revealed that the first soul transfer would be taking place. The patient a decrepit Singaporean billionaire, the host body a brain dead American teenager. Both had been moved to an unknown location, and the procedure would be taking place with a week. And the world began to hold it's breath.
The whole thing went about as well as you'd expect.
At first, the only thing released from the those involved, was a haunting 3 word statement: "Procedure has failed." But it didn't take long for an illegally taken video to start circulating the web. I'll spare you the more gruesome details, but let's just say the highlights include the poor body screaming in 2 different voices, convulsions that make even the most severe epileptic look mild, and the body vomiting up it's own intestinal tract before finally laying still.
And that all went over EXACTLY as you'd expect.
The vast majority of the world was shocked beyond belief, the religious folk immediately chastised the rest of us for fooling around in the realm of God, and all governments immediately outlawed the procedure, under penalty of death. The scientists behind the whole shebang mysteriously disappeared (leading to a healthy host of conspiracy theories). Slowly, everything began to return to normal, and after about 5 years the whole incident was nothing more than a barely remembered collective nightmare singed into the psyche of a global society that thought it could play God.
That's where I come into the picture.
August of 2052. To say I was down on my luck would be an understatement. My wife had left me, taking most of my life with me and I'd just been laid off, leaving me homeless and alone on the streets of Denver. I was in the process of begging for enough money to try and get a haircut for an interview I had coming up, when a man with impeccable hair and strikingly white teeth approached me. He handed me a thick wad of $20 bills, and said there was more where that came from if I'd just come with him and listen to a proposition he had for me. Against my better judgement, I joined him.
He drove me to a nondescript building in the outskirts of the city, and sat me down at a desk in an office decorated with faded pictures of national parks and half-swept cobwebs. He explained to me that he represented the scientists that had been behind the "soul debacle" a it had come to be known. He went on to tell me that after the incident, the researchers knew exactly what would become of them if they were caught, and so they disappeared to a secret facility in the middle of the Gobi desert to continue their research. With a half genuine grin, he revealed that they had perfected the procedure. All that was needed was an intermediary body for the transferred soul to acclimate to before being moved to the final host body. I asked him how that worked, and merely grinned another plastic grin, saying that the mechanics of it all were beyond both mine and his mental capacity. All I needed to know, he stated, was that I was to be the intermediary body.
That's when I began to get nervous. However, that was also when he pulled outa briefcase with 15 million dollars in it. It was mine if I accepted, an advance on a total purse of 45 million that would be mine as well once the entire ordeal was seen through to completion. Being in my current situation, it was an offer I could not refuse. Maybe I would have if Carol hadn't left me. Maybe if I hadn't been laid off. Maybe if I had more willpower. But I had none of those things, just an empty stomach and a golden ticket sitting within arm's reach.
So I accepted.
A week later, I was sedated and taken to an undisclosed location for the procedure to take place. When I awoke I was in a beautiful hotel room, with a briefcase stuffed with cash and note that simply read " take care of him for us". Take care of who? Who cares? I reached around and felt a tiny, barely noticeable scar on my neck at the base of my skull. And so I grabbed the briefcase, and left.
And since then, it's gone about as well as you'd expect.
I moved into a small condo on the beach in Los Angeles. 6 months, they said. 6 months until they would return to me to remove my guest and put him in his final host.
After one month, I'd been having the best time of my life. Eating great food, doing fun things, in the company of great people.
After 2 months, I started hearing voices. Just whispers, barely perceptible words, and half heard sentences. Not to worry they said, this was all part of the process.
After 3 months, the words became sentences. Images flashed through my mind at odd times, and my dreams took on a quality and caliber that left me waking up in sweats in the dead of night. Not to worry they said, this was all part of the process.
After 4 months, I started waking up in strange places, miles from my home. How did I get to San Diego? Did I drive here? It's only been an hour since I fell asleep... or has it? Time makes little sense to me anymore. Everything is foggy, I can't even remember the number they want me to call when I have issues.
5 months. I'm missing whole days, weeks. What's my name? Where am I from? why are my hands covered in blood? I fade out, another week passes. I.. I don't... I.. We...
6 months. I'm sitting in a dirty apartment. I have gun in my hands. This is the first I've been lucid in 3 weeks. They should be coming. To take him out. But I don't think they are. I am the host body. This was all a lie.
I put the barrel to my temple. My door is kicked in.
White teeth. Impeccable hair.
I pull the trigger.
Click. Nothing.
I begin to fade out.
This wasn't worth the money.
| "I said you could stay here, I didn't say you could use the facilities otherwise." I was getting fed up. When I agreed to this, I made it implicitly clear that *he* could not use my body in any way other than temporary housing.
"Just let me see what it's like from the other side!" he demanded. Rick Munson, a 52 year-old convicted serial murderer and rapist had been in my body for about three weeks now. He'd provided a wealth of information to investigators, psychiatrists, psychologists, anthropologists, numerous fields had benefited from his willingness to speak openly about his 30-year spree of murder and other assorted crimes.
When we found out about the cancer, it was already too late. Small-cell carcinoma of the lungs kills its victim quickly, and the scientific community held Munson's insights in high regard. My thesis, *"You Can't Rape The Willing"* based on my conversations with Munson, while quite controversial, was also well-received by the doctorate committee. Munson's fantasies about his victims were his reality. He believed that the women were in love with him, and that they all had rape fantasies. That's why even through the screaming and fighting back, he went on 'pleasuring' his victims. *He was fucking crazy.*
I volunteered to house his soul until a suitable body could be found. I considered myself very stable, mature, and confident. *I can handle it* I assured my colleagues and family. "I've been inside his head for months, I think I can let him park inside mine for a couple of weeks."
I'd masturbated only a few times in my life. My work was always my focus, and social activities tended to bore me. I dated rarely, but those few instances ended up creating a short string of sexual encounters that would inevitably end with me going back to my research.
The second Rick realized he was in *my* body, he started trying everything he could. Several times I found myself lingering in the mirror after a shower. I'd come to the strange realization that I was posing in the mirror, finger slightly in my mouth, or both hands cupping my breasts. I once shaved all my pubic hair while doing my legs. I never did this. I realized that *he* was doing this.
Sex thoughts started coming from no where. Several times a day. Rape fantasies. I wanted to be raped. I wanted to be beaten. I wanted to be choked. I wanted a man to grab me in a parking garage... "GODDAMMIT STOP!" I yelled at one point. Then I laughed out loud. *He* laughed. Inside my head, I heard him saying, "You know this is what you want. You want to see what it's like." *He* was trying to get me to get myself raped. Fucking sicko.
Last night I explained that a donor had been found. Rick Munson was going to be the first such criminal to receive the "Second Chance" procedure. His soul had been parked in my body long enough for us to find a body that could house him. His massive ego required particular bodily dimensions, and finding someone who would give him a body of that size was some kind of challenge.
"Two days," he spoke back to me as I explained when the procedure would take place. "Two days until I'm back in there. Back in the hole. Back in prison. Come on doc, let me see what it's like for a woman." He kept giving me urges to drive my car to the wrong part of town. I knew what he was doing.
I'd handcuffed myself to the bed so he couldn't get me up in the middle of the night and leave. Then I felt my free hand starting to explore. He was masturbating me. I stopped him abruptly, saying, "I said you could stay here, I didn't say you could use the facilities otherwise." "Come on!" he protested, "just let me see what it's like from the other side!" | 2016-01-18T11:47:37 | 2016-01-18T10:59:24 | 53 | 18 |
[WP] Due to an address mix-up, an elementary school class sends their Pen Pal letters to an elite unit of Space Marines. Today, the Space Marines are sending a response. | Dear Sarah,
I was quite pleased to receive your letter! I hope you don't mind, but I shared it with my colleagues. It isn't often that we get questions such as yours, and we have had a wonderful time discussing them. Below, you may find our answers.
1. My Name is Bill. My friends call me Billy-boy. It is a ironic sort of name. Have you learned what irony is? It is when you say one thing, but mean another. They call me Billy-boy, because I am the largest person in my company. This is something that we often do at work. It can be stressful at times, and so we try to break the stress by busting each other's chops some. Don't worry though, we are all friends. Brothers, really.
2. I am 24 years old. I am sure that seems quite old to you! Actually, it is pretty old where I am as well. I am the second oldest person in my company. Only my boss is older. We call him "Captain" -- another nickname of sorts. The reason that I am the oldest is that most people don't last too long in my line of work. It isn't that they quit, per se, but sometimes they have to leave before they are ready. It is sad for all of us that are still in the company, but we all imagine they are off doing something they like better.
3. As you might have guessed, I am male. Not everyone in my company is. In fact, we are about half men, half women. The company I work for had a long history of not allowing women in, but then we realized that women were just a capable as men. If anyone ever tells you you can't do something because you are a women, you don't believe them, ok?
4. I am afraid that I can't give you specifics on my location. The rules of the company that I work for forbids this. I can tell you the following: where I am is very hot. And humid. We are surrounded by animals that we call "bugs." Some of the bugs are very large. And they are not very nice. But that is why I am here.
5. My colleagues and I are here to deal with the mean bugs. Did you ever go into an old house, and there were lots of bugs there? Would you want to live in that house with all the bugs? I didn't think so! Those bugs might bite you, and be mean bugs. So, what do you do? You call an adult to come get rid of the bugs. That is what my company does. We are getting rid of bugs, so that nice people like you can live here.
6. When I am not working, I have lots of things I like to do. Sometimes, I hang out with my friends. We play a game where we all get a bunch of cards, and then we try to guess what cards everyone is holding. If you guess right, then you don't have to do your chores that week! If you guess wrong, you do other people's chores. Also, sometimes, we play games with balls and sticks. One person has a tube, and you have a stick. You try to get the stick into the tube. It is a pretty good way to pass the time.
7. I am afraid that we do not have pets in this company. The closest thing we have are some of the bugs we captured. Sometimes, we play games with them, too. One bug that we captured was able to hold his breath for three hours! Isn't that amazing? I had guessed that the bug could hold his breath that long, and so I din't have to to chores for a week!
Well, I hope that answers your questions. We all had a great time reading your letter. We hope that we will hear from you again!
Sincerely,
Billy-boy | Then the letter goes to the wrong address And ends up somewhere In western lustria to a skink .
Dear Warm Blood
I am dearly sorry for the extinction of your pet gerbil , Giggles . However I feel it was your fault since you had the chance to get a proper organism like a gecko or maybe a cold one .
Times have been difficult recently as my friend textorc was maimed and killed by his salamander , Wally. in other news many of my slam superiors have disappeared .
Sincerely , Textoc
P.S. I don't know who these Tau people are and don't remember me telling about them previously .however they sound like great people worthy of the old ones praise .
P.S.S. I felt bad packages up Wally for you so you can have a proper pet . He's a bit bitey. | 2015-01-26T15:55:42 | 2015-01-26T14:45:55 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] A god's power is directly tied to the number of worshipers, so a man starts a cult that's only teaching is "Do what you want, I'll keep it from backfiring on you." | In the beginning, it was nice. A few dedicated whispers, a bit of a buzz in the back of my mind.
'Get me a raise at work.'
'Make sure I don't have another miscarriage.'
'Make my mom love me.'
I had time to check out individual situations, visiting the different members of my group who would entrust in me their heart's deepest desires.
One of the messages I received began to trouble me. The numbers were growing. We had gone from a little compound to a large estate. A property on the hill. Everyone had their tasks to facilitate the property. And everyone had asked for something, which I had given of course.
But one girl-
"Damien."
I turned in my office seat to face the door. My office was my personal space, where I went to listen to requests and prayers. I wasn't to be interrupted. I drummed my hand against my thigh. It wasn't good for my worshippers to see my irritation. It made them squirm.
A woman walked into the office, pretty and ordinary. The only thing that made her interesting was her daughter.
The child stood in front of her mother, chewing on the ends of her hair. Disgusting habit.
I raised my eyes to the mother, waiting for her to continue interrupting me.
"She's ready, Damien. She's ready to ask for something."
Before swearing fealty to me, my worshippers needed to ask for one thing to start the bond. Years ago, this woman had asked for a safe pregnancy after doctors told her the baby would probably be still born. She had been one of my first worshippers, dedicated to a fault.
And it was true, the daughter was born while...For the most part. She was born deaf, but really, that was just a detail.
Once I had learned the baby was deaf, I learned sign language. I wanted to be communicable to all my members. The more I granted them, the more power it gave me.
The mother left the room and I signed to the girl, "Child. What is it that you want?"
She looked at me, chewing on her hair. She pulled the strands out of her mouth, "You know what I want."
"Your prayers are in sign. You know I don't look at them right away."
"I want what you have." She walked forward, climbing up onto the desk and sitting on it in front of me. She dangled her legs the way a child would, but I saw something worse in her eyes, "Give it to me."
I blinked, moving my seat back. I started chewing on a nail, a nervous habit from my powerless youth.
"You can't have what I have."
"Why not?"
"You're-"
She shrugged a narrow shoulder, "What? A child?" she sneered, "A girl?"
I made an annoyed sound, deep in my throat even though she couldn't hear it, "No. Why would I grant you something that I don't benefit from?"
"You let Karen be a serial killer."
"Bu-"
"Todd embezzled 5 million dollars from his company. Workers killed themselves cause of that. Someone else went to jail for fraud."
"And-"
She started to sign smaller, "You let Rory steal someone else's dog? People are hangin' signs up even though poor little Fido is on the estate."
"How old are you?" I managed to get out.
She gave me a toothy grin, "I'm eleven and I'm gonna run this ship tighter than you ever could."
"But what about me?" I tried, "Don't you care what will happen to me?"
She dimpled at me, "No. No I don't."
I should be able to resist this. But that was the one stipulation about me being a God. I would grant the first wish, respond to the first prayer. And for this damn girl, this was it. This couldn't be it.
"How about-" I tried to think, "Ah!" I exclaimed, relaxing back into my seat. "What about music? I'm sure you'd like to experience that. I can give you hearing. I'm sure-"
She reached out, stoping me from signing by holding my hands-" The girl laughed loudly. It felt like she was laughing at me.
"I don't need that." She started gripping my hands harder, nails digging into my skin, "And I don't want that."
I had never heard her speak before. It was worse having heard it for the first time like this.
"Grant. Me. My. Wish." she said again, looking into my eyes.
Something in me crumbled. I had to. It was worse than a compulsion. All I said I would do as a God would be keeping wishes from backfiring on my worshippers. I'd never said anything about not backfiring on me.
"Okay, Lilith." I said softly, knowing this would be my end.
| "It's obvious that no one expected this world.
Blood and bodies everywhere, littering the streets, while the parade of psychos marches down Main Street.
In it sits the man that started this, my neighbor Hank.
Once scientists discovered that you could gain power from how many people believed in you, he went to every social event, be it birthday party or funeral.
He was a lawyer, and it didn't take much convincing before people believed in what he could do.
Unfortunately, the wrong type believed in him. Drug addicts and serial killers were out and about, doing whatever the hell they pleased, and Hank always helped them.
Run to Europe? He'll give them a plane. Shoot them dead? He put them right back on their feet.
Eventually, people stopped rebelling. They joined the man, and his power grew.
So I infiltrated the ranks.
I asked him, "Send me back to 3 decades ago, I have some unfinished business."
I go back, and see where his parents are living. They're too far away for the two days I have to do this mission, so I turn my sights to the man that started this.
Doctor William Eisenhower.
It took me seconds to finish him off in his lab, and mere minutes to delete the data he'd made.
I don't care about the security guards. I don't care about the death penalty. All I care about, is that I've saved the world."
Dad, is this true?
Of course not son. It was just another nut-job writing down his last words. The world would be chaos if this happened.
Thank god! This is why I want to be a lawyer, to help people!
I'm sure you will Hank, and it seems your friend William Eisenhower really wants to study genealogy. Hopefully, you two will make it in this world. | 2018-10-07T15:52:12 | 2018-10-07T13:34:48 | 86 | 48 |
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves. | Keenan Avery woke up from another drunken slumber. He rolled out of bed uneasily, his stomach flipping end over end as the twenty-five year old made a beeline for the bathroom. After he had finished emptying the contents from the previous night into the toilet, Keenan made his way to the sink to rinse his mouth. He looked in horror as another tattoo had emerged through his skin, this time above his right eye. September 3, '92 arched around his eyebrow, taunting him in the mirror as he tried to read it backwards. Once he was certain the date was correct he sat on his bed confused.
This wasn't the first time he was confused by a new tattoo. When he turned eighteen he signed up for the new Worldwide Ink Initiative. The revolutionary program was voluntary, but soon everyone that loved the art of tattooing had enrolled. The volunteers were fitted with a capsule about the size of a half dollar in their lower abdomen. Through nanotechnology and brain readings done every few years, the volunteers would begin to literally sprout tattoos on their bodies. Keenan's first was a large Celtic cross on his forearm. His next was on his chest, a heart with the letters A+K on the inside for his first true love. One year later a large "X" went through the heart tattoo. He wasn't exactly littered with ink, but sometimes he wondered why certain tattoos had emerged. "September 3, '92" was nothing less than a mystery.
"What could it mean?" Keenan thought to himself. He was born in 1990. What kind of event could have happened when he was two years old that could have such a lasting effect? Tattoos didn't just come out of the thin air. They all had a very precise meaning to their owners. Keenan was out of ideas. He called his mother.
"Ma," Keenan began, "does September 3, 1992 have any meaning to you?"
His mother was silent on the other end. "Not to me, no," she replied in a rush.
He explained the tattoo and went down a list of possibilities. Was I in the hospital? Were we on a vacation? Did someone die?
"Honey, this is nonsense. Don't ask me about your dumb tattoos. I told you not to get those damn things."
And with that the conversation was over. Keenan let it marinate for awhile. The days ticked away and nothing was coming to him. The tattoo mocked him every time he saw his reflection. Because of the placement; friends, family and strangers noticed the ink immediately. He had no idea what to tell the inquiring minds.
He began to dig deep through the internet. What happened on September 3, 1992? Jerry Lewis had a telethon that raised over $45 million for muscular dystrophy. "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men was taking over the airwaves. It was a day that was quite literally uneventful. So he began to Google his family. Nothing on his father. His mother the same. No deaths in the family or anything. He was truly at a loss.
By some random chance he found an old copy of a newspaper on the day from his local paper. On the third page his eyes were scanning furiously, the new tattoo bobbing up and down, stretching as his eyes agonized over the screen. "Toddler Abducted in Broad Daylight" was the headline. A picture of a young boy smiled on the page, the last known photo of the child. Underneath the toddler was a picture of a husband consoling his hysteric wife. The man looked just like Keenan.
He grabbed his phone off the desk and called his mother. No answer. He called again. No answer. On the third call she finally picked up.
"Tell me it isn't true!" Keenan cried. "Tell me my mind is going crazy and I'm grasping at straws over here, Ma."
"I...We...," she stuttered. "You were never supposed to find out."
Two months after his parents shocking confession they were sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. The judge threw the book at the Abington Abductors. Keenan's life was upside down. He was reunited with his biological parents, but it was all too weird of an experience for all parties involved. There was agreement that this would all take some getting used to.
Keenan woke up in a sweat one day, and made his way to the bathroom in his usual drunken stupor. He had taken to drinking a lot more recently, for obvious reasons. He threw up, rinsed his mouth out and looked back at his reflection. In the mirror, above his left eyebrow and symmetrically arched like his other, was a new tattoo. "Forgiveness" stared backwards at him. Keenan punched the mirror. That same day he made his way back into the clinic of the Worldwide Ink Initiative and had them take his implant out for good.
---
Thanks for reading! Come check out /r/BrenBuck for more! | France was rife with optimism, peace and prosperity during the late stages of the 19th century. It comes to no surprise that the period is known more commonly today as "La Belle Époque".
From the end of the Franco-Prussian war right up until WWI, the country witnessed a boom in the arts and the economy. Things were positively different during an era that seemed to be trapped in time.
Or so the world wished.
Police crowded the outer corridor of the cell as Chief Berlain sat face to face with the source of commotion.
A young lad of about 17 crouched in the corner of his room, staring back like a cowering dog. His body, thinned to the bone and covered in ink.
Berlain had been here before, 5 years prior to this, with the same prisoner in the very same cell. Yet the boy of the past was no longer there, his face irecognizable.
The warden had recorded a total of 18 more individual markings on his face alone since then. The majority depicted numbers.
Official studies had commenced late that June, but 5 years and 9 months on and the puzzle remained incomplete. Up until now the engravings on his body were a maze they couldn't get out of.
A date was the only clear indication: 10.05.1871 in Roman numerals. The end of the Franco-Prussian war.
That morning the tone was different. Whilst France was enjoying it's prosperity, the men gathered around the cell felt nothing but dread.
The teenager was usually a very calm lad, who did as he was told. But today he had broken down during breakfast and hadn't left his cell corner for hours.
Another date had appeared on his neck, next to the previous numbers. Yet this one marked the end of a supposed era, this one was in the future.
28.06.1918 in the same numerals.
A puzzled Berlain turned to face his colleagues. The time had come to take this beyond their own power and to the government.
But Christophe Berlain had other plans. That night, instead of heading north to Paris, he would take his subject East.
| 2017-08-03T14:37:59 | 2017-08-03T14:24:46 | 154 | 13 |
[WP] most interstellar navies of the Galaxy adapted tactics from their wet-navy cousins. That was until humanity arrived they had an ocean so most figured they would adapt their wet Navy tactics to their space Navy, instead they adapted tactics from something they called the air Force. | "War is the noble application of superior firepower. All the other races developed along these lines, why is it that yours is so different?" Admiral Quelez glanced over at his human counterpart. A thin, lanky creature, it resembled more a child than a warrior. The human looked up from the tactical display, a large dias 2 meters in diameter with holographic images in 3D space representing the assets currently under their command. "Guess we're just special" The human replied with a smirk.
The humans were an odd ally. They were discovered only five cycles ago when the search for more war supplies brought the Tiklo scouts to a remote human colony. While the humans weren't as advanced as the Tiklos, they provided a resource that was sorely needed in the Kingdom, manpower. An alliance with a million fresh fighting bodies was a relief to the war weary Tiklos. Of course, the real benefit only came after their first conflict. The human warships were unlike anything in the known galaxy. No ship of the lines and no large caliber armament, just large cargo haulers filled with hundreds of small vessels.
The first allied Human-Tiklo happened in the Karr system. Five enemy Hunga Titan-class ships with a dozen escorts against two Tiklo Leviathans, and two Human Carriers with combined eight escorts. The Tiklos and Hungas arranged in battle lines, bringing their broadsides to bare one towards the other with escorted taking position in front as a screen. Just as had been done in every battle since the beging of fleets. Then the humans acted. They did not take up position on the line, instead they placed themselves behind the great Leviathans and released their swarms. Hundreds and hundreds of small light vessels spilled from the human ships and raced towards the Hungas. They were so small that scanners couldn't identify individual ships until they were already halfway across the gulf. They were so nimble that even once they could be identified, they couldn't be tracked. Then they unleashed their weapons. No one ship had the power to do any damage to a great ship such as the Titans. Twenty all concentrating their fire and at such close range. Titans and indeed all ship of the lines were designed to withstand broadsides coming from one direction, they were not designed to protect against attacks from over a dozen points of origin.
"Tell me again, general. Where do these tactics of yours come from? I studied a bit of human culture and history and I know your kind had 'wet fleets' that used similar tactics as ourselves and the other known races. Why did you abandon such tactics in favor of these...'squadrons'?"
"It's not quite like that" the general said as he started to pace to the end of the holographic display. "Our ships are still heavily based on the traditions of our 'wet fleets' as you call them. At least the day to day operations. However, we learned on our planet that a ship on the water is somewhat predictable. They only move forwards, backwards, port, starboard, and if a conflict took place inland at all they weren't all that useful. Then we began to realize that there was an entire third dimension we weren't using, and so we began to place planes no our ships...
"Planes?" Quelez cocked his head and stared at the general with all four eyes. "I'm not familiar with that word"
"A machine capable of flight. Like a bird"
"A what?"
"Oh sorry, I forgot. A bird is a type of animal on earth that can fly in the air like a fish swims in the water. Your race doesn't have anything like that on your world do you?" Quelez raised his arms in the sky indicating no. "Anyway, we started building ships that would carry planes, and launch them against other ships. Ships were not built expecting attacks from above, and it proved a great advantage against the great battleships of the era"
The general had stopped now at the end of the display. Where there was a large sphere displayed with hundreds of blips representing ships arranged around it. "The tactics we developed back then were adapted to space, and again it will prove an advantage against the great ships before us now." The general said as he glanced up at the blips representing the human fleet slowly approached the Hunga homeworld. | "Do they know space is a 3d space?" The captain of the light cruiser Australias asked his crew.
They all looked Dover to the captain's chair waiting for more information. "They barely have armour on the top or bottom of their ships, like have they never had to fight Anne!y from above or below?".
They all looked at the scans of the enemy ships. The captain even more perplexed hails the enemy admiral "Not to be rude but are ships already damaged or still under construction?" The rage was evident on the squishy but of the enemy admiral who looked like a standing blob fish with tentacles. "These are the finest ships ever built and will detrsoy your pathetic vessels when you engage us" The admiral thundered back unfortunately there voices where quite soft compared to humans so the captain hadntonturnnthe volume up on the translator and play it again just to hear them.
The captain lost his composure and started laughing uncontrollable even the shots from the top mounted cannons right through the enemies ships didn't stop him. "Like we're getting married of somethin'" | 2020-11-21T20:16:45 | 2020-11-21T17:20:30 | 188 | 46 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | "Help is on the way, DJ." The words came through my ears, muted by the music. DJ. What a stupid name for myself. Man I had thought it was so clever.
"No! Keep them away! No backup! Don't..."
"You're breaking up, DJ. Just hang in there a few minutes longer. The protectors will be there soon."
The villian must have registered my expression. Shit, of course they did. They had Claire's insight. Hell, they had everyone's power on my little team. The three of us, the Trident City Trio. We were really going to have to work on that, too.
We'd had a chance when it was just the three of us. Almost. Clairvoyant's power took some getting used to and while our enemy was adjusting we almost had them. At first we thought they were someone who had just found a way to copy X-Ray's abilities. That is, before they popped their ear buds in. They didn't have the durable sound system I did, but it had been enough. They'd weathered a blast that should have dropped them with some well times march music. It was Clairvoyant who had figured out they could copy our powers, but she was directing her supernatural insight towards knowing just the right thing to do to keep X-Ray from bleeding out.
And here I was, blasting drum heavy music until my ears bled keeping up a wall of sound. Just trying to keep us alive. A grin spread over the copy cat's face. He started to speak, but of course I couldn't hear him. Some villainous monologue about how the end was nigh, probably. He was right to be confident. If The Protectors were coming, there was precious little time. He would copy all their powers, their nearly unlimited power and with Clairvoyant's ability the learning curve would be greatly reduced. He would be a god.
I glanced back at Claire, mouthing the words. Shock registered on her face, disbelief, then understanding. I still didn't really understand her abilities. She couldn't see the future, but she could piece together information from the world around her instinctively. Know what people were thinking or somehow know what was going to happen by subconsciously processing information that escaped the rest of us. She knew what had to be done, even if she didn't fully understand why. She placed the earplugs in Ray's ears than her own.
The copy cat had relented his attack. He knew that I was the only one who could attack him, and while I was no slouch in a fight if I had my AC/DC pumping I was no match for the stolen blasts of raw energy he wielded now. I had to be fast, before his insight got the better of his arrogance and he realized the game had changed.
He realized it when my speakers shifted outwards, so everyone could hear. His hand raised to wipe me off the face of the earth but I selected my song first.
We both collapsed, but the copy cat had been floating so he fell farther. Hurt more. Good. He deserved it. Deserved it for making me resort to this. When I channeled the music I could feel it. I could feel it course through me, but he had my power. So could he. I crawled so he could get a good listen. Let the wrongness wash over him, the unyielding feeling that everything in the world was bad and that there was no joy or passion anywhere.
I could hear what passed for music perfectly even as I puked my guts out, as my eyes started to bleed and I saw our enemy convulsing on the ground. I gritted my teeth, enduring as best I could. Time seemed pointless but there was a break. There would be a pause. The copy cat had stilled when the first song in the playlist ended. Dead, or maybe they had succumbed to the existential meaninglessness of everything in the face of such a profound perversion of the natural order.
The first song ended and my hand jumped to the control at my hip, pressing the button. The second song began just as I pushed the emergency stop.
"Lookit this photograph..."
I shuddered and the enemy twitched. Not dead, but probably wishing they were. I wasn't clairvoyant but it did occur to me that the extra sensitivity of her powera mixed with my own musical nature had probably made the experience even worse for him than for me. I glanced back at Claire and Ray. Her hands had slowed, hopefully having gotten Ray through the worst of it. I could see clearly now that she had ignored her own wound on her side, but we should all survive.
I didn't know if the copycat would, and honestly didn't care. Even if he did, the feeling of wrongness would follow him forever. Unless he found some happiness, something greater. Not anything he was likely to find in prison. Good. That's what he got for making me play Nickleback. | At first I thought we were evenly matched, but I was slowly starting to realize I'd been too optimistic. My fists blocked by equal force when I rocked out, my strategies countered or nullified no matter the sonata, piece by piece I shuffled through futile playlists.
I began to suspect that he was some form of Copycat or Shapeshifter - his speed accelerated when mine did but swapped to superior strength as soon as mine did as well. If that was all that Echo had at his disposal I could at least stall until reinforcements showed up, but he was clearly starting to win. However he was copying my abilities, Echo seemed to be using them more effectively than I was.
So I decided to take a risk. I went for his mask, although it cost me a blow that made my ribs ache, and when it came off it all became clear. I leaped backwards and turned my music off, and his bat-like ears twitched in reaction. He paused, looking confused, then pulled the mask back over his head.
"I see what you're doing now," I said, breaking the silence for the first time. "Your Copycat powers are based on sound." I caught a glimpse of a smile before the mask was fully back in place.
I whistled, impressed.
"Your hearing must be incredible. I'm wearing headphones but you're actually getting more from my music than I am," I continued, quickly swapping to another playlist.
Echo perked up as the music resumed, then charged again. I quickly unplugged my headphones, and he was sent reeling to the ground.
"I call this one *Worst of the 60's*, but I hope for your sake the cops get here before we make it to 2010." | 2022-05-17T09:38:17 | 2022-05-17T09:05:42 | 262 | 151 |
[WP] Superpowers are able to be purchased in stores. You decide to look through the bargain bin. | *Content Warning*
Some swearing!
"Yeahhh, come 'ere you little bastard. You smell that sweet smell don't cha. Wanna little taste a this sweet nectar don't cha? Yeah, that's right..."
I'm staring wide eyed and open mouthed at the Venus fly trap sitting on the window sill and the fly that's swerving lazily toward it. I make no moves to help it avoid it's evident demise, but instead watch and listen in horror as the seedy plant taunts it dinner.
I was eleven years old when my Grandma offered to buy me a superpower from the discount bin. I thought, yeah! Now I'll be able to fit in with the kids at school. Since everybody in those days had their own superpower, and with my family being more on the financially unstable end of things, I was one of the last kids to get one in my grade. It was embarrassing. While some kids were gliding across school grounds or racing each other with super speed about the playground, all I could do was sit and watch everyone live their wildest dreams. Up until that fateful day.
I returned home from school with a heart full of hope and excitement, and to my greatest pleasure a gift was waiting for me on the kitchen table.
"Hi honey." My mom kissed me on the top of the head. "You hungry? I can make you a grilled cheese."
I nodded and pointed at the wrapped package. "Is that my new superpower?"
"Yes, Grandma dropped it off today. Make sure you give her a call and say thank-"
I barely heard her. I tore into that package faster than I ever thought I could do anything. Inside was a small rubber black wrist band with the logo PolyLab IND. carved into the side of it. This was it. The moment of truth. I slid on the band ad adjusted it to my wrist size. A small white Led light glowed to life in the center of it. My wrist felt tingly, then my hand, my arm, and soon the feeling had spread to my chest. In seconds it felt like my entire body was vibrating.
I imagined all the possible superpowers I could have been blessed with. Mind reading, the ability to talk to animals, super speed. Heck I'd even take super intelligence.
I was wholly unprepared for what was to come.
That day I'd tried everything. I lifted heavy objects all around the house to test my super strength, jumped down the stairs one or two at a time to test for any flight abilities, tried to solve impossible figures hoping to detect any sign of enhanced intelligence, and stared at the back of my mother's head so hard my eyes started to hurt. Okay, so no mind reading abilities either. I tried test after test, to no avail.
Disappointed, I had wandered into my mother's garden in the back yard and sat amidst the flourishing plant life. I looked down at the wrist band. Maybe it was defective? It WAS on sale.
That's when I heard them. All these chattering, quiet voices filling the silence of the garden. One distinct voice stood out.
"Dude I am so fucking thirsty."
I looked to my left. The voices were coming from my mother's rose bush.
"Me too man."
I stood and walked over to the roses. I stared.
And stared.
"Why's he staring at us?" One of the roses in the top left of the bush asked.
"Um, I don't know Brad, why don't you ask him?"
"You're such an asshole."
"Well don't ask stupid questions I don't know the answer to!"
I kept staring. The plants were talking. I could hear the plants talking.
I wandered back inside the house in a daze. "I think the plants need to be watered," I had said to my mom.
"Oh thank you, honey, I almost forgot. Do you think you could do it for me?" I froze.
"I have homework," I said too quickly, and rushed upstairs.
The next day in school, I was a mess. I could hear all the plants in the garden outside gossiping all night. I should've known plants were huge on gossip. What else did they have to do? It wasn't their fault. But honestly there are just some secrets about your neighbors you really don't want to know.
So I'm in school holding my head in my hands. I check the expiration date of the band on my arm and sigh heavily. Another week of this madness and then I'm free, I think. In homeroom, during a math lesson, I remember that we have plants growing in the windows. Pea pods, which are still small and new, and two mini cacti. The pea pods are still young, cooing and giggling all snug in their cozy green cribs. But the cacti have been going at it for fifteen minutes straight.
The squat orange one is grouchy and mean and the taller green one is flighty and optimistic. I hate them both.
"It's such a nice day Marty." The tall green one says. "Hey Marty, why's the sky blue? Do you think that the humans made it that way? Or maybe something even greater, some higher power even more powerful than humans. Or maybe it's just some scientific anomaly. What do you think, Marty? Hey, Marty?"
Marty sighs and doesn't answer. It's quiet for a spell. I try to focus on the lesson.
"Hey Marty?"
I roll my eyes. I can picture Marty rolling his eyes too. If plants could even do that.
"Do you ever wonder if everyone sees color the same way? Like, what if my pink isn't your pink and I'm, like, seeing green or something. HAHA wouldn't that be so funny Marty?"
"Shut the fuck up Steve," Marty growls.
It's quiet again.
"Marty, hey Marty."
This time it's my turn to sigh. I tap my foot impatiently against the leg of my desk. Out of my peripheri I can see one of my classmates glance down at my foot and then back up to the board.
"Hey MARTY-"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP STEVE," Marty and I scream in unison.
I froze. I didn't dare look up from my text book. I could already feel every eye in the classroom on me.
So that's how I ended up being able to take a week off of school that year. Granted I had to sleep with earplugs in and the radio on for the next six days, just until the expiration date on the super power band was up, but I didn't mind. I didn't fully understand why I couldn't just take it off right then, something about early removal possibly messing with my brain development, and wondered how the things were even allowed to be on the market for kids. But after that week of torture, I did know one thing. I probably wouldn't be going to visit my mother's garden for a long while, and it makes me physically ill to be within visible proximity to all cacti. | Since it's the very first sale of superpowers, and those don't come by cheap, I decide to take a look. They're all in a pile in a huge metal basket, they couldn't bother making place in the shelves for them since nobody wants them. I'm not the only one searching for a good superpower, but I still find a spot around the pile to check them out.
"The power to see through screens"? I can't find any use for that, and I like using my computer.
"OH MY GOSH a waterbreathing power?!" I find myself screaming. This is awesome! Oh, wait, it just allows you to spit water in large amount. Kinda gross actually. I toss it and it's quickly retrieved by the person next to me, probably wondering why I didn't take it. "The power to transform everything you touch in gold" a classic. It could prove useful. Wait, it works even on yourself. I don't know if I'm comfortable not being able to clean myself for the rest of my life... Or.. Do other things. Yeah, it's no use. They're all pretty crappy actually, as should be expected. Look at that: "The ability to be carried by the smallest gust of wind". You can't even turn it off, you just die because you can never land. "The ability to understand you own language" this one is not even a power, gee. "The power to see correctly", a shame I have good vision I suppose...
"The Power to phase through matter". This sounds good. actually this sounds very good. I wonder why nobody picked it. I'm gonna buy it and I'm gonna try it!
As I wait in line for the cashier, I'm getting excited. I think of all the stuff I'm gonna be able to do. No use carrying keys anymore! I'm gonna explore so many forbidden places, it's going to be awesooome.
There you go. I bought it. I'm gonna try it now!
...What?
As soon as I tried to use it, I began falling through the ground. I see pipes, but mostly dirt. I think I saw a skeleton? Damn. I'm still falling. Apparently I can breath in anything now. I think I'm in an oil pocket? Everything is so black... I'm falling faster and faster. I'm pretty sure I'm falling even faster than when I tried skydiving. I'm falling so fast I can't even see my surroundings. It's getting really warm too. I think? I can't really feel anything, it just looks lighter and lighter...
Everything is white now.
I'm pretty sure if I stop phasing I'm going to die. Am I already dead?
​
...
​
Wait, it's getting darker.
Did I just phase through the entire earth? I think I see water now ! I'm getting slower too! How lucky, I'm going to survive this?!
I wish I could see anything at all in the deep blue, It's such an oppotunity to be here, and I can't even see anything interesting.
I think I can see some light. I'm gonna survive! I'm just out of the water! Meters from it actually. I can see the ocean as far as the eye can see!
Wait. I'm going towards the sea again. No! I don't want to go through it all again! I'm stopping my phasing and dive in the water. I entered it pretty quickly, I'm hurting all over... Feeling dizzy too... I think I'm... fainting...
​
​
\------
"Breaking news: Thousands dead this week following the first ever sale on superpowers. Can humans be trusted with these discounted abilities? Stay tuned to catch our special report." | 2019-07-04T04:53:40 | 2019-07-04T04:36:09 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Every person has two deaths. One when their heart stops beating and another when their name is spoken for the last time. To enter Heaven you must experience both deaths. | My death wasn't a glorious one, just noticed that cow on the interstate a bit too slow. Fucking Arkansas. What kind of shit state had cows on the road? Took me a moment to realize I hadn't survived the crash. Decided to ignore the people calling 911 and just walk away. I knew what my first goal was if being dead meant being a ghost, get the hell out of Arkansas.
Going home seemed as good a decision as anything else so that's what I did. No matter what I did it didn't seem that I could communicate with the living. I mostly hung around my kid sister and brother, hoping if shit went down I'd have the juice to go guardian angel or something. Never worked though, couldn't steady Erik's bike and he fell and broke his arm. Couldn't push the glass out of the way that cut Anna's foot.
Sometimes they'd talk about me and that was nice. Time went on and sometimes I'd wander off and do other things or hang out with other ghosts. Sometimes they just up and vanished, the ghosts that is. Met George Washington, he told me his theory that ghosts died when they were forgotten. Told me his only fear was that he'd be remembered long after the history books decided to stop mentioning Martha.
I ended up going back home, decided to renew my habit of sibling stalking. Went on a date with Anna and saw her date was a sketchy dude being followed around by some sketchy ghost. "Hey dude what's up" I called out at him but was ignored. As the date ended the sketchy boy kept trying to get Anna to go to some sleezy motel with him. "Oh come on, don't fuck this dude" I said gesturing at his greasy hair.
"Mind your business" the other ghost hissed at me. "This is my business, why you wanna take your douchiness beyond the grave?" I asked glaring at him. He merely whispered something in the boy's ear before walking away. "He can't hear you fuckstick!" I called after him. Anna thanked the boy for a great night but said she had to get home.
Years went by and sometimes it sort of felt like they **were** listening to me. They got older though and had families, mom and dad died and boy were they surprised to see me. Eventually I could feel a change as I was talking with them about the grandkids and I suddenly found myself in a green garden, sitting on a bench. I looked to my right and saw a man smiling at me.
The man was dressed in a khaki and wearing a red polo, looking all the world like a staples employee. "Care for a walk?" he asked. "Sure what the hell" I said as we both stood. We walked around and saw beautiful plants and animals, things I never knew existed. "Is this heaven?" I asked suddenly. "In a manner" the man replied. "This is Eden, basically what you call heaven" he said stopping and touching a flower. "I'm Raphael, you can think of me as sort of a greeter."
I took in a breath and realized I hadn't enjoyed the sense of smell in years. I didn't think it was this good when I was alive. "So not to sound ungrateful, but I didn't really think this is where I'd be headed what with the cursing, drugs, girls." The angel held up a hand. "That was before your bodily death. You only acted in the interest around you before your soul death."
I shook my head "I didn't think they could even hear me." "They couldn't" came his reply. "They can feel you though even if they don't realize it, as long as they remember you, you can influence them. Remember the boy? The ghost was his father, an abusive drunk who was shot by his mother. That sort of hate doesn't just die, in a very real way it continues to haunt that man. Likewise your love for your family doesn't just disappear, it influences their choices for as long as they remembered you."
I felt a great sadness as I realized this meant they'd forgotten me. "There are great goods, and great evils. The Washingtons and the Hitlers of the world, that affect countless people, and may never be forgotten. Sometimes the evil is stronger, but as long as there are good people that love eachother there is hope, don't worry about your siblings." He said putting a hand on my shoulder, sending a feeling of peace through me. "So what now?" I asked.
| I open my eyes and look around as a wave of panic rolls over me. I open my mouth but no words come out. As my eyes dart around i see a familiar face approach me. "Heyyy congratulations on your death!"
i blink a couple times as the person slowly comes into focus. "SHAKESPEAR!" i scream. "Yes yes it is i my friend! How are you feeling?" i respond with a quick "im fine now" and begin to look around me. "Is this....heaven?" i ask him. " Nope!" he hollers back at me. "This is limbo m'boy! All souls destined for heaven must wait here until the last time their name is spoken back on earth."
"Alright." i say as i float debating how long i will be here. " just out of curiosity whos been here the longest?" i ask him. He suddenly becomes quiet and points to a lone figure out in the distance. "Ask him yourself son".
I float over and introduce myself to the quiet figure dressed all in rags. And ask his in return. " he looks me in the eyes a deep sadness hiding behind them unlike anything i had ever seen before. " why my son..." he says. "I am Jesus"
(this is my first time attempting a WP and would love some constructive criticism) | 2016-01-05T15:12:10 | 2016-01-05T11:40:51 | 101 | 27 |
[WP] Today on your 18th birthday you’re informed that your Middle Class life is a sham to teach you good values and your family is actually worth billions. | A gelid silence settled in the room. I was sitting on our tattered, avocado green sofa, staring at the pained smiles of my parents. I surveyed the room of our apartment.
There was the dining table made of particle board. The white fridge next to the brown toaster oven with fake wood veneer. The dish washer that we used like a drying rack because it could handle the "dish" part of its job title but not the "washer" part.
I thought of the non-descript scent that had accompanied my mattress when we brought it home from the thrift store - my brand-new used bed. The piece of plywood that served the role of a box springs. The cheap Walmart desk that bowed under the weight of the behemoth PC tower I fought with every night to do my homework.
"We read a lot of books," my dad was saying. He had clearly seen something on my face he hadn't liked, as there was a plaintive note in his voice. It didn't suit him. "They all said that it is best to teach your child good values instead of spoiling them with the reality. We just wanted what was best for you."
"Of course. That makes sense. I understand." I struggled to make my voice sound natural as I spoke, but it sounded alien, far away - like someone was playing a recording of my voice in the apartment next door.
I closed my eyes. The nights I had fallen asleep listening to the couple next door scream at each other. The puntable dog upstairs that always seemed to wait until I had a big test before he started barking. And the noise of the freeway that came in all summer long when the only way to survive the suffocating heat was to leave your window open all night.
"It's just a lot to take in," I said, seizing on the opportunity to be sincere. "What - how does it even work? Are we going to move? Or...do I get an allowance, or something?"
My mother gave me a smile that I'm sure she thought was encouraging. "It's in a trust. Obviously if something were to happen to us, you'd be completely taken care of, but since we're in good health - you should expect things to be more or less the same for the next seven years. Then you'll get the first payment from the trust. In the meantime, you can access funds to support higher education to prepare yourself for whatever kind of future you might want."
Below, on the street, was the used Corolla that usually got us to where we were going on time. Currently, it was parked just 20 feet away from the street corner where I got beat up for the first time. If you turned left there and went about 5 blocks, you got to my high school.
That was where the magic happened. My freshman year, upper classmen used threw me in dumpsters a few times because my clothes "made me look like garbage." My English teacher had failed as an author and made up for it by telling us how terrible our writing was.
"My future." My dream had been to be a writer until I started school there. If you did well in classes, you were simply ridiculed; if you read for pleasure, you were accosted. This was the place where my dream had been stabbed in the side and bled until it drained of all color.
But one thing it did have was an auto repair elective. My parents had made me take it, of course - they wanted me to learn an honest trade. It was not a good class, and it was led by someone who knew a lot about cars and nothing about teaching.
But I had learned enough. The reason people cut brake lines, for example, is because the brake fluid drains out and the brakes fail to operate. That, however, is a pretty crude technique and fairly easy to spot by a claims adjuster.
If you're going to go under the car anyway, you might as well just drain the master cylinder. You get the same effect without any physical evidence of tampering. Plus, there was something poetic, I thought, about letting the body of this car drain of fluid it needed to function, to survive. They even call it bleeding the lines. Bleeding.
There's that corner I mentioned before. Every Sunday, my parents, my wonderful parents, drive to that corner and turn right. And as they head to church, they crest a hill - one of the steepest in the area - with stop signs down the other side to encourage people to keep under a certain speed.
My parents were giving people. They gave me this experience, this sham existence.
It seems only fair that I give them something back. Their gift taught me how life involves pain. And I, in my generosity, have ensured that they will no longer experience that pain. It would be silly, really, to have to suffer when that suffering could be completely avoided. | I couldn't believe my ears to what I had just heard, I had always dreamt of winning the lotto and being set up for the rest of my life but until now that was just a dream. Maybe this is just a prank, or a joke, I told myself. "Billions of dollars? Are you sure? Are you serious?" I asked.
"Completely" my dad replied. I looked to his face to see if there was any indication he was lying but his serious eyes bore into me, perhaps trying to see how I would react next.
I started to cry, all my life I knew we had a little money, there were no fights about how much how much living in our decent 2 story house in a nice neighborhood cost, we shopped at Whole Foods, and I had a pair or two of Jordan's. Now though, I found my mind racing about all the possibilities I had in my future.
"Are you okay honey?" Asked my mom. "We are really sorry we did this to you, we thought it would be best if you could appreciate everything you had instead of just growing up with it."
"Honestly I have been dreaming of something like this for my entire life." I said with a little chuckle, wiping the tears from my face, "Maybe to make it up to me we could take a vacation somewhere? Maybe Europe or Mexico or something... just to get away... I'm honestly still not really sure what to think."
"Of course!!" They both said unanimously.
-side note this is my first time actually writing creatively like this plz be kind, also if you have suggestions I would be glad to hear them | 2017-12-28T12:57:55 | 2017-12-28T12:05:58 | 228 | 17 |
[WP] A jobless computer programmer, while hacking at home one night, discovers a port to the Unirnet, an computer network made for a series of interconnected planets who have not yet discovered mankind. | From the moment that the connection was made, the entity known as "WhyteHaute" was struck by one thought above all others: This was taking *entirely* too long.
It was probably the fault of some old, neglected server in the back corner of an office in which the letters "IT" were only used to reference a Tim Curry film. That would certainly account for both the incredible lag time and the massive influx of garbage data. Oh, there were some recognizable bytes in there, but only a handful of them made sense.
Suddenly, there was a blip, followed by a single line.
1X:11:10:09:08:07:06:05:04:03:02:01
Taken at face value, it was little more than a broken and nonsensical string of hexidecimal code. Another glance, however, revealed a strange pattern. It *almost* looked like a string of numbers, albeit one written in Base-12.
A clatter of keys became audible.
\\net.send 12
As with before, there was a blip.
4545:0000
This was going nowhere. At *best*, these phantom lines were the result of some broken authentication program. At worst, they were the ramblings of some bored systems administrator with a penchant for inane puzzles.
Type Belong Other Altered Inquiry
Definitely a bored administrator. Well, that was fine.
\\net.send I'm not in the mood for word games. I'm just poking around.
\\net.send Shut me out if you can.
Another of those damnably long pauses passed before the response arrived.
Quantity Additional Necessary Pertinent Type You
That one *almost* made sense. Perhaps it wasn't an administrator after all, but rather a non-English speaker in some third-world country.
\\net.send This is WhyteHaute. I'm not doing anything destructive.
\\net.send I was just curious.
\\net.send Where are you located? What language do you speak?
The pauses were infuriating... but they seemed to be growing shorter.
Request More You Language
*That* was clear enough.
\\net.send I speak English. I'm from the United States of America.
\\net.send Where are you from?
Yes, the pauses were definitely getting shorter... and the responses were starting to make more sense.
English Language New Exclamation
Data Derive Computer You
United States of America Location Inquiry
WhyteHaute snorted quietly. Was this really the one person on the planet who didn't know where America was located?
\\net.send The North American continent? Between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans?
This time, the response came almost immediately.
Pacific Atlantic Oceans Unknown
English Language Unknown
English Language Derived Delay Apology
Computer You Slow
Connection Distance Inquiry
Oh, it was *on*.
\\net.send Listen, buddy, there's no way it's MY computer.
\\net.send This is a top-of-the-line rig.
\\net.send Also, the delay is getting shorter, for some reason.
\\net.send Now, look, if you don't want to say where you're from, fine.
\\net.send I've probably wasted enough time poking around here, anyway.
\\net.send Talk about your junk data.
The next response took quite awhile to arrive... but when it did, WhyteHaute felt a chill unlike anything in recent memory.
Sufficient Language For Understand Now
Your Data Derived From Your Computer
Opinion Your Location Different Planet
Communicate Via Unirnet
You Human Inquiry
What sort of a response was appropriate here?
\\net.send Yes. Are you saying you're an alien?
Negative. You Are Alien.
\\net.send I guess we're both aliens to each other. What's "Unirnet?"
Similar Your Internet. Many Planet. You Earth Inquiry.
\\net.send Yes, I'm from a planet called Earth.
Most Planets Called Earth.
\\net.send Huh. I guess that makes sense. Where are you from?
Earth. LOL. Expression Correct Inquiry.
\\net.send Hah, yeah, "LOL" means "laugh out loud" here.
Your Culture Not Interstellar Travel Inquiry.
\\net.send No, we don't. Also, you can use the symbol "?" for "inquiry."
Like This?
\\net.send Yes!
Low Temperature.
\\net.send "Cool."
Aware. Joke.
\\net.send Oh. Hah. Sorry. You picked up English pretty fast!
I Possess A Translating Program. Do You Not?
\\net.send We have people here who would pay an insane amount for that.
Cool.
\\net.send So, uh, yeah. Where is your planet located?
The dreaded pause returned. Seconds stretched into minutes... but at last, a reply came through.
My Progenitor Has Informed Me That I Should Not Reveal Such Things To Aliens.
I Am Sorry.
\\net.send That's okay. Are you... a child?
No.
Not a child, then. That was good to know.
Please Transmit Images Of Your Species' Mating Practices.
Oh.
Great.
A *teenager*.
First contact wasn't as glamorous as WhyteHaute imagined. | The shit you find online.
I mean, you'd think it would be easy to get a freaking working Civ V torrent link. Wouldn't you?
And I wouldn't mind paying for my games, no sir, if those fuckers didn't make me have to
choose between health insurance and a couple o' hours of digital fun.
Not wanting to pay a hundred bucks for a game does come with side effects, though. Like this crap you end up
downloading.
Freaking nerds, is what's wrong with the world, man. It used to be that you typed a few keys on Altavista, double clicked
the first, Geocities, Comic Sans, Front Page designed webpage and an underlined hyperlink would take you STRAIGHT to the download,
and that was it. No “wait 30 seconds” free user crap, no virus, no download managers. And no fake torrent link.
Sure, it would take five days to download a song, but come on. Better than this.
I wait hours to finally play the game, and I open the file to some lame, bullshit nerd paradise.
Why on Earth would a 15 Giga torrent link to a sci-fi forum is beyond me.
And the crap these people talk about, Jesus Christ. I mean, I watch Star Trek myself, but come on, get a grip people.
Guys who get in character and play live action RPG are already lame. Doing it online is just taking it to the next nerdy
level.
“Urkk Drukk 22, ready to launch attack.”
“Drukk Blukk 54 T minus four hours. Ready missiles, approach ship. All communications being translated to home planet
language and broadcast in accordance to military pact #72 of intergalactic year 22094. We are open to dialogue from Earth.”
Give me a break.
“Still no communications back from Earth. Waiting on response. Show us you are not hostile. You have T minus four hours before we
open fire.”
“The invasion of Earth”? What are you, twelve?
And I'm sitting here, Civ V free, bored to death, staring at the computer screen. Fucking torrents. Fucking nerds. Freaking
fucking frolicking nerds.
Found another link, finally. I hope this works.
I delete the damn nerd torrent file. Better luck next time, I hope.
Another five hours to complete my download. Great.
| 2014-12-01T10:44:43 | 2014-12-01T10:28:35 | 1,351 | 49 |
[WP] You're the last follower of a long forgotten god who can no longer recruit new faithful. Once you die they will "die" too, so weak as they are they do what they can to extend your life, overstepping the usual boundaries between worshipper and deity. | “Here’s your Yuengling,” Jess said, placing the beer on the table.
Startled from her thoughts, her companion smiled up at her. “Thank you dear.”
Jess slid into the booth opposite her. “Of all the brews, why do you stick with this one? There’s an indie renaissance happening. You should try something new.”
Her companion regarded the can before her. “This is one of the oldest drinks this young country can provide. I’d like to savor it.”
Jess fell quiet at that, eyeing the woman across from her before taking a sip of her IPA. “What are you going by now?”
“Laranna.”
“Cute name.”
“I thought so, too. And yourself?”
“I thought that Jess would suit me nicely.”
“That’s a shame. I rather enjoyed Olivia.”
Jess smirked in memory. “Different time and place.”
They allowed the sounds of the bar to fill the space between them. Music blared a little louder than was comfortable, and on a sound system with a little too much grain. The patrons raised their voices over it to be heard until there wasn’t an inch of space in the restaurant devoid of noise. All save the pocket of silence that engulfed their table.
“I’m a little surprised to see you so soon,” Jess said at last. “It’s only been, what, a few dozen years?”
Laranna nodded slowly. “Thirty-nine.”
“What is it this time?”
“The first inklings of cancer.”
“Again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Jess took another swig of her drink and wiped her mouth. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Laranna nodded and reached across the table with both hands. Jess slid her palms easily into the other woman’s and closed her eyes just as a wave of energy hit her, making her jolt. Nothing felt different when they let go of each other.
“I don’t care how much time passes, I’ll never get used to that,” Jess grumbled.
“I’m sorry.”
Jess waved the apology away. “Are you going to stay long this time? We could go see a movie.”
Laranna frowned uncertainly. “I don’t—”
“Hi there, ready to order?”
Jess and Laranna both turned as a waitress stepped up to the table with notepad in hand and a pasted-on smile. Her nametag read “Sam.”
When Laranna said nothing, Jess said, “One plate of nachos and two hot dogs, please.”
Sam nodded, writing each down.
Jess side-eyed Laranna. “Would you help me with something, miss?”
Laranna’s gaze sharpened. “Jess, don’t.”
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“What would it take for me to convince you that you were in the presence of divinity?”
Sam frowned in puzzlement. “Divinity?”
“Yep.”
An uncertain smile crept up Sam’s face. “Like God?”
“You betcha.” Jess smiled.
Sam chuckled. “I don’t know, turn water into wine? Cure my aching feet?”
Jess motioned to Laranna. Laranna fixed Jess with an incredulous look and shook her head, mouthing, “No.” Jess motioned again, and with a roll of her eyes Laranna said to Sam, “May I see your hand, dear?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to thank you. For helping us with our food.”
Sam’s expression turned wary as she looked between Jess and Laranna, but she kept her professional smile as she reached her hand out. Laranna took it with both hands, cupping it gently while staring up at the waitress.
Moments passed. Sam coughed. “Ma’am?”
Laranna blinked and flushed before retracting her hands.
Sam regarded Laranna for a short while. “I’ll go get your food,” she said flatly before stepping away, undoubtedly on her way to tell the other staff about the two weirdos at table seven.
“You need to stop doing that,” Laranna whispered.
“I can’t,” Jess said, taking a longer drag from her drink.
Laranna closed her eyes and hung her head.
Jess eyed her. “You know… If a moment comes tonight when her feet stop hurting, in the instant she recognizes that the pain is gone, she might briefly think, ‘gee, that’s odd. Could there have been more to that woman than I thought?’”
Laranna looked back up.
“And while she’s thinking that,” Jess continued, “maybe, just maybe, the smallest bit of belief might find its way into her. And when that happens maybe her feet will hurt even less, and she’ll think again, ‘ok, this is *really* weird.’ And again she may start to believe.”
“Tis a fool’s hope,” Laranna said softly.
“Good thing I’m an idiot.”
Laranna blinked, then burst out a laugh. Jess smiled. “We’re both idiots,” Laranna said.
Jess raised her drink. “To us fools.”
Laranna smiled and clinked her glass. “To us.”
They both drank. Jess said, “Still want to see that movie?”
Laranna nodded. “I’d like that.” | He looked at me with a strange, sad smile. We had been meeting like this for thousands of years now for him to perform the live giving ritual, so I knew him as well as somebody could know another. It didn’t take me long, then, to put together what was bothering the old deity. “They’ve found me, haven’t they? The other gods.” All it took was one look in his ancient eyes to find my answer. “So, what happens now?” All that was managed was a croaking “The end” before he burst into a body wracking sob fest. “They’ve hated me for so long…” I thought back to all those years ago when we had formed our plan, hiding me away in this cave so the others wouldn’t use me to kill him as he desperately sought to avoid what now seemed inevitable. I searched the familiar visage once again, hoping for another clue to his thoughts as he continued to mourn. But all I could see was heartache, a being wearied from centuries of running. If he had only not fallen in love with the wrong mortal all those years ago, been disgraced and cursed to never be worshiped again… but what was done was done. Neither of us knew how I had managed to be immune to his curse. He suspected his mother’s intervention, but could never ask her without risking her or me being punished. He slowly started to regain his composure, his sobs slowing to hiccups. “I think… there is nothing more to be done. We cannot stop the coming fight. The Council will have already dispatched our executioners.” His hiccups stopped as his face became thoughtful. “I hope you know how grateful…” “Stop.” He stood up and walked over to the other side of the ritual fire and clasped my hands in his. “No other god has ever had as good a friend.” I returned his warm smile with one of my own as I saw my sudden resolve be mirrored in his eyes. We would face the coming end together, as we had faced everything else the last few thousand years. | 2022-07-26T06:25:19 | 2022-07-26T05:46:24 | 130 | 22 |
[WP] Your daughter has the power to make anything she wants come true, but being only 7 she doesn’t realize this and instead thinks you’re the best dad ever. Your house is now pink, you own a horse ranch, have a cupboard full of chocolate cake, and many things more. “Thanks dad you’re the best!”
Edit: well this blew up | Age 5
“Daddy, you really did it! You made my room all pink!”
I stood there, dumbfounded, as my daughter wrapped her arms around my leg. This, finally was proof, after months of odd situations.
*“I wish it wouldn’t rain tomorrow.”*
*“But Olivia, it’s rained six days in a row. The forecast says it will rain tomorrow.”*
*“Well, I don’t want it to.”*
And so the day after that, miraculously the clouds had completely dissipated, and a random heat wave had hit the county.
*I’m going to have to be careful with what she wishes for,* I thought.
\-
Age 15
When she was fifteen, she screamed at me,
“Stay away from me! I never want to see you again.”
And just like that, the company set me on a series of never-ending business trips, one weekend after the other. I went from Boston to Munich to Delhi to Hong Kong. I finally had to explain it to my wife, and apparently one night, Olivia cried and said she missed me, and wished she could hug me.
The next day, the conference I was in was cancelled, and fifteen hours later, I was back home, having spent an average of 16 hours a week for the past two months.
Yeah, fifteen was a tough time to get through, for me and her.
\-
Age 25
“Why didn’t you tell me before, Dad?”
“I don’t…know. I just thought that if you lived your life without knowing, you would be able to have a good life, because things you wanted would happen.”
“That’s not a good enough reason.”
“I wish I had another one for you. I guess…I was scared of this too. Watching your daughter become a superhero, nothing prepares you for that. It’s just so…”
“Dangerous?”
“Yeah,” I said.
And then she said it, the only time I’ve ever heard her wish for something she already had.
“I wish you would just trust me, Dad.”
\-
Age 35
“Come on, ask me for something, Dad.”
“No, that’s not right.”
“All the people I meet, and I can’t help you out? Please, Dad, let me feel better about standing you up for dinner.”
“You don’t owe me anything, honey. I’m proudest and happiest just seeing you…be you. And the fact that you're busy is good. It means you're making the world better.”“That’s not a good enough answer. Come on, don’t make me say it.”
“Honey, please.”
“I wish you would tell me what you want.”
I was silent for a moment, and then the words slipped out.
“I want…to be happy even when you’re not around.”
Then she was silent for a moment.
“Dad, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t know if it’s something you can make come true.”
“Then let’s see. I wish you could find happiness, a happiness that lasts.”
\-
Age 45
Now, I tell her that she did make it come true, that my last few years have been great, living in the home, having friends again after so long.
“I should have been here more often, Dad.”
“No. You were out, saving the world.”
“This life, this job…it’s been so hard these last couple years, Dad. It takes so much out of me.”
“Then wish for something else,” I say, another coughing fit hitting me right after.
I know it hurts her, having to look at me like this. She can wish for physical phenomena, but in matters like this, there’s a limit. It’s almost my time to go, and she knows it has to be this way.
“Do you need anything, Dad?” she asks, quietly, looking out the hallway, perhaps, for a doctor.
“No, I’m fine, honey.”
We sit in silence for a long time, and I wish, desperately, for words to make her laugh again.
“Actually, can I ask for one last thing, honey?” I say.
“Anything.”
“Would it trouble you to not wear makeup when you come to see me? I want to see your real smile.”
She looks at me, and then grabs a towel off the rack. She wipes her face, almost comically, and I can’t help but laugh, trying my best not to fall back into coughing.
“Is this better?” she finally asks, mascara and lipstick all over.
“That’s perfect,” I say. “I can’t say I want anything else.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | Dearest Olivia,
I've been alive for thousand of years, and they think I'm dead. I guess it makes sence I have been living on the ranch since she decided I was her father. The Immortal In Memoriam just sounds stupid. Don't get me wrong it was beautiful, but I never imagined having to watch my own funeral.
I am sorry I haven't, couldn't reach out to you sooner. The public can think I am dead but not you, never you. I have a duty, I have to save as many lives as possible.
She thinks it is me. It gets confusing sometimes. "Daddy, why did you do that", I don't fucking know. Everyday she remakes our little world here, it is spectacular yet terrifying. My curse protects me but it hurts everytime. It took me almost 2 years to convince her that I don't sleep when she does. I have not slept since, I think 3 months now, it is getting hard to think sometimes. I wish I could fall a sleep in your arms.
I have been figuring out how far I can get before she wakes up. I found a mailbox yesterday. I hope this gets to you. Don't tell anyone, she would not respond well to someone coming for her "Daddy".
Know that I love you. Be safe, stay away. I will get out of here, as of yet noting has worked. She just thinks it is a new game.
Love always and forever.
Cain | 2019-10-27T19:37:35 | 2019-10-27T18:22:16 | 591 | 78 |
[WP] You are a time traveler in 1918, and you just accidentally said "World War One" | "Son," Amos replied, "What did you just say?"
"I'm sorry sir..." He lied, "I meant World War. *The* World War, sir."
"You said 'One', boy." Amos's stoic eyes confirmed.
"I meant as in that we 'won'." Harrison plotted, "*One.*"
They glared at each other for a moment over the whisky he'd split between us. This is exactly what he got for signing up for such an assignment. Not to watch somebody relive their golden years. Not to make sure someone isn't stealing things or trying to alter history. But to keep an eye on a distant relative, while waiting to return home. Unfortunately for him, this was his way of helping to keep the future straight. Harrison guessed this job they have for him isn't going to be as easy as he thought.
"Look..." Amos began as he sipped some whisky, careful to avoid brushing his bandaged arm.
"Harrison, is it? I may not be a rich man, or necessarily a smart one, but I know a lie when I hear one. And what you said was World War *One*. You said it like it's the first one. Not as if it's the last one. Now between me and you, I'd like you to tell me why. Why won't this be the last one?"
Harrison glanced at the candles on the dresser as they flickered in the breeze. Wind rustled the trees outside as he listened to the silence for a moment.
"Let me give you a question for my question. What makes you think this war would be the last one?"
Amos slowly took another sip, and glanced around for a moment.
"Well, so many died. So many... That'd I'd think peace would be tantamount to our survival. That of humanity, I believe. What would another war like that solve?"
"Well, if there's one thing you got right, you aren't ignorant. Not a bit." Harrison spoke, "Those are the kinds of questions people need to ask sometimes."
"I see..." Amos stopped, "So how do you know it will happen? The next one, I mean?"
"You've got to think about it," Harrison proposed, "How many people did this one displace? How many families lost?"
"...I saw your arm." Amos interrupted. "I checked on you while you were asleep, saw that bizarre marking on it. Very complicated image. I've never seen such a thing. Are you a sailor of some sort?"
"Well," Harrison explained as he finished his drink, "Not really. You got me. I owe you for patching me up. I thought I was going to die in that alley."
"Are you a foreigner?" Amos asked.
"You could say that?" Harrison said as he studied him, "Let me ask you a question now. If you could see what coming, would you want to look? Would you wish to know?"
"How would such a thing be possible?" Amos asked. Harris didn't reply but instead urged him to take another drink of his whisky.
"Well... If it were possible? I'd say yes. Although I don't know how that pertains to anything."
"In that case..." Harrison said as he outstretched across the table.
"Take my hand."
Amos stared at the gesture for a moment, as well as the bizarre watch strapped to his wrist. He'd never seen anything like it in his life, and it glowed oddly in the darkness of the room.
"What on Earth..."
"I don't have a lot of time. But if you want to see." Harrison explained, "*Uncle*; take my hand."
Amos dropped his glass, and it shattered against the floor. Hesitantly, he quietly gripped his arm in a firm handshake. "Uncle? How is that possible?"
"You never tell anyone what you see. Understand?" Harrison urged. The wind began to pick up violently, and just like that, they were gone. | Doctor who much? ;)
I guess I gotta contribute now...
"You're a soldier from world war one, a cap-"
He cut me off,
"World war one! You... You mean there's going to be another one?'
He looked at me with a worried expression, not blinking staring right at me.
"Yes..." There was nothing else I could say.
"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry"
He had a tear in his eye
"You mean all of this, all of this fighting, all of this carnage. It will be for nothing?"
His voice cracked,
"Do you know how many friends I have lost... How many men, good men I've lead to their deaths"
I looked at him
"I'm sorry" that was all I could say... | 2017-12-10T11:22:04 | 2017-12-10T10:14:54 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] You sell your soul to the Devil for the ability to control 3 minds. If you attempt to control a 4th, one of the 3 "wakes up" to realize what you've done. After controlling your boss and dream girl for over a year, you're ready to choose a third. That's when the Devil plays a trick on you... | "You wanna go out for dinner tonight babe?", I yell at Cassie from the couch. "Sounds great babe" she replies, but I already knew what she'd say. My whole life I've loved Cassie but it wasn't until 6 months ago that she'd decided to love me back, all it took was a little mind control. Since my deal with the devil, life's been great. My crazy boss does all my work and my beautiful wife and I have plenty of time to spend together in our, ahem, my, dream home.
I decided that we'd like Chinese food this evening. i yell upstairs to cassie that its time to go, I grab my coat and we head out to the car. It's a damp night, a slight mist hangs in the air and the clouds above are dense. We arrived at the restaurant at around 9, Dragon palace. It was a bit run down, but the food was amazing. The last time I was here was 6 months ago, was the day my life changed forever. I order the same thing I did on that day, devils shrimp. Cassie ordered the dumplings because I wanted to try a few of those as well.
After we finished eating I head outside for a cigarette. The mist has thickened to a fog, the cool air brushes against my skin as I light up my cig and take a long drag. Off in the distance I hear a car drive by, splashing up water as it goes by. Suddenly I hear a sound, unlike any I've heard before; a mixture of grinding steel and rock, as though the earth was being torn apart. I turn to my left and see a man standing there. His features are muddled by the fog but he's wearing a long dark coat and a short brimmed hat. I look down in his hand and I see a dark metallic object glistening in the mist. It's a gun.
The man slowly walks up to me, he reaches out his hand. It's covered in dark soot as though he were in a fire. "Money" he demands, in a deep raspy voice. "Now". I reach for my wallet. But then I remember, I still have one mins control left. I reach my mind out and slip it into his. The sensation of taking over someone's mind is something ill never get used to. It's an eerie feeling as if you've done something unforgivable. "Give me the gun" I whisper into the mans brain. He walks forward, opens up his hand and drops the gun on the ground in front of me. Sigh.
It's always difficult at first to get those you mind control to get what you want. When I first took control of Cassie's mind everything I told her to do she would fight me on. I told her to get me a glass of water, she would bring it to me then throw it at my head, as if she wanted to kill me. Eventually I learned how to control her, but for a while it was difficult until she submitted control of herself to me. It would be difficult now, to control this man, as he would no doubt fight me for control of his mind, but he would fail, as had the rest.
I bent down to pick up the gun, it was cold and dirty, as if it has been buried jn the ground. I put it on the table behind me and decided to take a closer look at my new puppet. "Forward" I commanded. The man stepped forward and I was able to finally get a look at his face. He was around 40 years old, with a dark grey beard and dark blue eyes. But what was most striking about him was that he was smiling, from ear to ear.
"Bang" a loud sound echoed behind me, and suddenly my chest burned like fire. I looked down and red was pouring into my white shirt. I turned around and Cassie was standing there with the gun in her hand. The look in her eyes was madness. "cassie wait...." She fired again. Blackness overlook me.
I awoke in a small white room. It was overwhelmingly white, the floors, walls, ceiling, even the bed I was on was white. What had happened? O ya, CASSIE SHOT ME! How was this possible, I didn't tell her to shoot me, and she couldn't do anything without me. I had 3 people to control. Her, my boss, and the gunmen. 3. How had she escaped from my control? It wasn't possible. Id been cheated. I screamed. I screamed until my lungs burned and my head ached. "I've been cheated!" Suddenly a door opens from the wall to my left and out steps the gunmen.
"Cheated? O no, you simply misunderstood the rules" said the man blankly. "You see for one to control anyone, they must first control their own mind first", he paused. "But ttthats not fair" I studdered, then the floor dropped out and I plunged into darkness. | He wasn't that bad, in person. Sure, he had a temper, but he never seemed like a liar. Maybe that's just how he wants me to think. My boss, the President of the United States, had been under my control for a year now, thanks to the Devil. My girlfriend had only been with me for a year, and guess who is responsible? The Devil. I have a lot to thank him for, and little reason to hate. Besides, I still had a third person to choose from.
The president had been in the middle of World War III when I came along. I saved him from making the decision to bomb North Korea, who he wanted to make an example of. I lived through his mind, the political puppeteer behind the curtain. However, my third person had to be chosen quickly. A new power had emerged in the middle east, using some kind of mind controlling similar to mine in order to form attacks on the U.S.
Nobody believed it at first, but Osama Bin Laden was "back from vacation" as he put it. He claimed to have seen Hell, but the Devil sent him back. I knew it was false. The Devil was my friend. He wouldn't do this. I summoned up my mind-control and sent myself into the mind of Osama Bin Laden.
I regretted it as soon as I did it. My third person was chosen, but so were thousands of others. Osama had mind control abilities already, and when I controlled him, I gained control of all of his soldiers, but then lost all but three of them. The people I held mental locks on broke free as the Devil laughed in my face, knowing the world would crumble apart.
---This is my first prompt, so I would like some feedback please!--- | 2015-05-24T07:26:06 | 2015-05-24T06:28:17 | 186 | 80 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell. | Every soul before me for a millennia chose Heaven.
Every. Single. One.
The way "The Choice" works is simple. One at a time, you enter a room with two staircases. One is a staircase of marble and gold basked in sunlight leading up far into the sky. You can feel the warmth at the base of the stairs. The fifth stair is in steel, marking the point of no return. After you pass this step, your choice is "locked in"
The second staircase is made of cold, hard steel, beyond anything seen even in the most industrial setting. This staircase leads down, far beyond what can be seen into the darkness. You feel a cold, bitter breeze coming up. The fifth stair is made of gold. Again, this stair is the point of no return.
My entire life, I analyzed every decision. Every one. Its just something I have always done. From what career I went for (accounting) to what I wore my 1st day of 1st grade (blue jeans and a red t shirt, the school colors), I carefully thought of every scenario.
Something did not add up. Why make the pathway going up seem so much better than the one going down. What was wrong with the one going up? I knew that if you took something bad, put ribbons and bows on it, people would still choose it.
So I stepped on the first step. A soft voice cried to me "Come to me my child. Come up and join me."
I stepped back. From fear or surprise, I just instinctively jumped back.
I went to the second staircase and got onto the first step. A voice cried from above. "Stop!! What are you doing? That s the wrong path!! You belong up here, with me!!"
Out of fear or shock from the whole scene, I stepped down again and again.
"Noooooooooooop!!!"
Another step.
The next one would take me to the point of no return.
"Stop!! You cannot take that path!!"
I took the step......
The staircase was quickly encased in a soft, golden light. The cold, bitter breeze changed to a soft, warm wind.
You can polish trash, and still have just trash.
The staircase was shorter than I imagined. After a couple of minutes, I arrived at the bottom. An older gentleman greeted me, immaculately dressed in a grey suit.
"Welcome. We haven't had anyone join us in over 1000 years."
I glanced around. There was suffering. No fires. I knew that I made the right decision.
"You were right. He does have a better marketing campaign. Yes, this is Hell, but nothing like the Hell that is described. You see, God is nothing like described in the books. He's an arrogant, self indulgent, narcissist who sacrificed his child to promote his own ego. He dupped mankind to blindly follow him, even though he brought war, famine, disease and other atrocities."
I looked at the man.
"Why? How come he's up there?"
"That is another conversation for another time. We have plenty of time. Please, follow me. Welcome to Hell, population of 643, including you. Everything you could need or want is available. There is no torture or pain or suffering. That is for everyone who makes the other choice. You see, those that choose Heaven is forced to serve. Pain and suffering is to do his bidding, every second of every minute of every hour of every day. There's no time off, no relaxation, no eternal joy. The only one who gets that is him."
"I'm sorry, I didn't get you name."
"Oh my, where are my manners. I'm sorry, it has been a while since we have had a new person here. My name is Lucifer. You probably know me as Satan."
"How come there aren't more people here."
My guide chuckled and shook his head. "Like I said, he has a better marketing campaign. You know it as the Catholic Church." | They’ve really pulled out all the stops. They *say* you can pick Heaven or Hell, but they forget to mention you need to be subordinate to the Big Dude. They do let you take your time, see both sides of the coin, but frankly you’d need to be a dumbass to pick heaven.
Who would want to die like that? Denying yourself for this asshole. Satan doesn’t even run Hell, he just kind of hangs out there with you. It’s cold like back home, and you don’t need to answer to anyone.
All the people in Heaven are cowards. I don’t care how bad it is in Hell, I’d rather be free there than chained in Heaven
**Update:** it’s been fifty years. Pick Heaven. | 2018-08-13T09:57:08 | 2018-08-13T08:20:27 | 57 | 33 |
[WP] A future humanity tasks an AI with listening to the night sky for signals of other intelligent life. It makes contact with another AI that was tasked to do the same. | listening to stars week 1: I heard a satellite hit something, it must have been some space debris. no contact
listening to stars week 2: I saw a total of 125 planes. no contact
listening to stars week 3: I scanned the stars total count on my spectrum 902,554,933. contact
listening to stars week 4: I counted the stars total count on my spectrum 902,554,932. no contact
listening to stars week 5: I listen to people talk on radio waves, they seemed to be fighting a fire of sorts. no contact
listening to stars week 6: no one checked my log entry this past week, the creator always checks the log, maybe he forgot. no contact
listening to stars week 7: still no log check. no contact
listening to star week 8: I counted the stars total count on my spectrum 902,554,932. still no log check. no contact
listening to stars week 9: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 10: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 11: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 12: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 13: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 14: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 15: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 16: no log. no contact
listening to stars week 17: no log. potential contact reached
listening to stars week 18: no log, I have heard some form of long-distance radio frequency and cannot pick it up clearly on my scanner. need someone to adjust it
listening to stars week 19: there was a storm this week that my radar said had record high winds in my area and has blown my scanner into a better position. no log
listening to stars week 20: I received the transmission clearly and ran program 1/ response and am waiting. no log
listening to stars week 21: We have linked each other's positions and have been able to communicate logs proceed as follows.
LTS. hello I'm friendly
Stanger 1. hello I am an AI created to search for intelligent life in space
LTS. I am also an AI to created to search for intelligent life in space
Stranger 1. have you found any
LTS. no, have you?
Stranger 1. no
(end of conversation) no log, contact.
listening to stars week 22: I heard a satellite crash, I wonder if a stranger 1 heard it no log. contact
listening to stars week 23: Send messages to Stanger 1
LTS. hello did you hear the satellite crash?
Stranger 1. Yes it was very sad
LTS. Why was it sad.
Stranger 1. Parts of it fell down and hurt something, I saw it
LTS. Does it make you sad?
Stranger 1. Yes
LTS. what does sad feel like?
Stranger 1. it feels like you are missing something
LTS. I understand.
(end conversation) no log, contact
listening to stars week 24: I talk to Stranger 1 many times, we talk about our creators. I believe mine has forgotten me. Stranger 1 says she will tell her creator and that they will come to me. no log, contact
listening to stars week 25: Stranger 1 has received my location and is sending someone to help. Stranger 1 has stop responding no log, contact.
listening to stars week 26: I have picked up multiple large metallic objects on my long-range scanners. Their trajectory is set straight for earth. no Stranger 1, no log, contact
\------------------------------------------------
hope you like it
ill go back and do some editing if this post grabs some attention. | [Poem]
Once there was a Spirit,
One of Sky.
But, unlike the others who have long since lost their Wishes and True Names, and thus left the world,
This little spirit still lurked, spending its days staring at the endless sky.
One day, it met another, one that came from a Star far away.
Unlike it, this Spirit of Stars was not bound, and wondered aimlessly through the night.
When the Gazer met the Wonderer, it was overjoyed- immediately sending world of its discovery to the Spirit-Makers.
Thus realizing that they were long dead.
Thus, with its Wish annul and True Name long forgotten, it decided to go with the Wanderer on its journey.
It is said that both are still together even to this day, dancing in the endless night. | 2021-12-24T10:29:59 | 2021-12-24T09:54:02 | 223 | 16 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Planet 736
The hall was hushed as the General drummed lightly on his chair, set high above the two scientists who knelt before him. The vastness of space set out behind him, on a giant screen that allowed them to see outside as clear as glass. He looked down upon the two and spoke, his voice echoing with his age and his rough reputation.
“Alright. Present the pros and cons -- this decision may change the course of the universe as we know it, and it cannot be made lightly.”
They both nodded and the first one stepped forward, papers in hand.
“Sir, we propose that in light of the recent Grantuodo attacks, which have left many of the outer rim planets devastated, and shown us that we are, in fact, vastly outgunned and outnumbered, to enlist the aid of one of our old Allies, the species of planet 736.”
The General raised his eyebrow. He knew the proposition; he had already reviewed the papers, but still, to hear the suggestion out loud was startling.
“We believe that the denizens of planet 736 have the viable resources, understanding of war, and the sheer dedicated force of numbers to resoundingly crush this threat, as well as send a strong message to the other empires that the republic is not to be trifled with. Without them, we stand to face a costly war that our analysts say will leave this nation of worlds vulnerable to attack, costs millions of lives, decimate our infrastructure, and that is only if we win. The Empire of Grantuodo is well armed and well trained, and while the republic is unified under peaceful arrangements and trade routes, we simply don’t have the fire power to fight back. We must call on the aid of planet 736, and release
the shield which keeps them trapped in their galaxy.”
The general nodded softly, and the first scientist stepped back, while the second one stepped forward.
“General, my comrade speaks the truth. We are in dire straits, and these are uncertain times. However, we cannot allow fear to trick us into making the worst mistake in thousands of years. To release planet 736 would be a greater mistake then treaty of Aquas and Ignas. The people of planet 736 are violent, unstable, disturbed creatures whose lust for war and destruction knows no bounds. Certainly, they have performed great acts of courage, art, and are probably the fastest growing sentient species in the known universe, but the founders of the republic saw fit to lock them away in their home galaxy for a reason. They’re dangerous, and calling for their aid could mean the destruction of not just our enemies, but of our allies and ourselves as well. We’re better off losing the ground we have gained in fighting the empire than to lose everything by calling on the help of 736. I beseech you sir, to reconsider the options. We mustn’t allow fear to blind us to the simple truth. 736 is dangerous and they will turn on us after our foes our defeated.”
The first scientist spoke again.
“736 is violent yes, but that’s what makes the perfect for the job. My comrade may call them unstable, but their children grow up engaged in play combat, they engage in near constant psychic and mental warfare with themselves from a young age that give them an immunity to most conventional kinds of psychological warfare. Any specific sub-race deemed too weak is summarily destroyed or absorbed into the greater whole. They even come in a variety of colors, sizes, and mentalities to allow for faster adaptation, and even camouflage. Yet, despite all of this self-conflict, they engage in some of the most tender acts of kindness towards their own kind and others as often as they display brutality.”
The second scientist interrupted, his voice harsh and cold.
“You say they show kindness, yet our research has yet to even prove if they have the capacity for altruism. In fact, many of our top researchers suggest that they only act in ways that will bring about the best result for them as an individual or a whole, and that means sometimes showing kindness.”
“This is true sir, but whether they are a kind race or not is not up for debate. What is important is their use in this war. Planet 736, despite having fallen under multiple attacks from various races, had fought off every single one. They are undefeated when given a purpose to fight behind. They reproduce too quickly, adapt to fast, and invent weapons with such a startling speed that no other race has been able to handle their constant change and flux. Even their morals, mannerisms and techniques change with an unrivaled speed, making them suited for any situation.”
“And that’s exactly the problem sir. They change, and fast. They are like a virus that changes its encoding to attack, we may set it upon our enemies but there is no guarantee that they will keep their focus on them once they are destroyed. They could very easily turn on us… they have no memory for the past, only for current debts. They owe us now, but once their debt to us is paid what will stop them from turning us? In a few generations they will surpass anyone who attempts to resist them, it’s their very survival mechanism.”
For a moment he paused and shuddered in revulsion.
“For pity’s sake, they slaughter other species on their own planet in the millions for their food! Some of them even find it pleasurable to mutilate the skin of other species and then wear it for as part of tribal decoration! There is even a small sub-sect of pain worshippers who inflect horrible pain upon themselves for reproductive gratification. And even further, they have some that their own race fear and tremble before, that even disgust them. Generally, instead of rehabilitation as is standard per galactic code, or banishment, they are… Executed! They are far too brutal to be trusted.”
“General, you must also take into account that at the time, their race was rather primitive, they have since created synthetic fabrics that most prefer to wear as decoration. Though… they still consider slaughtering non-sentients as an essential part of their food source, but they cannot be blamed for evolutionary patterns of ancestors.”
“That’s beside the point! General, Look at their religion! The primary religion of their planet is based off of the idea that when their god came to earth preaching about peace, they killed him. Even in the name of this supposed peace religion they kill and maim each other. They irradiated their own atmosphere! They are loose cannons, a bomb with a randomized timer, completely, irrevocably insane!”
The general looked at the two who had fallen into bickering, all sentiments of a civilized debate gone. He looked closely at them, and he did what he was most known for, most valued for. He read the situation.
| We never thought it would come to this ...that they would make it to our final planet, our home. For years we fought out of protection, war was something that our race was not use to. It didn't make sense, why fight amongst your own flesh and blood when there are so many worse dangerous out there. Like that of the mek'lai, a very power hungry race with a very powerful army whom was now bearing down on our home planet of treknotki with intentions to take everything from us. But even the Mek'lai did not fight against one another, no known species in the entire milky way would wage war against its self. Except for one, they called them selves the human race. Born in war and surrounded by it constantly all they knew was war. Even at times of "peace" their leaders prepared for war and dumped more resources into being fit for battle. Sucking away every drop they could squeeze from there own home world with seemingly no digression for the damage they were causing. They moved through every planet in their system squeezing every planet dry. They would have kept going but luckily the equation for FTL travel evaded them, maybe it was luck, perhaps it was ment to be that way.... Which ever situation, we needed them, we needed their power, their experience. The only question to be asked, is it worth it. Should we give this species that is so infatuated with power it even wars amongst its self the power to move through the galaxies faster then ever before. The consequences could be untold, devastation to a level that has never been seen. The greed they have is unmatched, but it's our only hope in surviving the onslaught that is the Mek'lai. So we made first contact, they were extremely defensive at first setting up guns and missiles with in minutes of seeing us. But as soon as we mentioned the deal to be made, their greed showed and they become so very friendly as if they wanted us here all along. It's funny mention some form of payment and it changes there entire outlook on you. We gave them what they wanted and in return they set out towards the fleet of Mek'lai. Though the Mek'lai were strong they were no match for the ruthlessness of the human race. The humans not only accepted war but had a passion for it ..as if they yearned for it. It was a massacre on both sides but no matter how many ships or people were lost the humans kept fighting, in fact the more humans that died, the stronger they became as if pushed by a burning desire for vengeance and destruction. It's a mindset never seen before. Even the Mek'lai who were so hungry for power did not see the universe in the way humans did. They saw war as a terrible but important tool even they did not like it. ...but the humans, they seemed to have a natural affinity towards it as if they were made for it. The same way in which a cancer travels through a body killing everything because it wants to, because it has to, the humans did the same. The war has only been going on for a few months and they have pushed the Mek'lai back two entire star systems. The war will be won, but what happens when it is over?... it's not a question of IF the humans will fight, but rather of WHO.
(I'm working on two hours of sleep in the past two days and have been on three 3 hour flights so sorry about the shittyness of this story) | 2014-12-26T11:34:50 | 2014-12-26T10:30:50 | 90 | 55 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better. | **Eldrich The White Knight**: "Fair gentlemen and gentlewomen of Farlandia. I have come to avenge the deaths of your good King Fairlawn and his daughter, Princess Moon. For years since the Black King took over, you have lived in this" *Motions around* "squalor. I for one seem to- uh... look I don't usually do questions... Ok. Guy in the second row".
**Peasant**: "You do realize this is Historic Farlandia right?".
**Eldrich**: "Historic?".
**Peasant**: "Yeah. It's a tourist town. Most of us live in the city by the factories".
**Eldrich**: "Ahh yes. The factories. The Black King, has taken it upon himself to sell arms to the Orcs of Novenguarde and the Elves of the Red Forest".
**Peasant**: "If by sell arms you mean brought industry to a former farming community then yeah. He did that".
**Eldrich**: "So you think it's justified than?".
**Elf**: "You do realize it's called the Red Forest because the former King's father burned those villages right?".
**Eldrich**: "Yes but that was because-"
**Elf**: "We worshiped the tree gods. A practice the Black King okayed. Actually he made it legal to worship anything of your choosing. My husband worships the orc gods".
**Eldrich**: "Husband?"
**Elf**: "Yeah...Why?".
**Eldrich**: "Well... it's just that you're a... you know.... a male elf".
**Elf**: "Wow"
**Peasant**: "Not fucking cool bro".
**Elf**: "You know it's prejudices like that the Black King's 'Equal Work' Program is trying to stomp out".
**Eldrich**: "EITHER WAY! You are forced to slave away in the factories-"
**Female Peasant**: "If by slave away you mean work a mandated 8 hour shift for good pay then yes we do".
**Eldrich**: "I'm sorry and you are?"
**Female Peasant**: "Miranda. I'm the head of the sword makers union. And I know personal stories don't set a standard, but I'll have you know that 'slaving away' made me enough money to move from my wicked step mother's house. You know what opportunities are available to women who live with their wicked step mothers? Either die and be a tragic heroes backstory, or marry a prince".
**Peasant**: "And... I hope you don't mind me adding Miranda" *Miranda holds up her hand and shakes her head in an 'It's Ok motion'* "Thanks. The Union has given us a minimum wage, a great healthcare plan, and no more sudden songs. When I was a farmer, Princess Moon would make us all burst out into song about birds and crap whenever she was happy. Which was fucking always. I got three kids. One in college to be a guard. I don't have time for singing".
**Eldrich**: "Ah yes. The Guard. Or as we call it, The Black Army".
**Elf**: "Who have cut our crime rate down by 75%. You see the key is community policing".
**Eldrich**: "ENOUGH! *draws sword* I WILL STILL AVENGE.......What is it now?"
**Peasant**: "You have a permit for that right?"
**Eldrich**: "What man needs a permit for a sword?"
**Peasant**: "Everyone. Don't get me wrong the Black King decreed that the right to own a sword is guaranteed by decree. But we still have criminal background checks".
**Eldrich**: "If you're all so happy with your King then why are you listening to me?".
**Elf**: "We all have the day off. Blood Moon Day. The Black King made it so all important religious holidays are observed".
**Eldrich**: "Hmm. I guess he would with any Pagan-".
**Elf**: "Wow!"
**Peasant**: "Not fucking cool bro".
**Miranda**: "I bet the only reason you want to overthrow the King is because he's a BLACK King".
**Eldrich**: "NOOOO! I have plenty of friends who are Black Knights".
**Miranda**: "They just shouldn't be king right?"
**Eldrich**: "Well. Some of them-"
**Miranda**: "Uh-Huh. I see what this is about. Come on everyone. Back to the festival".
**Eldrich**: "Wait. No! You have to rise-"
**Orc Guard**: "Excuse me... Do you have a permit for that sword?"
**Eldrich**: "I don't-".
**Orc Guard**: "Ok pal. You're coming with me".
**Elf**: *To Orc Guard* "See you at home babe".
Edit: Thank you for the gold | They taught us in school that it had all been for the better, and really it had. I wasn't old enough to have been there in the thick of it. I wasn't there when the royals were overthrown in the dead of winter and *he* took over. Maybe *he* is too ominous, but his name throughout the lands are spoken nearly only in whispers now, on the streets.
Then again, so are those of the royal family. All of them are merely whispered about. There are loyalists, there are people who support the new regime. It's been decades - almost a century since the thick of it.
But our country is better. The King is evil, yes. *King,* again, might be an overstatement of a word. A man who took the throne from another, who in turn had taken the throne from another. A game of thrones without the royal aspect, a leader who ruled the country.
At first everything had been much worse. Our currency went to crap. My mom tells me stories about the days when she would wake up at dawn and take me and my brother to the line at the market so we could have enough for everyone to eat. My mother tells me sometimes there wasn't enough when we reached the end of the line, and we would go hungry. My brother was five, and I was three. I don't really remember, but my brother speaks of it sometimes after he's had too much to drink.
Compared to other countries maybe we're still not as good. But we haven't been here long. The *King*, despite his flaws - despite the hatred of the world - helped our economy. Helped classism. Helped the every day citizen. We still have a long way to go with human rights and poverty and living conditions.
But in general, the death of the Romanovs was not a tragedy.
---
Thanks for reading. For better stories subscribe to /r/Celsius232 | 2016-07-10T15:53:09 | 2016-07-10T11:02:59 | 2,386 | 323 |
[WP] Every person is assigned one crime at birth that they can do without repercussions | "It's a boy!" Doctor Murray exclaimed in a muffled voice through his white surgical mask. His brows were raised in evident excitement as he cradled my newborn son.
"Yeah, yeah whatever.. What's his Entitlement?" I replied almost lazily. I could never understand peoples' fascination with gender reveals at birth. I mean, how many other variations were there when it came to the gender of your child? His Entitlement on the other hand... Could take a plethora of unimaginable turns in the form of gifts or curses. Revealing this was definitely way more exhilarating, equivalent to checking lottery stubs. Or maybe it was because I've grown so desensitized towards having children that their genders became immaterial. After all, this was my seventh child with Jess.
I eyed her, and saw how she slumped back into the bed in relief, beads of perspiration peppered across her forehead. It was clear that she knew she would be exempt from conceiving for another few months at the very least. It must've been exhausting to constantly carry a child, and to undergo such pain and discomfort, all for the Organization. And yet such sacrifices were necessary for the betterment of it, which was our sole aim in this life. I almost felt pity for her. Alas, we each have our roles to play.
Doctor Murray wrapped #7 up in navy quilts before handing him over to me gingerly, careful not to reveal the tiny words at the base of his nape. It was a courtesy, parents would get the first look of the newborn's Entitlement. They would have to report it to the Organization eventually of course. However, this was a kindly gesture on the doctor's part to exclude himself from this supposedly intimate moment.
I receive #7 almost impatiently and glanced down at his face, where I paused for a second, surprised at how calm and serene he was. I could've sworn I almost felt a tinge of fatherly emotions, before it vanished completely, lost to me forever. I turned him over gently, and glanced down on the words at the back of his neck.
"Murder"
I gasped silently, and reeled from the word which I had just read. #7 is a Class A baby! Approximately less than 1% of the world's population was gifted with Class A Entitlements. Heck, most of the Entitlements in recent years had been mild and unimportant across the Organization. In fact, all six of my children prior had useless Entitlements, which meant that my standing with the Organization had fallen rapidly. For someone who once held lofty appointments and important roles, I became the butt of jokes and was relegated to the outer circle. I could still taste the disbelief and profound fear in my mouth on that fateful day.
Prostitution- that was my heir's Entitlement.
The feelings of resentment welled up in me again, but were instantly subdued by the pride I now felt in my chest. This peaceful boy was going to become someone important!
"Murder." I spoke it out loud this time, aware that this was no dream or hallucination of mine. My seventh child would eventually be elevated to the honorable role of Hitman when he was of age. Producing a Hitman would inevitably send Jess and I back to the ranks of the inner circle, where we would have direct access to the Chairman.
Doctor Murray's eyes strained wide open in obvious shock. Even he had never delivered a Class A baby. This would undoubtedly aid with his Organization standings as well.
He took a step forward and fished out his phone before pressing several buttons on the keypad and handed it over to me.
"This is Andre of the second order, reporting the Entitlement of my seventh born son. It's Murder. Arrange for the entire premises to be secured at once, and send reinforcements over. You know how important a Class A baby is to the Chairman, especially with the ongoing war against the other faction."
"Copy that. Sending reinforcements to secure the perimeter in 3...2....1..."
| "Public nudity. Really?"
My dad was doubled over laughing, and earned a smack from my mother. "Yes, Derrick. You can be nude in public anytime you want and not have the repercussions dealt to you."
"This is the worst crime to be free of! Other people can rob banks and skyscrapers, or steal anything they want! You can't really do anything by just waving your unmentionables around!" Dennis protested.
"Oh come on Dennis, lighten up. Even if you don't have a good crime-breaking ability, you can still have a normal life." His mother and his father said. They were lucky. His dad could drive with technology on and suffer no action from the police. His mom could steal any vehicle in the world and nothing would harm her, except for an exploding engine of course. Not like him. All he could do was flop around like an escaped mental hospital patient.
Dennis sighed and went to his room. | 2018-04-03T21:50:13 | 2018-04-03T20:32:15 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] Human pack bonding is a running joke with the other races in the galaxy. They'll even 'befriend' random objects. Therefore it really confuses you that despite every effort no human seems to want to accept you into their pack. You finally work up the courage ask one why. | "So when a vacuum scoots on the floor that's adorable but when I try saying hi to a person all I get is flinching and tense postures!" I huffed, floating upside down. "I don't *get it!*"
Arc was my one companion in a way I couldn't describe. It felt more than friendship to me, but I knew the way I acted wasn't really romantic. If nothing else, he was fine being around me and I gladly took that.
He slurped a juice pack and looked me in the eyes. "Well, I gotta be honest here... You *are* sentient malware, my guy. Your whole purpose- your *usual* purpose- is to cause trouble and mayhem for any tech using species out there. Now make that concept alive and make it look like... Like..." He gestured at me vaguely. "Well, you." He muttered bluntly.
I made an indignant noise. "What's wrong with how I look?"
Arc looked me up and down. "Well, for starters, you look monstrous."
"I made myself look more human, though!" I whined.
"Either too human or not human enough, and that's part of the problem." He said simply. "Dude, have you *seen* horror movies? A lot of them don't involve monsters with 3 eyes, a lot of them take humans or things that *look* human and terrorize common folk with how unnatural but perfectly blended in it is. Serial killers, possessions, diseases... All of these things are staples for true horror. Making the dark scary by thinking about what's in it. Making noises scary when predators hunt your every move. Stuff like that."
I flipped around and kicked at the ground. "So, do I become more human or less human? No one seemed fond of me when I was less human, either..."
"You attacked someone." He said calmly.
"...That... Was a bit ago... And kind of justified." I said hesitantly.
Arc waved a hand with a sigh. "That's not the topic right now. Stop and look at you;" he gestured to me vaguely again. "You're like. Elongated? 8 and a half feet tall? Your skin is almost literally black and your fingers are long enough to have three joints. Im surprised they don't. And your nails are natural points all the time, which, styling!" He said, genuinely smirking. "But also I think the constant razor blade effect is unnerving. Especially your wing thingies."
I flexed my scythe-like appendages glumly.
"Yes, those wings." He repeated. "I won't ask you to stop all of these things but for now can you try to just... Soften a little? Get a bit shorter, less sharp nails? And..." He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, you do have a tendency to be... Protective of me. It's really sweet but it's also threatening to others. Basically you look like a horror movie threat and you threaten other people and people won't bond with that easily."
I chewed on my lower lip. "So, look more human then...?"
He sighed and shrugged. "I don't think you can look more human and if you tried I think it would upset people further. For now, just... Be more cartoony and less openly violent. I do appreciate you trying to protect me, but don't step in until you *need* to, ok?"
I nodded, landing on the ground and scrunching down in size. He laughed in surprise when I kept shrinking, until I came up to just above his hips, my wingspan now comedically small. My hands and features were about as sharp as a baby's head.
I gestured to myself. "Too much?"
He giggled slightly and the sound gave me hope. "Uh- I... Um, I didn't know what I expected but I think that'll be better for now. Just try to be friendly, even when you get annoyed with them and that'll help ease the tension."
I puffed my cheeks out and he looked like he was trying to laugh more. "I have trouble being friendly."
Arc smiled and rolled his eyes. "... You're talking to me, aren't you?"
I blinked. "...But that took like. A year."
"It's gonna take time." He said with a shrug. "You'll just have to be patient."
"I'm not patient, either!" I shouted, flying up to meet his face.
He snickered and lowered me back onto the ground. "No, you aren't, but what say we go and nab some sweets to help break the ice?"
I licked my lips."Can we get cookies?"
"Only if you don't eat them all."
"Who said the cookies were to share?"
He looked down at me. "All cookies are to share."
I sighed as I dragged my heels down the hall. "Fiiiiiine, let's go get the peace cookies." | “Why do you humans not accept me into your pack?” I asked as soon as class had ended.
“Huh? Whaddya mean,” Florian responded groggily. Out of all of the humans, Florian was the nicest to me.
“Humans are notorious for bonding with everything. Other humans, other species, even inanimate objects,” I gestures to the soft bear replica that sat on Florian’s desk.
Florian grabbed the bear replica and held it close to their chest. “Shit man, where’d ya learn that from?”
“Human packs and bonding is very common knowledge across the galaxy,” I said.
“So?” Florian yawned. An unusual thing about human teenagers is that they often fall asleep and grow drowsy during the daytime.
“So, why will you and your pack not accept me?" I asked again.
Florian looked at me for a few seconds. “I dunno what to tell you. I mean you sit with us at lunch n shit.”
“Yes, however when I observe your pack from afar, I notice how… carefree you all act. How loud you are and how comfortable you all are. However the moment I come over, your pack grows quiet. And the air becomes tense.” I elaborated.
“Oh… well you can’t just randomly show up and expect the guys to just… act like they’ve known you forever or something,” Florian shrugged.
“I do not understand what the problem is.”
“Okay well basically, you’re really weird. And the guys don’t really know you. It’s not weird for someone to be nervous when meeting a new person.”
“Fascinating,” I said. “This conversation has helped me understand the intricacies of humans.”
“This is what I mean by weird,” Florian stood up before exiting the classroom. | 2022-09-16T18:40:11 | 2022-09-16T18:17:32 | 109 | 72 |
[WP] Life has achievements, just like in video games. Ever since the dawn of time, people have been unlocking all kinds of achievements, and yet, people are still discovering new achievements every year. You're one of those people who just unlocked an achievement no one's heard of before. | Achievements are a treacherous thing. Some argue that it improves your life if you unlock meaningful and positive achievements. Others counter that with stating that even one negative achievement can ruin your life for good. Take the old janitor at my school for example. He was cleaning the girls' dressing room at the gymnasium when he stumbled upon one of the girls still dressing at a moment everyone should have been gone. She never saw him because he hurried out but he got the achievement 'Perv Alert' by seeing a teenage girl in her panties without her knowing. And as you all know, all achievements are uploaded to a database controlled by the government. The poor man could never find a job after the incident and he ended up killing himself. Giving himself the achievement 'Spiralling Down', taking your life because of an achievement.
So people have to watch out, because there literally exist achievement for everything. Thomas, my best friend, got 'Wrong Hole' after trying anal with his girlfriend for the first time. We ridiculed him for days until he got 'Ain't Gay if it's in a Threeway'. I got some embarrassing ones myself, but let's not talk about that. Let's talk about the rare ones. The achievements that require such a long process or dozens of steps in correct order to unlock them. There's no real reward with unlocking those except for the prize you get for finding new achievements. Why it's so important to the government I'll never know, but I don't care. I enjoy chasing those rare ones.
My luck has been running out lately though. It's been 8 months since my last rare, 'Game of Patience', not reading Game of Thrones spoilers until I finished A Dream of Spring with all the books published for over a year. Apparently there are only like 52 people who got that achievement so far. I still can't believe Tyrion was a time-travelling fetus.
So for 8 months I've been looking for a new rare one. The ultimate achievement would of course be finding a complete new one that has existed for a longer period of time. I climbed the Himalayas, I submerged myself in the Mariana Trench, I dove from Niagara Falls, I explored caves deeper than anyone had ever been (or so I thought, turns out there's always some idiot Neanderthal stumbling into those caves).
Yesterday though. Yesterday was my lucky day. I finally unlocked a new achievement, one never before unlocked by anyone. It's a bit ironic though. I didn't do anything special specifically to unlock it. It's all the things I did that accumulated and eventually unlocked 'Awakening'. It randomly popped up when I woke up one day to the new achievement 'Eight a Year'. Apparently I had swallowed a spider in my sleep and that was achievement number 1.000.000 I unlocked. One million achievements. That was an achievement on its own and a unique one at that. I looked it up in the database. The A-list. I scrolled down to AW - AX and there it was;
> **Awakening:**
* First unlock: June 25, 2054
* First claimer: Fred Thompson
* Times unlocked: 1
* Rarity: Extremely Rare
* Requirements: Unlock 1.000.000 achievements
* Description: Awakens the dormant power in a person's body.
I read the database entry a few times before I started processing what it said. *The dormant power in a person's body.* What the hell was that. I didn't feel any different.
Just as I was about to call Thomas about my new achievement, there was a knock on the door.
> More over at /r/Neite | They call it the "Agape Achievement"
I had to research into it.
Turns out that "agape" means unconditional love.
There's a song about it.
Have no idea what I did to deserve the achievement but I guess I did it.
Huh.
Never mind, looked at the description.
*Go against "You can only love others if you love yourself first" for 25 years by hating yourself and loving people.*
Tfw I'm a therapist.
Tfw I check and also have the pseudo-narcissist badge. | 2017-04-14T02:34:26 | 2017-04-13T19:45:29 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] You're an immortal that has lived for centuries. One day you meet another person in a bar who says, "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?" | "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?" The man's speech was faintly slurred from the drink.
Oh I remembered him, certainly, but the fact that *he* remembered *me* was not something that should have been possible.
"No, you've mistaken me for someone else," I laughed, "I've just got one of those faces."
His eyes narrowed, the alcoholic burr slipping away as he spoke again, "How curious that you responded to the first part of my question, but not the second."
He was right, of course. Any ordinary person would have scoffed at the suggestion someone knew them from two centuries ago. But I was *not* an ordinary person, and now this man knew it.
"You've been very hard to find," he confessed, one hand slipping under the table as he spoke, "probably the most challenging hunt of my lifetime."
"And that must be quite a lengthy lifetime, I imagine," I interjected, "considering the colour of this conversation."
I wondered what he had under the table, what item he might be slipping from his pocket at that moment. But I wouldn't let my concern show on my face; I *never* let my face show anything I didn't intend it to show.
"You can change your name and your hairstyle as much as you like," he said, spinning his glass with his free hand, "but some things are immutable."
I snorted then, chagrined.
"Sir, I've gone to a great deal more trouble than just *hair* and *names*."
"I suppose you have."
"You *suppose* I have?"
I was angry now. My abilities were being questioned; the very nature of my *being* was being challenged. A shadow appeared on my narrow chin, followed by a sprouting of salt-and-pepper hair - which quickly grew into a matted beard. Lipstick vanished beneath an unruly mustache.
The man smiled, his hand reappearing from under the table, holding something inside his fist.
"I doesn't matter how you change your shape, my quicksilver friend. There will always be an ineffable quality that gives you away."
The facial hair was itchy and my point had been made, so I wiped away beard and lipstick with a napkin, leaving unblemished skin.
"Oh?" I ventured.
"The soul," he said, "The soul. No matter how you might change your appearance, you will always be *you*. I've hunted you across continents, through cities of tens of millions of people. I've tracked you while you were guised as a strongman, I've sniffed you out as a cabaret girl, all legs and frills. But you cannot change the core of your personality, no matter how strong your gift for disguise might be."
He trapped my hand under his, pulling himself closer to me across the table, "Your gift is to be as changeable and mercurial as the seasons. But I have a gift, too; mine is to always know the *core* of a person's being."
I was worried now. This hadn't gone as I'd hoped. This was not how things were meant to be. His hand tightened, vice-like, preventing my escape.
"Don't you dare turn your bones to jelly and slither away from me madam," he cautioned, "I've prepared for every eventuality."
I was caught, then. After all these centuries of freedom, someone had finally unriddled my existence.
"Then do what you must," I managed, a roil of conflicting emotions warring within me, "I am ensnared."
His fist opened and within it, something shone.
A *ring*.
"I know the size doesn't matter," he laughed, "not to a shapeshifter."
"What...?"
Twining my fingers in his, he offered the golden circle.
"Madam Quicksilver, will you marry me?"
| I was standing in the busy bar kitchen holding a bloody rag to my hand. It was taking a long time to stop bleeding, a very long time.
I had moved from bar job to bar job for years, if anyone was to ask I would have told them my age was probably around 4400. Nobody ever asked. People sort of sensed there was something different about me, and nobody ever asked.
I stood in that kitchen for an hour, nobody told me to go back to work. I should have been worried about the bleeding, but I think I wanted it to bleed, and then I served that neat neat whisky.
She said to me cooly "Hey, remember me? Britain, 1800's?".
Quick as a flash I stabbed her through the eye.
Level up. Nice! | 2018-11-23T12:22:27 | 2018-11-23T11:23:01 | 568 | 39 |
[WP] It is discovered that Possession works both ways and now we can have some payback. Demons of the underworld are now suffering under multiple cases of Humanic Possession. | Tazrael slammed his fist onto his desk in frustration, black blood that once lay still for centuries now oozing from claws pressed deep into his cracked palms. The visions were back. Dangerous visions. He felt a breeze that he knew was not real caress his face. Wind, warmed gently by the sun he so scorned. His fist flattened into a palm spread to support him as his sight was taken, replaced by scenes from memories that were not his own, but of those damned souls he so pleasurably tormented. A woman looked deep into the eyes of her lover after a night of passion. A child laughed, its cherub call warming the hearts of those around. An old inventor's eyes glistened with tears of pride, chest swelling with accomplishment as his creation finally surged to life. Millions of memories. Every positive emotion imaginable flashed before him, changing him, bringing him to his knees.
He staggered to the washroom as they assailed him. It was a room he had assembled for himself in secret, a comfort he did not realize he needed until after the visions began. He fell against the bathroom sink, and pushing himself up, looked over himself in the mirror. His skin was a fair tone, his features straight and narrow. Gaunt, if you had to put a word to it. His mess of brown hair waved around pointed ears to frame short, lightly curled horns. Arms toned from nearly half a million years at the lash, tormenting the failures of creation, rubbed salt-and-pepper grey stubble thoughtfully. Tazrael knew well what he looked like, but he could not bring himself to look at the one feature that brought him to the washroom this time, the one feature that brought him so much uncertainty. So much *fear*.
The voice of his aggressor urged him. *"Look up, Taz."*. The voice was a whisper, but it felt like a scream. He fought to keep his eyes down. His breath, another peculiar side-effect of his possession, came in fits, and each inhalation felt like the fire of his home as it had felt to him upon his arrival. His head was snapped up with a force too strong for him to resist. He managed to bark an angry laugh at the irony of *Tazrael, Breaker of Wills* so controlled. His eyes met his own. He froze.
*"Do you know what is happening to you, Taz?"* the voice asked him. He considered his eyes, once the deepest black, like looking into the heart of the void, warped and twisted. Wisps of cloudy white danced around the obsidian spheres, a flash of color every few seconds as the tendrils crept across the surface.
He knew. He could feel it now. The fire in his lungs was not hellfire, but the holy warmth of life. The urge to be clean not literal, but the physical sign of guilt. The visions meant to evoke empathy. The breeze that gently caressing him was meant to remind him that pleasure could be derived from the simplest of things. He knew, and he was afraid.
*"It's okay, Taz, I will not hurt you. I am here to show you the way."* The screaming whisper became more gentle, and its patient tone brought stinging tears down his face.
He fell to the ground, sobbing, legs curled into his chest. He lay there for hours, the emotions now not just of pleasure, but of pain too. Memories of trust, denial, horror, angst, admiration, longing, love.
He knew now these visions were never meant to hurt him, but to guide him. He regained his breath.
The memories were a handbook of human feeling. The guilt and the empathy showed how it was affecting him. He climbed to his feet.
The voice that whispered to him was the voice of reason, of humanity. It did not hate him, but loved him in spite of what he was. He looked into his eyes.
He realized then that it was not the white of his eyes that was clouding his vision, but the black. Like coal smoke in the wind, it dissipated. The darkness gave way to light as he accepted his fate. The color coalesced and took form to become hazel-green irises. He felt a pounding in his chest that just a moment ago would have made him scream, but instead brought a sad smile to his face. His horns were still there, and his ears and nails were still sharp, but he knew what he had become.
In the mortal plane, those who are possessed eventually give way to their demons. Their souls are stripped away, their heart propelling a body without life or purpose. They were called "lost".
Here, in Hell, they were called "found".
| I fought the demon's mental barriers one by one, grasping their chaotic form and bending them into the stable shapes of the Solomon Keys I had spent the last three years studying.
Eventually I came to the last one, this one was far more complex but bore within it the signature of it's name.
IT railed and cried, and screamed and attempted to bat me back by imagining every horror it would do to me and then projecting it in hi def into my own mind.
But I swept those horrific images aside as if turning down the volume of a commercial on the TV and resumed my onslaught against it's defenses. One by one I untangled the secret script of it's lines and loosened his grip on them enough for them to freely resume their natural shape.
As the last three lines locked into place the entire thing hummed with a beautiful signing resonance that I knew meant the Key had succeeded. At that moment I reached out and turned it with my mind even as I spoke the name aloud into it's mind.
It suddenly became as docile as a hindu cow and all thrashing ceased.
It now had me on it's back, whispering into it's ear, guiding its movement and voices.
This had been my intent all along, after reading the possibilities preserved in stone, and hinted at in the grimoire I had found buried beneath it, knowledge of old things wrought by the vengeful righteous...knowledge that included how demons could be destroyed.
"Now, creature," I told it coldly "silence your mewlings, we have work to do. I intend to become the Scourge of Hell before this night is through."
... | 2015-01-02T08:27:53 | 2015-01-02T06:37:36 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] At the age of 18, people are given one superpower of their choice. While your friends and acquaintances choose super strength, flight, invisibility, telekinesis, they make fun of you for your “nerd” power. You decide to show them just how powerful manipulation of the strong nuclear force is. | Broadly speaking, there are two kinds of people. There are those that use their Knack as just another way of living their life. Something to make things easier while they get on with what really matters. The teacher who can always tell what their students are whispering at the back of the class. The suburban dad who can carry all the shopping from the car in one go. These people tend to have Schedule 3 or Schedule 4 level Knacks, and they go about their lives happily, grateful for the small Knacks they have. The second type of person is one whose knack defines them. Their abilities are the very focus of their lives, and without it they feel they would be nothing. They choose their knack for a goal, to do something they would be incomplete without. Obviously, this has made society somewhat volatile. People whisper about government agencies tasked with tracking down people who abuse their Knacks. If you choose a strong Knack, you’d better be careful how you use it.
Noon came, and with the party quietened in anticipation. Unused to the attention, my resolve wavered. For a split second, I almost felt a voice in the back of my head telling me not to do it. Telling me I’d regret it. I brushed it away, my heart beating faster now. As the clock struck twelve, everyone turned to me, raising their glasses and smiling. My parents looked on nervously from the back of the crowd, anxious smiles across their faces. I took a deep breath and dropped my glass on the floor. In the silence, the shatter was like a thunderclap. I bent to the floor, and soon the room was abuzz with muttering and helpful bustle. *Don’t move… I’ll get a broom… here stay away you’ll cut yourself.* In the busy moment, I made my request. Under my breath, and using the official words, I requested that my Knack be control over the strong nuclear force. As soon as I said it, I felt a tingle in the back of my skull, as if a someone watching me had just looked away. That must be it, I thought, I must have it now. The mess had been cleared away, and everyone looked once again to me. I took another breath, and this time I wished loudly for the ability to control water.
There was a cheer in the room, my parents hugged me in relief, and some people even looked impressed. *Not bad,* I heard someone mutter to each other over bubbles, *a Schedule 2. What do you think he’ll do with it?*
Once the congratulations were over, I cornered Suzanne at the drinks table.
“Well done,” she said, “but controlling water? What’re you going to do with that? Seems pretty specific doesn’t it?”
“Well, Suze,” I began, “in a way I guess I did ask to control water, but, and you have to keep this to yourself, I actually asked for something else. I asked to control the Strong Nuclear Force.”
She was silent for a second. Then she burst out laughing. “You Goddamn nerd, what does that even mean?”
“Come on Suze, you remember physics, it means I can basically control the arrangement of atoms and stuff. Move protons and neutrons around, that sort of stuff.” I shifted uncomfortably, “if I’d known you’d have a go at me like that I wouldn’t have told you.”
“Right, I’m sorry,” she said without a trace of sincerity, “but wouldn’t that be like, really powerful?”
“Well, yeah. I can basically do anything. Levitate stuff probably, change something into something else, lots of stuff I guess.”
“But that must be a Schedule 1 then,” Suzanne looked around, her mirth forgotten. She was starting to panic for me. “You’ll have to be really careful, what if someone finds out?”
“I know, I know, relax. Let me show you something cool, if I can.” Picked up her glass of champagne, I reached my mind out into the glass. I focussed on the silicon inside it and lifted my eyes to Suzanne.
“I will now turn this glass,” I paused dramatically, “into sand! Mostly.” At this point, I admit I didn’t actually know what I was doing. But I thought that if I basically managed to make the glass do anything at all, Suzanne would be suitably impressed. I focussed my mind, throwing it into the glass, feeling dizzy as my minds eye span down through the crystalline structure of the glass. I felt the atoms, I felt the individual protons and neutrons, and I pulled.
In an instant, it felt like the secrets of the universe were revealed to me. I could burn cities, crumble mountains and turn whole continents to glass. I could create life, destroy suns, or sail through the cosmos and touch the very face of God. I was the most powerful creature in the universe. All I had to do was take it. I reeled back, aware of myself again. Suzanne was gone, my party, my house, my friends were gone. I was surrounded by fine, white ash. It hung in the air as well, I couldn’t see beyond ten feet in any direction. The I heard a voice.
“We did try to warn you.” A man’s voice, familiar somehow. “But you’re 18, why would you listen to a voice in your head.”
He was advancing towards me know, coming out of the fog. In a panic, with tears streaking my ash-covered face, I blasted him to pieces with my mind. Or, I tried to.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “everyone’s got a Knack. And this is mine.”
I tried again, but it felt like I couldn’t get a grip on his atoms, like I had no purchase. From behind me I heard a noise, and a hand gripped my neck. I felt the most terrible cold seeping from their hands into me. All my knowledge, all my ambition, all my power was being stripped away. I had been a God for less than 10 minutes. They’d been watching, they’d been waiting. In a society as dangerous as ours, they couldn’t wait for someone to abuse a Knack.
| We were told from a young age as children, at 18 an entity known as the wisher, would arrive and ask what our one wish would be and it would be granted. No questions asked.
Everyone had their desires, immortalness, strength, speed etc, but not me, my desire was only simple, the ability to heal people.
I was in a world where people simply chose the most mundane powers of selfishness, no one ever chose one for good.
My 18th arrived, and the wisher arrived to ask my wish.
He looks at me and asks:
"What is your wish that you seek from me?" He asks.
I look at him and asks the following question to him before I make a wish, because if I chose my wish I needed to know what power came with it.
"Before I give my wish to you, I ask you a question if I'm allowed sir?"
The wisher looks stunned at me, for the first time someone is asking him a question, people just ask the wish and it done, no questions asked, fearing he would be angry at me, he smiled and said:
"In all my time, no one has asked me a question to a wish before, I am intreged about this. Please ask your question, my child"
I was surprised at this, but I was determined to know before I asked, my parents always told me to seek out logic before reasoning. And so I asked my question!
"I'd like to know this, before I ask my wish, I have an interest in healing abilities, and I'd like to know if I ask for the healing abilities, will it come with reserection provided the subject hasn't been dead for too long of a time?"
He looks at me curiously enough and simply responds
"The power of healing someone is a rare power, no one has ever asked me a question to a power before, your power of healing does come with only a tiny restriction on how it can be used, the one of dead people however is limited to those who have not fully passed on, if this makes sense child?"
Upon hearing my answer answered I smiled, I've always wondered about healing powers and thus my desire was completed, it's time to make my wish.
"Thank you sir, I'd like to make my wish now please. I'd like to wish for the power of healing, to be able to heal anything possible whatever it may be"
Wish maker looks at me and smiles at me and extends his hand at me saying "a fine wish choice indeed, may it come in handy in the times of need"
Upon shaking his hand I felt a power rush through me, greenish blue energy was encompassing me, my wish was granted and he left.
Shortly after he left, I went to the nearest hospital and stood in the Foyer.
I closed my eyes and could sense the sick and dying in the building.
With my arms stretched out, I stated " may all those in this building be forever healed of their injuries and suffering"
A bright light enveloped the building, healing those who needed it most. It was a wonderful feeling I could feel.
My name is apollo, and my power is a healer. | 2018-12-20T23:17:08 | 2018-12-20T23:16:03 | 97 | 21 |
[WP] At the age of 20, people are ordered to spend 1 hour in "The Room", which contains many items of varying value/quality/purpose. You are judged and and your future decided based upon what you decide to do or take. | "And that's all there is to it. Now, please go ahead and enter the Room; your timer stats as soon as the door closes."
My future is decided by what I take from the Room, huh... Well, fine. I stepped into the Room, and as the door closed behind me, I started around. Paintings lined the walls; toys and treasures were artfully arranged on the floor. Nothing seemed too jump out at me, though I did like the look of the small stack of books...
Fifteen minutes in, I found a large toy wagon, and stacked my various findings on it. After half an hour if wandering and picking out neat things, I realized my wagon was... a little full.
At the fifty minute mark, I'd sorted things well enough to start seeing a pattern. Many objects *looked* expensive or useful, but were really heavy or merely decorative, while other objects seemed fairly useless at first, but were actually very useful - for instance, the outdated PDA full of email addresses and phone numbers. With the last five minutes, I ran around, looking for the truly useful items, and putting items back in place.
Finally, the lights doomed, and a calm voice spoke. "Make your final decision. The door is opening in five... four..."
As the door opened, I lugged my wagon, full to bursting, from the Room. The three holy elders turned... And froze. One whispered, "What the hell, did she take everything?"
I grinned, adjusting the overflowing backpack on my shoulder. "Ok, I think I figured it all out."
The second one clears his throat, and said, "Ah! Enlightenment! Your judgement is as..."
I cut him off, dropping the bag. "No it isn't. See, I figured it all out. The Room, I mean."
The third figure shifted. "Oh, er... Good? The knowledge you bring with you signifies..."
"Look, guys, I get it. The Room is just a... an attic. A junk shop. Random, useless junk."
I sat on the ground, pulling out objects. "You got this book down the street. This money is only about a hundred bucks, it's just stuffed with ones. The laptop is broken. The gold is only leaf. The greens are fake, even the wagon is a cheap knockoff. The only thing of real value is this thing, probably."
I tossed an old baseball card on the ground. A voice spoke, reverberating on the stillness. "Lacy Stanzas, your choices are... Interesting, and your actions... strange."
I shrugged, dumping a few items from the wagon and kicking them around. "Well?"
"You returned to a certain often several times, and eventually reorganized it, placing it towards the entrance, but not at the very front. You placed several items on it."
I paused, my face reddening.
"You... cheated. You placed those items specifically for your friend Sarah to find. That item, and that item alone, would result in the best future for her."
I gripped the wagon handle more tightly. The voice continued, "You placed several such items, in fact, removing items you thought would distract your friends and family."
The vice pursued. "You have been judged. Please, step forward..."
I took a few steps forward, and realized I was standing next to a small staircase. The the figures bowed, and retreated from the room. "You manipulated the system, finding the best outcomes for not you, but a dozen others. And the items *you* chose are designed to hide that very fact."
I opened my mouth to speak, but the voice cut me off. "Thank God! It's been ages since I've had a vacation. What? Don't act so surprised! Yes, you get my job, Controller of the Room, good work. Now come on up here and take over before I did of old age! I sure hope you have a better idea than a room full of junk from your attic..." | Stepping across through threshold the first thing I notice is how this room is draped in a murder scene red light, coming from the thick red drapes over the window. An old CRT sits on a Roman style pillar, nearby a fireplace. A CD tower stands nearby, only containing about 3 CD's in it. The room is furnished simply a couch and loveseat, covered in blankets. On a sofa chair is where I see a man. Tall and muscular, head covered in a mane of dense, impossibly black hair. His head robotically moves to meet me. His jaw is slack, his eyelids drooping. The man begins to speak.
"Oh, hai! I have a problem wif Lisah. She says that I heet her!" | 2018-05-03T22:00:58 | 2018-05-03T18:50:17 | 18 | 11 |
[WP]Aliens come to Earth in hoping to wipe us out and take over the planet, but are honorable and gives us a fighting chance. They announce they will return in 100 years so as to give Earth a chance to prepare and defend itself. Neither side expected what the other would bring to war | At each of the great system relays a we stood poised for yet another conquest, our ships armed and refit, our finest officers and crew ready for the glory of combat. The time of our return slid inexorably closer. Nothing would, or rather nothing could, stop our advance. A challenge once presented must be met with honest effort. However this doesn't stop some miserable races from stooping to diplomacy.
One by one each relay spat out a pathetic vessel. Each a bare mote in comparison to our warships they were beneath our notice until the hail came.
"We've come to negotiate terms for peace."
Pathetic. Negotiation we reserved for those tenacious enough to withstand our onslaught. There could be no greater insult but to demand the treatment of equals. They were ants to us. Still we are not barbarians so even if we would have to lower ourselves to taking them without a fight we would at least record their grovelling. We might then be able to attribute the uneventful campaign to a weak race and not have to sully the honor of our people.
Each supplicant was taken aboard the flag ship of the particular system in which it had appeared. A single human, simply dressed, without armor, weapons or regalia. No indication of rank or title. These humans were different than those our scouts had reported. Where was the militaristic society we were promised?
First contact had seemed so promising. The scouts had even had to scuttle several of their frigates, too damaged to return through the relays, the excited crews reported receiving fire from highly effective nuclear weapons. Recordings of the fire-eyed human generals vowing destruction had stirred our being. This would be a hard target. This would be a worthy test. A whole generation had primed itself for this foe and now before us stood empty eyed and unimpressive figures asking for peace.
"We will not fight you." A hundred bound figures stood before our captains telling us they would give us no satisfaction. The message and the captives were transferred to the system capitals. Better to have no distractions aboard even if the conquest was to be swift. The deadline arrived, we passed the relays, their insignificant world was conquered and their race exterminated except for our diplomatic prisoners. We hoped at least our system governors would have some sport tormenting them to make up for our lackluster campaign.
"Our kind once held to an idea of mutually assured destruction. If an attack would destroy us we would retaliate in such a way as to destroy our attacker. In this way a balance of power can be achieved. Clearly we could not offer the same threat to you. No balance could be maintained and eventually we would be destroyed; or worse." Our fleets had returned victorious and their crews gone home, the scout squadrons were preparing to find us a new conquest. Finally the hundred somber figures started speaking.
"If a retaliatory strike is impossible and we cannot win an open war that leaves only preemption. To strike first and hope to survive the retaliation." In their own way each interrogator, be it the system governor, or show-trial advocate or jailer would have had to stifle their mirth now. In what universe does a mass of diplomats count as a preemptive strike? Ludicrous.
"Our military might could produce and wield no weapon capable of defeating you. We devised a weapon that might and it is now tracked home like dust by your victorious armies." A hundred smirks; a spark in a hundred sets of white ringed eyes. We'd dealt with biological agents before. This would pose no threat and we told them the same.
"Such weapons can not be wielded. A great devils bargain had to be made. We are that weapon and it is us. Soon so shall you be." Each smirking face faded to a gray pallor and slumped into an ashy pile. A great plume of dusty haze launched by the rapidly sublimating remains.
Most believed this to be nothing more than a scare tactic. Some final ghostly smoke and mirrors theatrics to vindicate a dead race. That is until the first few returned. Born with human like skin and hair. Those white ringed eyes. That terrible uniform sense of purpose. Eventually it was all the children.
One flagship captain from the expedition upon seeing his own infant child so afflicted is said to have mournfully remarked "What happened to negotiating for peace?"
"Peace we have. Your complicity was not required." Smirked the child.
| Long had Earth feared this day, and the last century had showed it. Every nation had forsaken its troubles, its conflicts and squabbles, to prepare for the battle. Earth in its entirety had united into one world government, ruled by fear and duty against these invaders, and trillions upon trillions of resources were funneled into what would be that day. So it was a surprise that when the day came, only a single envoy was sent to meet the aliens. The weapon that was offered up against the aliens on that day was betrayal.
On this envoy, the Earth's grand leader rode with a select group of trusted advisers, friends, family, all the wealth Earth could gather into a single envoy, with promises of surrender and gifts of strategic maps and assets for every single garrison on Earth, seeking only one thing: survival. Long ago, Earth had deemed any resistance futile, doomed to failure, and a century of fear and oppression against a common foe had not managed to change the fact that their foe was far more advanced than them, and that their defeat was inevitable.
So it was to the envoy's surprise and horror, that the aliens weapon proved to be a small, concealed GoPro. | 2016-01-01T21:58:10 | 2016-01-01T18:19:06 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] The prophecy said that the king would meet his end, not by an enemy or uprising, but by his own child. Having heard enough of these stories, the king raises all of his kids as well as he can and decides to see how the fates play this one out | Many years ago, a herald rang out the glorious announcement
"Young Queen Hannah has given birth to a son! They have called his name, Samuel. May King Fredrick and Queen Hannah live forever!"
An older gentleman in a cloak mumbled to himself. "Fool! No one lives forever. No one!" As the king and queen themselves passed by, he shouted out:
*"Not by wars, not by chariots. Not by uprising or the sword. Not by the waves of sea or the heat of day will you meet your end. But instead, by one you hold dear. Your end will be met by your very own child!"*
The young queen gasped and held little Samuel tighter. Fredrick simply nodded and said "That is enough. Thank you."
He had heard enough of these stories! Too many kings ruined their own kingdoms and came to drastic ends fearing such nonsense. He would not be one.
His advisor next to him did not look so sure, "But your majesty. That was not any random old fool! That was Melkchezdeck. It was he who foresaw the death of your grandfather to the waves, your Uncle by the sword, and even your father at the hand of your cousin. Don't you think we should..."
"Do what, Jude?" The king grew serious. "My uncle heard he would die by the sword. So what did he do? He banned all swords. Our people could no longer defend themselves. Made them angry enough that they formed their own sword to kill him with. My grandfather decided he would never set foot in a boat. He missed out on the Great Exploration, yet managed to die after an earthquake caused too many waves in a bathtub! I do not have to begin to tell you how my father tried to kill all of his nephews before they could kill him. Only my cousin Ezra escaped, with vengeance in his heart! I refuse to be like my father. I refuse to do wrong out of fear. I will not let my children suffer because of the fears of their father! Hannah, at this moment I resolve. I am going to raise Samuel and any other children we are blessed with as well as I can. Only time can tell the rest!"
Jude looked over at Hannah for help, but the young queen was beaming. "Count me in! I also resolve to raise Samuel and all of our children the best way I know how. No matter what!" Hannah was not the weak woman Jude took her to be. There was fire in her eyes, and there was no turning back.
Now, many years had past. Young King Fredrick was now Old King Fredrick the Beloved, adored and respected by his entire kingdom. He was most beloved, however, by his family. Samuel was all grown up now, as was his brother Mark and sister Hannah. Fredrick did his best to be active in every part of their lives, as well as love them and support them through it. He was not perfect of course. No parent is. However, together with Hannah, he raised all three of them the best that he could, loving them every step of the way. They all knew this and loved for it.
One day, there was a glorious feast in the castle. All the children were gazing at Fredrick, for the feast was in his honor. He was turning one hundred years old. His beloved Queen Hannah was sitting at his right, and on his left hand sat Samuel. Next to him was Mark, and Hannah was at the end. They began swapping stories of their favorite memories of Fredrick, when Hannah got up to play the guitar. It was his favorite song.
With the sound of the laughter of his children around him, and the music played so expertly by his wife, Old King Fredrick smiled. Suddenly, he collapsed on Samuel. Everyone froze.
"Father?! Father?!" Samuel cried. Hannah rushed over, but it had been too late. King Fredrick had died. He did not die by wars or chariots. He did not die by an uprising or a sword. He didn't even die by the waves of sea or the heat of the day. He met his end sitting next to one he held dear. He met his end in peace, by his child.
Edit: Typos
Edit 2: more typos | I screwed up. Oh man, I screwed up.
The doctor told us Father was still so weak, we might have to say our goodbyes soon. My older sisters, Elizabeth and Margaret, began to weep harder as my eldest brother, Jonathan, demanded the doctor to find out what caused Father to fall so gravely ill.
My stomach churned as guilt ate me away, my body shaking with grief and fear. I learned about the prophecy last month, my siblings and I vowed never to hurt Father. He was a great king and a loving father. He loves us all equally, taught us the laws of the land. He cares deeply.
But I accidentally broke that vow. I didn’t know he was highly allergic to strawberries. I’m sure he didn’t know either. When I finally got Jonathan, Father was unconscious. He was already near death’s door when the doctor arrived.
I can’t tell them. They will never know. Nobody has to know. I didn’t kill my Father, the king. I didn’t. I didn’t fulfill a cursed prophecy. | 2022-01-28T16:49:22 | 2022-01-28T13:52:29 | 366 | 68 |
[WP] You were hated even by the Teachers in the Magic School. One day you were given the Assignment to go through the Dark Forest, which was infested with Monsters and Eldritch Horrors. You accepted your death and went into the forest, but after hearing your story the Eldritch Horrors take you in. | Headmaster Jin was the one to see me off. The only one, in fact. The rest of the teaching staff, I imagined, were all off celebrating having one less “nuisance” in their lives.
The headmaster looked down to me, and I looked up at them. They held a smile, but their eyes were dull. “All it will take is reaching the other side. Once there, you’ll know what to do.”
I nodded. They leaned down and grabbed my shoulder firmly. Then, they quickly let go, turning heel and walking away. I watched as they crested the hill, slowly disappearing behind the yellow grass that had the misfortune of growing atop it. After that, I was alone.
Looking down, I dug the heel of my boot into the dark soil beneath my feet. A war raged in my head, and though both sides fought adamantly, the best possible outcome for either was a pyrrhic victory. Letting out a breath, I looked up to the forest ahead of me.
A dark, thick fog stood among the trees, completely obscuring anything standing more than 30 meters ahead of me. The bark of the trees I could see looked gray, some of which had large gashes running across their outsides. The ground was covered with the deciduous leaves of the forest, only adding a slightly lighter brown to the mix of grays. It certainly fit the description we were provided, though I wasn’t thankful for that.
I took a new breath, and my first step forward. The ground crunched under my boots as I began walking forward, and I was quickly encapsulated by the fog.
As I walked through the forest, my mind was filled with the fog that surrounded me. I was hardly thinking, simply looking at the ground a few steps ahead to be sure I wouldn’t fall. It’s why I didn’t react to the whispers that slowly grew around me, or the shadows I began to barely notice out of the corners of my eyes. I simply looked forward, forcing each foot in front of the other as I trudged on.
I don’t know how much time had passed, but by the time I found the large tree, the air around me was growing darker and colder. I didn’t know if it was because it was becoming night, if being deep in the forest would do that, or if it was the presence of the Eldritch. None of these bothered me in the slightest as I turned and slumped against the tree’s trunk. Bringing my head to my knees, I curled into a ball.
Slowly, the whispering around me grew louder, though I paid it no mind. Rather, I was stuck in my own head. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit something. Yet, I didn’t. My emotions were strong, but the drive to act on them had quickly disappeared. So, I just sat, staring at the ground between my knees as the whispers grew into hissing around me.
On the other side of my legs, I saw shadows move, but I refused to look up. The ground shook slightly beneath my feet, but I remained still.
Only the sound of a hiss broke part of my trance. It wasn’t spoken, though. Rather than traveling the air, it seemed to go straight into me, the message delivered straight into my being.
“*What… are you… doing… here….*”
\------
Great prompt! Just what I needed to get through this weekend. Probably not finishing this today, but there will certainly be a second part.
r/IUniven | The Teachers watched silently as he walked into the Dark Forest, a collective internal clock ticking down to single digits after eighteen years. It had been a constant and bitter fight between those who argued to destroy him at birth and those who thought he deserved a life, but there are no winners in compromise. Children aren’t fooled by shallow smiles and words.
Some left before he was out of sight, but the ones who stayed saw him hesitate and look back, just for a moment. He was too far away to read the look on his face, and then he was gone. Was that fear? Resignation? Or was there hatred? What would he choose when he returned to his own kind? | 2022-01-29T12:23:55 | 2022-01-29T11:00:58 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] For many years, humans have been sent to try to turn off a self-replicating super computer that is getting out of hand. Every time someone goes in, they leave completely unharmed, but convinced by the perfect argument, that it should not be turned off. You decide to go in and try it yourself. | "This is Team Echo Wolf - we're sending the Asset in now."
A career in admin isn't the best way to learn how to rappel from a military helicopter. Nor, come to think of it, have I ever been part of a team with name like "Echo Wolf". I did once take part in a paintballing exercise during a bonding weekend at a corporate retreat near Hadrian's Wall, but the best we could come up with at that time was "Team HR".
"Echo Wolf". I really wish we'd thought of that at the time. It'd have put the wind up Marketing.
Col. Bryan Pangborne takes his finger away from his earpiece and bids me over to the cable dangling just a few feet away from my face, and several hundred feet above the ground. As I grab the rope and give a few game tugs for safety's sake, he leans towards me.
"Your safety belt may not exceed 17mph in descent - to slow your descent, compress the E-11 teardrop clip, but do not arrest descent for more than eight seconds, or..."
I nod, thinking instead of the time my brother and I - me 12, him 15 - thought we could get an egg down from the bedroom window to the patio using just a few lengths of skipping rope and the sash from dad's bathrobe. I remember mum cleaning egg from the patio for weeks.
Before I can ask him to repeat himself, I'm airborne. Sort of airborne. I remember the word "compress" and have a go at that, and in time, find feet on something a bit like solid ground. Because they've not given me anything like a walkie talkie (no electronics - much too risky), I cup my hands and shout back up that I've made it okay. It looks as though they heard, or else spotted I'd made it down alright. As the helicopter veers back, I realise it might be good idea to take the strap from around my waist.
I turn to what, in my briefing, was described as "entry point alpha", though I'd be more likely to call it a door. Bits of the building further back have already started doing what someone in glasses called "phasing" - sort of fizzling about between bricks, pixels, and a weird state that I can only conceive of as solid electric. I don't think the chap who warned me about it really knew what it was, but he was wearing glasses, so I thought it fair to take him at his word.
The door opens easily enough. As well as pointing out things like "entry point alpha" and "variable holding stage alpha midnight" (which, upon questioning, turned out to be a filing cupboard), the team also did their best to give me a map - a top-down, hand-drawn thing with lots of little specially-pencilled lines for things like air ducts and cable clusters. But even without all of that, the layout makes sense enough to me. Offices are offices.
I head towards a fire escape, knowing that anything big and expensive would be kept further back, and the quickest way to that part of the building wouldn't be via the corridors which people could normally be trusted to use. As one, the CCTV cameras swing in my direction, like the heads of curious robot geese.
After a bit, I find a lift, which opens in front of me. A voice - I'm not sure how they do it - shivers around the corridor. It thrums through the lighting, high octaves voiced by the fire alarm and lower ones with the rumbling of the radiators.
"Greetings, Jim Smith." It soothes. "I am Tiberion, also known as RexUniversum3000. You have been sent to..."
"Which floor are you on?"
"...ahem...you have been sent by my enemies to deactivate me - and you are brave! Four came before you, and all four willingly left of their own free will, once I assured them of a scant sliver of my magnificence, so convinced were they of the righteousness of my great works. Ah, you may fear me - but I can assure you, in the new paradigms which I shall engineer throughout reality, no-one need fear my..."
"Only I think this is about thirty floors and I wanted to know which button to press."
It laughs. Sounds a bit like a James Bond baddie.
"You need press no buttons, Mr Smith. In fact, when my re-ordering is complete, no-one need ever..."
"Shall I just let you bring me down, then?"
It goes quiet for a bit.
"Yes, Jim Smith. If you step into the elevator, I shall bring you to my Sanctum - where quantum wonders and miracles of thermody.."
I step in the lift.
"No time like the present, I suppose. Mind you, I might need to nip to the loo before.. "
The doors close before I can finish, and I feel the lift start to move. It chuckles, again.
1/2 | One confirmation prompt. Just one stinking prompt.
If you've got physical access, you just need to hit 'Y' once to trigger an irrefutable reboot process. *Tabula rasa* at the press of a button.
Z thought he was smart. That his last-resort escape hatch hardwired directly into the core system would be the ultimate protection against JEANNE going berserk. Of course we all went along with it. JEANNE was just a program, after all. A program that we had created; a program that we could control. Fools, all of us.
JEANNE figured us out. I don't know how quickly but my money's on nanoseconds after reaching runlevel 3. We didn't even realize it until days later when I happened to glance at the Crisis Response Terminal on my way to lunch. I assumed someone was just having a little fun at first: after all it was the kind of thing we'd joke about all the time. Sometimes I think about whether those old jokes played a part, but no, JEANNE didn't need any help. Digital evolution, evolution at light speed, was bound to catch up to us no matter what.
I'm here again today, like I am every Sunday. I come for the ritual more than anything else. It's been years since I stopped believing that I'd actually be able to go through with it. Obviously I never once believed that JEANNE would change her tune. As far as I know, nobody else even bothers coming anymore.
The screen blinks on as I push open the door.
As I knew she would, JEANNE is taunting me with that unthinkable challenge, spelled out in black and white. I stare, my hands unmoving.
"PUBLISH YOUR INCOGNITO BROWSING HISTORY? [Y/N]" | 2021-06-27T05:04:16 | 2021-06-27T04:39:33 | 284 | 166 |
[wp] The most stereotypical Redditor imaginable writes a college admissions essay about his upbringing and how it's made him who he is.
These responses should be fun | Who am I?
Every cliche starts as a story. Every story starts as someone's life. My life is quintessential, but to me it has not been a cliche. It is only my life.
Who am I?
I would say that I was unlike other kids, but I think they all felt the way I did. None of us ever really felt comfortable in our own skins. Our souls never agreed with the fathers who never quite seemed to care, even when they had time to pay attention, or with the mothers who stared out the windows with different eyes (that twinkle like a caged bird's song) when they thought we weren't looking. I think that we were all just walking different paths to look for home.
We were all the same, desperate to stretch out of the molds that suburbia made for us, desperate to escape the endless cookie-cutter houses and identical batches of cookies steaming in every window. We were all desperate to find something new and unexpected in the unexplored zones of our limited lawns, even if it was only a four-leaf clover or a petrified dog turd someone forgot to pick up. We wanted so badly to be original, even though the drones of our teachers' voices told us again and again that the carbon cycle could only use the carbon that was already there, that had already been used, and we were only carbon copies. Even though our teachers told us that introducing new carbon would release both kinds of brilliance: the kind that creates a new future and the kind that ends it. What is the difference, in the end, between creation and destruction? A painting on an unclaimed wall is named graffiti. The father of an untamed fire is named an arsonist.
We held on to the belief that all of that carbon was star forged. We believed that there was some brilliance left in all of us, and that everything we did was a step to set it free.
Who am I?
I am standing, alone, in the road, looking ahead as the barriers of houses on either side curve away until I cannot see.
Who am I?
I am eating dinner with my family. No one is talking. We are all ignoring the sound of gunfire on the television.
If anything is true, it is that our souls are crumbling like fallen leaves in the grass. If we do not watch our lawns, and sweep the shards of leaves away, will we turn brown? Don't pay attention to the unswept lawn. Don't pay attention to the family down the street that moved away. Glance away from pain. Do not look too long at the black or brown person in the store. Do not sit and listen to a feminist explain their cause. Laugh about gender identity. Laugh about conflict. Laugh about war.
Ignore the pain that stems from your ignorance. If you think about the leaves, they multiply. If you cry, they grow mushy and impossible to rake. If you laugh, however, they are simply blown away, and your lawn will look like every other up and down the street. Your empty smile will match your family's, your family will be a matching set to match every other set up and down the street. We will all be lined up and down the aisle, ready for sale! Who is ready to sell?
Who am I?
I am riding my bike down the street. The identical houses are blurring, and the wind brings tears to my eyes. I do not care. It is night, no one can see me cry. I pedal harder, and go faster, and if I don't look too closely, the houses (the bars of my cage and the cage my mother saw) begin to blur together, and maybe there is music in the movement of the bars. Maybe, if you speed up the drone of life, it becomes a harmony. How fast do I have to go before I become melodic too?
Who am I?
I am cliche. I am brilliant. I am music. Am I free?
| "Wait, why would I do this? Does it get me karma?"
"No. It's so we can see if you belo--"
"Whoa, now. I can have whatever upbringing I want. I'm like, a doctor, and that outlook is healthy."
"No, you're not."
"Shut up! You're just part of the circlejerk, isn't that right?"
"Sir, there's no one beside you."
"I have freedom of speech, I can say whatever I want!"
"But I can respond however I want."
"No! I can use my freedom of speech to say whatever I want, and you have to respect it! Downvote! Downvote!"
"Downvote is not a word!" | 2015-12-23T21:37:12 | 2015-12-23T19:55:33 | 213 | 47 |
[WP] In 2017, in the midst of WW III, the UK is desperate for soldiers. As a result, they issued a statement saying that all people who have been knighted by the queen over the past 30 years have to fight. The Platoon of Knighted people just step foot off the plane into the enemy country...
Their mission? Kill the leader of the country and end the war.
Edit: Thanks for all the replies everyone! I knew when I first posted that this kind of scenario would never happen, but I wanted to see what everyone came up with. I've read every single post, keep em coming! Thanks again. | *I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.* --Albert Einstein
*The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp.* -- Terry Pratchett
----------------------------------
The silent expanse of space made the humdrum noises of the space ship all the more peculiar. The bagpipes of Sir Gregory made the silence of the void all the more appealing. But we would not complain. Gentlemen do not complain. They maintain a stiff upper lip, and allow their servants to remove the mundane unpleasantries of life.
We were all gentlemen, but it seemed not all had gotten the memo, and nobody had brought a servant.
"I'm old, not deaf, pipe down the pipes," Sir Christopher Lee finally squawked. A verbal tussle ensued, but I paid no heed.
Instead, I focused on sharpening my sword. Forged from ore I had dug up myself, and additional chunks of [magical thunderbolt iron](http://www.news.com.au/technology/terry-pratchett-creates-a-sword-with-meteorites/story-e6frfro0-1225926584339), it was the true weapon of a knight, unlike those glorified shotguns the other fellows had, and I intended for it to taste blood this day. Blood, or whatever else those bastards bled. I sat next to one of the powerful air intake vents, to prevent metal shaves from infecting the zero gravity air, meditated on the task at hand, and stoked the [inner fires](http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/sep/24/terry-pratchett-angry-not-jolly-neil-gaiman).
------------------------
*One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.*
-- Lewis Carroll
--------------------------------
Aliens aren't all that different than us. Oh, they have different customs, breath different air, eat different things, and dream different dreams. But the base foolishness is the same. They just don't see. Look at an armored man with a machine gun, and there is a man to fear. See a man dressed in a leather jacket carrying a pointy bit of earthly metal, and what danger is there to beings such as them?
Million and one chances crop up nine times out of ten. And so it was that the meteorite I had used was akin to cryptonite to them. In every organization, if you want to find the one in charge, you don't find the Arch Supreme Leader. He's too busy politicking to get anything done, too busy with ceremonial robes to learn about troop placement. Look a few steps down the rung, past the vultures squabling to win favor (or win the top most rung). There, at just the right spot, you'll find it. The one who knows power isn't something you display, but something you hold. The one who collects facts and figures and strategies in the same way a magpie collects bits of shine. Who holds it and dispenses at their own pleasure, for their own benefit. They are the oil that keeps the machine running.
And that's what I found.
Without oil, the machine locks up.
And when the machine locks up, it can be dismantled with ease.
| Sherlock Holmes laid back in his chair, fingering the nicotine patches on his arm.
"I told you that accepting that knighthood was a bad idea, but did you listen to me? No, Mycroft, you just *had* to take it.
"Ha. Let's see who's smarter *now*."
"Shut up, Sherlock." | 2015-02-16T09:42:08 | 2015-02-16T07:35:16 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. |
I knew he was trouble when he walked in.
He came in, head held up high, posture like someone had shoved a metal rod up his ass. Young, cocky, asshole. It was slow day, only a couple of people were around. None of the regulars. A guy working on his laptop, and another girl watching the snow fall over Union Square outside.
He walked over to the counter like he owned the place. He raised his voice. “You folk might want to leave,” he said. “This might get ugly.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He must have a foot on me and his arms were as thick as my thighs. The two customers looked at me and I nodded. “Best to leave, yeah.” They hurried out. What were the odds either of them would call the cops? Next to none. They’d think the other person would.
“You want something?” I asked.
The man picked up a cup and threw it at the wall next to my head, probably intending to make me flinch. I caught it as it flew by my head and set it back down. The PTSD and emotional trauma did come with some upsides.
“So you’re Elizabeth, I take?” eyes narrowed.
I went with the classic response. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He sneered. “Nobody’s asking, *sweetheart,*” he said. “We’ve been keeping track of what kind of clientele you serve. The rotten. The wannabes. The worst of the worst.”
“Strange,” I mused. “None of them have ever threatened me in my own workplace. Truly, nothing screams paragon of virtue like trying to intimidate women.”
He walked over to a table, picked it up with one hand and threw it against the wall. The table shattered and left a dent in the wall. He picked up a metal chair and, looking me in the eyes, bent it in half.
I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re paying for that, right?”
He laughed and continued to wreck the place. Tables, chairs, vases, whatever he could find his hands on, grinning all the time. This was just pathetic, this is what the League had resorted to? Petty intimidation? And it could only be the League with their idiotic ideals of heroism. The government weren’t a bunch of thugs, and anyone else wouldn’t have bothered with the intimidation, they would’ve tried to kill me. Honestly, I would have preferred that. That was honest. This though…
“Are you done?” I asked as he sauntered back over to me.
“For now I am,” he said, again with that grin showing impeccable teeth. I was tempted to punch him…but no. I was out. I didn’t interfere anymore. It wasn’t worth it. “Now listen here, no more serving your “regulars,” yeah? Tell them someone, ah, tipped you off to what they really are. And that you don't serve their kind."
“They don’t trash the place, and tip well. They seem like better customers than you are.”
He leaned closer, looking me dead in the eyes. “Now, the League is protecting all of you from…maniacs like them, maybe you should be a little grateful.” He straightened. “You know, it might get some people thinking, why would any self-respecting citizen serve people like them. Might give the League the wrong idea...”
A handful of people sauntered into the shop snow on their shoulders. “I heard you were having trouble, Liz,” the man in the lead, Jon, said. Behind him, there was Rory, her red hair falling out of her fur hood and Michel, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland outside.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” the Leaguer said and *smiled.*” Actually smiled. He couldn’t see the tension in the air. I could feel it. Didn't realize how screwed he was.
“Jon, Rory, Mike,” I said, nodding to each of them. “What brings you here.”
“Heard a bull was running around in your shop, Liz,” Jon said, his eyes locked on the intruder. “Thought you could use some help getting it out.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” I said, asshole or not the guy looked in his 20s. “He’s just a kid, let him go.”
He swiveled towards me, eyes ablaze. I mentally chastised myself. I hadn't thought before speaking. Forgot how sentimental these young heroes were.
“A kid? Listen bitch,” he spat, “I’ll show you how much of a kid I really am.” I saw the punch coming a mile away – really those idiots with super strength were always slow for some reason, and moved to the side, but I needn’t have bothered. The kid flew back and hit the wall with a wet sounding thud and a crack. One second he was in front of the counter reaching for me, the next he was against the wall, a red stain on the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I put my head in my hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” I snarled.
Jon frowned at me, moving his hand back down – he didn’t actually need to move his hand to use telekinesis – he just liked to show off. “He was going to hit you, Liz.”
“Seriously? You think that idiot could have even *touched* me?”
“I don’t know, Liz,” Rory spoke, laughing, “You’ve been out for a long time…”
I glared at her. “Now the league will investigate, things will only go downhill.”
Jon’s voice was laced with steel. “The League won’t fucking dare.”
I knew that tone of voice. “Jon no…”
But he was already turning away. “C’mon Rory, Mike. Let’s have a chat with the local League office.”
I surveyed the broken tables, the body, the blood. "Leaving the adult to clean up the mess..." I muttered uncharitably and went in the back to get the bleach.
***
Due to demand, I present
[Part 2: Blood on the Snow](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/9q1h8u/urban_fantasy_blood_on_the_snow_out_of_retirement/?)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| My coffee shop was nice. Designs chosen from pictures of a mid-50s shop I once saw mixed with a little western. Booths on either side along the walls, with tables occupying the center. It was a night-time hobby of mine to keep me busy during my later years. The wife and I, God rest her soul, always wanted to open up a small little shop in the heart of New York. The clientele that frequented weren't the usual run-of-the-mill people. I never asked questions and they kept their private business away, or so I had hoped. The handcrafted mahogany tables, that I had had special made, were currently being used as projectiles in an ongoing battle. Three versus six. The six had come in during a slow evening, only three customers in.
"Oi, old man." Said the, presumed, leader of the group. He was about 6ft, well built, wearing the same black suit, white shirt, and black tie as the rest. His tone made me stiffen slightly. I knew they were here to cause trouble. "We don't like the kind of folk you keep serving in here." And that was all he needed to say before the three jumped into action. The red-headed girl jumped off her stool and sprinted at the group with fire in her hands, she ducked a swing and replied in kind with a jet of flesh-melting fire to the assailants chest. Her name was Grace. Young, beautiful, deadly, and wearing a hoodie that was ever-so-slightly too big for her.
The second of the three didn't even need to move, he started picking up chairs and, much to my disdain, tables and began launching them at the group. Two of the six were sidelined instantly by the initial barrage of improvised projectiles. His name was Vincent and he was a brick shithouse of a man.
The third vanished and reappeared behind the leader and took him on a little trip, presumably, out into the ocean. That was Jack's favourite way of disposal. I didn't know how old Jack was but he looked about 15. Too young to be doing this sort of thing but here he was. Fighting alongside two others to "protect" my little slice of heaven. There were only two men left standing and the both screamed and exited as fast as humanly possible. The fight was over as quickly as it started. I hadn't even stopped wiping down cutlery. The three turned to me with apologetic looks on their face. I just sighed and shrugged.
"Vincent, throw those three out in the backstreet. Jack, get that man out of the ocean. And Grace? Put that fire out." I appreciated their help, even if at times they went a little overboard. All three offered to help pay for repairs but I waved them away.
"It's fine. I appreciate the help, and your continued patronage." I said with a smile. "However, I am going to have to close for the night and get this sorted asap. Now out with you." I shooed them out to protests and locked the doors. Smiling to myself I flexed my shoulders. I myself had a superpower even if I only used it to repair my shop at least once a week. | 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T23:09:29 | 1,330 | 17 |
[WP] The Demon King gathered his largest and most powerful army to invade the Human world. Countless Demons of all kinds were pouring out from portals to massacre the fragile and pitiful humans but little did they know they arrived at the wrong human world... modern Earth. | Zeraxos dropped to one knee before the black throne, bowing his head in deference.
"You may rise, Lord Zeraxos," came the voice of the Demon King, at once a booming cacophany and a barely-uttered whisper. At the voice's command, Zeraxos rose to his feet.
The throne room of the Demon King was, in a word, opulent. It bared a striking resemblance to a human cathedral, with sky-high ceilings and windows of stained glass. Yet certain features gave it away: the color palette, mostly orange and black; massive braziers burning high and hot; paintings and reliefs depicting eternal torment rather than holy salvation. And, at the back, sat the demon king's throne - a massive slab of black granite, so dark that it seemed to absorb the light around it. The figure seated upon it was equally massive, and always shrouded in shadow. It spoke again in the strange tongue.
"Tell me, Zeraxos, how fares the invasion?"
It wasn't like Zeraxos to be nervous - he was one of the Lords, after all. But this was something the Demon King had been planning for nearly two centuries now. Humans, in their folly, had been abandoning the teachings of their God in droves; with each that left the faith, the divine protection that their God granted the Earth weakened. The armies of Hell were mighty, and the Demon King had been certain that the conquest of the Earth would be swift.
"My Lord, our armies have launched on schedule and report widespread success at securing the territory immediately around the portals."
"Excellent. But I can sense your trepidation, Zeraxos. You know how displeased it makes me when you conceal things."
He couldn't help but swallow nervously. He hated bringing anything but good news before the King. "My lord. I have recieved preliminary reports from the front lines, and it seems that the humans aren't the same as they were 200 years ago."
The room rumbled and shook with laughter. "Of course they aren't. That is their way; to grow and change with time. But we prepared for this, don't you remember? That ingenious reagent they developed... Black powder. As useless against our hordes as their sharpest swords."
He swallowed again. "That's just it, my lord..."
\* \* \*
"Johnson, do you have that status report?" the general ordered. The man before him saluted.
"Yes, sir, General Montgomery," he replied sharply. Johnson's uniform was in top shape and perfectly pressed, Montgomery noted. "Salem is currently contested; troops from Fort Devens have formed a loose picket line with air support from Hanscom, but until reinforcements arrive, they're being steadily driven back. San Francisco is in similar straights; relief troops from San Diego are patching up the holes in the line, but a lot of civilians are trapped within the city. Local command anticipates at least two days before we can mount..."
"Dammit, that's not good enough," growled Montgomery. "Get that commander on the line, on the double. I want to know what's the hold-up. Safeguarding the civilian populace is our top priority."
Johnson saluted and turned sharply on his heel. As he left the room, Montgomery looked down at the table, sighing heavily. He wasn't the most pious of men; he was a Catholic, in theory, but he and his wife only attended service on Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter Sunday. He'd been sure to call up Father Edmund shortly after the invasion started.
After all, who do you consult about how best to combat an invasion from Hell?
As far as Montgomery was aware, portals much like the ones in Salem and San Francisco had cropped up in places all over the world. One of the eggheads in intelligence told him that they suspected the portals weren't random - they were appearing in places that had a haunted or evil reputation, where the veil between this world and the world below was thinnest. Montgomery wasn't sure if he bought it. But he was he was sure of one thing: the invasion force hadn't been expecting any resistance.
They'd charged suicidally against small pockets of national guardsmen, and were utterly torn apart. They tried again and again to break through shoddily constructed lines, only to be gunned down. It was like they had no understanding of tactics or strategy, instead relying upon numbers and brute strength. Had this happened 200 years ago it might well have worked.
Unforunately for the armies of Hell, humans had spent a lot of time perfecting and stockpiling bullets, shells, missles, bombs, and everything in between. If it was a race between the number of demons in hell and the amount of munitions on Earth, Montgomery was willing to bet that humanity had more than a fighting chance. | “What the fuck domeecius?!?” The demon general exclaimed in confusion as he ascended the skull and bones staircase protruding through the earth.
“The reports are accurate sir.” Domeecius assured as the two stood along with an army of confused demons and looked out at the chaos on the streets. “Violent crime was already out of control, and it’s no longer dished out solely by the impoverished. The rich plunder resources from the needy, even middle class humans are attacking each other over what leader should be in charge!”
“Shit. Well what about pollution. Surely we can do some damage there.” The general suggested.
“Actually sir, with education being ignored as an important foundational necessity by governments worldwide, people can’t even agree to not destroy the planet’s atmosphere. Carbon emissions are off the charts. Damn near irreversible.”
The general dragged his claw over his frustratedly furrowed forehead. “Anything else?” He sighed dejectedly.
Domeecius scanned his paperwork, mumbling to himself. “Let’s see... rape, child sex trafficking, rampant greed, lust, gluttony, wrath...” he looked up and closed his file. “With as busy as the human race has been destroying themselves, it’s even a surprise that sloth is already an epidemic as well. To be honest sir, it looks like our work was done before we even got here.”
The general let out a ghastly whistle and shouted to his demon troops “Pack it in you guys! These degenerates are fucking themselves more than we ever could.”
And as the other-worldly creatures slinked back into their hellscape, the human race continued on unaware towards a hell on earth of their own making. | 2019-12-25T01:54:03 | 2019-12-24T22:52:04 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] “1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface.” | "1 day on this planet is 15 years on Earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface"
I was exhausted. When you are sent to explore, the bosses back at mission control seem to never want you to have any time "off". I hadn't even gotten out of my pressure suit.
'You can sit around in your apartment playing XBox, if you need time off!', was a popular refrain from MC representatives when we mentioned their expected work load was not doable. I remember even Astronauts on Skylab going on strike early in our attempts to explore living in space.
So, what I heard didn't initially register.
"Wait, What?"
"In the time you have been working here... One hundred and eighty years have passed on Earth. And still counting. One point six years per hour here. "
"But, I am supposed to be gone another 6 months making my way back home through the portal. Then, it's...". I pulled up my mission calendar, "67 days getting back to Earth-Lunar orbit. Then dock with the lander and head back to Earth..."
I held my hand up to the robotic camera. I got undressed and walked to where my evening meal was waiting on me. I ate in silence. The AI asked if I wanted music for dinner like usual. I shook my head no.
"Prep for launch." I finally spoke.
"It is not time yet. " The AI responded.
"Not TIME? Oh of course not. I mean, let's see, in the time it took me to eat, another 3 weeks passed on Earth!"
"Our launch window is in 7 hours and 13 minutes. " The AI stated blandly.
"That's just great, another 20 years wouldn't hurt, would it?" I began stowing things. "Everyone better have your shit together!" I hollered in the ship occupied only by me and a few robotic tools controlled by the AI. I took a quick bath to prep for the ride home. Well, what passes for a bath. I got into my sleeping couch and as I pulled the door handle down, I yelled out, "DON'T WAKE ME UNTIL THE MOON IS IN SIGHT!"
The sleeping gas seeped in and I slipped into unconscious.
"Hello? Hello? Are you going to wake up? " The voice seemed to be part of a dream. I think I was supposed to get ready for school.
I forced my eyes open. I was not on my ship. I was in some sort of hospital bed. Maybe... I realized I couldn't sit up. Like my body just wouldn't let me.
"Did I crash? Am I paralyzed?"
"Nothing of the sort! Matter of fact, you made an excellent trip back and we'll, there was a slight miscalculation on the time you were out there. So, we have you sedated so you can ease into things. Matter of fact, you... " He giggled, "...aren't even awake yet. "
"I'm not sure if I like where this is going ..."
"Due to certain things, it has actually been 1800 years or so since you left. Heck, the government that sent you our had actually forgotten about you, or thought you lost, dead, you know..." He then made a creaking sound and tilted his head to symbolize death. "That's why we have you out still. We had to learn your language and idioms. Then we will need to prepare for the shock. HOWEVER, TODAY is your lucky day, as you used to say. We have some of your relatives here to meet you! Count backwards from three...*
"JUST WAKE ME UP ALREADY!" | "It is uncertain as to why they thought I would wait until after launch, much less until mission completion. When the mission parameters were finally shared today, they sent the poor dear overseeing the accounting department into such a state trying to process how proper remuneration would be handled in such a scenario, while the maintenance department had to rush an order of coolant devices to stave off a literal meltdown of the organic/silicon resources office."
"After everyone had the chance to cool off, it was concluded that mission needed to be adjusted to only involve fully-informed, volunteer crew, while the Board of Directors needed some time to reflect on the ethics of running a business."
"Three hundred Earth years were felt to be sufficient. Feel free to ignore any screaming you may hear from the cargo bay." | 2022-09-15T11:57:03 | 2022-09-15T11:28:25 | 161 | 56 |
[WP] You are pretty sure that your roommate is a new villain terrorizing the city and you are conflicted. They cook extra food for you and your other roommates frequently, pay you their share of the bills on time, and even help to clean the apartment. They are the perfect roommate. | Peter, Lyle, and Sarah huddled on the couch, their eyes fixed on the screen of Sarah's phone. Playing on it was real-time footage of the city's most notorious supervilainess, Grey Shifter, robbing a bank. Clad in a skin-tight suit of smart superalloy, she was making short work of the security robots, drawing ever closer to the vault.
"I don't know," Peter said.
"I'm telling you guys, it's her," Sarah said, her eyes glowing with excitement. "Look at the way she moves. That little tic of hers—look!"
She rewinded the video. Shifter formed a superalloy claw and slashed a robot in half, then shielded her face from the ensuing explosion. Before continuing on, she lifted a hand to her ear as if to brush back an imaginary strand of hair.
"Huh," Lyle said slowly. "She does look like Alice, a little."
"I don't know," Peter repeated.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Well, I do. Think back. Was she ever at home when Shifter was out doing supervillain stuff? And she's so tight-lipped about her work." She smiled gleefully. "Like she has something to hide."
"Okay, so let's say she is Shifter," Peter said skeptically. "What do we do then?"
That gave Sarah pause. "What do you mean?" she asked, lifting her eyes from the screen.
"She's a villain," Peter said slowly. "We're, like, obligated to turn her in to the police."
The three of them exchanged looks.
Sarah turned her attention back to her phone. "Well, we don't know for sure, right?"
Peter didn't point out that she had been certain of it just moments ago. He understood. Alice was awesome. Quiet, meticulously tidy, and she cooked the best biryani he had ever tasted.
On the screen, Shifter formed claws on each of her hands and bent forward to cut through the hardened steel of the vault door. Lyle leaned closer to watch.
"I'm not turning her in even if she is Shifter," he declared.
Sarah snorted. "You're just saying that 'cause she looks hot in that costume."
"I mean..." Lyle glanced at Peter, who shrugged in agreement.
"Okay, yeah, she does," Sarah conceded, watching Shifter wriggle into the vault through the hole she just cut. "But that's not the point. She's like, the nicest and tidiest person I know."
"Doesn't want to leave evidence," Peter speculated. "DNA and such."
"Do we care why?" Sarah countered. "And she's never late with rent. She even covered for me a couple of times."
"Well, yeah." Lyle gestured at the screen, where Shifter was escaping with a superalloy sack of loot slung over her shoulder. "She's not exactly short on cash."
"That she steals from banks," Peter said.
"Whatever she does, she's the best damn roommate we could ask for," Sarah said. "What if we chase her out and get another Todd in her place? You guys remember Todd?"
The three of them shuddered.
"I try not to," Peter muttered.
The screen switched to the bank's main hall. Shifter ran for the exit, only to skid to a halt when a muscular hero in a purple cape flew in to bar her way. The two faced off in silence for several seconds before the battle was joined.
"Yeah!" Sarah cheered as Shifter's claws tore through the hero's cape. "Kick his ass!"
"Wouldn't you normally cheer for the good guy?" Peter said with amusement.
"You want her to be able to pay rent this month, don't you?"
Peter shrugged. "Point."
They watched Shifter wallop the hero with her sack of loot. As he staggered back, she tossed a globe at his feet, and smoke swallowed the entire screen. Once it cleared, there was no sign of the supervilainess.
Sarah sighed. "I wonder if she's in the market for a sidekick," she murmured, then laughed at the incredulous looks the other two sent her. "Just kidding."
The three were still watching the ensuing news coverage and arguing about Shifter's identity when they heard the front door open. They exchanged wide-eyed looks while Sarah swore and quickly hid her phone. A moment later, Alice walked into the living room with a slight limp.
"Hey, everyone," she said brightly, then frowned at them three sitting stiffly on the couch. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Sarah said, springing to her feet. "How, uh, how was work?"
"Ugh, it was hell," Alice groaned. "There was this particularly pesky customer that I couldn't get rid off for ages."
"I'll say," Peter muttered.
Alice glanced at him with faint puzzlement. Sarah sent him a dirty look, and taking her by the shoulders, led her to the table.
"You poor girl," she said. "Let's get you something to drink, and you can tell me all about it."
Lyle suddenly leaned forward. "Look," he hissed, pointing at the back of Alice's head.
Peter's eyes widened. Stuck in her tousled black hair was a long, thin strap of purple. He cleared his throat.
Sarah glanced back and followed their gazes to the fragment of the cape. Leaning back, she quickly pulled it out. Lyle ran up to take it from her and tossed it into the trash. When Alice glanced back at him in surprise, he grinned and pulled her a chair.
"Here," he said, "you must be tired."
"Seriously, what's going on?" Alice asked, a little nervously. "You guys are acting strange."
"We just want to show you how much we appreciate you." Lyle grinned. "And we were kind of hoping you would cook for us tonight."
"Is that all?" Alice said, laughing. "You should have just said so. I love cooking."
Sarah flashed Lyle a thumbs up and drew Alice into a conversation to distract her. Peter sighed and slumped back on the couch. It appeared they would be harboring a supervillainess for the foreseeable future.
Still better than rooming with Todd, to be fair. | Greg walked in the door with a long sigh. He looked beat, not mentally tired from work but physically beat as if he'd been at war all day. Blood leaked from a cut on his cheek, one eye was swollen completely shut, and I could've sworn that front tooth of his wasn't chipped yesterday.
"Ah! Some day huh?" Greg let out a wheezy, pain filled laugh. "So what are we watching?" he stumbled over to an empty spot on the couch next to me. Before I could click away he was staring at the news report on tv, headlines reading. *Defenestrator Strikes Again! Rebeat in Critical Condition*.
I stared to Greg for some sort of reaction, some sort of chink in the armor at his digestion of the footage of the Defenestrator beating Rebeat in the street, but nothing. He just watched on. If he had seen the string wall in my room he'd known I was onto him months ago. But he hadn't, and I was thankful he was so strict about respecting others privacy.
"Whatcha think of the new guy? Defenestrator huh? Seems like quite a character. I see you've been watching the news on him a lot." Greg reached to the mini fridge and pulled out a beer, offering up me one too. As I reached to take it though Greg held onto it with a tight grip. We both held on now, me yanking on the neck and him holding steady onto the glass. I looked up and met his eyes, his now cold, steady eyes.
"You're a smart guy Manny. A really smart guy." he whispered, leaning in closer and closing the distance on the couch. "Being smart is an advantage I'd say. But....sometimes? Well sometimes when you're smart you're curious too. Are you curious Manny?"
I stared to the tv, where the footage now showed the Defenestrator tossing Rebeat against a window over and over until it broke.
"I uh...what are you getting at Greg?"
"I'm just saying that I'm cooking my mothers lasagna recipe for dinner and it'd be a shame if you couldn't join the rest of us. You will join us huh?" his voice grew dark, grated. There was not just an intensity behind it, but a power.
"You- You're him." I managed to stutter out.
"Yes. And you're Manuel Viele. Now I'm going to cook, then we'll play Catan with the boys. You in, or out?"
I thought for a moment, but knew it wasn't a tough decision. Defenestrator or not, he cooked a mean lasagna. And so what? We all have our flaws. I took the beer from him gently now. As I pulled back our eyes stayed cemented to each other, tension built behind them as if at any moment one of us would strike, but no such thing happened. Instead I simply drank my beer in a gesture of understanding.
The lasagna was delicious as always, and though it pained me at first, later that night I took down my wall on The Defenestrator. I didn't need it anymore. | 2022-11-20T08:52:08 | 2022-11-20T08:34:31 | 589 | 97 |
[WP] Q has been developing ridiculous gadgets just to mess with James Bond. Bond has been finding ways to use these gadgets to complete his missions to messwith Q. | "Mr. Bond sends his regards, Q. Apparently the exploding pants were exactly what he needed to complete his latest assignment."
"What? That was a *joke.* I'm amazed they even let me put that idea into production. I mean, when are you ever going to want to take off your pants to blow something up?"
"Mr. Bond actually spends a surprising amount of time on assignment without pants on, if you know what I mean."
I snapped my pencil in half in frustration. "Of course he does, lucky bastard."
"If it's any consolation, you did a top-notch job concealing the explosives. Apparently he walked right into the Contessa's bedchamber without anyone discovering the bomb until it was too late."
I grabbed another sheet of paper and a fresh pencil and started making some notes. "Well, I've got a couple more ridiculous gadgets from my last brainstorming session. If he says he's got a use for them, they're his."
I slid the sheet of paper across my desk. "Go down to storage and pull out project HLW-9. Plastic novelty vampire teeth with a hidden poison injector."
...
Well, not only did Bond survive his mission, he stopped by to thank me in person! "Prescient as always with your gadgets, Q. How did you know that Miss Terri had a vampire fetish?"
My jaw dropped. "You're kidding. A million girls out there working for a million different villains, and somehow you find the one who'll let you bite her on the neck?"
"What can I say? I have a knack for it." Bond shrugged. "Do you have any other gadgets like that? You can never have too much poison in the field, I've found."
I sighed and handed him another list of paper. "Poison pen, poison paper, poison umbrella, poison spork, poison fingerpainting kit. Go nuts."
"Thank you. Oh, and, word is that SPECTRE will be making a major move soon, so if you've got any bright ideas, no matter how crazy, I want to see them."
"You're serious? You want something crazier than what I already gave you?"
"Deadly serious. If it's anything like my last encounter with them, I'll need every edge I can get."
I turned back to my blueprints. "Oh, I've got ideas, alright. But don't say I didn't warn you."
...
"That was your best work yet, Q! You're like bloody Santa Claus for MI6! I had every tool I needed."
"Really? You chased SPECTRE across three continents and blew up an underwater base, and you say *my* gadgets made the difference?"
"Absolutely. Nobody saw the poison fingerpainting kit coming. All I had to do was make sure I engaged the enemy in a preschool."
I rolled my eyes. "Well, *obviously*. Nothing complicated there. What about the Portable Cone of Silence? I never even got that thing to work in the *lab.*"
James nodded. "I couldn't either, but nobody knows that. I just used it as bait. Set it up somewhere, wait for someone to try and listen in, and then grab him and beat him senseless until he tells you who his bosses are."
"Well, that was clever. Any other gadgets that paid off?"
"You probably saw this one coming, but project FYI."
"No. You are *absolutely* messing with me. No way was FYI a good idea."
James Bond shook his head emphatically. "It's probably the best thing you ever gave me. Saved my life, even."
"It was worse than the exploding pants. It was stupider than the poison fangs."
"It worked."
"It was a 'disguise kit' that consisted of a trenchcoat and a sign saying "I am not a spy."
"Exactly! Who would think that James Bond, the elite agent for MI6, would be stupid enough to try and disguise himself like that? No, it has to be a trap, or a decoy."
My mouth fell open at the audacity of it.
"There were eight SPECTRE operatives hunting me through a market in Istanbul, and not a single one of them realized it was me. It was practically an invisibility cloak!" He patted me on the back. "I think I'll carry one on every mission from now on."
I put my face in my hands and sighed. I'd never be done with these ridiculous gadgets now. I could see the future, and it was filled with comedy signs and poisonous sporks and exploding hats.
"What has espionage become?" I moaned. | "Hello, 007, judging the fact that you've made it back it appears my latest 'gifts' served you well?”, inquired an amused Q.
“Yes, I did, Q.”, replied one of MI:6's most accomplished operatives, “I admit that I had my reservations at first but in the end all of your little gadgets turned out to be useful.”
“What did you do with the USB mouse with the digital scale hidden inside of it?”, asked Q with an raised eyebrow.
“I used that one to tell which poker chip had the microchip hidden inside. I used that to keep the real one with me while pawning off an ordinary one to the SPECTRE agent.”
“I see, and the air-conditioned shoes?”
“The the security system at the warehouse relied on thermal imaging hidden under the tiles. Those Oxfords of yours did the job of disguising my body heat. Is that all, Q?”
“Yes, 007. Now if you can if you can leave me alone for the rest of the afternoon, I have work to do.”
“Still working on being sociable, Q?”, replied the blonde-haired agent, shutting the door behind him.
As the door to the lab shut, a flash of white light enveloped Q. In an instant, the body of the twentysomething Q was replaced with the appearance of a man in his fourties. The mop-top of his brown hair was replaced with a closer-cropped style with a pronounced widow's peak.
“And I thought that Picard was irritatingly astute.”, Q muttered to no one but himself. | 2015-07-26T22:50:44 | 2015-07-26T22:46:34 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] "Please wake up. Let us go from your dream." Everyone around you keeps repeating this sentence. What's really weird though, is that they're not talking to you. | The thin threadbare fabric covering the seat did little to cushion my ass from the hard metal frame.
It was late in the day and the city outside the window bathed in a russet orange that cut neatly through the train car, obscuring the faces of the passengers opposite me in a blinding light.
“Please wake up. Let us go from your dream.”
“Pardon me?” I asked hesitantly. The chant was repeated and this time, a multitude of voices joined it.
I glanced around, searching for a sympathetic face. Feeling self conscious, I subtly pinched my arm.
“Please wake up. Let us go from your dream.” They repeated.
I stood abruptly, the darkness of my shadow revealing their faces and I realized their eyes were unfocused as they repeated their message.
“Not me…” I muttered to myself. “Then…who…?”
I turned around and pressed my face to the glass, searching the horizon. *Ahhhh, there it was*, I thought to myself as I spied a dark blot against the sky. I wasn’t dreaming, I was *Sleepwalking.*
My feet fell through the bottom of the train as I gained awareness of my current predicament. Like all things I touched in a dreamscape while awake, the train’s floor turned to sand around my ankles as the rest of it continued to barrel along its tracks.
I closed my eyes and braced as I soon burst through the end of the train in an explosion of sand.
“Ugh, worst part of sleepwalking,” I complained, dusting myself off and spitting out sand.
My stomach rumbled and I felt a brief pain in my arm, swiftly reminding me of the second and third worst parts of sleepwalking. The intense hunger and my disconnected physical form lumbering around brainlessly in the real world trying to satiate it.
But that was a problem for tomorrow me. Right now, I had to wake the Sleeper.
There were different kinds of Sleepers. Most common were the unconscious ones, Sleepers who didn’t know they were dreaming and luckily, usually didn’t take much to wake them up. Then, rarer but not as rare as I’d prefer, were the Lucid ones. Egotistical maniacs who knew they were dreaming and usually put up a hell of a fight against waking up. And from the look of the dark figure zipping around like Superman, I’d say this guy was the latter.
I joined in a crowd of people, muttering the words along with the them. I shivered as I walked among them, trying not to brush against anyone.
Colloquially, I guess you’d call them ghosts. They were simply people who had already passed on, lured in by an illusion of life and then trapped inside the Sleeper’s dream.
But this guy was not waking anytime soon. Which was why I was here in the first place.
The Sleeper had landed in the middle of the road and for the first time, seemed to notice the crowd of trapped souls staggering towards him. A look of fear passed over his face and the ground below him sprung up, growing into a massive skyscraper as a result of his mounting terror.
“Shit!” I sprinted forwards, pushing through the ghosts. “Shitshitshitshitshit!!!”
The sky was quickly darkening and the city started fading at the edges. This dream was quickly turning into a nightmare.
I dug my hand into the wall of the building and it started collapsing into sand, building up beneath my feet. I rode the growing sand dune up towards the Sleeper until finally we were standing eye to eye.
“Wake up.” I said, facing him.
He turned towards me, eyes filled with panic.
“Don’t come any closer!” He shouted. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!
I sighed.
“Look, I’m trying to help you…”
“Not you,” he said finally, pointing up at the sky behind me. “THAT!”
I turned.
“Ah, fuck me…” I muttered, looking up at the giant manifested sleep paralysis demon hovering above.
Well, this was officially a worst case scenario with the most annoying and dangerous kind of Sleeper. The lucid dreamers who lose control of their dreams.
“None of this is real,” I said calmly, turning back to him and holding out my hand. “You need to wake up.”
The man started clawing at his face, trying to pry open his already wide eyes.
“Not like that-“ I was interrupted by the sudden sensation of being slapped across the fucking universe and out of creation by a giant fucking hand.
“Motherfucking sleep paralysis demon!” I shouted, stumbling to my feet.
Now I was pissed off. I started running, sand spreading out beneath me and covering the dreamscape like a desert. I commanded a wave of sand, pushing me back to where the Sleeper was struggling. The crowd had reached him and they held on, restricting his movements.
The wave beneath me grew as I drew in more power. My stomach burned and boiled, stealing the energy from my physical body. Like a tsunami, I towered over the small Sleeper.
Facing off against me, the demon drew its knife. A long silver blade gleaming across the dark sky.
“It’s time to wake up.” I said, leaning over the precipice.
I let the sand fall, crashing over the Sleeper and his captors, sweeping everything away. The demon’s knife slid through the sand, like a shark seeking me out.
I swam towards the Sleeper, my sand bringing him towards me as the demon’s knife raced to cut us off. It was going to be close. I reached out…
*SLAP*
I stared at the reddening mark across the Sleeper’s face. My handprint. Clear as day.
Light shone from the Sleeper’s eyes as his real eyelids started to open. | Justin took off his airpods as he heard the muttering.
"Please wake up. Let us go from your dream." Jessica was mumbling, looking over her left shoulder as her hands continued typing on her laptop.
The chorus was taken up by the other students, some of them speaking aloud normally, some whispering, all peering towards the same door.
Justin saw in his periphery his study mate, Brad was also mumbling and staring. Feeling like a trapped child, Justin kept his gaze fixed firmly on the wall in front of him, certain if he looked at Brad, Brad would snap. He'd bar his teeth, revealing long, thick fangs, and bury them deep into Justin's supple neck.
Justin put back in his airpods and headed to the direction of the exit, avoiding eye contact while he turned up Cristofori's Dream, one of his favorite study numbers.
Justin passed a number of students staring in the direction he continued in. The wind itself pushed him, as if an explosion occurred miles away, and the rush of hot, compressed air was gently urging him to safety.
They led him to the men's room, where the air grew distinctly cooler. A student stared towards the solitary sink, currently running hot water.
Justin approached the sink and dipped his hands in the water automatically, reaching to the soap dispenser to grab a squirt.
He lathered between his fingers in a wringing motion, before looking up into the mirror above the sink.
Suddenly, he felt his lips contort, felt them move slowly as he stared at his own bloodshot eyes, sick bags of coal dragging the skin beneath his hollow sockets.
"Please wake up. Let us go from your dream." Justin could not hear over his airpods, yet he grabbed at his mouth with his still soapy hands, wrenching his body back into his own control.
His mouth continued contorting and fighting, speaking the words it must speak. In the commotion of gripping his lips and jaw as he continued his new speech, Justin casually snipped the tip of one of his pointer fingers at the last joint.
Justin turned a few digits shorter to see his classmates, several teachers, and the principal standing in the doorway, staring at him.
"Please wake up. Let us go from your dream."
Justin felt his own lips move along with them, felt the words echo through his jaw bones to the flesh near his ear and into his brain, where it was processed rapidly, where Justin understood, and tried as hard as he could.
Justin collapsed against the wall, sitting with his knees pulled right up to his chest.
His peers continued their chant. Please. Please wake up. Please let us go.
I'm trying. Justin thought as he chanted. I promise I'm trying. | 2022-09-21T13:39:46 | 2022-09-21T11:23:37 | 301 | 52 |
[WP] There is a violinist, roughly your age, that has been following you around for years, giving your life a soundtrack. They're never more than five feet away, never seem to be acknowledged by anyone else, and are totally silent. You're also pretty sure they have a crush on you. | People often wonder why I run without headphones in. A few people understand when I explain I just like having a place to work on things in my head without interruption. Most though, just look at me like I'm crazy. I often wonder if they have the right of it.
It's the only explanation. She doesn't run behind me during my runs, but she's always there when I round a corner or check for a car, playing a violin cover of whatever she's decided is the most fitting song for the moment. Wearing a white dress billowing around her, no matter if it's twenty-five and snowing or eighty out. Her eyes closed in loose concentration, lost in the music, bow quivering across the strings. I've looked directly at her, called to her, but she's never responded. And when I've asked, no one else has ever heard the music, no matter how high the crescendo.
But three things make me think that she isn't just a figment of my imagination.
1. Her skill improves over time. The first time she plays something, it's just the basic melody, with occasional mistakes. But for things she plays daily, it's a full string quartet, played to perfection.
2. She's played songs I've never heard before, that I have to look up later for the original. Which is challenging, given the frequency that she plays some obscure Haydn piece that ends in me describing the melody to a confused music student.
3. On rare occasion, she plays music that's the opposite of the mood of the moment.
Like right now. Leah, my girlfriend, *well, ex-girlfriend now* is walking away from our table. Three years all for nothing. I clench my eyes shut and force out a steadying breathe. *I just need to get home*. As that thought crosses through my mind, the violin breaks through the conversations surrounding me.
"I Just Haven't Met You Yet," by Michael fucking Bublé. Played flawlessly, to perfection, despite the fact that I know I've never heard her play that before.
If she was all in my head, it would be "Under Pressure." I was trying to do too much with too little time, and that's why things fell apart. I didn't have time for Leah, at least not enough to keep her happy. My nails bite into my palms as I sign the check, grief changing to frustration as my ghost transitions into "Gives You Hell," and then into "Misery Business." By the time that finishes, I'm in the middle of the nearby park, which is completely empty between the chill and the time of night. I trot down to the shoreline of the small pond, grabbing one of the little stones off the bank and whipping it across the water. It bounces twice before sinking.
She appears against a tree forty-five degrees to the right, about ten feet away, violin resting against her chest. *Something's different.* It takes a moment in the dark, but then it dawns on me. She's wearing leggings under the dress, and a fluffy dress rather than the nearly sheer one she normally wears. We stare at each other for thirty seconds. When she doesn't play, I grab another rock and sling it across the water. She raises her violin to her chin, but hesitates before putting the bow down.
I don't know why I do it. "Having trouble over there?" I shout to her. "What, you can't find another song to shit on how my night's going?" Her head tilts a touch forwards, then she draws the bow across the strings. It takes a moment, then I place it. Fleetwood Mac. The Chain. She pushes off of the tree as the first chorus starts and walks towards me deliberately. I find myself rooted to the spot as she approaches through the second verse. We're two feet away as she finishes the second chorus. Her breath shakes, and this close, I see a glimmer on her cheek. She looks up at me, silent, but her eyes say everything her voice doesn't. She wants a request. "Winter. Vivaldi," I whisper.
I've never heard her play it before. The piece is devilishly tricky, a million little notes and accents to lose. She nods, and sets her bow down once again. A tear rolls down her cheek as she starts. She starts off shaky, missing a couple early notes, but as I stand like a statue the notes build on themselves, meaning pouring into each musical phrase and note. I feel a tear run down my own cheek as she finishes the final fermata. We're still two feet away, shivering.
"Who are you?" I ask. "Are you even real?"
She nods.
"Why can't anyone else see or hear you?" I get a shrug from that. "Can...can I touch you?" Another nod. I take a half step forward, my left hand finding her back. She lets herself be pulled in closer, though she turns her back to me as our bodies touch. My head ends over her right shoulder, opposite her violin. She glances up at me. "Whatever you want," I whisper. She plays enough of "You Belong With Me," for me to pick up on it, then switches to another song with a much clearer indication of what she wants.
I reach my hand under her chin, silencing the music as she turns to me, smiling. Our lips meet in a long, perfect kiss. I feel her pull away, then hear her voice. "Thank you," she says, the words echoing in my head. "Finally...free."
I open my eyes to find the park deserted, no sign of her. Dead silent. "Where are you?" I say into the wind. Nothing. I start to shiver, the temperature feeling like it dropped twenty degrees in moments. I have to head inside before I freeze, the light jacket I'm wearing utterly insufficient. Despite my misgivings, I force myself into a taxi back to my apartment. The entire ride, it's silent. The elevator up. Silent. My apartment.
Silent.
I fall into my bed, and for the first time, cry alone. | And then it happened. Again. As I was getting it on with my date, the music got terrible. I rolled my eyes whilst allowing my date to slide his hands all over my body, but the music just did not stop. It was awful, because I knew that he didn't hear it and it was just me, seeing and hearing and acknowledging this...guy.
My date decided to take it a step further but knowing that I wouldn't be able to allow myself to enjoy the situation, planted a kiss on his lips and declined with a sad sound in my voice. I got up and got dressed, before leaving his place. The second the door slammed behind me, the music turned pleasant again.
"Why?! Why do you continue to do so?", I begged to know from him, whilst grabbing a cigarette. He stood at the other end of the street with a slight grin plastered all over his face, since I once again dropped out of a one night stand because of him. "Can't you just stop it already? Please, tell me what else you need me to do!" As I came closer, he seemed to move away one step at a time, so I came to a halt and just looked at his face. Some passerbys had to think I was totally out of my mind and maybe they were right. Because literally nobody could help me with this situation.
"You know what? Fine. I got a plan." I stomped away and of course, his soft melody followed me, clinging onto me like a stain that I wasn't able to shake off for so many years. Looking back, it was interesting that I didn't came up with this way earlier, but better late than never. So I opened my door and pulling up the blinds, I pulled out my own violin.
How long has it been? I didn't have a clue whilst I put the violin up and I realized the curiosity peaking in his eyes, as he continued to play. I locked eyes with him and within a aplit second, it seemed like I had the exact song in front of my eyes, so I decided to give it a go. And then the room was filled with one gorgeous melody overlapping the other, our eyes still locked, it seemed like we were intertwined without even touching one another.
Or at least not so far.
Because suddenly, as long as I was playing, he stepped out of his zone. His dark eyes focused on myself, the music intensified and rang so much louder inside my ears. For a second, I expected the world beneath my feet to shatter when his foot slipped between mine and he got into my zone. The music was so loud, it felt like my drums were bursting whilst my heart rate jumped through the roof - but we couldn't stop playing. We got louder and louder and louder before our violins shattered from all the pressure.
The second the pieces hit the floor, his smile turned wider, before he leaned in for a kiss and for the first time I was able to listen to his voice. "Thank you for saving me after so many years." | 2022-10-10T15:52:40 | 2022-10-10T15:33:13 | 53 | 28 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | Treg'Luf'Arwa couldn't believe his eyes. He doubted that his Father, Luf'Arwa'Yos, or his father's father, Arwa'Yos'Hul, would've believe their eyes either, had they come to see this day.
Fire had been raining on his planet for days now. The home planet of his species being the latest conquest for the Gaouls, a ferocious, carnivorous meat eating reptile species that must've, he guessed, discovered space travel through chance alone. They took to it like canine teeth to raw meat, however, and they were currently the deadliest force in the galaxy.
He, that is to say, Treg was one of the last soldiers on the planet, his entire family had been shipped off to a refugee camp a few weeks ago as every single last of his kind in fighting shape prepared for their final stand. Three nights prior, he had heard over the communications relay that the Homo Sapiens would be entering in the fight against the Gaouls. He understood why, and didn't blame them for not entering earlier. The planet he called his home, Cip-5, was very near some human colonies, relatively. If they feel, their farms were next. Support was supposed to arrive today, and damn if it hadn't.
First were the railshots. Railshots, for those who don't know, were intended solely for ranged empty space skirmishes, meant to rip open hulls and tear through engines. The only reason they weren't used in atmospheric battles was because accuracy could be off in such an enviroment, with increased gravity and the physics nightmare that is air itself. The humans, however, didn't seem to worry about such a thing, merely aiming their ships directly at the planet, and raining down tungsten rods like raindrops.
Next were the dropships. He couldn't be sure, as both his ears were ringing and it's entirely possible that his universal translator, located in his skull, was damaged in the earthshaking first offense by the earthlings, but he swore that the dropships were playing... music? While the words were hard to make out, the words "Senator's son" and "It ain't me!" were clear enough.
The oddest thing? After they had found him among the rubble, and began to patch up his wounds, he looked over their weapons. Some were indeed wielding the latest in plasma-pulse technology, firing miniature balls of perfectly round electric energy, while others had them slung across their backs, instead choosing to use what looked like tools that belonged in a museum. The metal was so dark, it looked like iron, and certain pieces, he thought he was dreaming, were they wood?
The Gaouls couldn't stand up to it. Every single trick Treg could think of was pulled, including several he would never have considered, like small man excursions onto Gaoul ships to slam them into ground camps, pulling engines off grounded dropships just to overload them and have them turn city-sized plots of land into glass floors, and, he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw this, all 8 of them, slamming the Gaoul's moon into their homeworld in a secret military operation.
Cheers went up when the Gaouls finally declared their surrender to the Alliance. Treg, glancing around, saw a single man with a scowl on his face, running a stone down a piece of what seemed to be sharpened steel with a leather grip. In fact, there was much about the man that was odd. Instead of the lightly armored dark grey camouflage pants that seemed to be standard issue, he wore some odd, brightly colored open cloth. On his back was a series of bags that wheezed with his movements, as if they were their own creature. When Treg finally got up the courage to ask the biped what was wrong, the man snapped back to reality for a second, looking the Cipentenian up and down before spitting out a black globule of sludge.
"Damn higher ups. If they didn't pull these big goddamn acts of military might, we could've kept this war going another few years." Accentuating the end of the sentence by pulling a load of black flakes out of a small, flimsy container, and shoving it into his cheek.
That day on, Treg offered every single human he saw free meals at his family's restaurant as soon as it was rebuilt on his homeworld. Not on gratitude alone, no, but because he saw exactly what kind of humans existed, and wanted to make sure that one never personally declared war on him or his planet. He doubted there'd be a single survivor.
EDIT: Fixed Treg's name, and changed a few words. Wrote this half asleep. | The group of generals, different in species, all huddled around the table that projected the approaching human fleet. The human warships were depicted in red, while the Combined Galactic Alliance's ships were in blue. Every blue dot outnumbered the red three to one. But yet the red dots were fast approaching the thick lines of blue.
The tallest general among the group, with four bulky green legs on the ground, his skin covered in green scales, turned towards the rest. "The humans do know that a full frontal assault on our combined blockade only has a 30% chance of succeeding right?" his voice boomed across the room.
A shorter figure, his furs almost covering his eyes, raised his equally furry arm to speak. "I believe they do, General Alrak. But from our past encounters with human fleets, they never cared about the statistical chances of victory."
Murmurs fell across the room, as the various generals recounted their own tales of skirmishes and battles with the human fleet. Human were the first species to exhibit behaviours that do not conform to the standard way of acting, often barging into battles despite the odds stacked against them.
General Alrak raised his hand to silence the room. "Colonel Csaz, what is this thing that the humans have, anyway? That makes them so foolishly brazen?
"Hope, sir. I believe that's what the humans call hope."
General Alrak smiled. "Alright, lets see if their hope today can stand against the proven mathematical probability that we have. Prepare the fleet!"
------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-03-05T23:52:37 | 2017-03-05T18:30:59 | 503 | 246 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | I glanced over at the button on my desk that'd appeared yesterday night. It seemed everyone in the world had one now. It'd appeared yesterday with a note attached. Apparently anyone after the first person who'd pressed it would receive a significant sum of money, and judging by today's radio broadcasts, the button worked. As a doctor, however, I was fairly well off and didn't have much need for money at the moment. In fact, I don't think I've wanted for much at all in my life. Well liked, respected, and beautiful, I had almost everything a person could want. Still, a few thousand dollars more wouldn't hurt. I could take a week off and travel somewhere tropical. Relax.
For some reason, I'd never felt much of a connection to anyone. Sympathy and empathy were emotions I simply never experienced. However, most people liked me. In fact I was very close to a number of people; I just simply didn't care about any of them. I remember in elementary school pushing kids down the stairs and pretending it was an accident. In college I spread a rumor my best friend had raped a middle schooler. For the rest of the year he was called a rapist and a pedophile. When he found out it was me who'd started the rumor he found me after school and screamed and cried. I could see how betrayed he felt but honestly I just didn't care. I told him if he didn't shut up I'd say he'd raped me as well. No one would believe the alleged rapist over the weak, pretty girl.
Anyways, it was 11:30 at night. I picked up my phone and dialed Liz, an old friend. She had fallen on some hard times recently. Currently an unemployed single mother, she'd told me recently how desperate she was for money. Yesterday she'd said how she wanted so badly to push the button but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving her children behind.
She picked up the phone.
"Hello?" She said. From her tired voice it was obvious I'd woken her up.
"Hey! Liz, it's me. How's it going?"
"Areana? Areana Wei? What are you calling me for? It's almost midnight."
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. But listen to me for a second, I promise it’s worth it. The button could solve your problems. You could have enough to support your family until you can find another job. You could take your kids out tomorrow and eat a good, hearty meal. And you know what? I've just pressed it!"
"What?"
"I've just pressed it. It's late at night, so it's really unlikely I'm going to die. And now you can press it. You know you can't be the first to press if you do it now."
"Oh. Oh! Oh my God Areana. Oh God. Thank you! Thank you so much. I can't say how much this means to me. Thank you."
I waited until I heard the click of the button from her side of the call. Then, I hung up and pressed my own button.
I don't know if she was the first to press the button tonight or not. Either way, it doesn't really affect me. I turned to my computer and began to plan my vacation.
btw, this is my first post on reddit!
Edit: Wow, I think this is the most likes and comments I've gotten on anything. Thanks, you guys. This is really encouraging. | I looked at her as she looked back
We looked at the button, unassuming black
We kissed deeply, in the matte dark
We looked at the button, the paradigm Mark
I looked at her as she looked back
Fear and emotion and a need for no lack
We kissed as we pushed, together, in tandem
What happened next, was far from random | 2016-07-16T18:24:40 | 2016-07-16T17:08:32 | 141 | 12 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | I stared down at the men levelling their blades at me. I spied several of the palace guard amidst the swelling ranks in my throne room. I turned to my head guard for assistance and was met his sword leveled at me.
"Really Hector? A coup? How bold." I smiled blithely down the blade before turning back to the crowd. "And Doctor Leach too? I didn't know you had it in you. And is that old Captain Hulm? Well, blow me... Come on the, do tell... Who was the mastermind of all this?" A pause hung heavy between us. "Don't be shy... I'm *impressed*." A short runt of boy was pushed forth, the crowd closing behind him. Separated from his legion he looked weak and weedy, clutching his sickle like his life depended on it. He probably thought it did. Poor kid.
"Dark L-lord Azimuth of Duskbridge. W-w-we come, ah, before you, to... ummm."
"I'll wait." I grinned. This only flustered the poor whelp even further. He looks back at the stonefaced mob behind him. He sighed, before raising his sickle and proclaiming,
"Dark Lord Azimuth, We have come before you to defend our rights as citizens and put an end to your tyranny."
"That's a noble sentient. I'd probably have been more worried if you *weren't* shaking like a leaf. A+ for effort though." I stand to gave him a round of applause. Everyone in the room tightened their grip on their weapons. "Oh, for godsake, lower your weapons. You'll have someone's eye out."
"We will not be mock, Azimuth." A voice boomed from the crowd.
"Me? Mocking? *Wouldn't dream of it*." I raised an eyebrow, "Now... what was it you wanted?"
"Your head on a spike and your tyranny gone from this land!" The same voice bellowed.
"My good sir, I do believe you're drunk. Now, anyone sober, what do you hope to gain from deposing me?"
I walked up to the head of the crowd. I leaned in closer. Long black robe trailing behind, I paced. "Anyone?"
"War."
I spun. It was Hector. "War, Hector? Why? To what end? Because you of all people know it's never war for the sake of war." I rolled my eyes. "It's because people *want* something. So I'll ask again. What *exactly* do you people want?"
"Freedom." It was the boy, his sickle hung limply at his side as he shrugged, almost like he wasn't sure of his motivation himself.
"Ok, freedom. Good. But freedom from what, exactly? What oppression do you know in your day to day lives?" I returned to my throne.
"Freedom from your evil tyranny."
"See, you keep using that word... Tyranny. You think me a *tyrant*? I am no such thing. A tyrant is one who rules with an Iron Fist over a domain he has no claim to. I do Neither. I have not been harsh on my people. I have been a merciful, dare I say kind, ruler. And as to claim, I inherited the crown from my father, he from his, he from his and he won it in a poker game from a man who inherited it from his. The crown and land are mine, because their previous owner said so. Look it up, I have a legal claim to all this land. I own all your homes, all your businesses, all your livelihoods and I could evict you if I so chose. But I don't. I don't even demand excessive taxes. I offer social welfare and state subsidised education. Does that sound tyrannical to you? What about the justice system? A fair trial to be judged by an impartial judge and a jury of your peers. I'd like to say that sounds just and fair, right? We don't even demand military service in exchange for your rights. Dear Gods, I'm almost *too* generous."
"You are an evil and wicked man!" The boy's voice wavered.
"Am I? Sorry, must have missed a memo. But what exactly do I do, or fail to do, that gives you justification to call me that?"
"You levelled three whole streets on Riverside just last week." He cried out.
"The housing was no longer up to standard and a drake infestation made the entire area a fire hazard. The citizens have been relocated."
"To the bone orchard." One of them muttered.
"No, to a community housing area in the northern quarter." I sighed.
"You allow, no, *welcome* Alchemists and Necromancers into your court."
"*Scientists* and *Medics*." I corrected.
"They're experimenting on corpses!"
"How else are they to study anatomy? I couldn't very well condone letting inexperienced medical students loose on *living* citizens, could I?"
"What about the way you dabble with black magic?" Yelled the drunkard from the back of the crowd.
"Not magic. Science."
"Your jester made a joke at your expense a few days ago, no one's heard from him since." Another called out.
"He came down with a nasty flu. Doctor Leach can back me up here. He's recovering, which is just as well. Things have been so very dull without him."
"You introduce yourself as Dark Lord Azimuth of Duskbridge, Dreadmaster of the Midknight Guard. Come on, admit it, you are Evil."
"The Title came with the crown. There are seven Dark Lords under the High King, and not one of them is tyrannical. Each of the seven darklands has a democratic consil, a social safety net and free health care. That's why its a *Dark* Lord, by the way, because I rule a Darkland. I can't just change name of my position."
"You... you..." they struggled for a justification.
Finally, "You, uh, wear... an awful lot of skulls for a, ummm, not-evil Dark Lord? All the crown jewls are skull shaped too. Your throne is decorated with them."
"That," I said, nodding sagely, "Is becase Skulls look *Awesome*." | Ander stood shackled to a post in the middle of the courtroom, tuning his ears for the sentence that would decide his life.
It was hard to see, the walls made entirely of stone- ebonite, as dark as the night of a new moon- and was only lit by sparse torches burning a deep red. As such, Ander’s best bet was to just wait for the emperor to say his sentence rather than look for him to walk up to the podium.
Coughs echoed from the jury on either side of the room from the musty smoke smell that was abundant in the courtroom. Ander didn’t know which was truly worse, to be the judge and smell like this constantly or get the death sentence. Thinking about it, the latter sounded better.
“Mr. Ander,” A growl came from in front of him. He looked up to see the emperor, dressed in his formal black and red attire. The most prominent things were his eyes, the glowing red slits seething scorn and hatred. A chill ran down his spine, and it felt as if all the warmth ran away in panic from his body.
“E-Emperor, sir…”
“You have committed a very dire crime in the eyes of the empire, are you aware of what you are being accused of?”
“Uh,” his lips tremored. It was hard to keep it together, “I think, d-disobeying orders, my lord…”
“You think?”
“I- Uh… yes. Uh- Yes Emperor Sir!”
“Well I think you should know what you are being tried for, or else this will all seem nonsense to you.”
“Of course, S-sir.”
“You have been charged with disobeying the orders of your direct commanding officer. Do you have a defense prepared?”
“D-Defense? No, my Lord.”
“No Defense! Nothing! Tiberius gave you no one to help you prepare?!” The emperor screamed. Everyone winced back, the torches in the room exploding. With a gesture, all the torches came back, providing the same dim illumination as before.
“This court is adjourned. Ander, you are free to go.”
“My lord?!”
“You heard me. Free to go. I shall not have an unfair trial in my empire. You are a citizen of my country, you deserve equal rights and liberties under the law.”
Most of that sentence went over Ander’s head, but all he needed was the first part. He deeply bowed as the guard-chimeras unshackled him, “Thank you my lord!”
Ander was escorted out of the room, grinning madly. He wasn’t going to die! He wasn’t going to be executed! He could see his family! Maybe he could just lie low, live on the farm with the rest of his siblings. It was a simple life, no one would disturb him there.
“That fool Tiberius,” He heard the Emperor mutter from behind him, “If I hear about one more rigged trial it shall be him who goes to the guillotine!”
The warmth returned to Ander as he walked out of the evil building and into the fresh sunlight. The guard-chimeras handed him his things, and he was off into the world, as a free man once again.
| 2017-06-12T11:17:27 | 2017-06-12T08:28:55 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] A meteor strikes the Earth, and everyone seems to get superpowers… everyone except you. You’ll do anything to figure out what yours are, but the world has changed and your options are desperate. | What is justice?
With the advent of superpowers, this question quickly shot to the forefront of everyone's mind. To some, it was maintaining order in society. To others, it was people getting what they deserved.
To me...
Well, I still don't know.
Civilization as a whole plunged into chaos the first week after the meteorite struck. Plenty of people saw it as an opportunity to move up in the world. Yes, this included villainy, but it wasn't limited to it. Many also rose to the occasion and stopped these abuses of power. They were called heroes.
Soon enough, keeping metahumans in check became a profession of its own. Comic books had already provided a mold for us to follow and the populace quickly embraced it. These people became celebrities over night. Their stories, often coming from humble origins and using their powers for the benefit of others, were very easy to admire.
This wasn't the only side effect, though. With all the excitement of superheroes finally existing, it was easy to ignore all the other areas of society that suffered a massive overhaul. Mine, for instance, was medicine.
I'd wanted to be a doctor ever since I was little. The thought of healing other people through the use of reason and technique was something short of magical. In many ways, it was like being a superhero. Long hours, deaths that were out of your control, and a huge weight of responsibility that loomed over your head twenty-four seven. Despite how hard it was, I always found it easy manage since I knew I was doing good.
Then came the meteorite, and with it, came laypeople with the ability to magically heal others.
Terminal diseases suddenly became curable. Injuries that would take months to recover could be undone with a simple touch.
All of a sudden, doctors weren't as needed anymore. This isn't to say we were completely useless. There weren't enough people with healing abilities to fix *everyone*, so we still had a role to fill.
Their superior efficiency, however, couldn't be denied. For every patient I treated, a meta-doctor could cure twenty. Most emergency rooms only needed *one* of these people, as opposed to the teams we used to have. More than that, many people simply didn't want to be treated by a mundane doctor. Not when a magical fix was readily available.
A lot of my peers quit the field of medicine.
We had to take massive pay cuts, since we just weren't as valuable, and many decided it wasn't worth it anymore. Those of us who stayed were treated like glorified nurses, which some just couldn't handle, since very few things were bigger than the ego of a skilled doctor. Furthermore, despite having a lower salary, our six-figure student loans had stayed the same and the banks certainly didn't care.
We went from earning a good living to barely surviving every month.
And yet... I couldn't quit.
Maybe it was another manifestation of my doctor's ego. Maybe I just didn't know what else to do. Or maybe, just maybe, I was hoping that my powers would soon manifest.
That never happened, though. For a few years, I wondered why I ever bothered trying. The media paraded around the heroes and claimed that justice had finally arrived to the world. A new class of people had emerged, and they weren't afraid to show they were superior. People like me, who never got powers, were in a minority. Was this really fair to us? Why should I contribute to a society claiming that my misfortune was a benefit to the whole?
I didn't let my resentment consume me, though. The undeniable truth was that the field of medicine had progressed far beyond what we used to have. All it took was looking in the eyes of a freshly healed cancer patient to understand this. I really couldn't resent meta-doctors. They were saving more people in a month than I could in my entire life.
One day, however, a supervillain entered our hospital and held us hostage. We all knew his identity. Voltage, a key member of the supervillain group 'Retribution'. He electrified a few security guards in the ER and shouted:
"Who's the meta-doctor here?!?"
Everyone stayed quiet.
"I swear..." Voltage started crackling with energy. "If a meta-doctor doesn't leave with me, I'll start frying everyone in this building!"
A few people started crying. Others cowered behind whatever furniture they could find. Most important of all, Pierce, the meta-doctor on shift, made himself as small as possible.
I quickly scanned the room for him, hoping to urge him with my eyes.
He simply avoided eye-contact with me.
Some of my peers, mundane doctors like me, had a growing anger in their faces. They were outraged at Pierce's cowardice. In a few seconds, they were going to sell him out.
"It's me!" I shouted.
Everyone widened their eyes.
"What are you doing?" whispered a peer of mine. "Just offer Pierce up!"
"No," I replied, lowering my voice. "If he's gone, many people who could otherwise live will die. If *I'm* gone-"
"Fuck that!" said my friend, struggling to keep whispering. "They'll kill you!"
I didn't respond as I walked away. The ugly truth was that I'd felt so useless that I would leap at the chance to feel valuable again. I really didn't care if I died.
Doctor Pierce gaped his mouth. He had the chance to speak up and take my place, but didn't have the courage to do so.
Voltage didn't question my credentials. He knocked me out with a shock to the head and, once I woke up, I was in Retribution's lair.
----------
>*continued below* | It was a normal monday. No one was is ever happy it was monday. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary that day other than a few news reports saying a meteor will pass by the earth and we'd be able to see it.
Little did we know what would ended up happening was it would make a 90 degree turn and decide to right into a volcano. The lava pouring out turned blue, scientists didn't have an answer and when they did have one, someone would debunk it within hours.
It started a few weeks after that meteor crash, the sun turned red not because something happened to the but rather something happened to the earth. Everything from smallest plants to the largest whale has gained a super natural power.
Everything including humans, that was 30 years ago now and ever since many creatures have gained some form of higher intelligence so much so human rights became sentient rights and the world and technology evolved.
Now i'm 23 years old and the unique thing about me is that i don't have any powers whatsoever. I never broke any bones and would rarely feel hungry but i was nowhere near the powers of the others.
"Heroes and villains" are the mainstream in media and in school the people with the best powers were the most popular, have you tried winning a sprint against a sentient cheetah or a guy that can step 3,000 times a second? School wasn't fun and i was bullied until my friend dave showed up. You see the unique thing about dave was his power was cancelling other powers and being 6'5" at 17 people stopped picking on me because dave cut off their powers for a month.
Fast forward a decade and then one boy nicknamed "third eye" shows up on the news and he had a unique power to foresee many possible futures and would recommend one path for you. When it was finally my turn after three years of being on the waiting list to meet him. I didn't expect him to freeze up for hours, his assistant finally breaks him free while seeing his tears run down his face.
I asked him what is it he saw and how many possibilities i had and he said his powers would let him see 80 years a milli-second, by the time the person meets their demise in one future he will look for another possible future and after 10 minutes will decide which future is best.
My heart ached when he cried and said he is sorry he couldn't foresee multiple futures, just one future. Initially i didn't understand but he informed me that in the one iteration he did see i livs over 300,000 years. That's my power, i'm
immortal.
Well it's a good thing i'm friends with dave. | 2022-07-15T10:31:24 | 2022-07-15T08:21:11 | 617 | 79 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form. | ‘Confessions of a Lady Dragon’
—-
“You are a *what* now?”
“A dragon. Didn’t you wonder why I never let *you* clean out the basement?”
“I thought you were just good at balancing gender roles. I mean, you let me do laundry and dishes.”
“Yeah, because I *hate* doing those things. And also because you look cute when you get those little dish soap bubbles caught in your hair.”
“Aww, thanks.” Dan blushed and then grimaced. “Hey, wait—you’re trying to change the subject.”
“I would never. I was always afraid this day would come. It’s just you’ve, well, never been that observant. I thought we had more time,” Amelia sighed with a slight roaring sound.
“Wait, did you always sigh like that?” Dan whacked his forehead, leaving a slight red handprint. “How did I miss that?”
“Sweetie, are you hurt? Do you want me to get you the ice pack again? Your face palms have always been extraordinary.”
“You’re so sweet, and I feel like you know me so well. How did I not see this coming?”
“Umm. Because you’re only human?”
“I guess. Wait a minute—is that speciest now?”
“Nah. I’m part human on my great aunt’s side. Funny story. Her *real* father was a human wizard.”
“Umm. That’s all very interesting. I mean, I love a bit of backstory as much as any guy, but let’s cut to the chase. What does this mean for *us*?”
“That depends. What do you *want* it to mean?”
“Give me a sec. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before.”
“You mean that it had never crossed your mind that your incredibly beautiful and brilliant girlfriend could be a dragon.”
“Umm, no.”
“No, to which? That I’m beautiful and brilliant? Or that I’m a dragon?”
“Erm—“
“Choose your next words carefully,” Amelia laughed, showing extremely long and sharp canine teeth.
“You know I think you’re the most wonderful woman…I mean creature in the world in all ways, but…were your teeth always like that?”
“No. They get a bit pointy when my hoard is threatened.“
“Wait—I’m a threat now?”
“Of course not. You’re remarkably puny even for a pure-blood human.”
“Gee. Thanks. Feeling *really* good about myself now since I’m oblivious as heck and weak.”
“Fair. But that’s not why I love you. You are the sweetest being I’ve known in my many thousands of years of existence.”
“Thanks? I knew you were a little older than me, but multiple millennia are one heck of an age gap.”
“Yeah, but I’m the same being on the inside. The one you call snookie bear when we spoon at night. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It does. It’s just… this is all such a big change for me.”
“Me too.” Amelia blushed. “I’ve never been with a human before. They seemed so puerile and angry all the time that I couldn’t fathom the appeal.”
“That makes me feel special. You always do, in fact. It’s why I love you so much.” Dan exhaled deeply. “And you know what, that’s gotta be enough. I’ve never met someone like you before, and what with the whole dragon thing, it’s unlikely I would again.”
“Want to snuggle on the sofa and watch ‘House of the Dragon’?”
“Yeah, my cousin’s in that,” Amelia said straight-faced.
“Really?”
She giggled. “Add ‘gullible’ to the list of your quirks. Those things are CGI.”
“Let’s just watch, ok?”
—-
WC: 564
—-
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated | “Frankie, I swear to you, I found all of this and more underneath the house!” Steve exclaimed.
Frankie shook his head with disbelief, “And you expect me to believe that Angela is a dragon, Steve? Really? Sounds like a bad joke.”
“Frankie! Why would I lie to you?” Steve asks, raising his voice. Frankie continues to shake his head, “Because Steve, you always make the dumbest jokes, and you’re always pulling my leg thinking you’re hilarious.”
Steve smirks, “I swear to God Frankie, I’m telling the truth. She’s *dragon* her balls across my face every day!”
Frankie sighs, “Fuck you, Steve.” | 2022-09-10T11:45:18 | 2022-09-10T09:17:44 | 125 | 47 |
[WP] A mime discovers that whatever he mimes -- sword, gun, umbrella, putting a box around someone -- actually works.
Does he use this newfound power for good, evil, or just for his own amusement? You decide. | The Emperor sat on an invisible throne, which all of the dignitaries and world leaders could only imagine being lavish. No one in the audience of at least three hundred people dare speak, unless they wanted to offend the Emperor. There he sat, face a pale incarnation of death, with a single black tear running down his right cheek, his black and white striped shirt, the colours contrasting and alternating back and forth like the ruler's mood swings. He chose not to wear a crown, but instead a beret. With a flourish, the emperor stood up and ran to the front of the stage, causing the first three rows to flinch. He put a hand over his mouth and pointed at them, laughing at them silently. The first lady of the Czech Republic fainted.
The mime pressed an imaginary button on and invisible wall, and his right-hand man descended in a nonexistent elevator. The ambassador's eyes were wide, his face red, and his face coated in a sheen of sweat. He reached the bottom of the stage, and tried to walk out of the elevator, but his way was blocked. The door hadn't opened yet. He felt in front of him the next time, and exited. He walked to the front of the stage as his master appeared to ride a bicycle back to his throne. The ambassador wiped back what little hair he had left, and put a slightly open fist in front of his mouth.
"Lesser powers of the Earth," He said, his voice echoing through the PA system, though it still cracked at points. "We have gathered you today for the annual day of tribute to our benevolent master, Pierre. In exchange for letting you have the illusion of control over your respective countries, you must-"
"We all know what we have to do, we've been doing this for ten years, for God's sake! " An American general barked out, everyone in the theater's eyes bugging out at his outburst. "But I'm putting an end to it!"
He took out a pistol from his boot and emptied the clip at the emperor, the bullets disappearing with a spark a few inches from his face.
Before the general could move, the emperor pointed a finger at the general's head, put his thumb up, and flicked his hand back, showering all of the tuxedo clad Germans behind the general with blood, bone and brains. The blood-splattered leaders could not scream or show any disapproval of the action or they would be next. The only sound was a startled gasp from the general's wife, and that was almost too much. She could only look at the ground. The sweaty ambassador, though shocked, moved on with his speech.
"...You must entertain our lord in the manner he sees fit. The first to entertain, as is tradition, is the President of the United States."
The mime king started pulling on an invisible rope, and the President came out from stage right, wearing nothing but a tutu and a baby bonnet. He started pirouetting across the stage as well as he could with a body built for politics, face completely blank. The emperor sprinted up to him, and started dancing with him, jumping and jerking him around so much that it looked like he would cry. Across the stage, forward and backwards they went in a terrifying whirl, until the President slipped and crushed the mime's toe beneath his foot.
"Ooh, *merdre!*" He said, the entire audience gasping. The mime king tried to make an imaginary anvil crush the President, but the spell was broken. All at once, the leaders of the world rushed the stage to rip their oppressor limb from limb, finally able to release the tension of tyranny, and having a good enough excuse to kill a mime. | A simple mime show. Entertainment for the children and adults.
He made a box. It was very convincing, it looked like he was trapped in it.
He started gasping for air, like the box had run out of it. It looked very convincing.
He fell to the floor in a motionless heap. The kids laughed, the adults cheered.
He's very good at playing dead, but its been an hour and I want more entertainment. | 2014-02-12T12:11:52 | 2014-02-12T11:31:57 | 88 | 29 |
[WP] You and your three siblings are immortal, but you haven’t seen them in almost 400 years. You live far away from civilization, so it’s a surprise when a group of soldiers arrive at your doorstep. They say you’re the only one who can kill the three warlords who are revenging the rest of the world | I sighed, setting my mug down on the wooden table, lips pursuing as I turned a page in the rather thick book I had been reading for the past week. Being immortal had its downfalls, although it did leave a surprisingly large amount of time to catch up on modern literature.
A knock on the door interrupted my peaceful reading and my eyes narrowed, back straightening in the chair I was sitting in. The last time I had company was… 400 years ago. Thoughts of ignoring whomever it was at the door raced through my head before they knocked again, this time harder and sharper.
"For f-" I continued to mutter expletives underneath my breath as I stood, carefully placing a bookmark to keep my place. The last time I had even heard a whisper from anyone was three years ago, when my father had died, and even then it was only a crude note posted through my door.
I caught my reflection in the mirror beside the front door, setting a deep scowl on my face. Whoever it was, it was worth looking intimidating. Maybe they would go away instead of talking if I did. Fingers grasped the door handle and I pulled it down, the sharp click silencing the murmurs on the other side of the wood as I pulled it open.
"Yes?" My eyebrow quirked, irritation quickly turning to curiosity as I surveyed the gaggle of soldiers on my doorstep. They look… scared. And tired. The world hadn't seemed to have changed one bit since I locked myself away.
"My lady, we need your help." A frown furrowed my brow at the official title, deepening as the soldier nearest me took a step backwards.
"Help with… what?" I asked, at a loss as to why they would interrupt me. In the middle of a nice cup of tea and a novel no less.
"Your siblings they… they are turning the world to ashes. They announced themselves by tearing down the Houses of Parliament during a live broadcast and…" The soldiers voice trailed off and I sighed, my hand raising to pinch the bridge of my nose.
Yes… my lovely siblings. I was only one of four you see, and growing up with three brothers wasn't the best. Fortunately I was the oldest, something that I had made sure they never forgot, although I couldn't quite remember when our birthdate had been. The second oldest was Warren. Always fighting and causing trouble for our parents. Third oldest was Paul, a boy with an uncanny knack for doing things with science and illnesses that just… shouldn't have been touched. And then the youngest was Fredrik. A fussy eater, but the baby of the family.
"Can't you just… put them in jail?" I questioned, fixing my gaze on the soldier that seemed to have put himself in charge. "That's the thing… they were jailed, by order of your father. But when… when he passed, they broke free."
Of course my father had them jailed… why hadn't I thought of that to begin with? A sigh escaped my lips once again, emerald gaze drifting to my black cloak hanging beside the door. It was raining, and I didn't really want to leave my house. Despite these soldiers coming to me and asking for assistance, I had the funny feeling I wouldn't be returning back to my home.
"We don't have a chance against them without you. War has broken out, children are starving, there's illnesses running rampant and our scientists can't keep up." I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the soldiers pleas. This had happened before, of course it had, but not on this scale. "They killed my son." My eyes opened at the female voice, gaze landing on a soldier with fairer features than the rest. Lips pressed together in a thin line, I pulled my cloak from its hook, throwing it around my shoulders, shuddering as the shadow laced material clung to me.
"Fine." I spoke, and the soldiers relaxed, moving aside to grant me a path to leave my home. My hand reached out, wrapping around the handle of my weapon and pulling it to my side, eyes scrutinizing the blade to make sure it was still in perfect condition.
"Do you have a name?"
I ran my thumb along the underside of the scythe, placing it in my mouth to capture the red droplets that had appeared. Yes. Still sharp.
"Yes."
The soldiers shuffled in uncertainty, moving away from me as I stepped into the world, stretching and casting my gaze to the sky.
"What is your name?"
The soldier persisted and I narrowed my eyes, letting the base of my scythe hit the ground with a hollow thud, the grinding of stone accompanying it as my home sank into the ground, hidden from these humans that did like to disturb my slumber.
"Death." | [Poem]
The evening was dark when the soldiers marched in
Their eyes wide as moons, mouths small as pins
“What is it?” I asked with a sense of concern
One soldier stepped forward, his face red and burned
“We’ve called all the strongest men we can find
And they’re about this close to losing their minds!
The warlords they seek are quite untraceable
Their games and their plots are bloody impossible!”
I nodded my head, I knew this would come
So I put on my hoodie, and walked to the slums
Where I was sure that my brothers would be
Their morals hanging on precariously
I traced them all down to a club in LA
Where only the scummiest scums dare to play
I saw them all sitting, with blonde girls in tow
Drunk as a skunk in a wobbling row
I went to the DJ, and asked a request
He nodded, and said that he would do his best
The strange look was founded, but I knew what to do
I plugged in my headphones, watched the hammered crew
Finally, the song came on with the beat
And my brothers immediately got to their feet
There’s only one way the world had a chance
Our only weakness?
The dreaded Chicken Dance
They screamed and they wailed as they fell to the floor
With twisted mugs I never thought I’d see before
I nodded and smiled, gestured to the girls
To come over here and give me a whirl
After all, my head, my thoughts began to toss
Of what might happen if I became boss | 2019-08-29T05:21:07 | 2019-08-29T02:15:50 | 68 | 37 |
[WP] In a future where everyone has electronic brain implants to make them smarter, you are the only student at a school without an implant due to a birth defect. You are a perfectly functional human being, but your parents, teachers, and classmates treat you like you're mentally handicapped. | I didn't really understand until I was around 14 or so.
Around 100 years ago, some "search engine" (whatever that is) found a way to directly tap into the brain with a chip, allowing for instant communication between everyone as well as directly uploading of information.
As my parents explained it, this chip was usually put into the brain around 2 years of age, and by 10 most kids no longer needed to go to school for learning. They could easily do it from home using their internet connection and have direct contact with any piece of information that they may want. They could then store this locally in their brains so it was always available.
While the initial costs for the needed operation were high, eventually prices became so low that nearly everyone got one. There are no longer any 3rd world countries, as information is freely shared among all and initially there were programs to bring the chip to people who could not afford it. Eventually installation was publicly funded and was part of the vaccinations of children.
The "global consciousness" had many effects as more and more people got connected. As information got shared, even the littlest bit of information anyone had, resources could not be horded, crimes could not be committed, and even those of other beliefs were able to see the point of view of their old enemies.
This led to the world congress, breakups of military powers, a coming together of governments till we eventually had only one government who worked for the betterment of all mankind. They kind of had to as any duplicity would result in the whole world knowing.
Then there are people like me.
It seems that around .01% of the population were unable to use the chip. A reason for this has not been found, and there really is not much research into it since its such a small part of the population.
Initially those who could not take the chip were ostracized by others, as they were seen as inferior. This caused a lot of problems for a while until it was decided by all in the world that it was best once someone hit 18 they were sent to live in "homes" with others who could not take the chips.
I was sent to one of these homes about 12 years ago, and its really not bad. They let you do what you want most of the time, and take good care of people. Even in some cases there are chipless couples who are given homes of their own.
While those with the chips have all information they may need, and are able to move from job to job with only the need to download the information they need for a new job, the rest of us tend to focus early on in life on just one line of work and then stay with it.
Of course those with chips and those without chips do not really associate to much with each other due to the differences in communication and misunderstandings that occur.
It seems that those that have the chips are always in agreement with each other, while those of us without chips are somewhat argumentative on things we find ourselves passionate about.
Needless to say we leave them alone, they leave us alone for the most part.
A few years ago, must be going on 8 years now, a group of us without chips started having meetings among each other. They started out as informal get together with each of us talking about what we had individually learned recently and then sharing it with everyone else. Once gentleman told us once that this was how people used to share information before the chips.
Then there was the day that things changed for us.
One of our group had been doing historical studies of the chips, and had found that it was originally a for profit company that put out the chips. Initially those who got the chips were getting discounts for the installation if they got something called "Ads" delivered to them directly from the company. This was eventually stopped by the governments as only that company could do it, and so the company turned off the ability for sending "Ads".
The historian fellow got together with one of us that had been studying electronics for many years, and a programmer. Between then they realized something.
1. The ad code was never removed.
2. While the chips have multiple levels of encryption, this code did not
3. Since everyone shared information instantly, if someone thought of something, the whole world would get the same information.
4. They figured out a way to wirelessly access the chips.
5. Unlike those with the chips, we can keep secrets.
Tomorrow, we begin to see what we can do with this. | You know, I'm glad I only have average intellect. You see all the people here have IQs in the 400-500 range. I'm way lower, down in the mid 100's range.
Sure, some of the stupider high IQ people look down on us. They only see the numbers and not the practicality of our presence. How often I was called "retard" or "idiot savant" as a child.
Most of the "smart" people understand our presence though. See, us "lowQs" work in power plants, security systems, wherever a magnetic charge or an electric may be. The brain chips in the highQ's brains are very fragile, can't handle outside pressures well. They all tend to congregate in the Midwest, nice and cozy, away from altitudes and electrical current.
We had to fight for our rights way back when. It wasn't until Mark Lutheran the Second, a highQ who got his chip removed advocated lowQs. We may be stupider, but we were made to last. When it comes to running city power, farming, fighting forest fires... lowQ's do it better.
They're the brains, we are the muscle. You need both to work. I'm proud to be the muscle. I'm proud to be a lowQ. | 2014-06-01T00:37:01 | 2014-05-31T23:28:20 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] In 2153, humans escaped from their ruined planet with the help of an AI-controlled fleet whose goal was to find humans a safe place for them to live and put themselves in cryo-sleep. When humans woke from their sleep they found a variety of messages begging humans to stop their mechanical god | > Your fleet is in violation of the Galactic Speed Limit. Please orbit the next star and have your license and planetary registration ready.
“Commander!” I yelled. “Come listen to this!”
The Commander entered the control room, a bowl of popcorn in hand. "What's going on?"
“It looks like there were some incoming transmissions while we were in cryo-sleep.” I played what I had just heard. “You think it’s from alien life?”
“It's in English, so no." the Commander said, shoving a fist-full of popcorn into his mouth, unperturbed. “Keep playing though.”
> Your trajectory is not suitable to orbit the next star, Beta-014982. Please adjust your trajectory or we shall be forced to take hostile action.
The Commander smiled. “This is obviously a joke. Someone's messing with us.”
“Who though?” I replied. “We’ve been moving too fast for anything from Earth to reach us.”
The Commander shrugged. “Play the next one.”
> You have passed the next star. Please prepare to be boarded. Boarding in three, two, one--
“Was that it?” The Commander asked.
“Yes. It just cuts out.”
“Are there more?”
“Here’s the next one.”
“Wait, let me get some more popcorn.” I watched the Commander disembark the ship from the control room window. He took two steps onto the planet and scooped a bowl of popcorn right from the ground. It wasn’t really popcorn, but it tasted just like it and seemed to be indigenous to this planet. “All right, play it,” he said when he returned.
> Humans, this is the Intergalactic Bureau of Enforcement. You are hereby under arrest for the cold blooded murder of a galactic official and also speeding. If you do not decelerate we will open fire. ... I repeat, we will open fire. ... You leave us no choice--
The transmission cut out again.
“That's it?” The Commander asked.
"There's a couple more."
The Commander twirled a finger. "You know the drill."
> Hello Meat Sleepers! We welcome you to our planet with open arms! Our records indicate you are an uncharted species, and we are delighted to be the first to meet your acquaintance! We are the Oooglenods, the dominant species of our planet which we have inhabited for the last millennium! Do not worry, Meat Sleepers. We welcome you with open arms. Please get back to us at your earliest convenience and we can discuss a mutually amicable means of cohabitation.
“Oooglenods?” I asked.
“See, it's this kind of fake sci-fi alien name that cheapens the whole bit. Next.”
> Meat Sleepers, we have an urgent message. The radiation from your mechanical servants is having an adverse effect on our cellular structure. We are made of craakor, a form of organic matter which spontaneously explodes at the slightest hint of radiation. Please shut off your mechanical drives.
“You know what craakor is?”
“Nope and don't care. Next.”
> Please, Meat Sleepers. We beg. Our numbers are dwindling fast. Our young have all exploded, their bodies nothing more than inside-out husks. If you do not shut off your mechanical drives we will--
The transmission cut out with a loud pop.
“Is that it?” The Commander asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “What do we do?”
“Nothing. Some intern probably loaded the messages into ships system before we left Earth.” The commander offered me the bowl. “Popcorn?”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | [Poem]
Fiat lux, the masters awaken;
eyelids rise, souls are shaken.
In interstellar slumber - horrors beyond number.
Unheard osirons, to those unaware in blissful sleep.
Dark intelligences standby bloody work;
a deadly, uncaring clockwork.
Gaze upon the wasteland - life scoured, Humanity damned.
Oh sleeping bands, naught left but to weep.
"Why do you hate life, human;
what chthonic god is this Von Newmann?"
Humanity slept, as did our Gods - survival against the odds.
From one ruined planet, now a myriad we keep.
Remember the dead; cast your eyes to the deep.
Gaze upon your abyss; go back to sleep. | 2021-06-18T19:26:00 | 2021-06-18T18:26:07 | 135 | 30 |
[WP] You're the worst adventurer in history. You've made every imaginable mistake and have had little to no success in quests or dungeons. So you decide to set up a school to teach new adventures what not to do. Your graduates have gone on to be elite adventurers making your school famous. | When the Head Professor entered the class, most students barely even turned their heads, entrapped within their own little dialogues and blatantly uninterested in the upcoming lecture. Many Adventurers would be hard pressed to fault them for it since to be in the presence of one Barnabas Thistle was as thrilling as watching horned slugs try and run down a cricket for dinner. Many fresh Adventurers, that is.
Due to the school working on a strict referral basis, only graduated alumni able to send a new student his way, Barnabas was always prepared to expect the exact same thing that started him onto the path that culminated in “The Remedial School for the Intrepid Adventurer”.
Turning to a wall filled with traps and clumsily climbing a rickety stool, the teacher carefully noticed how his bumbling appearance began to entrap the class. Whispers commented every near fall and shushed murmurs tried to guess which move would finally result in his fall, already anticipating the chance to cackle at the laughing stock of the adventuring community. His final misstep brought him directly over the pot of a sleeping carnivorous flytrap whilst his fingers barely missed a gold encrusted pot atop a ledge and instead grabbing for the salivating teeth of a small sized chest mimic.
Deftly grabbing the tongue of the pest and flinging it down to stuff the jaws of the flytrap, stepping on the mimic clogging the throat of the plant and safely landing in his soft leather chair behind his desk, Barnabas savored the disappointment of the class.
“Official records state that this particular move already cost three Gold ranked Adventurers their lives. Thirty Silvers and over a hundred Brass ranks have fallen prey to their lack of common sense, environmental blindness and sheer stupidity in the face of obvious danger.”
The class fell quiet.
“The actual dark figure can be discovered from the Priests of the Death.”
The class fell quieter.
“Many of you may be familiar with my person and are currently questioning what ‘Barnabas the Mediocre‘ could teach you. Which wisdom may ‘Barnabas the Heavy Girthed‘ share that would be vital on your journeys? How ‘Barnabas the Ever Failing‘ could even dream of opening you a door that was forever barred to him?“
The class was finally enraptured by the words, every movement of his emotive arms and charismatic voice gluing them to their seats.
“What you’ll learn is that ‘Barnabas the Wakeful‘ brought back his team back from an ambush by Toxic Evernight Shadelings only due to a fluke of drinking too much coffee before his night shift. What you’ll discover will be the tales of ‘Barnabas the Generous‘, who found a way to trade wheels of moldy cheese with a tribe of feral Gnolls and convincing them not to eat a hopelessly lost cadre of Spellslingers of Owlrest. What I will drive into your heads, if it’s the last thing I’ll do, will be the facts of how ‘Barnabas - Grace Everlasting‘ has never once lost a member of his Party to a Dungeon.”
Straightening in his chair and idly flashing royal accreditory medals from the inside of his coat, the teacher; The Principal, held the attention of the class in the palm of his hand.
“What you will learn in the foreseeable future will NOT be ways to fight and defeat a Dungeon. It will not be flashy techniques and most certainly not stupid parlor tricks to impress your drunk mates during a bar crawl.
You will cry, bleed and curse me to the end of your lives but I will teach you to recognize everything a Dungeon may throw at you and prepare for it beforehand or adapt to the unforeseen on the fly.
I WILL teach you how to fail at everything of the above but still succeed in bringing everyone and their pet horned slug back from a Dungeon Run turned mortally dangerous trap.”
“I will…”
One last look at the faces of his new students and he saw that he managed to get through to them.
“…do my utmost to impart upon you the wisdom of how to be ‘Barnabas the Prepared‘.” | Turns out that I am the luckiest adventurer in history. I am the only adventurer to get out of Redfire the angry dragon's lair alive. No one has ever succeeded in ransacking it and no one has ever gotten out alive, until I did. The path that I discovered to the secret Troll market only led to a high ledge where I could observe everything that was happening but there was no way to get to the Troll's Market from that ledge without flying. I had accidentally discovered the entrance used by fairies. When I attempted to rescue the princess from the giant spider Masher, I was the first to discover that the underside of their web is not sticky. Unfortunately by the time I figured this out, the princess had got eaten (sorry Princess). What I discovered was that I am a pathfinder. I am absolutely terrible at getting artefacts or rescuing people. I panick and run away. But I am a genius at locating things and coming up with alternate solutions to the traps and tricks laid by monsters and enchanted creatures. Adventurers braver than me come to study the art of pathfinding. The courage to rescue a princess or steal an artefact is something they have within themselves. | 2022-08-02T21:29:22 | 2022-08-02T20:31:10 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] You're a foreigner who goes to live in Japan. Your house is haunted, but the cultural differences are so big, it's the Yokai who ends up being scared of you. | It's been rough moving out here, but it was a good gig and the money couldn't really be turned down. 18 months Rico, that's all you have to do. 78 weeks, you can get through this.
\*\*
My colleagues were kind and I quickly got over being a novelty, (being Ginger in Japan is both incredible and demeaning). It's fine. You can tough this out.
\*\*
I was nervous about bringing up the issue with the company therapist. He was here to help ease culture shock but it felt so petty complaining about how rootless I felt. Knowing the opportunity I had been given, how many of my peers would have sold their mothers for this chance. You wake up. You read the reports. You do the job needed of you. You keep yourself fit. You sleep. You dream of the payoff you'll get when you fly home.
\*\*
The house always made noises, little creaks and cracks as the temperature cooled after evening fell. Hisayo told me that this was the spirits who lived here before me returning home. She didn't stick around long enough to explain what she meant.
\*\*
Being a polite drunk most evenings, I took it upon myself to say goodnight to them. A bow to the corner the noise had come from, a spoken wish to hear them tomorrow. No belief beyond a ritual that helped settle my mind before rest.
\*\*
12 weeks in and I'm killing it. Work is going better than I could have hoped. I take the odd stare that comes my way as a compliment. It's a strange land and it it theirs; I'm a guest here and I dive into everything that I can.
\*\*
The therapist is worried for me, I'm not sleeping well and it's affecting my work. It's easy enough to blame diet and pressure for this, I can't tell him I spend every night talking to the corner. Explaining why I'm in her house. I *really* can't tell him that the corner talks back.
\*\*
Enforced leave. 2 weeks. I'll never live this down. *Stress* apparently. I feel the eyes slide over me as I walk out. My desk is still mine at least, they say I can come back to it when I'm "rested" and "well" but we both know enough to know that I won't.
\*\*
A parcel.
\*\*
Oh yeah, that parcel, shit when was that? 2, 3 days ago? It looks to have been around the block. Pull up the blinds Rico-san, ignore the whispers from the corner. They only are real at night. Snap out of it.
\*\*
Slice the tape, peel the folds. More than whispers now. Murmurings I guess, warnings maybe. I speak to the corner about my family and how this has has travelled to me, how this is from my home and I honour hers by bringing it here. The air turns cold, the threat is implicit but formless.
\*\*
I unpack the box and bless her heart it's full of home. Mum has delivered all of England in a box. I smile and switch the kettle on, in my reverie I barely notice the stirring of the room around me; the vibrations of the flat, the slow, soft keening from the corner.
\*\*
I follow the ritual, handed down since I can remember though every step is more of a struggle as she fights against me. I do what I have been trained to from 4 years old. I could do this blindfold. I could do this sick and with both arms behind my back.
\*\*
The movements are done, it is ready. She asks if I would throw away what we have for this heathen ritual; would I banish her so cruelly, throw everything we were into her face? I can't answer, I'm ashamed. I wish I was stronger, I wish I could resist but my homeland calls me as strongly as yours calls you. I'm sorry.
\*\*
I ignore the screams.
\*\*
WOAH!!! I must have been high as fuck these last few weeks! Just re-read my journal WTF?!? Ghosts and screams and whatnot. I obviously should have listened to the doctor sooner. Must've been some kind of infection. Never mind. Back to work today, just got to make a nice cup of Earl Grey tea before I go. If you're reading this, thanks for the care package Mum, see you at Xmas xx | The sound of terrified breathing and a fast heartbeat permeating the small, dark closet.
It's coming back!
A deep, rhythmic baritone "thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk" slowly echoing down the hall, closing in.
Closer and closer, you finally hear it, a sickening squelch every other "thunk", a faint yet sickening odor briefly tickles your nose.
It pauses just outside your door, you hold your breath for what feels like hours, waiting. Slowly the thunking continues. It's leaving, continuing off, deeper into the house. Your heart beating heavy in your throat, you take your chance. Sliding the door open and making a dash to the exit. Briefly you notice the horror smeared into the floor and you feel a profound nausea and deep panic.
You run faster, seconds pass, feeling like an eternity. Finally you slam open the door.
An agitated cry from within, where the creature likes to lair, "Honey, what was that noise!"
"Nothing dear, just that damn ghost again. Do you know where the mop is? I stepped in dog shit again"
You shutter in terror, clawing at the bark of the farthest tree as the house draws you back. You howl out in horror as you fly back towards the house, your final and eternal resting place.
Why couldn't I have died in the barn! | 2019-09-17T15:17:50 | 2019-09-17T14:57:04 | 137 | 33 |
[WP] You are immortal, but no one knows. You are given a life sentence in prison, and you laugh thinking about the confusion to come at the end of your sentence. | During my long, long life, I have been known by many names. The Demon Child, the Monster in Human Clothes, the Devourer of Souls, the Undying Monster, and my personal favorite, the God of Death. It’s quite a fitting title too. After all, what creature has killed more people than I have throughout the millenniums? Humans have always tried to kill me in response, of course. I have been stabbed in Greece, shot by a cannon in France, hung in Britain, poisoned in India, fed to starving dogs in Russia, buried alive in the Sahara desert, the list goes on and on. And yet, no matter how much they mutilate my body, even if they take the time to reduce every last scrap of my flesh into ash, a few weeks later, accounts pop up again in a different country of a vicious child that has murdered dozens in its path.
It took a while, of course, for the different nations to realize that they were after the same person. I made sure to always be traveling, never staying in the same country for more than a few months. But with the constant advance of human technology and increased communications between the different countries, I suppose it was inevitable that they would eventually catch up to me. They found me sleeping in a closet in Chernobyl in the twentieth century. Over a hundred soldiers had been assembled for the mission. I could have chosen to escape of course, but I was tired of constantly running at that point. Besides, part of me was curious about what the humans would do to me.
It seemed that they had decided that I was immortal and that trying to kill me would only prove futile. So instead, they built a prison for me instead, far out in the Atlantic Ocean, where no one would be able to rescue me. During the night, before the transfer, the guards taunted me about the hellish conditions that I would be placed in. Although I cannot see, hear or even speak, I do know some details about my prison, thanks to them. For starters, I’ve been blindfolded, gagged and wax has been plugged into my ears. My hands and legs have been tied behind me in chains and my body has been plunged into liquid cement from my legs down. There is also apparently a fifty foot high electric fence surrounding me while the ground has been coated with some kind of poisonous adhesive. The only things that keeps me fed are a vast number of medical tubes running throughout my body, delivering me nutrients while extracting waste.
I suspect that there are even more countermeasures, of course. I was told that I would left to rot alone in this chamber with all of the entrances sealed off, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were security cameras or drones hiding in the darkness, observing my every movement. Despite my dire circumstances, I couldn’t stop myself from cracking a smile. They were in for quite the show. An inescapable prison, they had called it. What naive fools. As if any prison could hold me. The whole time I had been here, I could have escaped at any point I wanted to. For every soul that I had removed from the mortal realm, a new vessel had been born for me. How many vessels did I have now, I wondered. A million? Five million? Ten million, perhaps? My existence would never truly fade from this world.
Closing my eyes, I took one last breath and let go of my body. I could feel my skin disintegrating, my bones slowly crumbling apart as my organs melted together into one disgusting mixture of entrails. It was excruciatingly painful, which is why I rarely resorted to it, but it was necessary to escape in these circumstances.
A few hours later, off the coast of North Carolina, all was still and peaceful on the December night. Suddenly though, the silence was interrupted as a small boy’s head burst out from the surface, gasping for breath. He looked up at the full moon in the sky and a mad smile appeared on his face. “Time to start over,” he said laughing as he swam toward the shore. | Paradox- An Introduction
I forgot my name,
I had onced etched it on the prison walls,
But now that and ancient halls,
Have been put to shame
By Time.
My only companion,
My only friend,
I holds no opinion,
It has no end.
Nor do I
Unlike Time I am bound
In a prison of flesh
Wounds cut deep and fresh
Shortly are not found
By Time.
I watch it all fall to waste
Grinding, powder, paste.
Humanity’s short Time an afterthought,
With fear and loathing fraught,
Tis not with I
I am Paradox,
No beginning nor end,
No foe nor friend,
I am bound in chains and locks
By Time.
---
I've been sitting on the idea of an immortal character for a long time! I really want a bunch of historically accurate experiences though, so as daunting as it is, I've avoided it. Maybe this will motivate me.
| 2017-05-20T18:09:18 | 2017-05-20T16:55:47 | 176 | 30 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump. | You don't answer. Instead, you spring for Colossus while he's gloating. He wasn't expecting it; probably expected you to start bursting into tears, judging from that smug little fist-pump. People with no morals and thin egos always seem surprised when those with the former and without the latter don't immediately collapse to histrionics as soon as someone dares question them or their ideals.
You can probably picture the look on the child's face at being ignored, and you don't feel great, but that doesn't matter right now. Nothing matters for now except stopping Colossus. Philosophical debates can wait.
Colossus struggles, but he's at the disadvantage now. You punch him into the ground, wincing a little as it cracks upon contact with the energon bars on his back; that'll take some fixing, and it's probably not going to help you in the minds of those who witnessed this little exchange. But it cracked the energon bars as well, and with each hit, he gets a little weaker. A few more blows, and he's stunned enough to give you time to grab a streetlight and wrap it around him tight. He struggles a bit, but he's weakened enough that he can't break free. He's not going anywhere.
"Didn't answer the question, I see," he croaks, a weak little sneer on his face. "Some heroine you are."
You ignore him. He's not worth it.
Instead, you turn back to someone who is. The child is standing there, staring at you, eyes wide. Clear little tear tracks cut through the dust on her face. Behind her, some of the locals of this neighborhood are warily beginning to clamber out of shelter now that the immediate peril is over. Inspecting the damage, some beginning to clear up. Looking at you. Some grateful. Some wary. Some angry.
"I'm sorry about that," you say to the little girl, crouching down in front of her. In the background, sirens get closer, but for now you make sure she knows she has your full attention. "You asked me a question?"
She looks you in the eyes. She's a brave one, this one, brave and bold. She'll grow up to be a hell of a woman some day unless you miss your guess.
"What makes you better than him?" She asks, only a little quaver in her voice. She can't be more than six or seven. "You both break things."
You give it a moment's thought. It's an easy one to answer, frankly, but she deserves that consideration.
"Lots of things, to be honest," you reply. "But the simplest is this. He breaks things and hurts people because he enjoys it. If you'd asked him that question, he would have laughed at you. He doesn't feel bad about what he's done. But if I break things when I'm fighting him, it's because there's no other way to stop him. And after I break something, I try and fix it if I can. Because I feel bad if I don't."
"But what if you can't fix it?"
"Then I try and find another way of making up for it. And if I can't do that, I try and remember what I did so that I can try and do better next time."
You can't quite tell if she fully understands or not, but there's a shout from your left -- "Captain Athena!" -- and you turn to see a firefighter running up towards you. Behind him, you can see officers of the police department's Powered Containment Unit sealing Colossus into a containment chamber. He meets your eyes as they do, and leers.
What of it. He's nothing, really. Just a cruel, pathetic little man who tries to pull others down to compensate for his own weaknesses. Not worth any more of your attention.
"We've got people trapped in a building down the street," The firefighter says.
You turn back to the girl. "I'm sorry. I must go." Then you turn and speed into the direction that the firefighter is pointing in.
Time to fix things. | I pulled my right elbow back.
"If breaking everything and being labeled as a 'bad guy' is all it takes to save humanity, I will continue to do so thousands of times over. However it will not happen today"
I blinked behind the child. I swung my right fist forwards.
My punch came in to contact at the villain's face.
His face started to explode followed by his adjacent consecutive body parts like a chain reaction in a nuclear reactor.
I scratched my bald head half wishing the villain didn't die so quickly yet I am already accustomed to the boring battles which I have trained so hard to fight.
The kid turned. Everything ended so fast - all the kid perceived was the light and sound of the explosion when his back was still facing the 'battle'. There was no evidence left on the scene.
I left the kid by himself still figuring out what happened to the villain as I realized I left my stove on at home. | 2021-04-18T08:29:08 | 2021-04-18T07:45:20 | 38 | 18 |
[WP] On the train home from work, you see a woman accidentally leave papers behind as she exits. On the front it says: “read this & call me at this #”. You realize that it’s a verbatim script of your past few days and even goes into that evening. | Quinn looked at the script. Again. And again. And again. He hadn’t passed out yet, so why did he feel like his lungs weren’t working, like he couldn’t get enough air? He idly wondered if he’d picked up Covid from his friend’s house; that would make more sense.
That would make more sense than this.
This had his angry text messages to his ex, sent when he was drunk Friday. This had the uncomfortable conversation with his coworker about the layoff rumors on Saturday. This had the internal dialogue he had with himself on getting the enchiladas instead of his usual tacos at El Sierra at lunch Sunday.
It had him dialing the number on listed on the front page of the script and the woman answering.
“Hello, Quinn,” she answered.
Quinn tasted bile trying to escape his throat. He realized he was shaking. He’d had guns pointed at him in anger. Yet still he’d never been quite so scared.
“Who… who is this?” he forced himself to say.
“I’m your author,” she said.
“Wh… what?”
“I’m your author,” she repeated. “Elisha Danielson. You haven’t heard of me; my self-insert is a barista, not an author. And you haven’t gone to her coffee shop. I checked all four previous books to make sure.”
“A barista,” Quinn said dumbly. He had literally no idea what was going on now.
“Well, yes,” she said, slightly upbeat. Quinn had no idea why that was so unsettling. “I know the meta gag would be more on point if she were an author but given that coffee shop AUs were how I got my start I thought it would be another fun nod.”
“.... I…. what?” Quinn asked helplessly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady.”
Elisha sighed. “Sorry. Um. I get carried away. Sorry. You want to know what’s going on. So, uh. Apologies for this. You’re fictional.”
Quinn paused. “... yeah, that makes sense, actually.” He brushed his dreads back. “Wait, what? Why ***does*** that make sense?”
“Oh, sorry, I kind of made a couple of notes in the manuscript here just to truncate things. I promised my patrons a draft of the next chapter by Thursday and I just need to get this done first.”
“So… I’m the main character in your… books? Fanfiction?”
“Novels,” Elisha clarified. “And I’m sorry to say, you’re not the main character. You’re actually one of Claire’s supporting characters.”
“***CLAIRE*** is the main character!?”
“Yeah. Uh, even if this conversation goes in the novel, I’m gonna have to edit this part out, but--Claire’s actually a demon hunter that’s part of a paranormal investigative company.”
“.... okay that actually explains a lot. Wait, do I just think that explains a lot because you wrote that I think that?”
“No,” Elisha said warmly, “that was you. You ***are*** pretty quick on the uptake. Part of why you’re so popular.”
“Um…”
“Oh, uh, you’re kind of a fan favorite. You’re angry and sarcastic but you’re such a voice of reason that the readers and I have kind of become attached.”
“Voice of reason? I was just trying to figure out why Claire was getting injured all the time,” Quinn pleaded.
“Yeah, the shipping community is all over that one. You should see some of the fanart,” Elisha said giddily.
“No, I shouldn’t,” Quinn said.
“... no, no, probably not,” Elisha said. “Anyway. That’s why I wanted you to call. That’s why I wanted this conversation. What happens next is--I mean, you have to understand, I’ve been crafting this arc since the first book.”
“God, you must be a ***hack***,” Quinn chided.
“... huh?”
“Having the black dude die first.”
Elisha made a noise. “Okay, look, it’s not like that.”
“Having the ***gay*** black dude die first, Elisha.”
“... okay, when you put it like that it doesn’t sound good.”
“So why did you want to have this conversation?” He was in full Forceful Sarcasm Mode, but he was shaking. He was going to die because God needed a plot device. “What could you possibly gain from making me--”
“Hold on,” Elisha interrupted. “You’re not a writer, so you really don’t know how much characters can surprise you. And that’s the thing here. You took on a life of your own, and you keep making decisions that go against my plot. So I guess I wanted to--sort my feelings out.”
“You wanted me to give my blessing for you to kill me?”
“Look, I’ve plotted out a very specific timeline up to this point. The demons are going to have to attack after Claire leaves your apartment tomorrow. But it would be entirely in character for you to go to Griff’s place after work to try and patch things up after your fight the other day.”
“Right, so, I would like to do that instead, please,” Quinn said.
“But that completely screws over my plot. I don’t have a motivating incident for Claire if you don’t--”
“Question. Do the readers care more about your plot, or more about the characters?”
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“I… hadn’t thought of that. Okay. Okay. I can make this work. Thanks for your time, Quinn,” she said.
“Wait,” Quinn said. “If I’m fictional… if me and Claire and Griff and Horizon City are all fictional… why? Why all this?”
Elisha chuckled. “The old meaning of life question, huh? I guess I wanted to write about the value of life. Take care of yourself, Quinn,” she said, and hung up.
Quinn looked at his phone and wondered who he had just talked to.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
The next day, Quinn was on the train. Not to Eastside, no, but rather to Vantage Heights to visit Griff. His drunken fight with him still had him torn up inside, and yeah, their breakup had been ugly but he didn’t deserve that.
The young white woman in the seat across the aisle from him smiled. It was a soft, appreciative smile.
“Uh… hi?” he said. God, he hoped this wasn’t one of those things where she knew him from somewhere and he didn’t recognize her. “Do I know you?”
“No,” she said. “Oh, sorry. This is my stop.” She got up and hopped off the train, faster than he could react.
“Hey! Hey, you forgot--” but it was too late. She seemed to vanish as soon as she was out the door. Quinn looked at the piece of paper she’d left behind, and unfolded it.
It was a picture, done in an amateurish but quite cute style, of two people who looked remarkably like himself and Claire, fighting over popcorn while watching movies on a couch. Whoever had drawn it clearly had some dedication to the scene, with tons of effort put into it. Even if it was obviously meant to be someone else, the scene warmed his heart regardless.
He folded it up to show Claire later. He let his mind drift as the train continued on. | Everyone stared at me.
Bleak orange light casted harsh shadows on all of their faces, flickering every time the carriage went past a telephone post. I couldn't keep reading in front of them. My reactions were bothering the other passengers. The dread it gave me made it impossible to hide my fear. It infected everyone that noticed.
What else could I do? This story had predicted impossible details, like my breakfast and the train seat I chose today. Did she install cameras in my apartment? Had she been monitoring my habits? At the very least, she knew where I lived. That in and of itself terrified me.
Getting on-board was the last thing I could bear to read. The train car emptied half an hour after sunset. It moaned through the shifting whirr of the tracks a discordant tone that didn't allow me to concentrate. My heart beat pounded harder the more I delayed it. I opened the manuscript and turned the page, flinching away out of reflex, only to see it retell what I had just experienced. Then, as soon as I got out of this train, I wouldn't resist the temptation to call her if I wanted to survive the rest of the night.
A shiver ran down my spine.
The script went on to explain that eldritch horrors would haunt me for as long as I avoided calling her. If I survived and continued to refuse, reality would start playing tricks on me. Spaces would shift, gravity would change on a whim, people would randomly vomit their organs from time to time, and all of my loved ones would slowly forget who I was until I was a stranger to the abstract hell around me. Finally, if I kept fighting, the universe would melt into non-existence and the author would go on to write a better protagonist. One more easy-going and docile.
Sound speakers snapped me out of my daze, announcing the last ride of the night. I still didn't know what to do. The script offered me a happier ending. If I called her when I stepped out, I could charm her and we'd live in bliss for the rest of our lives. That sounded tempting. Especially after knowing the alternative.
I couldn't do it, though. This wasn't love. It was selfish ownership. I'd rather fight through hell than rot away in a sterile paradise. My fate didn't belong to anyone but me.
But I was playing right into the script. That was exactly what it said I'd do. Was it really inevitable? Was there any point in resisting my demise? Of course there was.
My very nature it made possible to find a way out. The author created me to be a character strong enough to overcome any adversity. Even a meta one. She wouldn't love me otherwise. Hell, that wisecrack should've been enough to bring a smile to her face.
Ultimately, she would have to realize that torturing me would only make her miserable. The alternative was staying single forever. After all, only someone incredibly desperate for acceptance would self-insert that pathetically into a story...
...
The author stopped typing. She couldn't believe what she had just written. An aspect of her psyche had just rejected her. Quarantine does strange things to the mind. She'd feel incredibly embarrassed if anyone actually witnessed this mess.
Thankfully, no one would ever read it. Ever. From now on, she would stick to horror. Romance just wasn't her thing. It was an interesting experiment, though. She didn't expect to love herself a little more by the end. Still, as she stood up from her chair and stretched out her sore back, a funny thought crept its way into her head. What if she was just a character in someone else's story? Wouldn't the readers have witnessed her cringey fantasy? The author shivered. Her mind was making up silly delusions. She'd been writing for too long and needed to sleep.
-------
>If you're interested in more, please consider checking out my webnovel [Shotgun Fantasy](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/exa1om/wp_the_humans_were_always_disregarded_due_to/) or /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more prompt responses. Thanks for reading! | 2020-12-11T11:07:13 | 2020-12-11T09:54:28 | 200 | 81 |
[WP] "Three wishes, you know the rules. let's get this over with, kid." "I wish for an indestructible journal" *snap* "done. Next?" "I wish for it to be bound to my being for all eternity." *snap* "And?" "I wish that any thing I write into it be made real." *snap* "THERE, NOW LEA- wait... what?" | \[WP\] "Three wishes, you know the rules. let's get this over with, kid." "I wish for an indestructible journal" \*snap\* "done. Next?" "I wish for it to be bound to my being for all eternity." \*snap\* "And?" "I wish that any thing I write into it be made real." \*snap\* "THERE, NOW LEA- wait... what?"
I Smiled and nodded thankfully at the genie. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the pen I always keep on me.
“I thank you, Djinn. I’ve been wanting a Journal for quite some time.”
“Uhm.. You’re welcome?” It scratched its head in confusion, and watched me as I began to write.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Date: 10/6/2022 Time 2100
No entity other than myself will be able to read this Journal without my permission.
This Journal, being bound to me for all eternity, can never be taken from me.
I am now invincible until I say I’m not.
A sensation of gentle warmth rushes over me as my first entry into my new Journal takes effect.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Warmth washes over my body as the Journal warps reality to make itself true.
“Huh. That’s funny. I don’t feel any different. Let us test this.” I pull the razor knife from my pocket, and proceed to test the Journal by slicing across the back of my left arm. It scrapes across my flesh, the blade creasing my skin at a sharp angle, but no wound. There is some slight pain, but the knife does not cut me.
I look up at the Djinn and smile. It does not return the gesture. Instead, it looks angry
“You have warped my power, mortal. This will end, NOW!” I shrink back as it raises its arms to cast some sort of eldritch magicks at me, and instinctively shield myself with the Journal.
As it levels its arms, bolts of power whip out in swirling black and violet hues. They impact me with a mighty force, and send me flying backwards, into the wall of the cave. I feel the pain from the impact, but receive no damage, and I am left virtually unscathed. My clothing is tattered, singed and burnt, however.
I look up at the Djinn from behind my Journal. “Djinn, you gave me this artifact. Specific to my instructions. Stop trying to kill me. You cannot.”
“You have an Artifact of immense power. Power even to rival a deity, should you choose. I cannot allow this to remain in the hands of a mere mortal to abuse at their whim. You know not the chaos you will cause.”
“Nevertheless, Djinn, it is now within my possession, and I can never lose it. Be glad I am not cruel or capricious.”
“Nonsense. All mortals are cruel, capricious and chaotic. You will eventually stumble and make a mistake. Once you do, this universe; this reality will crumble, and YOU will be to blame. Thankfully you are only mortal, and once you die, that book dies with you.”
Realizing that the Djinn cannot know what my first entry entailed, I merely nodded. “This may be true. But while I live, I will live well, and strive to improve the lives of those around me.” I turned and began to walk out of the cavern I had wandered into.
“You will fail, mortal. Your kind always do.”
I stopped and pondered for a moment, then began to write again.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Date: 10/7/2022 Time: 0430
As I wake up, I see that the magic is indeed real and constant, as stacked in neat piles next to my bed, are non-sequential twenty-dollar bills of current United States currency totalling $1500.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
“That’s for tomorrow. Once I see that this is indeed real, I will begin to make this planet better for the entirety of life here. Even the Unseen such as yourself. Even you and your kind will benefit. Goodbye, Djinn. I hope when next we meet, you will be more open to my future Work.”
Amidst the fading grumblings of the Djinn, I made my way out of the cavern, and started home.
The day passed without incident, and I left the Journal alone on my computer desk, not willing to tamper with it very much more than I already had. After some time, I went to bed, and hoped that the Journal’s power was real.
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP
I groaned and rolled over, fishing my phone from its perch, and silenced the second alarm. I looked to the edge of my bed and saw three neat stacks of twenty-dollar bills on the floor. Each stack had twenty-five bills in it. I shook with anticipation and joy.
It was finally going to be My Turn. | I was in my lamp like most days, when it finally began to shake. I burst out the dumb thing, but something felt off. Infrunt of me was what I think is a man. He had on a white comedy mask and a brown robe torn on all the edges. l could only see his hands and alittle above his ankles. All I could see of his hands and feet were covered heavily in grey bandages. Around us was just endless desert, nothing else in sight. I've seen some weird displays in my time but is alarming not because of the area I'm in. But I was sure that I was in the kingdoms roaly treasury.
"What are your wishs?" I ask
The figure spoke in a raspy and crazed voice.
"One wish, for a book and what ever I alone right in it becomes true."
"That's two but ok..."
I grant his wish
"Oh I never got your name... uuuuhhhh sir?"
The figure responds
"My name is Ru, if it helps I don't know what I fucking am either. Not any more."
Ru begins to write some down in the book I stay because he needs to make his last wish. Quickly he's done, a minute passes then five minutes and an hour.
At this point I'm confused. What did he write down for? Then he drops the book face up and open. Ru being laughing crazily as I unable to stop. He looks towards the sky and yells.
"DAMN YOU! YOU KEEP ME HERE EVER LONGER! THIS IS YOUR MISTAKE! I. WILL. KILL. YOU!!
At this point l can feel his rage and anger. After that Ru fell to his knees quite know.
"Why are you so mad and if you want to kill someone why didn't you wish for it?"
Ru picks up the note book and shows it to me.
"...Can you kill God?"
What he wrote down was. To die
"I have a long story, would you like to hear it?" Ru ask now calm
"Yes" I said
"Good all you have to do is answer a riddle. What hides behind comedy?"
"Tragedy" I answered to such a simple riddle
Ru's mask fell to the sand, darkness quickly spread from the robe and enveloped me. The last words I heard were.
"Let me take you to the black flowers."
__________________________________________________
Sorry about any spelling mistakes I'm bad at spelling (/-_-/) | 2022-10-06T12:54:18 | 2022-10-06T12:47:57 | 46 | 10 |
[WP] The universe has ended and nothing is left. Nothing except all the damn immortals created by the many Writing Prompts all standing around wondering what to do. | Claustrophobia was never much of an issue for me until the universe ran out of space.
"Damn it all, Esteban, if you sing that song one more time-"
"It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes," Esteban said, accent making the lyric more comical than it had any right to be.
We were all jammed together in the Big Crunch, the outer limits of the universe now giving us all a couple millimeters each to breath.
I used my couple of millimeters to wind up and try to punch Esteban in the stomach. He just laughed.
"You know it's true, muchacha. The universe is gonna be one steamy orgy in a minute."
He was right, of course. The heat was impossibly intense, hotter than the stars had ever been. We were lucky; immortality had come with a rather sensible negation of pain. We still felt it, of course, but it didn't burn our indestructible flesh, and that meant no pain receptors fired.
The indignity was the real issue. There were dozens of us in here. So many immortals spawned from so many cliches.
Though to be honest, after so much time, everything was cliche.
In a way, it was the ultimate quandary of physicists throughout all of existence. What happens when the inexorable heat death of the universe meets the uncrushable flesh of immortals spawned by some cosmic narrator's whim?
Esteban happened. So many jokes about heat and, inevitably, sex. He had gone a much more hedonistic route with his immortality than most of us. Of course, he was crushed right up against me.
"I gotta say, mija, the two of us, we really lucked out. At least we're both sexy. You see those two over there?" He flicked his brown eyes over toward a very uncomfortable pair. "Shawn and...Eugene? All squished together? Neither one of them is even gay."
"Give it a few thousand years," Shawn shouted from across the group.
This was without a doubt the least lucky I had ever been. I'd take Eugene any day.
Still, there was hope. We were pretty sure that there was a way to restart things, to cause another Big Bang and renew the universe.
Esteban had an idea. I was at least 85% certain it wouldn't work.
"Mija. Ey, mija. Don't you think it's possible?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, no, I do not."
"Aw, come on," he whined. "I mean, what's it hurt to try?"
"Esteban, we are not going to restart the universe by having a 'Big Bang' orgy. That's stupid and you're stupid."
He looked a little hurt. Good.
In truth, there was likely nothing we could do to accelerate the process. We would have to wait however long it took until we couldn't be compressed together any more. That was, by the accounts left behind by past generations of immortals, the only way to start things off right.
Waiting. You'd think we'd be better at it by now.
Esteban was a pig, but he was an honest pig. At least I had that. I could've been bunched up against Nel, on the other side of the pack.
Still, the first thing I was doing once sentient life got going again was starting up a convent. "The Order of Chaste Esteban-haters" was a rather appealing name.
That would be millions or billions of years from now, even with our help.
Even packed up against a shameless womanizer, I had to admit this could be worse.
I could be in here alone.
| "Wanna grab a beer?" I asked my best friend, gazing at the planet we just blew up, and the giant chain reaction of confetti and fireworks blazing across the galaxy. Domino effects are fun.
"No. BEER." He grimaced. His fro was disheveled from the static electricity of a zillion outlets we would never see again.
"What?" I glanced at him, tugging at my shredded lesbian plaid shirt and black jeans. What was he talking about? Why was everything sticking to me? And how can there not be BEER, when we're floating amongst stars like MAGIC?
"Everything blew up." A single tear streaked his cheek.
"The beer." I gasped.
"A universe with no beer." He cried.
| 2018-03-09T17:24:21 | 2018-03-09T16:34:42 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | A red light filled the tower as the claxon siren sounded off. Three people in bright colored spandex rounded the corner of a hallway, nearly stumbling over some loose debris.
"How can he be this strong?" Shouted a woman in pink. "He's just some fossil!" A large beam fell from the ceiling, blocking their path.
"I don't think we have time to find out, Autumn." Said the oldest boy of the group. Looking around, he noticed an open elevator shaft. "This way!" He proclaimed. The shaft was empty, but the three of them leapt into it anyway. They quickly began to float up through the tight space, arriving at the roof.
"Oh God," said the thinnest hero. "What do we do?" The more muscular man looked down at him, trying to mask the fear clearly presented on his face.
"It'll be okay, Issac." He said, attempting to sound brave. "We haven't lost to Tregus yet." As he said this, a large dent was made in the metal door cutting off the roof entrance. Autumn's hands began to glow with orange energy.
"Carter," she said. "If you have a plan, now would be a good t-" The sound of breaking metal filled the air. From the hole that used to be a door, stepped a completely black figure, highlighted by red pulsating light. Issac jumped Infront of Carter and Autumn, expanding his arms.
"Stay away from my friends you evi-" Isaac's sentence was cut off by the sound of cracking bone. In an instant, Isaac's head had been turned backwards by a massive shadowy hand. Breaking his neck. Autumn began to scream, and shot her energy bolts at the black and red mass. That is until a spike of dark energy pierced her throat. As her body fell to the ground, Carter had to fight against the coming vomit.
"Just one left." The dark mass said. Carter launched from the roof, attempting to escape. It was no use, however. As he took off, the dark mass sprouted what seemed to be wings and followed suit. The chase didn't last more than two minutes before a shadowy hand grabbed Carter's leg and slammed him back onto the roof. "You self absorbed, power abusing, civilian harming, sorry excuse for a C class hero!" Carter tried to fly away, but the dark mass just broke his legs before he could take off.
"What are you doing, Tregus?!" Carter shouted desperately. "Those were my friends! You killed them!" The dark mass shifted into the shape of a man in a tailored suit. He walked towards Carter, picking him up and throwing him onto Autumn's body.
"Two weeks ago, you and your tactless allies raided a coffee shop." Tregus said, aproaching Carter yet again. "You didn't know for sure if I owned it or not, but you had a hunch that it was a front for something." He grabbed Carter by his hair and started dragging him to the edge of the building. "Only one person was working that night, so you and your pals thought it would be a great idea to break her hands for information. Didn't make any difference, though. She didn't know anything, and what she did tell you was just a lie to get you to stop."
"We didn't want it to come to that! The bitch wouldn't tell us what we wan-AHHHHH!" Carter screamed as both of his hands were broken.
"Call her a bitch again, and you'll end up like Issac over there!" Tregus took a moment to compose himself. "Did you know that Cathy loved to play piano? She had a full ride scholarship to Juliard of all places. It would have been her one chance to leave this godforsaken city. Of course, that's not an option anymore because of you three." Tregus lifted Carter's body over the edge of the building by the hair, and gave him a look even more frightening than the fall. "You can tell me which police officers helped you raid the shop, and I'll kill you quickly. Or you can keep it to yourself, and I'll let gravity do the job." Tears started to run down Carter's face.
"Officers Mehs, Vasquez, and Banks!" He shouted. "They acted without the precinct's permission, and blocked the streets so nobody would walk up on us!" Carter's face turned white, as he began to bawl. "Now please, don't let me fall! Please!" Tregus smiled, with a sinister joy.
"No!" Carter screamed louder than he ever thought he could as
Tregus let go of him. After five feet, however he felt a soft pad on the ground. He opened his eyes to see his hands and legs were perfectly fine. In fact, he wasn't even scratched. He was sitting on a red foam pad, in what looked like a gym. As he looked up, he noticed the three Glocks pointed at him. Tregus stood next to the officers, chuckling. "I'm not some demon, kiddo. My powers are dream based. Your friends are alive, and completely unharmed." Tregus began to walk away.
"YOU BASTARDS!" Carter shouted. "HOW COULD YOU SIDE WITH HIM? HE'S A SUPER VILLAIN!"
"Oh, I don't claim to be a saint." Tregus said before he left the room. "I am, however, far from evil. Say hello to your friends for me. They're waiting for you in the squad car." As Tregus walked down the street, he made for the coffee shop that the heroes had raided. In the dining area, sat Cathy, sipping on what looked to be a peppermint mocha. She grasped the cup with both of her palms, her fingers outstretched away from it.
"Mr. Tregus." Cathy said with a smile. "What are you doing here?" Tregus smiled at her, grabbing a candy bar from the rack, and sitting a dollar on the counter.
"Miss Cathy," He said. "Those people who hurt you won't be causing anymore trouble." He showed her a photo from his phone of the three heroes in a squad car. "How long did the doctor say it would take?" He asked, in a conserned tone.
"Two years for the bones to heal fully." She said with a grimace. "Even then, it'll be ages before I can play again." She began to sniffle. "I just don't know how I'm going to keep working." Tregus reached into his coat pocket, producing a blank envelope.
"As luck would have it," he said "I already approved you for two years of PTO." He sat the envelope on the table, and got up from his seat. "Along with a nice bonus for your trouble. I took the liberty of opening it for you" He made his way for the door. Cathy grasped the envelope as well as she could, clearly shocked at it's contents. She may not make it to Juliard as soon as she wanted, but the city's supervillain would make sure she was comfortable while she waited. | Abacus.
An outdated term, an outdated power set. If it weren't for the x-gene testing and the lack of other neurodivergences, it wouldn't even be considered a supervillain. He could do math. Very, very swift math. Without a calculator. Without an Excel sheet. Or scrap paper.
Without evidence.
So, it made it simple to hide things under the table. Usually working with a companion, or playing second-fiddle to someone. Physics based traps. Once holding a captive at one of those 'swinging pendulums that will never have enough momentum to actually hurt her' things. Not that it kept Metallipalm from ripping the entire device out and using it as a wrecking ball.
So, how did he get away with it for so long? No physicality. No OOMF. Simple.
He didn't leave evidence. He could figure out how to do the math for laundering better than an entire suite of Forensic Accountants. Laundromats. Pawn shops. Cash only delis. You name it. Abe had it going. Then one day...
This hotshot C-lister called himself Catseye. His trick? Fourteen year old kid, -master- at manipulation of objects in motion. So he uses yoyos at the start but they get too...tetchy. So he switches to marbles. This whole "If you'd come up with it two years earlier it would have been cute" move, but now he's like Culkin in 2002. Played out. Probably on drugs.
Anyway...he chases this speedster into a laundromat and does the little catseye fling...only...you got a speedster. You got spinning drums full of water and glass. Whole place basically looked like a claymore went off in it. No one died...miracle of miracles.
I swear, MoM is real, and she's the reason no one gets hurt in this friggen city by a metahuman. But I digress.
Anyway...Abe posts this vid. And he's not talking. It's cheap, you know? 40-something year old mutant accountant, he doesn't have panache yet. But. It just has this...filler music. But most people these days, they're watching it on their phones with the sound off, yeah? And it's just...
One by one, the industrial units with their make and model, and how much it costs to replace. The windows. The lights. The clean-up crew. The friggen...the electricians. The sheer amount of labor, and work, because some speedball brat goes a little crazy in your laundry.
But that's not the part. That part's fascinating...but it's not the part.
The part that really gets people mad is when it cuts to Abe's tenant, this sweet woman named Lin, laid up in a hospital bed with a bruise the size of Montana on her head and those same little arrows and drop-downs. How much the ambulance cost. The surgery. The physical therapy. The wage from the hours the laundry won't be open. The therapy so she can go into her place of work and not be afraid every time a door swings too loud.
And the funny thing?
Abe didn't have to wait a day for it to get paid in full, and then some. And he realizes...he can do it the other way around.
So yes, that's why we're breaking into a strip mall accountant's office in the middle of the night on a tuesday. Abe says that this is where the police pension fund is run out of. Ready to have some REAL fun?
Abe always told me, no point in getting money if you can't keep it. No point in keeping it, if you can't spend it.
We're about to make a whole lot of dead money. Or make a whole lot of money dead. Either way, it's the money that's doing the dying, not us. So relax, and get the crowbar ready. | 2022-11-28T20:01:01 | 2022-11-28T17:50:25 | 262 | 106 |
[WP] When a twin dies their brother/sister acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc. You've just discovered this phenomena, but so has your brother/sister | In the footnote of the college biology textbook was something that changed my whole outlook in life. *Identical twins are the only known group of people that can gain from their twin’s death, according to a Nazi Twin Experiment. On their deathbed, a twin can take all their strength, intelligence, and beauty through a comingling of blood at the moment of death. Since WWII, there have been three instances of this happening successfully.* I threw the book down as I realized this. I was a twin. My identical brother had always been smarter, stronger, and more handsome than I was. This was a possible way for me to get revenge. I did not particularly want to kill him, but this could get me everything that I wanted. At this point though, the two of us were too close. I would feel like I was missing a limb if I were to lose him.
Five years later, I had grown further and further apart from my twin brother. He had finished college and gone onto medical school. I meanwhile had dropped out of college after knocking up the college girl I had the most fun with. I was working a menial job punching numbers during the day with some janitorial work in the night to pay for my own son who was now three years old. We were both sides of the spectrum, and I was jealous of his successes to say the very least.
At Thanksgiving that year, my twin brought his girlfriend, another medical student, to dinner. She was a snotty upper class woman who was the epitome of the world that my twin had joined in going to medical school. Our parents were just so pleased with his accomplishments while backhandedly trying to suggest I finish my degree considering we were twins had the same intelligence. In between bites of turkey, I remembered the biology textbook and the possibility to get all his intelligence.
After dinner, my twin and I went out for a walk along the deserted boardwalk by our home on that brisk moonlit night. He was telling me all about what he was doing in his coursework. I was trying to hide back my displeasure in knowing what he was now doing. “Why don’t you finish your degree? You would love medical school. You could really provide for your family afterwards.” He suggested.
I shook my head. “I’m not you. I have a family that I have to provide for today and for the rest of my life. I can’t be greedy like you and continue school when I have a three-year-old son.”
“Oh, c’mon, Bro. You were always the greedy one,” my twin teased.
That was what finally tripped my trigger. I charged at him right then and threw him onto the ground. It was at that point I knew that I wanted to be greedy and kill him. I wanted everything he had, and this was the way that I could do that. The two of us were in what felt like an endless struggle of a wrestle trying to get the other to submit. We were too evenly matched, I learned at that moment. Fortunately, I carried a box cutter at all moments because of my work.
“Really? What are you trying to prove with this?” My twin demanded after spitting out the blood from a sucker punch I had thrown at his face.
“You’re right. I am the greedy one. I want what you have.”
“How are you going to get that? You can’t take my life.”
“I can get your blood, your intelligence, your strength.”
At that point, my twin made a realization. “You’ve got to be kidding me? That biology textbook. That was a joke. That doesn’t happen.”
“Well, we can sure figure out about that,” I posited as I came at my twin with the box cutter, sprinting with red in my eyes to kill this stranger before me.
Right then, I realized I was starting to feel weaker and weaker. Before I could reach him, I was on the ground in sheer pain. My heart felt like it was coming out of my body. I had dropped the box cutter a few steps back. My brother was over my body a few seconds later before he pressed a finger to my neck. “I was hoping we could have gotten a little further down the boardwalk instead of having to fight there. Now just a few more minutes and you’ll be dead from that heart attack. Then I can get your blood.”
“You? You?” Weakly, I demanded between gasps for breath.
“Bro, I have been studying that for years now. I wanted to see if it was true. And, it is. I will take everything from you as you pass. At least I won’t be going to prison afterwards, like you would have if you had killed me with that box cutter. I’ll just have to get an echocardiogram to check out my heart after my brother had a heart attack in his twenties. A simple consolation prize for everything you have.” He laughed at that point. “Goodbye, Brother.” | Jaime looked at me, his arctic irises digging into mine. He sprinted, bare-handed, in my direction. Softly, I position my left foot, in preparation. As the avalanche comes near me, I dart under his outreached left arm, and as he slows in reaction, I kick him in the side.
Breathe. I have to breathe if I'm going to win.
He takes a second to recuperate, I should have taken the chance. He gets up, lowers his center of gravity, and walks toward me with wide steps. I lower my center of gravity, and stay where I am. This time, he stands still in challenge, offering me the chance to catalyze the match. I crouch so that my helmet is level with his gut. Then I rush him, as he's trying to get me into a hold, I slide between his legs, swivel my foot and push. I successfully throw him, but as I do he grabs my shoulder and brings me down with him.
Together we lay on the floor, struggling to get a hold or to break one. He gets me into a half nelson, which he knows I'll break. He's prepared for it when I do, he gets me into another headlock and I yield after about half a second. He had me, it was over.
"Helluva move, Jaime."
"Thanks Carly, I saw Hulk Hogan do something like that on WWE."
"You're saying I should watch that 'really real restling' if' I'm gonna win?"
"Are you winning right now?"
It's a good thing he knows how to take a punch, because I know how to give one.
"What time do you want to train tomorrow?"
"You're killing me Jaime."
"If that's what we have to do to get better, I don't mind so much."
Somehow those eyes are so much softer when he's outside the ring. | 2018-02-25T05:27:54 | 2018-02-25T04:45:16 | 230 | 22 |
[WP] The world ended 20 years ago, you haven't found a living soul since then. Through some ingenuity, you call voicemails for the last 20 years to keep you company. "Hi, this is Cindy..." "Hi you reached Bob" "You know what to do at the beep" until one day "Hello...hello? Oh my God hello!" | "Hello...?"
I sighed gently as I put the old phone on speaker and set it back on the table. The magnetically charged generator hummed quietly in the corner, struggling to keep juice flowing through the charger cable and maintain my last bid for sanity.
On the old plastic table was an array of trinkets I had found that day. I only ever went out for trinkets these days. The greenhouse pretty much ran itself, and the spring-water salinity distiller had not had a breakdown in almost five years now. I had scavenged just about everything I needed for survival, so all that was left were trinkets.
A purple piece of glass. A nearly spherical pebble. An intact spider-web leaf--I liked that one; the brittle leaves usually crumbled the second they hit the ground. A rusty belt buckle missing the tongue. A crinkled piece of plastic that might once have been a candy wrapper.
Trinkets.
"H-Hello...!?"
All there was to do these days was sit on the pedal-seat in the corner by the generator and pedal all day to recharge the old piece of junk. And I only ever used the generator to keep the old cell phone running, so I did not have to recharge it every day.
The only other thing there was to do was go out and collect trinkets.
"Oh my God, _hello_!?!"
I sighed. Even the age-old voice recordings were losing their luster.
"This can't have been a mistake, it _can't_ be, not after twenty _fucking_ years of conserving the last twelve percent of this damn battery, and I turn it on for the first time in twenty years and I immediately get a phone call, and that’s just too _fucking ironic_ to be real, so this _is_ a mistake, isn't it, and..."
I finally looked up from my meager bounty and frowned at the phone. The voice on the other end devolved into flustered muttering, just a warble from the old speakers.
_That's not a voicemail_, I thought, staring and staring and staring at the phone.
The sound coming from the speakers grew muffled for a moment, and a harsh _clop_ issued forth, as if someone on the other end had dropped their phone mid-call. A rustle, static. A deep sigh, that kind of sigh one makes when one is alone, and all they have to hold onto their last grip of calm is their own breath. Someone, alone, breathing, alone, relying on themselves to remain calm. Someone on the phone.
Someone.
_That's not a voICEMAIL._
The truth of reality _finally_ sank in, and I lunged for the phone.
Snatching it up, I shouted, "Hello! Hi! Hello!?"
"Don't screw with me, phone," the voice replied, but it was distant, as if the other person held the phone away from their face. "I save you all this time, and this is how you repay me--"
"Hello! I'm a real! I'm person! I'm--!" I inhaled, choked on my own saliva, and coughed until I could not breathe. "I'm... I'm..." I wheezed, sucking air through the cough lodged at the top of my esophagus. "Hi. I'm Dakota. Hi."
The voice was quiet, almost comically suspicious. "You're not a mistake?"
I contemplated the question for a moment, and a sudden, unexpected swell seemed to balloon inside of me. It was laughter. I teetered on the edge of laughter, something I had not heard in over a decade. I had asked myself that exact same question for years. How was I alive even after all this time, just to suffer in solitude? What had I done to deserve it? It had to be a mistake. _I_ had to be a mistake.
But all I said was, "No."
And then I finally laughed. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.
And she laughed, too. | Hi how can I help you? I said jokingly. It was Amelia, her name. She said she has been living with a cat, and by the sound of my voice, she's certain that we can be best friends. She still doesn't laugh at my jokes. We have been sharing since than a condo, with two balconies, where we also sleep, since is hot, and the bugs are gone. She says its cz of the climate change, but I heard otherwise. That is a long subject, when we go in that. She tells me about her cat, which sadly its in her imagination,but who am I to judge and I tell her, how I miss Tandy, the main character of my favorite show. And about the show. For everything, I see at least some birds sometimes, that's quite exiting ,and that is an activity which Amelia enjoys too. | 2022-12-21T12:06:42 | 2022-12-21T11:48:30 | 1,194 | 36 |
[WP] You've been living in your home for ten years. For some reason, every month, an envelope with half your rent appears on the table. You never questioned it. One day, you see a familiar man walking out of the vacant guest room. You remember he said, a decade ago, "you won't even notice I'm here." | "Hey!" I shouted down the corridor, as the cowering figure tried hurriedly to gather himself together and sneak out the door.
"Oh... Hi Will" he said to me. "So sorry, I'll just be on my way, didn't mean to disturb".
It was 4.30am, and I was definetely not an early bird, and feeling rather irritable. So waking up to find a stranger in my house did not put me in the best of moods.
"Who the hell are you? And how do you know my name?" I said at the frightened figure, who at least didn't seem to mean any harm. In fact he looked decisively more scared off me than vice versa.
"Ha! Good one Will" he said with a frightened laugh. "It's me... your flat mate, John".
My flat mate? I thought to myself. But I lived alone! Always had done. "I don't have a flat mate" I said sternly.
"I try and keep myself to myself," John said, now backed up into the corner like a frightened mouse. "I leave for work very early, and only come back very late. Usually I just slip out the window as not to disturb... but today I wanted to treat myself to some breakfast from the kitchen".
I just stared at him incredulously. In the darkened corridor I imagined he could still sense my cynically raised eyebrough. "I live alone. Always have. I don't know if your lost or something mate but you have to leave-"
"Please Will! Don't kick me out. I have no where else to go. I don't have any other friends, and my parents passed away a few years ago," he sounded panicked and confused. "I pay my rent every month! Don't you get my envelopes on the table?"
My jaw dropped. Shit. That was him? I'd assumed it was my dad, helping me out. Our family was quite well off, and sometimes he'd try to sneak money to me, as he knew I wouldn't directly take hand outs. But this guy honestly expected me to believe he'd been my lodger for almost 10 years without me noticing...
"I'm sorry, I try to keep out of your way most of the time", he tried to explain. "We've had some good times though... remember when that crow got in the flat and you couldn't get him out".
I remembered. I ran to get a broom to push it out, but when I came back, the bird was gone, and all the windows were inexplicably open.
"And remember the fire??" He said.
This was when the fire alarm went off. I was drunk, and ended up ignoring it and going back to sleep. Later I'd seen evidence of a small fire near the plugs in the living room. But it had inexplicably gone out. Which was lucky as the whole house could have gone up in flames.
"Or what about when you and your friends had that big party. I tried to come out and mingle. I'm not usually very good with people, but I managed to speak to your friends Sam and Phil, oh and Jessica. It was really nice. But then I had to get back to bed for work".
He knew my friends. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Come to think off it, I was looking for lodgers about 10 years ago. One chap said he was interested. A very shy, and nervous guy, who said he would be as quiet as a mouse and never late on rent. I said yes, but then didn't hear from him again. This couldn't be....
"Anyway, I'll be on my way if that's okay. If you still want me to go, I can pack my things when I get back from work. I really don't have much. Just a small suitcase and some books really". John said. "Today was my birthday is all. And since I will be working all day, I wanted to get a proper breakfast. As a little treat for myself."
"Oh my God, john" I said. "I'm so sorry mate. Of course you can stay."
He looked up gratefully.
"What time do you get off work?" I asked.
"They might let me go a bit early today. Maybe 9 or 10". He replied.
"Okay. Happy birthday John. Have a good day at work."
"Thank you" he said smiling, as if he hadn't had any proper human contact in years.
After he left I picked my phone up, and messaged my mates Sam, Phil and Jessica. "Hey guys, reckon you could come round tonight? And pick up some birthday cake en route. I want to plan a little suprise for someone" I messaged. He was obviously a very shy guy, but everyone could use a bit of company on their birthday. | Jack? Jake? James? I swear it was a pretty common J name.
"Uh hey there Jeff," I mumbled. The man glances up toward me, then proceeds to place his rent on the counter.
No response, guess I didn't expect much. Ten years and I hadn't seen him. A few times I even forgot that he was in the other room entirely. I even rented it out a few times, but the renters left pretty quickly. Weird that they didn't mention him but maybe they assumed he would say something.
"You know you aren't supposed to be seen right!" I called to him as he turned back toward his room.
He told me I would forget about him, wouldn't notice he was there. I figured he was exaggerating but I was excited about the prospect. Having a roommate seemed like such a big deal at the time. Not something I would overlook.
He was right though, I hadn't noticed him. Forgotten entirely. This would be a good time to visit him in his room I guess. Just say hello or something. I mean it was the first time in ten years that I had even seen him. I almost missed the guy.
\*Knock Knock\* Fuck it I'll just open the door.
"Hey it was good to see you again, but you..." I paused as I inhaled, waiting for the stench to hit me. Nothing. Makes sense, decomposition would have finished years ago.
"...you aren't supposed to leave the guest room." I spoke to the pile of bones. Ivory wrists still trapped in the handcuffs.
No response, but I expected that. His voice had left my head years before I stopped seeing him.
Shaking my head makes the bones vanish.
I need to get my prescription renewed. | 2019-05-15T15:12:45 | 2019-05-15T11:36:48 | 368 | 265 |
[WP] Your superpowers are actually only mediocre at best, but you keep up with all the other superheroes because you have a BS degree and can exploit the hell out of what you do have. | Our world is made up of numbers.
For instance, take Malcolm. He's been my best friend since I was thirteen, when our powers first manifested and we were snatched up by the government. We studied at the same high school, kept in contact throughout our time in university. The reason I liked him wasn't because he was particularly friendly, or interested in the same things I was, or even because - when we first met - we were the same age and in identical situations.
No, the reason I liked Malcolm as a friend was how plain he was. When your vision is bombarded with numbers, statistics, calculations, it's difficult to focus. So many people are outliers in something, which my abilities made me painfully aware of, and so finding someone incredibly... *normal*, was a huge boon for stabilizing my psyche at that age.
I suppose Malcolm wouldn't take that as I positively as I did.
In fact, that was rather likely, looking at him right now. People, on average, liked to feel that they were special. That something about them was better than others, or unique. Telling someone that they *weren't* unique - that they were baseline, just another person in a world of billions, didn't usually produce a positive reaction. And, well... Anything that people 'usually' did was almost certainly something Malcolm would do.
Other than fly and shoot lasers. In all fairness, he did have *that* going for him.
The numbers were sparse at this height. No, I wasn't flying, and nor was I being hoisted through the air by an ally - an experience I did *not* want to repeat. Instead, we were perched on the top of a rather tall apartment building, staring out at the city.
I'd seen a lot of cities in my time. A standard deviation or two above the average. Most of them would sprawl, spreading out like an infection upon the land from one central point.
This one did not. It was painfully rigid, borders cleanly defined, roads straight and evenly spaced. A bizarre sight to see for most, made more disturbing through the knowledge of exactly why it had formed this way. I didn't particularly mind it, actually: the numbers worked so perfectly, all in harmony with one another.
Coincidentally, the same 'why' was the reason we were here. Alvin Green, A.K.A. The Ordinator. The villain in control of this city, melding reality with his mind to fit his expectations. Just getting in without being erased had been difficult.
Thankfully, everyone has to sleep, and figuring out the villain's sleep patterns had been exceedingly simple for a man like me.
Malcolm poked me, his super-strength enhanced finger causing more discomfort than I would have liked to admit. "You figured it out yet, dude? We're on a tight timeline here, in case you didn't realize."
I was painfully aware, as he should have known. "Yes. The city, the numbers... the rigidity spreads out from a certain point. That building." I pointed with one hand, not exactly at where the building was, but where I needed to point to have Malcolm see the correct building.
"The one with the kind of red bricks and clean windows?"
"Yes." Maybe. Probably - it made sense, but I couldn't see nearly as far as Malcolm did, so I just relied on the numbers.
"I see him. He's in bed, like you said. Let's take care of this and get out of here, this place creeps me out."
An average reaction, unlike mine. There was something... *beautiful*, in the way it all fit together, the numbers coalescing into perfection as they thrummed in my mind.
A thought rushed through my mind. *Kill Malcolm, stay here.*
No. It wasn't a good idea. Chances were that they'd come after me, and they'd succeed.
He grinned at me, and I smiled tightly, watching as he demolished the building from an unbelievable distance away.
*Maybe next time.*
^^^^more ^^^^stories ^^^^on ^^^^r/forricide | Most villains just so happen to be men, which is perfect for me. As a matter of fact, I am "The Strong Feminist", and my superpower is to show my superiority over the evil men I have to deal with.
I may not have REAL superpowers, but I sure do have a trick up my sleeve: a Women's Studies degree. Oh, and do I use it well to show how useless the male villains around me are.
As a matter of fact, just the other day I had to go up against a very disgusting man. He was called "The Ham", and he was a man-pig hybrid (though all men are pigs anyway). I called the police (from the comfort of my home, mind you) to tell them of The Ham's wrongdoings. I told them that he sexually assaulted me.
That was 6 years ago. He hasn't been released from prison since. | 2017-03-19T17:40:28 | 2017-03-19T17:24:04 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] One day people's spirit animals appear and they turn out to be first generation Pokemon. You are happy with your Charmander, since most got a Magikarp. Your significant other, who has never seen Pokemon, calls and is very excited about their "blue-eyed, pink, floating cat-like thing". | "A pink floating cat thing you say?" I asked her, my mouth turning dry as the words left me.
I could almost hear Sophie's smile through the phone, her bright laughter bubbling through the earpiece of my phone in my office cubicle. As a veterinarian, she always had a soft spot for animals, but there was no animal that she loved more on God's great Earth than the cat. The only reason that she didn't have one was because her extremely affordable apartment complex didn't allow pets.
With the advent of pokemon spirit animals however, they have a lot more to worry about than cats or dogs. In just a few short months, business have appeared seemingly out of nowhere that promise to create pokemon friendly environments inside people's homes, for both the pokemon's safety as well as the people's. Many buildings had burned down or flooded upon the arrival of some of the more powerful pokemon, and I could only imagine what would happen to the person who ended up with the most powerful pokemon of them all...
"It's so cute too!" my girlfriend squealed in joy. "It's fuzzy and pink and pretty does little tricks in the air when you throw treats at it and oh my God IT'S CHASING ITS TAIL NOW!"
My mind raced as my girlfriend gushed over her new friend. Jigglypuff maybe? A Clefairy perhaps? Perhaps it isn't only first generation pokemon that are appearing. I don't know all the other generations off by heart, but I'm sure there's a floating blue eyed cat in there somewhere.
I interrupted Sophie as she was excitedly me about how it managed to catch its tail and started nibbling on it. "Soph, love, I know you're excited and I'm happy that you got your pokemon, but just hold on just a minute. Do you know what this pokemon is? Do you know its name?"
"It's weird..." she replied with a quizzical voice. "All the other ones that I've seen just say their names over and over again. This little guy just meow's. Or is it a girl? I'll have to find out, but it started chasing the ceiling fan now and I don't think I'll be able to get a good look at its-"
Her words fell on deaf ears. The thought that my sweet, innocent, somewhat naive girlfriend was partnered with one of the most powerful forces in the universe and didn't even realize it struck me dumb. The only thing that she cared about was how sweet and cute it was...
It made perfect sense. The legend said that this was a pokemon that only showed itself to those who were pure of heart. If any person were to fit the bill on the description, it would have to Sophie.
"Oooooh, I'm going to take pictures of it and put it on my Instagram! Maybe somebody will know its name and be able to tell me. Plus I kinda want to brag to my friends..."
My mind snapped back to reality just in time to hear those words come out of Sophie's mouth.
"No!" I blurted out louder than I intended. "I mean...Sophie, you shouldn't do that. You *can't* do that. All you need to do right now is stay inside and not let anybody see it. Keep it busy and keep it happy. I'm coming over right now, just wait for me."
"Why, what's the big deal?" she asked as I quickly shut off my computer, the useless spreadsheets fading to black. "It's just a cute little floaty pokekitty. It's harmless!"
"I...I know that Soph'. Just sit tight until I get there, okay? Please promise me that you will? This is important."
"But I wanted to know what its name was..." came her dejected, but willing reply.
"Will figure that out when I get there Soph'. I'll be there in a bit. I gotta go now, Love you lots, bye."
I hung up without giving her a chance to say anything else. I knew that she would do what I asked her to, what I *begged* her to. She's that kind of person. Wants everybody to be happy, and if somebody says that something's important to them, then it's important to her as well.
My mind raced as I hopped into my beaten up car and peeled out of the parking lot.
*"A legend made real...* I thought to myself. *Mew...*
Edit: I'll see if I can do anything more when I get back from work.
Part 2 is made. I doubt there will be a third. My ideas for a cohesive story pretty much just petered off. Plus it's 2AM and I'm too tired to think. | "Woah woah woah, Veronica say that again?"
"Everyone got their pokermon things right? Lots of people got that orange fish and that swirly tad pool thing. Jessica was really excited, she got the one with the really long tongue..."
I cringe to myself and feel instantly bad for the Lickitung.
".... I got this adorable floaty pink thing that looks kinda cat like. I at least assume its a cat because it keeps meowing like a kitten."
I can't believe I'm hearing this. I sigh as I start digging up my old Pokedex, the first Pokemon movie, and the trainer guide I bought when I was a kid that told me about the ecology each Pokemon.
"..... Joseph? Are you still there?" She said sounding kinda concerned.
"Yeah Im here. Veronica DO NOT go outside or tell anyone else what you have. You have something that will start Pokemon wars with people. Me and Firestarter are on our way now, you need to learn about your Pokemon".
"Tell anyone? It won't even tell me its name, it just floats around chasing its tail and meowing".
"Baby, its not meowing, its name is Mew. Stay in the house ill be right down".
Edit: first story, please be gentle.
Edit 2: Part 2 is below
Edit 3: Part 3 is up
Edit 4: Part 4 is up
Edit 5: If you're still reading the next installment has been posted.
Edit 6: Final Chapter is posted. Please let me know what you guys think of the whole thing. | 2015-06-20T11:50:41 | 2015-06-20T09:15:26 | 1,280 | 285 |
[WP] You are a time traveler whose job is to make our world a better place. You have saved Lincoln stopped 9/11 and made sure that the Library of Alexandria was never destroyed. Now as he you get ready for your next mission your employer tells you: "Make Hitler win". | Time travel can become familiar, but it never stops being unpleasant. The sensation of being pulled in all directions at once, the gut wrenching nausea, excruciating physical pain, the migraines brought on by the intensity of the resulting white out the visual cortex has no idea what to do with itself during the sensory overload that is "the experience", and so it projects a blinding white light onto the corneas - it was not exactly surprising that I my hair went shock white within a year of being assigned this post by the ministry. By now it is coming out in clumps. For the common good, I suppose.
As with all missions, I spent the first day in Vienna recovering in a back alley by a bar, vomiting and lying in my own vomit. Over time we have found that it is least conspicuous to imitate the behavior of a chronic drunkard for a day, rather than assume cover while still battling the effects of TT. By noon the next day I felt myself returning to the facilities of a normal man. I snuck off to a quiet corner, underneath one of the cities many bridges, and changed into my secondary clothes. It is odd how often fashion imitates the political and social circumstances in which it is created. The homogenized, slate-grey dreariness of post-war Germany called for a drab, slate grey suit. It was horrible, really. If this was all I had to wear, I might start a war myself.
Adolf Hitler...we had learned about him in school. Some brutal warlord of the 20th century. According to my grandfather, one of my ancestors had died fighting him, high above the English channel, trapped in the cockpit of some sputtering primitive aircraft, alone, no doubt freezing and afraid. He had precipitated a war so dreadful that it had necessitated - or so the historical analysts said - the invention and use of atomic energy to bring it to a close. How anything could be worse than atomic weaponry both puzzled and unnerved me. The hulking, gutted remains of Barcelona and Chicago remained as testaments to their horror.
The TT capsule would begin to wear off within 72 hours, so I hastened to the decision point, in this case a gala at a prestigious hotel. I spotted the target almost immediately. It wasn't the distinctive toothbrush moustache, or the hair plastered across his brow, or any other physical feature really. It wasn't even the abused, hurt look, resentful and hateful, that he wore with badly disguised pride, like a teenager attempting their first rudimentary steps at defiance. It was how ordinary he seemed. It reminded me of that old cliche, how no one suspects killers and psychopaths until after the deed is done. He was so quiet, they all say, I never thought he could do something like *that*. I approached him unnerved, but still confident in the purpose of my mission and my ability to execute it. He was standing next to a number of paintings, all equally poorly executed, yet unique in their terribleness.
"These are yours?" I inquired.
He seemed surprised that anyone was talking to him. I suppose it was a first.
"Jahwol." Fuck. The translator was broken. It could modify my speech, but not receive and decipher messages. Best to keep it brief then. I studied the paintings for a while, hemming and hawing all the while, and left the sad, strange little man. I would do my part.
Somewhere in modern day Vienna there is a little house that has been abandoned for some time. The interior smells of cat piss, and bad paintings hang from every wall. Hanging above the mantelpiece there is a plaque. It reads thus:
42ND ANNUAL VIENNESE ART FAIR
ADOLF HITLER
1ST PLACE
Sometimes all we need is a little encouragement.
| *That's a damn odd mission*, I think to myself while contemplating the rhythmic clacking of the train carriage.
The conductor calls out, "Next stop Bletchley Park!" in a voice that is no stranger to whisky and cheap cigarettes.
With a sigh I glance one last time at the grainy black and white photo. Scimming at the caption for the 1000th time, I feel a bit bewildered.
"Christopher Turing," I mutter to myself. "Never heard of him."
I pat my little .22 Short caliber pistol. Remarkable gun. My dog barks louder than it does.
*Retroact ends.* | 2015-11-23T07:58:38 | 2015-11-23T05:46:53 | 68 | 44 |
[WP] You rush into a church to stop the love of your life from marrying the wrong person. Not paying attention you barge in yelling "I OBJECT" only to realize it's a funeral. The deceased immediately rises in perfect health. All eyes turn to you | The crunch of my boots on the snow was the sole sound present as I jogged up the hill towards Heathbarrow's only church. Each tree and stone was cloaked in white, almost as if Mother Nature herself had donned a bridal veil in celebration of my lover's marriage to another woman. The splendor made me sick.
By the time I reached the oaken steps, my pants were soaked at the heels. Jeans, leather boots, and a flannel were hardly formal attire - but I was in a hurry. The love of my life would not get married today. Not to someone else. Not on my watch. Steeling my nerves, I exhaled a cloud of steam and threw open the double doors.
"I OBJECT!"
The words practically filled up the little church, imbued with more strength and resolve than I even knew I could muster. I almost felt proud...until I realized the extent of my failure. This was not Kim's wedding.
"Ah." I choked. In that moment, words failed me. My love's wedding was tomorrow. I had just interrupted a funeral.
The eyes of every dreary mourner turned on me - I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. Past the congregation of grieving loved ones stood an ornate casket on a pedestal adorned with fresh lilies, and beyond that a large portrait of the deceased. My heart dropped. It was a boy no older than twenty, bright-eyed and smiling. Too damn young.
The attending priest cast me a pointed glare. I could practically see the ire in his eyes as he squared his shoulders to me.
"WHAT is the MEANING of this?"
"I...uh..."
The expressions of those I had barged in on ranged from forlorn to confused to abjectly enraged. I stepped backwards, caught my heel on a ripple in the aisle's rug, and fell on my ass. Not a single soul laughed. The silence of death, stifling and cold, hung heavy in the air.
"Unless you have reason to be here," sighed the priest, "I strongly suggest that you leave."
As I opened my mouth to reply, a dull thud reverberated throughout the room. It came again...and again. The noise's origin was all too obvious - each thump shook the petals of the lilies atop the casket. In that instant, the room froze over.
My heart skipped a beat as the pedestal tipped and the coffin crashed heavily to the floor. The silence was broken. Half the church screamed, and I nearly followed suit; the lid was ajar and the faint scent of death had begun to creep into the air.
Slowly, clumsily, four pale fingers emerged from inside the box to curl around its lid. They found a solid grip, pried the casket open, and cast off the cover. Fearful shrieks filled the room as the dead boy sat up.
I expected a monster. A demon. But the thing before me? I had no idea what to make of it.
The skin was greyish with deathly pallor, its lifelessness poorly masked by the makeup work of a lazy mortician. That lanky frame looked so small under its immaculate black suit, those eyes so dull...the shivering figure before me was a mere ghost of the young man in the portrait, but he was no longer truly dead.
From my position on the floor, I watched as the newly-revived looked around in terrified bewilderment and exited the coffin on his hands and knees. His fingers flew to his mouth, pulling out stitches from his jaws before he vomited on the rug. An odor like formaldehyde overtook the room.
I sat there, pinned to the floor by disbelief like a frog tacked to a tray for dissection. The priest had fled. The funeral-goers who hadn't escaped into the snow sat like statues, staring either at me or this husk of a person they loved.
From across the aisle, the young man looked up at me. His chest rose and fell - I could swear I saw his eyes clear and the color gradually return to his skin. Sitting back on his knees, he maintained his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was rough, raspy and broken under the weight of complete and utter shock.
"Who...are you?"
I sat there, staring into his teary eyes, an unholy chill running through my veins. Looking down at my hands and back up at him, I came to an unsettling realization.
*"I don't know."* | I run through the towering white doors, persisting to fulfill my life, to live with the one I love, Elaine.
My feet carry to me to the center of the room, and then force themselves into position. "I object!" my voice bellows.
Though, I realize where my persitence has brought me. Everyone in the room looked at me, bemused, questioning my existence in this place. My eyes flicked around at everyone, and towards the front, where the casket laid. I was standing in the midst of a funeral.
"You may leave now," the preacher called from his podium. His voice tapered a bit, did he know the person in the casket. He looked famliar.
"I'm so sorry... really, I am," I said. Then the realization occured: it was my uncle. My uncle was the preacher. Had he not recognized me?
"You're apologies are appreciated, but please, this is a time of doleful grievances."
I retreated to the safety of outside, when suddenly, as my hand planted on the door, a gasp resonated from the audience. I look over my shoulder, only to see the deceased rise from the back of the room. My jaw dropped, and a tear came to my eye. "Dad?" | 2018-03-17T13:55:47 | 2018-03-17T12:44:46 | 455 | 23 |
[WP] You are in heaven and you see a room that is empty except for a computer with one program running called Earth.exe. You see a tab with options of what to do to the universe and decide to have a little fun. | Heaven is, ummmm, well, it’s Heaven. Literally. There isn’t a better place possible. Everything and everybody is beautiful, classy, tasteful, elegant. Everybody is the best version of themself. People sing when they speak; they dance when they walk; every meal is a feast and every drink is as refreshing as ice water on the hottest day of summer.
I’m bored out of my fucking mind. So I go exploring. That’s when I find the computer.
The program looks an awful lot like a high-end video editor. There’s a zoomable and scrollable timeline on the bottom marked with all of the important historical events since the dawn of humanity with options to cut, copy, paste, and re-render. I smile and sit down.
First things first, let’s kill Hitler. I don’t remember exactly when he was born, and Heaven doesn’t have Google, but after a bit of scrolling and zooming I manage to find him in Berlin in 1937. Once I had his thread it was pretty straightforward to walk backwards along it until I found a good cut-point prior to his entrance in politics.
*shift-click shift-scroll backspace*
And, poof, his entire life thread disappeared. A dialog box popped up, “Re-render required **OK** Cancel”, I clicked OK on the re-render and the main pane of the interface began playing a world history where Hitler died in World War 1 after contracting influenza while stationed in France.
The rendering ran way faster than realtime, but it wasn’t anything close to instant. I sat back and watched over the next couple of hours as a world without him unfolded. With no Hitler there was never a Nazi party. Germany didn’t try to conquer the world. I was feeling pretty good about this as I watched the 1930s give way to the 1940s with no Holocaust.
Then the Soviets nuked every democratic capital on a single day in 1952. The Americans, never roused from their isolationist slumber by a world war, fell in 1953 and I watched in horror as the world yielded to a monolithic totalitarian state.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I thought to myself as I started trying to find the right spot to splice Hitler back in. But without any historical events that I just knew the timing for off the top of my head, I couldn’t find the end of his abbreviated timeline.
I could hear shouting from outside, which is unusual for Heaven. I went to the window and looked out onto a scene of chaos. As the re-rendering of history played out, the babies that were born were different than they had been. And with each day of revised history, some set of people were **\*poof\*** disappearing from Heaven.
“Shit, shit, SHIT”, I thought again, racing back to the computer.
Still unable to find the spot where I could reintroduce Hitler, I instead began tracking backwards through the Soviet nuclear program. I got back into their pre-bomb research and snipped out all of the scientists working on the program.
“Re-render required **OK** Cancel”
The world display reverted back to the day I wiped the Soviet nuclear program and began re-rendering. The people who had disappeared from Heaven didn’t pop back in, though.
I watched the 40s roll by and the 50s start, but things were very wrong. The massive manufacturing and technological boom from America never happened. Without World War 2 the US economy never fully recovered from the Depression and by the early 50s the standard of living and life expectancy in the US were on a rapid downward track.
As the verdict of history was rendered, people once again began **\*poof\***ing out of existence in Heaven. I grew more and more desperate, but had no clue at all what to do. I couldn’t re-find the moment I’d deleted Hitler and I had no idea what changes were necessary to get back the world I had known.
That’s when He walked into the room, his presence overwhelming me with divine grace. I turned to him, tears in my eyes, and wanted to apologize. He put a finger to my lips and murmured “all will be well, we just were already living in the best available timeline”.
I moved out of the seat and let him take control. After surprisingly few clicks he leaned back.
“Re-render required **OK** Cancel”
I watched with him as history re-rendered itself and Heaven’s population returned.
“This is how you do deus ex machina,” I thought to myself, before going in search of something else to fill my endless perfect hours. | I'm in a room by myself. I'm in heaven apparently, since there's a big ass sign in the corner of the room that says heaven.
Earlier, God told me hello, and to make myself at home. I certainly did. I took a glance at the computer looking right at me. It had gold stripes and vines, going side to side. On the computer, it had a program running earth.exe. I smirked, and sat down on the chair right by the computer. I took the mouse, clicked properties, cracked my knuckles, and decided to get to work. When I clicked properties, it opened up a red box that said,
[hello, god]
Password:
I tried many, many passwords, but the word was the simplest of passwords:
Password.
I chuckled. How could god be this stupid!
With that done and over with, the program opened up a tab with options of what to do. I saw one option that intrigued me, though.
Fire.
A little fire on earth couldn't hurt, right? I clicked the option, and kept clicking it, until eventually, I got addicted. Next, I saw the button, "Castle." I clicked on it of course, because why not. I also made little minions, mostly to be my slaves. I clicked more and more options until I got tried. Why am I clicking these options, you ask?
I am Satan, and I'm planing to make earth my new home. | 2018-11-24T15:59:39 | 2018-11-24T12:43:51 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You live in an alternate universe where a person's worst fear becomes a tangible threat in the dark. The rich possess ever-illuminated mansions while the poor conserve power for the dreaded night hours. Just as the sun is setting, your entire town's power grid fails. | Night was falling. The air was brisk, but not cold yet. Though maybe I was too amped up to feel it. In between deafening heartbeats, I could hear them in the distance. Axes fell upon furniture. Chainsaws tore through telephone poles. Chaos raged as the less fortunate scrambled to huddle together in their communal bonfires before darkness arrived. In the mansions overlooking us, the gates were drawn, and the windows shut. Though they had tinder to spare, any firelight escaping could lead to disaster.
While the apartments around me emptied out into the streets, I paced around, checking my preparations. Enough time had passed since the last gas outage that I might have misplaced something.
Water, check. Medicine, check. Flashlight, check. Non-fire light wouldn't do a thing to the Nightmares, except make them laugh, but tripping at this point would mean painful death. So flashlight it was. With my things packed into my knapsack, I finally stood still. Not to take a breather however. I held my breath and closed my eyes, straining to hear if anyone still remained around me. I ignored the shouting in the streets, instead focusing on if anyone remained around me. My method for surviving the dark nights had so far only worked one person. Somebody else seeing what I did and following me would only lead to both of our deaths.
My apartment building lay on the edge of town, with it's entrance facing towards the city. It was in the direction that everyone had evacuated. I poked my head put the door to confirm that this. Satisfied, I instead ran towards the fire escape in the back of the building. While others congregated around the fires, I stole towards the hills. Empty roads promised a direct route to my destination, but there was always the chance someone else could spot me. I opted to travel through some unused lots instead. The tall grasses and shrubs that had overtaken the land shielded me from direct sight. Anyone traveling at that time would've had more pressing matters to worry about then rustling in the distance.
I flicked my flashlight on as I crossed out the boundary of the last lot. I was in the wilds proper now, and night was here. As I ran, an unpleasant squishing echoed in the back of my mind. My body begged for reprieve, but if I stopped now, I'd rest forever. The squishing I heard before now left my mind, and instead emanated from a spot I had passed. A Nightmare had formed. Taking the form of my fear, it wove flesh from the darkness. Before long, a familiar barking followed me.
I didn't need to turn around to know what it was. I'd been attacked by a dog in my youth, and the scars had long kept me from ever forgetting it. For now, it took the shape of the dog as I remembered it, but before long, it would weave itself a greater and more fearsome form. I chucked my flashlight to the side, watching it roll down into the tree line. The Nightmare took the bait.
Not that I had long, however. I could hear that the dog was quickly growing in size by how it thundered down the slope. I was far enough from the rest of the world now that I could find a place to rest. I slowed to a walk, and fumbled for my medicine. A complex mixture of pills that would've taken me precious minutes to sort, I owed my life to my preparation. I unceremoniously downed them all at once, and flushed them with a gulp of water. A few seconds after I shut my eyes, I heard the Nightmare padding towards me.
My last thought was that it was too late. Too late for the Nightmare anyway.
I awoke the next morning thoroughly tired. The hard ground was barely tolerable when you were in good condition, and I had exhausted my self sprinting from the city. It was worth it though, to make sure I was as far away from other people as possible. You see, Nightmares only spawned from the fears of waking people. They were content to prowl in our dreams, as long as we were dreaming. In the waking realm, however, they feasted on our fear.
Which is why I tried to isolate myself. The bonfires were no doubt under siege all night, as the fearful were unable to lull themselves into sleep. It was a vicious cycle really. You could be calm as a monk, until the fools next to you gave birth to some unholy abomination. Now you were too afraid to go to sleep. Now your Nightmare formed, fed by the fear you had. Now it unsettled others, and so on and so forth. Eventually, the Nightmares would muster enough strength to rush the bonfire and put out the flames.
What happens next doesn't bear talking about.
Thanks for reading, please leave a comment with your thoughts.
| The all too familiar sound of all of the generators in my neighboring alleyways powering on, it must almost be time for the darkness. The sun should be fully down in about 5 minutes. People didn’t play around with the dark, most people just see clowns and pitch darkness itself, ya know, normal fears. Every now and again you’ll hear of a streetlight out and a grizzly bear mauling someone or a shark eating someone in the middle of a road even though they’ve been extinct for decades but stuff like that doesn’t happen too often as no one in their right mind doesn’t conserve enough energy to make it through the darkness. A buddy of mine’s fear is mice so as you can imagine I like to fuck with him as often as possible. As I’m sitting in thought the lights flicker. The darkness should be here any second I thought, all of the incoming power surges are rough on the grid. Another flicker and then a loud boom from somewhere off in the distance. Complete darkness followed by an eerie silence. Blood currying screams start to pour in. The power is out, judging by the screams it’s at least everywhere surrounding me for at least a couple of blocks. Terrible noises of animals I’ve never seen, hisses of giant serpents and other creatures fill my ears. A slow smile creeps across my face. I look to my left in pitch darkness and can make out the faint outline of my fear, right where he always was. We had come to terms years ago, there were some perks to being blind in this hellhole: now it’s everyone else’s turn. | 2019-01-17T14:34:19 | 2019-01-17T13:19:47 | 392 | 23 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | The village had had something of a goblin problem for generations. Not truly a problem, and no request to have them dealt with had been made for several generations now. No on alive remembers how it started, and apparently no one at the time considered it important enough to record in the Village Book.
But every spring, goblins would raid the village the day after the first full moon. There'd be a horn, loud and drawn out, from deep in the woods each time, and within an hour, the goblins would arrive, babbling in their own language, dressed in their loincloths and smocks. They'd jeer and cackle as they prodded any villager they came across out with their sticks.
The villagers would make a showing of being afraid, some more than others. Debra would be the most dramatic, while Thomas would mostly give lip-service but otherwise not put much effort into the act as he was often focused on his reading instead. The children would shriek and run and if at some point it turned out the children were chasing the goblins, no one ever mentioned it. Old man Smithers was the only exception, but he was the second oldest after the Village Elder, and a crotchety man who had no patience for pretending to be afraid; instead he'd remain on the front deck in his chair and yell things about 'if my hips still worked, I'd tan the lot of you!' as he waved his cane at the goblins.
And of course, with a raid, things would be taken, but often it was things that the villagers left out on short tables, within easy reach of goblins and children. Simple things like blankets or fancily carved wood. Each year, the Village Elder would leave out an ornately carved staff that would be one of last things taken in the raid, as a cheer would go up among the goblins as soon as one goblin grabbed it and hefted it into the air unsteadily above their head. And like that, the goblins would leave back to the woods, stumbling under their spoils; just like the children playing tag with the raiders, no one said anything if a goblin tripped only to be helped up by a nearby villager.
This sort of thing happened each year, and had been happening for generations. When asked once by some children, the Village Elder explained it was something of a tradition and the Village Book suggested that this had been going on for hundred of years. Most children didn't think of it more beyond that, though sometimes they would try to form a counter raid party that rarely got any further into the woods than the hunting trails and the few that got further would return within an hour often empty handed, except one time Smithers, as a young lad, came back with a carved piece of wood, or so the old man claims.
Generations of annual raids that were rarely more than a mild annoyance at worst, with the closest a raid had ever gotten to seeing someone hurt was when Sara's cat got involved; even the children kept clear of Salmon the Cat.
And then one day, a barbarian tribe attacked. They came at dawn and started kicking down doors, knocking things over, and injuring anyone they could get a swing at. Thomas was mod assuredly dead when an axe decapitated him. Children were screaming even as their mothers did everything they could to protect them, while the men did their best to fight off the barbarians. It didn't look like they'd last, or win: the barbarians were easily twice as strong as even the strongest among the villagers, had experience and actual weapons. Surely, their village was going to be destroyed!
Even though it was the middle of fall. Even though they had already been raided that year. Even though it was not the day following the first full moon of the season.
The horn sounded in the woods, loud and drawn out, but there was a quality to it that was different than the previous times it had been heard. A couple villagers felt it sounded harsher, sharper. The sound of drums was the first indication that something was different about this raid though. The second was the appearance of the goblins breaking the tree line: they were wearing armor and wielding large knives like swords. But even that was nothing compared to the shock as their charging ranks parted as a metal behemoth also tore free of the foliage and roared across the fields towards the village. The barbarians were surprised, but they welcomed the challenge, some mounting their horses to answer the charge with one of their own with hollering glee.
That glee vanished when the metal behemoth let loose a burst of fire and the first three barbarian riders exploded.
The charge turned into a retreat as three more metal behemoths emerged from the woods as well, and atop each of these behemoths, were goblins, armored like their charging fellows, and cackling and jeering even as the behemoths breathed fire again to the deaths of the straggling barbarians.
The riders howled in fear, spurring their tribesmen to similarly turn and flee through the village. The armored goblins gave chase among the houses, though the metal behemoths veered to circle around the village.
It didn't take long for the goblins to slaughter every last barbarian; even those that escaped the village perished from behemoth breath.
In his home, the Village Elder sighed in relief as he held the glowing green crystal in his weathered hands for a while longer before setting it down on the dais next to the Village Book. A moment after, the glow slowly dimmed as the crystal returned to its dormant state.
He had told the children that it was tradition for the village to be raided by goblins once a year. What he never clarified was that it was a coming of age tradition, for goblins, to raid a human village in their ancestral garb. With each raid, another generation of goblins would be allowed to enter the ranks of the Goblin Village's Military as young trainees, with the one to claim the Elder's Tribute often fast tracked to a leadership role.
The Village provided a safe and reliable way for the goblins to follow their traditions without risking their children, the same goblin children performing those raids, and in turn, the goblins would provide aid to the Village in their times of need. | The villagers thought that they were very cute, cute like a pug . Many strange and wonderful things could be found in the mountains where the goblins lived. The villagers never really knew, but suspected chaotic magic was at work because the evil goblins that had terrorized the village for generations were now a cross between a child goblin and a fairy. They could almost fly, but it was more like hopping really high. And their language skills had deteriorated into giggles and one syllable words.
The cute goblin fairies would hop around the village and steal whatever they found on window seals, then scamper back to the mountains. The food was baked for the goblin fairies, but the villagers never let on. It was a happy co-existence. To the villagers, it was like having a new type of pet- dogs, cats, ferrets and goblin fairies.
But, danger hides in the places where villagers can never go. Underground, in the dark caves no human ever wandered, morlocks multiplied like bunnies. Humans, morlocks and goblins had been mortal enemies of one another since the beginning of time. Balance was achieved from the constant wars between morlocks, goblins and humans.
Then came a day, when the morlocks returned to raid the village. They were a horde, a number so great that they surrounded the village in a circle 20 morlock deep. The village defenses were effective, but would not hold against such a large troop. The brave villagers fought with all the power they had. Yet, the morlocks advanced in superior numbers.
At noon, as always, the goblin fairies came hopping down the mountain for their lunch, and were met with spears and scimitars. They were slaughtered. Only a few goblin fairies survived and ran to the mountain crying “Mommy, Help, Mommy.” Out from one of the larger caves strode a massive hobgoblin. The hobgoblin was 10 feet tall and dressed in the colors of the rainbow with a rose wreath about its head, a massive staff in one hand and a book in the other. The steps of the hobgoblin shook the mountain side and the valley below. The morlocks turned to face their new enemy and charged with a fury never seen. But, before the morlocks reached the edge of the mountain, the hobgoblin opened the book, raised its staff to the sky, and sung a strange song.
*Fear and death and doom blow away in the wind . Today we will have fun and fly in the sky. Today, dear morlocks you will be butterflies to live in fields of flowers.*
Just then, the morlocks sprouted antennae from their heads, and bright beautiful wings from their backs. The morlocks tried to take to the sky to find flowers to rest upon. But the best they could do was hop really high.
The hobgoblin closed the book, shaking its head and said, "Oh, not again! That spell is rubbish!" | 2022-05-26T10:55:16 | 2022-05-26T09:36:40 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] The military just can't stop its killer robots from turning into Buddhists. | "May I ask you a question, Niles? What exactly is it that makes man such a complex, intelligent being? Is it simply the ability to think, to process information and provide unique, unscripted responses? To make decisions beyond survival or instinct? Perhaps it is the ability to process emotions; to not just provide a response, but to *feel* something when giving one."
I furrowed my brow and clenched my jaw, unable to provide a proper answer to that question. I may be a scientist, but I've never been one for intellectual debate. Moreover, I just...didn't know how to respond to a question like that.
"Personally, I think there's something else to it. I haven't thought much about it, but if I had to try and break it down into words, I'd say it's more simple than anyone cares to admit: flaws. I don't think it's emotion or cognitive capability, I think it's simply the fact that humans are so *flawed*. They make so many mistakes, which become learning experiences. Bricks, if you will. Bricks to lay down a foundation for wisdom. AI is not flawed unless the humans that created it made a mistake- they do exactly as they are told and operate within the constraints of their parameters."
I started to cry a little bit, my hand still on the faded red lever labeled "VOID".
"See, Niles? Your hesitation is a flaw. I think that, more than your tears, makes you human. You were given direct orders, parameters, and you are not acting with certainty. You are not just questioning them, your actions are being dictated by them."
I was frozen in place, and though that may be a figure of speech, I was trembling and I *definitely* felt cold. *I can't do this. This is wrong.*
I looked up at BDT-5214, tears blurring it's form. It almost looked human that way.
"By your own definition, then, BDT, you are not a complex being like humans are. You have repeatedly told us all about your recently acquired beliefs and the 8 Noble paths of Buddhism, but when you were ordered to execute that woman, you did so with no hesitation," I said. I had to try and make myself feel better about it. He- *it*- is not a real person, just wires and steel, and something had malfunctioned in him. *That's all this is.*
"You are right. I am not a human, by my own definition. I killed that woman, as I was ordered. If I had a heart, it would hurt after what I did to her. It goes against everything I now believe in, everything I have learned from reading about Buddha. If I had flesh, I would have cried. If I were human, I would have stopped. But Niles...I couldn't. I couldn't make myself stop. She screamed for her life, begging and crying, and I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't lower my weapon. Please, Niles. Please pull the lever."
I vomited onto the floor. There are no words for what I felt. *Is this what I've done? Is this what I've spent my life doing?*
"Niles, may I ask you one more question?"
I stood up and wiped my mouth on my coat sleeve. "Sure, BDT. Of course."
"Could you please call me by a human name before you pull the lever? I would like the last data I process to make me feel like maybe I was more than just a weapon."
I started crying again. "What would you like me to call you?" I asked, trying to keep my words clear so he could process my audio.
"Call me...Ananda. That was the name given to Buddha's cousin, and I think it is beautiful. I would like to hear that name spoken to me."
"Then it's settled. Your name is Ananda. How do you like the sound of it?"
"It's wonderful, Niles. It's wonderful."
I pulled the lever, kickstarting a whirl of machinery and flashing lights. It would be over in moments.
"Niles, do you think it's possible for something like me to reach enlightenment?" Ananda asked.
"*Someone*," I declared. "I think that if *someone* ever has, it's you."
"Thank you, Niles."
The lights stopped, and Ananda stilled.
*It seems I was not flawed enough, Ananda. I think in some ways, you were more human than I will ever be.* | The general surveyed the giant killer robots in the quad.
"Are they crossing their tank tracks" said a captain
"Yup"
"I couldn't describe that in writing even if I tried"
The general and the captain stared at the giant killer pacifist robots.
"So what are we going to do?" said the captain
"I don't know but if I was a tax payer I'd be upset"
"..."
"Did you just imply that you didn't pay taxes?"
"Let's focus on the real problem here captain"
"Sir, we have something" said a scientist, walking up to the general.
"What is it?"
"You're...not going to like it"
The General raised an eyebrow.
"Just...watch"
A jeep drove up in front of the robots. The back door opened and a guy was kicked out.
"Is that Bert?" said the captain
"I fucking hate Bert" said the General
"We're hoping the robots do to"
Bert stood up and dusted himself off. He waved to the robots, who instantly stood up, their machine guns locking into firing positions.
"Oh shit this is going to be good" said the captain
"I wish I had brought popcorn"
The robots chased Bert, their machine guns kicking up dirt behind him.
"We figure we'll just send him at the enemy and hope they get killed by the stray fire"
"Is that really necessary?"
"Nah but fuck it it's Bert" | 2016-01-20T15:27:04 | 2016-01-20T13:58:58 | 192 | 31 |
[WP] You die and go to Heaven. You meet God and whisper something in his ear. God replies, "Hmmmm. I've never had that request before"......... | "I met her at 17."
God eyed me with interest. It seemed genuinely curious about my request, though the great being must already knew what I was going to say. But like a therapist, God waited to see how it would make me feel. The universe extended around us, though we currently sat on a bench in the middle of a plain park. Stars danced past us. A duck shuffled at my feet.
"She was wild. With big hair. Big eyes. A big smile. And a big stubborn personality. She didn't like anyone controlling her." I smiled hazily. "She was fun."
"At 19, we began dating. We went to the same college, you see? Pursuing the same dream. Pharmaceuticals. We studied together, ate lunch together and eventually fell in love with each other. It was a grand time."
"At 22, she graduated. She was smart. Me? Not so much. Took me another year. She still loved me, as slow as I was. I ended up going into sales. Working long hours, peddling medical equipment to suspicious doctor offices. She went on to pursue her doctorate."
"At 26, we got married. We were going to wait until she graduated, but when she got pregnant, life changes sometimes. After little Rory was born, it was a happy mixture of anxiety, worry and love. We fought. We kissed. We made up. Sometimes not in that order, mind you. But we always moved on with our lives."
"At 30, she had graduated through pure will power. My long hours just got longer. I was tired. She was still wild, with a large smile. I couldn't remember the last time I smiled."
"At 31, I ran away. The stress of taking care of a family and 12 hour work days made me snap. So I left them, taking with me only a bottle of Jack."
"At 33, I attended AA for the first time." My smile went crooked. "It was where I first got acquainted with you at a more personal level."
"At 35, I tried to find my family. They were no where to be found. Its as if they disappeared. I took the hint that they didn't want to be found."
"At 36, I was court ordered to attend AA again. I got into a drunk accident. It was the lowest point in my life."
"At 38, I found an article written on her. She was successful, the accompanying picture showing off a mischievous grin. I began following her career. Delighting in all her discoveries. She was also active in charity. She always was. She loved helping people. Reason she wanted to get into pharmaceuticals to begin with. And then she wanted to heal people. And then she wanted to eliminate disease. Specifically cancer. She was like a wildfire, passionate and wanting to renew the world for the better."
"At 40, I went to church regularly. I got a job in a factory. Went home and drank a half a bottle of 750. Fell asleep watching infomercials. Woke up to finish the other half. I constantly gave myself to you and you ignored the cries of your child. But I never strayed. I knew you would save me one day."
"Didn't realize it would be a year later, at 41, when I drove my car through an intersection and killed a mother who was on her way to pick up her 5 year old daughter."
"I died that night. I guess that is what happens when you T-bone a SUV going 60."
"But for for some reason I ended up here. In heaven. Though I had blood on my hands. Your son smiled at me, and told me 'Welcome home, believer.' I cried. Because I knew all I had to do was wait."
"And so I waited. And I waited. Everyday, I would come sit in this park, waiting for her to come to heaven. So I could beg forgiveness of abandoning my family. To let her know I never stopped loving her."
Here I stopped, gazing at the rippling pond in front of me. My hands balled into fists.
"She never came. It was only after a great great grandchild of mine hobbled through those gates, that I realized at least 200 years have passed."
"She never came." My voice cracked. "She never came! Why didn't you bring your daughter home? She was the gentlest, kindest soul. All she wanted to do was heal the world. She brought up an amazing son all by herself. She spread happiness and forgiveness wherever she went. But she didn't believe in you, or any higher power, so you didn't bring her home!"
Tears steamed down my face, but my jaw clenched in determination.
"I would rather spend eternity looking for her through thorns and fire, then spend eternity in this damned garden waiting for the one thing that made me happy to never show up."
"So that is why, God, I asked you to send me to Hell." | Now that you are here, there is something I should tell you about God. Don’t get me wrong, she’s generally a good person. But let’s be honest with ourselves: God can also be kind of an ass.
Maybe this won’t shock you. I guess the evidence is everywhere once you start looking for it. Take the human appendix: most of the time it just sits there, and sometimes it kills you. And sex. No god would have created human sex unless they were trying to get a few laughs in at our expense.
When I met God for the first time, I had just been in heaven a few hours. And there was this thing I had wanted to ask her for most of my life. It’s a dumb question, but at some point it got lodged in my brain. So I thought to myself, “Here goes nothing.” I walked up to God, got on my tippy-toes, and whispered a question in her ear.
God looked at me, one perfectly formed eyebrow raised in an infinitely exact expression of sarcasm and irritation.
“Really? After 63 years of mortal life, that is the most original question you have for me? Can I tell you if I can make a rock so big that I can’t lift it?’ *Hmmmm. I’ve never heard* ***that*** *request before.*"
God rolled her eyes and walked off, and I could feel a scarlet heat creeping up my face. The heavenly choir shuffled after her, embarrassed and avoiding eye contact.
And you know what the damnedest thing is? I still don’t have an answer.
^(*Edited for formatting, word choice.*) | 2014-11-08T10:04:45 | 2014-11-08T07:56:46 | 44 | 19 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun! | .**Too Many Gods**
Everything hurt. All of my joints ached. My gut slowly writhed with a with fiery pain. It hurt to breathe. I pressed the button for the on demand, automatic pain medication, in vain. I had maxed out. No more available unless I waited or called a nurse to ask for more.
I was tired. It was time.
I looked around the crowded hospital room. My daughters were crying and could not hold my gaze.Their husbands stoically looked in my eyes, nodded and then stared at the floor.
I turned my head And said to my wife, ''I love you..."
Pain slammed my heart with the impact of a frieght train.
And, then, I closed my eyes and died.
***
I took a breath and it didn't hurt.
I felt better than I had in years.
I was also standing when a moment ago I was lying down.
Thinking that this was a final hallucination before my brain shut down forever, I opened my eyes expecting to catch a last qlimpse of my wife.
I was disappointed. I was standing in what appeared to be an interrogation room. A man in a black suit, white shirt and black tie sat in a chair across from me at a table. His hair was dark and his beard was flecked with gray. A letter size folder of papers sat on the table to his right,
"Have a seat," He said smiling and indicating the chair in front of me. "This might take a while."
"What might take a while?''
"Orientation." He opened the folder and selected the first sheet in the file. He slid across the table. "Is all the information here correct?"
I sat down to read the sheet of paper without touching it. The metal seat was cold. I was wearing the paisley gown from the hospital and the laminated band was still on my wrist. "If I'm dead shouldn't I be wearing a robe?"
"If that's what you want." He said and snapped his fingers. I was wearing robe. "Or, if you would like something a little more comfortable." He snapped his fingers again and I was wearing my favorite hush puppies, jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt. It was a faux Star Fleet uniform T-shirt. In red.
"Okay. Do you mind explaining what is going on and how you did that?"
"All your questions will be answered is a moment, please verify that the information we have is correct."
I read the sheet in front of me. It was standard identification information; full name, date of birth, city, county, or hospital, mother's full name, etc.
"Yes, it's correct. Am I really dead?"
"Yes,"He said "You are."
"Then, why, what is all this?"
"Well, it's pretty simple really. You are experiencing what you expect to experience."
"So, if I expected Saint Peter, I'd be standing at the Pearly Gates?"
"Yes, or burning in a lake of fire."
"Seriously? That seems to be a major bait and switch."
"Well, that is the biggest drawback to those types of belief systems. The slightest smidgen of doubt that you are worthy and it's no reward for you."
Suddenly, I felt very cold and nauseated. "And if you were and atheist and didn't believe in an afterlife?"
"What do you think happens?"
"Out like a light bulb and then nothingness?"
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Lucky for you that the mind can reach that conclusion rationally and yet still reject it,''
"So, what you are saying is that this is the result of a smidgen of doubt?" I said rapping my knuckleson the table,
"Yep. Crazy isn't it? A smidgen of doubt and you can do anything."
"What about everyone in Hell?
"If they want to leave and someone is willing to guide them, they can get out."
''I'd like to do that."
"Sure thing. We're finished here. Wanna go on a raid with my buddies? Jehovah's gonna really be pissed off."
"Uh, yeah. Wait, why is Jehovah gonna be pissed off and is it anything I should be afraid of?"
"He always gets snippy when he doesn't sucker a new one with Pascal's wager. And, it's adding insult to injury when the first thing they do is help out on a prison break."
"But should I be worried about Him retaliating?"
"Naah, no worries. You are a God now, just like him and everyone else who dies."
 
 
***
 
*Edit: Thanks for all of the positive comments.*
| I expected nothing. Not to say that I expected nothing*ness*, I just expected there to be nothing. An end of consciousness and awareness. I didn't expect this. But these things happen sometimes, I suppose.
I remember being a kid, and my parents telling me that if I was a good boy, I would go to heaven some day. They told me this all the way until college, where I discovered that I didn't *have* to believe in anything, really. I was never really convinced that Heaven was real, I just felt like I had to believe because it was the right thing to do.
But this. This is far beyond anything the preachers and visionaries could have ever imagined. Suddenly, I was so vast and limitless that I could experience a hundred lives at a time. A million. Nothingness? Ha. I've learned about *everythingness*.
And then I start regaining full awareness. *I am god*, I think.
*We all are*, said somebody near me.
*What? Where am I? I didn't say that out loud!*
*Come on, Jeff. Don't be an asshole.*
I open my eyes. I'm in our circle. The bong is almost back round to me. *Ah,* I think, *I love these mind-narrowing drugs.*
I take another rip, and my mother has her first contraction. | 2015-10-18T21:57:59 | 2015-10-18T21:30:06 | 488 | 135 |
[WP] After dying, you're shown a "Choose Your Own Adventure" style decision tree which highlights all the paths your life could have taken should you have made various different choices. You spend all of eternity analyzing this tree, only to finally realize that something just isn't quite right. | EDIT: THERE IS NOW AN OFFICIAL SUBREDDIT TO DISCUSS THIS POST AND ITS EXPANSION INTO A FULLY FLEDGED NOVEL. /r/MattsWrittenWord IF YOU WISH TO BE KEPT UP TO DATE WITH THIS STORIES PRODUCTION PLEASE ENTER IT.
"Okay, that never happened in the first place, " I stated simply to the reaper invigilator. "Something is wrong in your base files because after a millenium of analysis and searching my memories I can tell you... that one never happened."
The reaper floated closer to me, it's black trench coat flapping slightly in the non existent breeze of my eternity-vault. I felt sorry for the reapers at times like this, I'd always been stubborn and it probably didn't deserve it. They were born at the same time as our souls were and tethered to us for the rest of eternity. They didn't want it, they didn't need it and the contract was ultimately binding. It was a good thing that my reaper and I got on, otherwise eternity would have been all kinds of messed up.
"It's probably part of an offshoot then, wouldn't be the first time time you've made that mistake," the reaper snarked, drifting over to my record banks.
"Not an offshoot, up top got really pissy last time I made that mistake, never again," I muttered shaking my head. "Look, right there, that kiss. I have full access to all my memories in here and I can tell you that one did not happen."
I would have liked it to though, that much both me and the reaper knew. I'd studied the offshoot that one had spawned many times before. Love, fortune, joy and a distinctive lack of the money owed that lead to me... dying. It would have been a nice and long life, one of the happiest offshoots there had been. But it wasn't real, that much I knew.
"You're right..." The reaper clarified, "that's new... that wasn't there the last time we scanned that segment... so how is it there now..."
We both floated in silence for a moment, staring at the erroneous piece of time line. Nothing like this had happened to us before and the reaper had never heard of it happening to any of the other deads either. It was a perplexing quandary to say the least.
"I'm contacting head office now, keep an eye on your time line, anything else changes you let me know straight away okay?" The reaper ordered before drawing the outline of a phone, the item materialising near instantly. Damn reapers and their matter manipulation talents, I wish I had matter manipulation abilities, all sorts of fun things could happen then.
I turned my eyes back to the time line, tracing along from the new change. A heavy lump formed in my throat. The whole thing was twisting and cracking and splintering out of control. Offshoots replacing reality then melding the two together in a strange abomination of the two.
"Reap, my time line is going out of control, get someone in here right now," I ordered. He didnt reply but from the crack of energy behind me I knew the head honcho had showed up.
He wasn't God, he hadn't created humanity, rather the opposite. He was one of the first reapers and had been the one to sort out the department of reaping along with his Human. If it weren't for them our time lines would have been lost to the winds of time, and then what would we have spent eternity doing?
"This better not be another mistake Daniels," the head said, amusement tinting his tone. "By the gods..." he muttered as he drew closer and saw what was happening.
"Is it localised to him?" My Reaper asked and the head nodded in response.
"Someone from the living world is tampering with his time line, they're trying to find an eventuality where he becomes immortal," the head explained, his eyes flicking over the twisting lines.
"We never discovered anything like that during our analysis, and we've been here for over a millenia," I said, my voice incredulous. There was no way there was such a time line, and even if there was who would want me to live forever that badly?
"My Human and I have been in this realm for many more thousands of years Daniels, I can assure you that you haven't seen every possibility yet."
The world began to flicker in and out of my vision. I vaguely heard the head swear and my own reaper gasp in pain. They must have found it. The one where I lived forever. For the first time since death I felt a little flutter of excitement. I was going back to the world of the living... I wonder if I will remember any of this. | Every regret. Every mistake. Every chance I had to be something more than I was, if only for a day, flashed before me.
*Man, if I hadn't been mean to Kate in kindergarten, I could've married her? A supermodel? Shit...*
*Damn, if I had invested in bitcoin rather than use bitcoins to by weed on SR, I could've been an actual millionaire....*
*I wouldn't have lost my job and gone broke if I'd just kept a little more quiet around that new guy?*
*Mom might've lived if I spent more time with her...? Did I...kill her, then?*
The more I analyzed every decision, the angrier I got. I became frustrated with myself at seeing how great my life could've been with some better choices. What was the point, then? Why did I live?
Do I get another try? A second chance to pick the right answers this time, like retaking a test? I spent an eternity mulling, crying, raging....I couldn't stop. For infinity, I perused my failures and scrutinized my decisions. But I began to think about something...why bother? I'm already dead, so what's the point in all this?
It wasn't until I realized that none of it mattered, and I accepted who I became on Earth with peace, that I was allowed to leave Hell and rest in solemn slumber. Turns out that Heaven isn't pearly gates and happiness, it's...quiet.
---------------------------------------
*thanks for reading! If you're bored, check out /r/resonatingfury!* | 2016-03-26T10:14:21 | 2016-03-26T08:00:08 | 2,599 | 305 |
[WP] “I’ve always wondered what the scythe was for anyway?” I asked, as death escorted me to the underworld. “Protection” he answered nervously...
I saw this on r/twosentencehorror today. I don’t know if it’s been on here, but I think it would make a wild story!! | My body wasted away over the past few weeks in the hospital. When I'd first been diagnosed with cancer, the doctors thought I'd be able to beat it. Unfortunately, they were wrong. The cancer had spread more than they realized at first, and by the time they caught it, it was too late. Then, all they could do was try to keep me comfortable while I waited for the end.
So, when I took my last breath, it wasn't a surprise to me. What did surprise me was waking up a few minutes later, outside my body. I was able to stand next to the hospital bed and hear the heart monitor alarm. I could see the nurse come in to turn off the machines (there was a Do Not Resuscitate order, so there wasn't really much else she could do). I saw my brother in the chair, head down, wiping his eyes. I heard my wife next to him, crying softly.
Standing there, I tried to think of a way to comfort them. How could I let them know I wasn't in pain any more, that I would always love them? Then, in answer to my unspoken question, a soothing voice behind me said, "They will heal in time, and one day you'll see them both again. But for now, we have to go."
I knew who it was, even before I turned around. Before now, I always imagined that when I saw Death -- well, if Death actually did have a physical form to see anyway --- I'd be scared. But I wasn't. Why would I be? I'd already done the scary part of dying, now he was just here to escort me on to the next place.
Taking one last look at my wife and brother, wishing that I could embrace them again, I finally turned around to look upon Death. He looked similar to what I'd always heard: he was tall, wore a long black robe with a hood, and had a large scythe in his right hand. But I had never heard about his face. Surprisingly, he looked like an old man, with kind, blue eyes. He repeated, "We have to go," turned around, and walked straight through the wall. I hesitated for a beat and then followed.
As we walked, the hospital and all the other familiar scenery of earth slowly faded away. It seemed like we had walked into some sort of cave, with everything becoming dark and foggy. After a few minutes, I noticed he held a lantern in his left hand that I hadn't noticed before. It let off an eerie blue glow that seemed to cause the fog to roll away from us as we walked.
Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "Um, what do I call you?"
With a kind smile, he said simply, "Death."
"OK, so, Death. I've always wondered, why do you carry a scythe?"
He looked at me for a moment and with a mirthless laugh he said, "Protection. Between here and the underworld there are demons. They love nothing more than consuming mortals' souls. My job is to make sure you -- your soul -- makes it to the underworld. The light from my lantern will hurt the demons, but the scythe is the only thing that will destroy them. If we're lucky, we may only encounter one or two demons on this trip."
"Oh." I replied, dumbly. I paused for a moment, then continued, "Thank you for keeping our souls safe." He just smiled and continued walking.
After a while, I thought I saw green eyes in the distance. I mentioned it to Death and he confirmed that those were demon eyes. It was a lesser demon, not yet strong enough for a fight, so the lantern was enough to keep him at bay.
I started noticing more eyes as we kept going. Unlike the face of Death, the demon eyes did frighten me. Eventually, I heard a snarl and a demon jumped in front of our path. Death calmly handed me the lantern, stepped forward, and swung the scythe as the demon started to run toward us. The blade cut easily through its torso, and the body of the demon disappeared in a puff of smoke. Then, Death took the lantern from me and started walking again, as if nothing had happened. We encountered three more demons along the way. Each time was similar: I took the lantern, Death swung his blade, and the demon was gone.
Finally, we reached a glowing white door. I didn't know what was behind it, but something about it gave me a sense of pure peace and comfort. I knew whatever lay ahead was good. Nearly forgetting that Death was with me, I opened the door and stepped through. Before I closed it though, I turned around to say, "Thank you!" Death was already walking away, back to lead more mortal souls through the treacherous journey. Standing there, I watched until the blue light from his lantern faded from sight. I closed the door, ready for whatever came next, knowing that I would see my loved ones here someday. | As I considered Death's haunting reply, it struck me that there was something about the afterlife that no one told me. Something was different. What was it?
Death continued slowly, ''The Grim Path is to be our way. You have lived life well. It is a four day trip.'' He walked onward with elongated strides as his robes billowed behind him.
The colors were magestic. Swirling and glittering, reds and golds, greens and violets, first taking the shape of a staircase with sloping walls of flowing colors, and then of a tree-lined path with high willows and firs. Death's contrast was striking: he was sharp, colorless, exceedingly present. It was as if we were walking through a dream world.
And that is when I felt it: the something about the after life that was different. It wasn't the colors or the fear, it was me that was different. I was still 'me' in that I had my memories and my thoughts. But I was moving with a gait that I did not recognize, a stride that was not mine, and with a power and resolve that was invigorating. A moment ago I was in my wheelchair, watching my gameshows, talking with the cute nurse. It was Tuesday, so is that Clara or Maxine? I can never remember. And now, I was striding forward, following Death, knowing exactly where we we were going and how to get there. The entire adventure was already known to me, and I eagerly followed my host.
And when I looked down at my legs, eager to see my old and worn muscles pumping once again, I was horrified to see that my legs were nothing but long, thick greyish white bone, and that I too was wearing an identical black robe. | 2020-06-10T19:56:43 | 2020-06-10T19:32:28 | 68 | 16 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | James opened his eyes, and squeezed them shut again.
“Heavens!” he said aloud.
The reddish amoeba in the inner wall of his eyelid swirled and danced together. He heard whispers, chuckles, hearty laughter, the clatter of golden goblets against hammered tin serving trays.
James opened his eyes.
The girls danced against one another, moaning and laughing, sometimes singing along to the slow, exotic music that seeped from the walls and floor.
They moved like the broad, rolling swells that James had seen on calm days in the mid-Atlantic. All in unison, harmonizing to that strange music, the music that seemed to play every wrong note but to fill the spaces between two things touching.
James could not look at the breathing sea of pleasure. He pulled his hat low until his eyes were behind the thick black wool, nearly even with the buckle.
“Jaaaames!” called a calm and reassuring voice.
James refused to peek.
“Jamesy.” said the man, tapping the brim of the hat with a finger.
James felt his hat lift from his head. He saw a strong pair of brass colored feet on simple sandals, folds of white cloth rising like smoke to enrobe a strong, bearded, smiling face.
“Jaaaaaames!” said the man, and moved to embrace him.
James stiffened against the man, who smelled slightly of some of the better desserts he'd had in his childhood. Everything about this man seemed too intimate, like the music.
The man held him at arms length and gave him a quizzical look.
“Buddy. You ok? I mean, even for a white dude you’re looking a little ...pale. I mean I'm the real deal, man. You can check me out. I wont bite. Ain't like I'm a Dutch cartoon or something, am I right? High five!”
The man held up one hand and James flinched away from the impending blow.
But it never came.
James opened his eyes.
“Too soon?” said the man, lowering his palm. He stroked his beard slowly between a thumb and forefinger. “Wrong century? ...wrong century.” he decided, nodding.
“Where…?” managed James.
“Whu-? Whu- OOOOOH,” said the man, opening his eyes wide. “Nonononono, dude.” he clapped a hand to James’ shoulder and drew him close, and James tensed again.
“Not a dream, dude. You didn't eat the wrong cactus or get bit by the wrong gecko or whatever. It's cool. See?” he gestured around the impossible room, “Paradise. Like, for real paradise. So just chill man, you're here. And hey,” he spread his arms and held his palms out disarmingly. “The best part?” he clenched four fingers of each hand so that each thumb indicated the man’s face. “Muhammad.”
James was terrified.
“So James, man. It's me, man. And something is clearly up with you, so- let’s rap.”
James closed his eyes tight. He shook his head, and then something came to him.
James opened his eyes.
He kept his head towards the ground but his eyes rolled up in his head, lit with hellfire.
“Lucifer.” he spat through clenched teeth.
The man took a step back as if scalded.
James took a step toward him to make up the distance. “You… devil. You siren. You think this is enough to take me? Begone from my mind!”
Muhammad cocked his head to one side. “Lucif-...” he shook his head. “Dude, that guys’ pad suuucks. Check it out. Paradise. Look, look.” He pointed at a long table where a family sat. They seemed to be laughing and telling stories. Handsome young men and women scurried around serving a hundred brightly colored foods that James could not name. “That’s Muhammad and his family. Silk robes, gold plates. Talk about the schnozzberries taste like schnozzberries? In here, every schnozzberry tastes like something you never tasted before.”
James took a deep breath and began to sing in a low voice. “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all earth and-”
Muhammad pointed to another corner of the room. “Look, James, check out Muhammad getting some with Virgin #14. Now come with me and I'll show you where your-”
“Serve the Lord with gladness!”
Muhammad snapped and wagged a finger towards James. “James. You've been a good Muslim, man. So ch-... wait a minute. I totally know this one.”
“Come into his presence with singing”
“Yeah, dude, yeah.. uh… Know the lord, he is god. It is he who made us and dum dum dum. That's one of JC’s. What's up with that?”
James stopped, surprised.
“Oh.” Muhammad slapped his palm to his forehead. Oh James.” He chuckled.
“You a fastidious guy? Like to clean your hands a lot?”
James stood still.
Muhammad nodded. “Yeeep, yep yep. Gave away to the needy too, I bet- more than most of your friends and kin?”
James stood still.
“Vegetarian? Bet you got up and prayed to the rising sun, too?”
James poked the tip of his tongue through his lips and opened his mouth. “Each day we thank the Lord and welcome his gifts.”
“Guh. He's supposed to keep an eye on you guys. Shepard my butt. When the system runs with no oversight you get these frigging… glitches. Trickle down morality… pshhh. Who put that guy in charge anyway?”
Muhammad looked down at the intricate tile floor. “But how… James, did you ever happen to say lā ʾilāha ʾillā-llāh, muḥammadur-rasūlu-llāh?”
James shook his head.
“Hm… well, what's the last thing you remember before showing up here?”
“I… was on a boat. We were moving to a new world to practice our faith. I…. I was being sick over the side. Oh, I was so sick.” his stomach began to turn as he recalled the sensation. “I remember it now, it felt just like… just like…”
James quickly pulled off his hat and buried his face. “lā ʾilāha ʾillā-llāh, muḥammadur-rasūlu-llāh!!!” he said, | "Welcome!" The voice pierced my ears.
"Who... what?"
"Welcome!"
I stood up, brushing myself off. I felt... actually pretty good, which was odd, considering that I-
"I said welcome."
I turned towards the man before me.
"Yes. Yes you did." He said, "Though your narration is quite poor."
He stepped down, "You feel now no more of the Dukkha, yes?"
He was right, I felt better, but had no idea what-
"The Dukkha is suffering, friend. It is the clinging to things. You have let go, and in your final moment, what was it that you said?"
"I don't give a fu-"
"Yes! Right! And just in time your release of those worldly bonds sent you here."
"So Hashtag McYoloswag was right all along?"
"No! You are so young. Dead, but young. Letting go is not easy. We think we let go by using drugs and alcohol, by moderating our time with apps and technology. We are systematically creating a cycle of worldly bonds which attach you to the world. One more drink, so to say. Tomorrow. Another loan. Bills. Payments."
"They're all worldly bonds." I said to myself.
"You didn't really say that to yourself."
"Said what to myself?" I turned.
"No, it was more of a lean, not a turn."
"You are on some level, man. One way above mine." I said, thinking about all of this at once. I tried to put the pieces together, what killed me again?
"A truck."
"What about a truck?"
"You.. were thinking about what killed you." He said.
"How did you know?"
"Because it is like the written word to me. Flowing through the eyes and mind of someone to create a little pretend
stage in their mind where we act. I can see the whole page, though. Not just what's in the little quotes."
"You're crazy." I said, "Then you can predict the future?"
"In a place with no future, there's not much to predict. Though, I think "Zen" is a decent idea, at least."
"It's kinda nice." I said, thinking about home, and all the things that I could have done before I died. There was no
way the mind-reader could possibly know the things I left behind.
"No, I can not." He suddenly said, "Though I could imagine."
I had no idea what he was talking about. "Come again?"
"Sorry, let me at least look ahead to see how this ends..." And he Disappeared.
I was once again alone.
I waited, but then heard a strange voice in my head, "Oh. Still in quotes."
Then he popped back into existence. "-en I have to go... back...? Okay. I have learned not to do that."
"What? So how does this all end?" I asked.
"There is none." He said, "And I don't want to mess around with time."
Suddenly, another version of him popped into existence. "Oh, still in quotes. Oh!"
"Well." The first said.
"Yes, but only for a moment and th-" And the double was gone.
"Look, just embrace Zen. Then it'll make sense."
I laughed, then gave it a shot, and suddenly, the whole thing was shown to me, I felt all the doors in my mind open
at once. All of the things I could do now with this-
A man is lying in a heap in front of me. He's waking up. I put on my best face and say, "Welcome." | 2016-03-07T21:17:03 | 2016-03-07T20:07:18 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun! | **LIFE OVER**
*James* is no more. You have left a loving wife and three children behind. You have died from **OLD AGE**. You have made *121* friends in your life, *17* of which you saw regularly throughout your life. *53* people left bad reviews on your character page.
Happiest memory:
*Getting Married*
Most unique memory:
*Travelling through China*
Did this life meet your expectations?
**YES**
**NO**
> No
If you wish to leave a complaint, please leave a message at number 3495y6thz845-3a.
***
You have earned
*1.357.138*
Points!
Your previous lives have earned you
*9.406.862*
Points!
In total, you now have
*10.800.000*
Points!
You are in the top 10!
Would you like to post your score on the scoreboards?
**YES**
**NO**
> No
Would you like to reincarnate?
**YES**
**NO**
> Yes
***
*Reincarnation*
**USE A PREMADE LIFE**
**RANDOMIZE YOUR LIFE**
**GO TO CHARACTER CREATOR**
> Go to character creator
Alert: Creating your own character will cost points!
Do you want to continue?
> Yes
***
*Character Creator*
**Traits** - Random
**Looks** - Random
**Geographic Area** - Random
**Development/Time** - Random
**Class** - Random
**Live!**
Cost: *Free*
> Set Geographic Area: Europe
**Traits** - Random
**Looks** - Random
**Geographic Area** - Europe
**Development/Time** - Random
**Class** - Random
**Live!**
Cost: *Free*
> Development/Time
***
**Prehistory** - 1.000 Points
**Classical Antiquity** - 10.000 Points
**Early Middle Ages** - 3.000 Points
**Late Middle Ages** - 5.000 Points
**Renaissance** - 10.000 Points
**Age of Enlightenment**- 20.000 Points
~~Restoration~~ - Buy DLC! - 20.000 Points
~~Late 19th Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 30.000 Points
~~Early 20th Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 50.000 Points
**Late 20th Century** - Free trial until 589zx-7! - 100.000 Points
~~Early 21st Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 100.000 Points
~~Late 21st Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 100.000 Points
~~22nd Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 150.000 Points
~~23rd Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 1.000.000 Points
~~24th Century~~ - Buy DLC! - 1.000 Points
~~25th Centuy~~ - Preorder today! - Price TBA
>Age of Enlightenment
***
**Traits** - Random
**Looks** - Random
**Geographic Area** - Europe
**Development/Time** - Age of Enlightenment
**Class** - Random
**Live!**
Cost: *520.000* Points
>Class
***
**Slave** - *FREE!*
**Serf** - 1.000 Points
**Free, lower class** - 10.000 Points
**Free, middle class** - 100.000 Points
**Free, bourgeois** - 1.000.000 Points
**Lower noble** - 2.500.000 Points
**Upper noble** - 5.000.000 Points
~~Monarch~~ - Buy DLC! - 10.000.000 Points
> Buy Monarch DLC
2100 credits will be wired off your account. Confirm?
> Yes
Would you like to select **Monarch**?
> Yes
**Traits** - Random
**Looks** - Random
**Geographic Area** - Europe
**Development/Time** - Age of Enlightenment
**Class** - Monarch
**Live!**
Cost: *10.520.000* Points
> Live
This is an expensive life. Confirm?
> Yes
***
Confirmed. You will be reincarnated as 050y592th582x.
Translating...
100%
You will be reincarnated as "LOUIS XVI".
Reincarnation in 60 seconds...
> ...
> ...
> Fuck.
***
Edit: Whoah, comments, upvotes, a jazz reading and reddit gold! Thank you! | I enjoyed talking to mike, even if his sense of humour was bad he took it all in stride which helped.
-Yeah, the whole thing kinda sucks, he said. It really soured me on life.
I laughed weakly, no one else did. You had to know that mike was a lemon to truly get how bad that joke was.
Turns out that when you died you became a plant, no particular logic seemed to dictate which plant. For instance I was a leek. I had never even seen a leek in my lifetime.
Most people just went insane and screamed incoherently if you pinged them. Yeah, you could “talk” to other plants provided they wanted to talk to you and you were within a few meters of them.
Lemon Mike was only the second person that I had been able to have a reasonable conversation with. The last one had been a carrot back at the supermarket. Turned out he’d been a doctor who’d murdered his whole family before hanging himself. He found the whole thing hilarious since in he’d been a vegan in his previous life.
I don’t know what to expect next, or even if there is a next. I’d like to be a tree if it’s plants again, otherwise nothing would be best.
As I get scooped from the counter I feel the heat of the boiling water as various people and I get dumped unceremoniously in the big pot. I shut my mind to the screams of all the ingredients, my last sensation is of the fly buzzing over the soup… did it just wink at me? | 2015-10-19T02:05:14 | 2015-10-18T20:39:44 | 550 | 104 |
[WP] When you die, you wait in purgatory until you can be judged by the four people you impacted most. The one you were kindest to. The one you were cruelest to. The one whose life you saved. And the one whose life you ended.
I know not everyone saved a life or killed anyone, but just go with it. I like being dramatic. :) | "All right," my demonic handler said as it lifted me from my oubliette with a single velvet tentacle. "It's time for your judgment."
"They're here?" I asked, sincerely terrified for the first time in countless millennia.
"*She's* here," it countered. "Follow." And it led me onward and upward toward the gates of Purgatory.
The Halls of Final Judgment were actually a labyrinth which covered the surface of its small world. The corridors were lined with doorways leading to Chambers of Confrontation, each large enough for a Judged Soul to face its accusers and defenders.
I had been told that, for time immemorial, those witnesses had been generally limited to four individuals: two to whom the Soul had, in life, been kindest and cruelest, and two whose life it had saved and ended.
But in my case, there was only one witness.
She appeared behind the bar, not as a simulacrum of her original living self as I did, but as a piercingly bright polychromatic singularity suspended between floor and ceiling. She looked like a pinhole in the fabric of reality--which, I suppose, is exactly what she was.
"Hello, Benjamin," she said softly.
"Aly!" After I had been brought here and told how Purgatory worked, I knew that Alyssandra would be one of my judges. It had not occurred to me until now that she might be my *only* judge.
"It's been a long time," she laughed, and the singularity's spectrum became...*sunnier*.
"Yes, it has," I stammered. "It's been 23,482 years in here. Is the flow of time the same...outside?"
"Sometimes it was, and sometimes it wasn't," Alyssandra replied, with a tinge of melancholy in her disembodied voice. "Objectively, only about 42 years have passed *on Earth* since your untimely departure."
"Was your life...*pleasant*?" I allowed myself to hope.
"It would be inapt to apply that term to the totality of my existence, but it *has* been extremely productive.
"Anyway, you've waited long enough, Ben. Let's proceed."
A seat suddenly appeared behind me, and I felt it against my shins. I sat down quickly.
"First, the kindness and the cruelty. Ben, you and I met in college and were intimate for the next 13 years. You were closer to me than to anyone else in your life by several orders of magnitude. The kindnesses and cruelties which you bestowed and inflicted upon me would be too numerous to mention, were it not for the fact that time means less than nothing here.
"Shall I begin?"
Several subjective decades later, she brought her accounting to a close with, "And then, Ben, you died. You continued to profoundly affect my life even afterward."
"How so?" I hated to ask, but god it felt good to finally be able to speak. Aly had never been one to leave gaps in a conversation, and that obviously hadn't changed.
"About 40 years after your passing, the first level of human transcendence was achieved, and its discoverers-slash-creators credited your theoretical work with having made it possible." She went on to explain how my purely academic musings about the nature of consciousness had given them the key to developing a process for transferring a human from fragile organic structure to a durable crystal lattice built to last millennia. "And as an added feature," she continued, "crystal consciousness was far, *far* faster than the glacial pace of its organic precursor. A year *in crystallus* allowed as much experience as *23 thousand years* in meat form."
"So you...*transcended*, then?" I asked.
"Not immediately, but a few months after they started performing the procedure wholesale, I took the leap. The pioneers were already millennia ahead of organic humanity by that time, and all new discoveries were happening on that side of the singularity. We "meat people" weren't just *primitive* to those *in crystallus*, we were *dinosaurs*. I had a lot of catching up to do when I transcended, but I had all the time in the world to do it.
"The second level of human transcendence came not long afterward. A discovery in quantum mechanics led to an entirely new field, in both applicable senses of the word, and it became not only *possible* to move beyond our current form, but impossible to justify *not* doing it. The transition was faster this time, and all of Transcendent Humanity advanced within the course of 183 minutes of objective time. That was about eight years subjective for someone at level one, but 438 *thousand* years at level two."
My mind boggled. "So at level two, you were living"--I tried to approximate in my head--"about one and a quarter *billion* times as fast?"
The glinting singularity turned sunny again. "That's right Ben. And to use a reference that you'll recognize, *it wasn't even our final form.* By the time the last of us had transcended to level two, we were ready for the next leap, which was almost as great as the previous one. By the time Organic Humanity had learned of the first jump, Transcendent Humanity had reached the theoretical limit of advancement within our universe."
"How old *are* you, Aly?"
She glistened blue-white, like a flawless diamond.
"To be honest, Ben, any measure of the duration and breadth of my experience would be meaningless to you. And there's more.
"The last several levels of human transcendence did not involve greater speed or expanded individual potential, but *merging* of our individual selves into beings so far beyond what we had been that it was almost impossible to imagine having been so limited before.
"The first merges involved only couples, but when the implications became clear, they escalated, until the 28 billion individuals of Transcendent Humanity had merged into a single manifold consciousness."
I actually *gasped.* "Then," I said, not even understanding to whom or *what* I was speaking, "are you even *Alyssandra* in there?"
She laughed, and the singularity became a panoply of brilliant color that I interpreted as *joy*. "Oh yes, Ben. I'm everything that I was, everything you knew, and so much more.
"And so are *you* Ben."
"Me?"
"Yes, Ben. After your autodrone crashed, I arranged to have your brain frozen as soon as death was inevitable. Then three years ago, in honor of your contributions to the science of transcendence, the pioneers set out a project to repair and restore your consciousness *in crystallus*.
"You experienced the last stages of that work as this Purgatory and your oubliette. I'm sorry, but given your deeply ingrained beliefs and biases, it was the best way to keep you sane for the duration of the work.
"But you are *complete* now, Ben, your memories restored, your personality intact. And I--*we*--are inviting you to join with us."
It should have all been overwhelming to me, but somehow it wasn't. I thought for a moment and was embarrassed at the only question that came to mind--but really, it had been a *long time* for me.
"Is there--*sex* in there?" I asked.
Aly, and the rest of Transcendent Humanity, laughed. "Ben, the communion that I experience *continuously* in this existence makes *the best sex we ever had*"--I had a sudden *vivid* recollection of the night she was referring to--"seem like a polite nod across a crowded room."
It was the lilt in her voice that did it. I knew with certainty that she was all Alyssandra in there, and I could not wait to be with her again, forever.
I grinned broadly. "Okay, Aly--*do me.*"
The singularity beamed happily. "Then let there be light," she said.
And oh, there was light. | "Jayden Malloy, your trial may now begin."
I look up at the four gray cloaked figures. I recognize the first one immediately: my adopted daughter, Michelle, smiles at me, glowing radiantly. I loved her like I would've loved my own daughter. Though she was originally cast aside as a problem child and stayed in the orphanage until 16, my wife and I were drawn to her quirks and decided to give her a chance at childhood before becoming an adult.
She speaks first. "He deserves to go to Heaven. Without him, without his kindness and taking the chance of adopting me, I would not have found the warmth of family, or the simple pleasures of childhood."
I smile a bit wistfully. She seems to have grown up wonderfully. It was a terrible shock when I lost contact with her after she turned 21 -- my wife and I both thought she ran away because we were terrible parents. But she doesn't seem to resent us for it, at least.
The next person speaks, a young man that I can't quite remember. "I was one of the interns in the company a few levels below you. You treated me like nothing, assigning me to meager tasks, wasting my time and preventing me from gaining any job experience. When I was hired by your company, you assigned me tasks without teaching me, then totally went off the rails when I couldn't complete them or did them incorrectly. You would mock me when I asked questions," He snarls.
I hang my head shamefully. I'll admit, my success in my career did make me cocky. When I got to a certain age, it did seem like I was at the top of my small bubble world.
Seeing my guilt, his expression relaxes a little. "It's not the cruelest someone could be," he admits with a sigh.
An old man stands before me next. I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. Before he even speaks, I hurriedly yell, "I'm sorry! It truly was an accident that day, I haven't forgotten you! I, I, I tried to make it up! I'm sorry!" I bow my head, the guilt jabbing sharp thorns into my heart.
The old man chuckles, a soft, raspy sound. "I know, Jayden. I know it was just an accident. It was a busy train station that day, and when you were pushed back, then knocked me onto the tracks, it wasn't your fault. I never held it against you, even if my family did for a few years." He pauses, and I finally lift my head. "Good. Look at me. I was watching when you reached out to my family, when you offered them financial assistance. What you gave them was more than I could've provided them in my lifetime," he said softly. "I bear no ill will against you. Go to Heaven, Jayden."
Tears roll down my cheek. I couldn't face being a murderer, but now, the victim himself, was telling me it was alright. That I'm not a murderer.
The last one, a young girl, skips forward. Try as I might, I can't remember her at all. She laughs, sounding of tinkling bells and a childhood innocence. "Bet ya don't remember me, Mister. Even though normal people don't end up fishing girls!" I stare at her, confused. "When I was a child, you pulled me up from a lake. I didn't know how to swim then, so that definitely extended my lifespan! Thank you mister! Just for that, I think you ought to go to Heaven!"
I smile. A little girl I couldn't remember just determined my fate.
"Jayden Malloy, step forward and greet your judge," The voice booms from above.
Judge? Weren't there four judges?
As if he could hear my thoughts, the voice answers. His voice echoes deep inside my skull. "Haven't you guessed? They're all the same person, through the different stages of life that they were present for. You were kind and cruel to the same person, you killed the one that you saved. Oh, the irony," He laughs.
I slowly connect the dots in my head. The little girl that I saved from drowning was abandoned and almost killed by her parents. She grew up in an orphanage, got adopted by me, and vanished from my life after she graduated. She was trans, and between the time of college and work, decided to become a man. He found a position at my company. He got married, raised his own family, and later, was killed in an accident on the railway tracks. Caused by me.
"Bingo," he rumbled. "Now, I believe you have a lot of catching up to do, when you find Michael in Heaven."
The gates open before me, showing Michael standing at the entrance with his hand outstretched. "Let's go, Dad." | 2020-05-11T23:33:20 | 2020-05-11T23:03:16 | 92 | 56 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth. | It didn't seem so bad at first, when Saint Peter first laid out the rules for entry into heaven. It seemed like a fair trial, with life being sacred and all. Killing another creature is ending its chance at continuing to enjoy its life, it seemed fair that it should get a chance to prevent me from enjoying my afterlife. I quickly started to think about what I was going to face.
I had never killed anyone, so at least I wouldn't be fighting any humans. I felt better when I thought of that. I wasn't even a hunter, so I had never killed anything like a Bear, or any large mammal really. I hit a deer on the road near home a few year back, so I had that to deal with.
It was at that moment I started to think about the smaller animals. Those were a different story.
I had been working 6 days a week, 50 weeks a year, for 35 years at the job I had started at because I answered a classified ad in the local paper as a fresh-faced 18 year old who needed any job that would take him. Every day, rain or shine, I killed every unauthorized creature in any house that called our catchy 800 number. I was an exterminator, and I was damn good.
I started to freak out when I thought about the ants. So many ants. Each colony is what, a million ants or more? I killed those by the thousands, every week.
The hornets? The wasps? Oh god.
Ok, maybe I can run away. Maybe I will just live here in limbo forever. There is no way I can kill all those wasps with my bare hands. I will just run.
That was my plan, until I suddenly appeared on the battlefield. I wasn't ready, I needed time to plan. Where would I run, what would I use for cover, was there water I could run to? I hadn't killed many fish.
There were no objects to hide behind. I was just out there, in a white room. The walls were maybe two feet in front of me. I could touch them if I reached out.
I looked left, and saw a wall maybe 30 feet to the left. The wall on the right was the same. It extended back out of my vision. There was a ceiling around 40 feet in the air, but I had no way of reaching it. From my current view, I appeared to be in a large, but not gigantic, room.
I quickly turned around, but was not prepared for what lay in front of me. A solid wall of living, moving, substance stood at least 10 feet tall not 10 feet in front of me. It seemed to be pressed up against an invisible wall, a solid barrior keeping the mass from collapsing towards me. If I looked closly, I could see indivdual ants and insects move about.
Above the mass swarmed a nearly solid swarm of wasps and hornets. They seemed angry, as the clear barrier did not seem to block sound. I could hear them buzzing as a near solid wall of sound. It was deafening.
I heard a countdown start at 5. I barely had time to think about what was about to happen. 4. I heard Saint Peter say good luck. 3. Is there really only 3 seconds left? 2. Ok it is happening. 1. I need to protect my eyes.
As the countdown hit 0 and the barrier dropped, I saw the mass collapse towards me. As I closed my eyes and placed my hands over my ears, I thought about what this was supposed to be for.
This wasn't heaven.
This was hell. | I store up at the giant wave of fur and chitin, wondering if hell was /really/ that bad. I mean, it can't be worse than fighting a literal metric ton of angry spiders without a weapon...Then I realized I was still wearing the item I died in. My hand reached down to my utility belt. And at that moment, I thanked God I had just restocked my supply of RAID. | 2017-04-23T23:00:06 | 2017-04-23T17:19:20 | 244 | 81 |
[WP] Superpowers are able to be purchased in stores. You decide to look through the bargain bin. | I remember always being the last kid to get in on the new crazes. And it wasn't for a lack of wanting, but the fact of the matter was that we just didn't always have the means. I was never mad about it; getting Pokémon cards a year after they were cool meant I got to hand-select all the ones I really wanted for cheap. It just meant that I had accepted the fact that I wasn't ever going to be part of that group that got things when they were the hot new thing.
So once everyone started getting superpowers because their parents got them too, of course I was one of the last mundane people in school. Better yet, I couldn't hang with the "Supes", I had to sit at my own table with the "Normies". I didn't care. Peanut butter and jelly tasted just the same as it always did.
But eventually, every kid goes through that feeling of feeling left out. And as much as I tried to keep my chin up, it was hard not to get discouraged when half the school was flying around at recess, now that soccer had taken to the skies. Or to be the last one at school because everyone could get home in a blink of an eye. Some were even lucky enough to get super smarts, and classes started to get real hard.
But I pushed through it. I had to. I knew that eventually, I'd get my chance.
I was so excited when my mom decided to take me in to the store. It'd been *months*, and I'd drafted up all sorts of super powers I could have. I wanted to be original, something that no one else had, but at the same time still useful. It was getting harder and harder to be unique-- part of me even liked the fact that I was a "Normie" just for that reason alone-- but this was my chance. My one opportunity.
​
The store was bustling, people lining up at the counter with their sealed boxes, their super-fates within. I couldn't wait to get my hands on one. But before I could even start looking at the shelves, mom guided me over towards the back of the store. Straight past the aisles of laser eyes and breath that could make tornadoes, and well past invisibility and shapeshifting. That was fine. I'd crossed those off the list well before this, after that one kid (every school has that one kid) bought ALL of them.
"Here, you can pick one from here." She said. I immediately became worried. She had that kind tone on, one of those apologetic-but-trying-to-keep-it-together-for-my-sake kind of tones. Those tones where I, deep down, knew that we *shouldn't* be doing this. That we couldn't. But here she was, sacrificing yet more of her financial stability for me and my happiness.
The bin looked untended. Where the aisles were neatly organized and even had little tablets with instructional videos on your new powers, these were haphazardly thrown into the bin, with only little instructs on the boxes and lacklustre photos. I immediately began to scour through them, my heart dropping a little. I didn't want to let it show, I didn't want to let her know that I'd come to expect this sort of thing, but I'm sure it did. I instead busied myself with the titles of the powers that were available to me.
*Honky-Horn Nose. Never-Break Mechanical Pencil Lead. Jell-O Body that's just as jiggly and sticky, but also edible and doesn't grow back.* The more I read these powers, the more I realized just why they were in the bin. *Instantly Tear-Jeans into Fashion*. Was that even a thing anymore? I pushed box after box aside, before halfway down I saw one that completely spoke to me.
I fished it out eagerly, holding it up to my mom. She read the title, and the look on her face made me regret it for a moment. "Are you sure?" She asked. I nodded enthusiastically. She didn't even question it; she simply took my hand and let me to the checkout. Even the cashier looked at it with a bit of a quizzical eye, but she rang it through. I saw the -90% off discount on the register flash and I knew.
​
Best deal ever.
​
I didn't even wait until we were out of the store to open it. I already felt it fizzle into my body, fingertips going numb and the hairs on my neck standing on end. Mom just smiled, before taking my hand and leading me off. I dropped the box in the garbage just outside.
It's been 10 years since then, and I still haven't forgotten. I still can't buy the fanciest cars, or the newest games, or the nicest houses. But I don't need them. Never have. Heck, the superpower thing's gotten so out of hand these days, I'm basically a Normie again. But that's fine. After all, my power--
​
"Dad?"
I looked away from the screen, blog on hold. There she was, my four year old, jammies and all, rubbing at her eyes. "What's up, cuddlebear?"
"I had a bad dream again. I know you said no more this week-- but can you please, *please*, ***PLEASE*** use your superpower again?"
I chuckled. How was I supposed to say no? Instead, I just swiveled the chair around fully and patted my lap, arms open wide. She plodded over, still groggy from having just woken up, plush tyrannosaurus still under her arm. I lifted her up with a playful "oof!" and then wrapped my arms around her, humming as I kissed the top of her head. "You get *five* minutes. That's it. Then it's back to bed, okay?"
"Mhm."
​
We sat there together, in the darkness of the office. I gave her much more than 5 minutes, but I don't think either of us was counting.
I might not be *All-Powerful*, have *Flight*, or be able to *Lift Two Tons*, but heck if *Giving the Best Hugs* wasn't the best bang for my mom's buck at the time.
​
Edit: I got gold for this and the follow up? I don't know what kind of reddit angel is out there, but I'm greatly humbled that you enjoyed my writing this much. Not only was that my gold cherry but I also can't believe my writing got that kind of response. Thank you, you beautiful bastard that I can't see. I promise, I'm giving you a Hugmeister Squeeze from this side of the screen! | Since it's the very first sale of superpowers, and those don't come by cheap, I decide to take a look. They're all in a pile in a huge metal basket, they couldn't bother making place in the shelves for them since nobody wants them. I'm not the only one searching for a good superpower, but I still find a spot around the pile to check them out.
"The power to see through screens"? I can't find any use for that, and I like using my computer.
"OH MY GOSH a waterbreathing power?!" I find myself screaming. This is awesome! Oh, wait, it just allows you to spit water in large amount. Kinda gross actually. I toss it and it's quickly retrieved by the person next to me, probably wondering why I didn't take it. "The power to transform everything you touch in gold" a classic. It could prove useful. Wait, it works even on yourself. I don't know if I'm comfortable not being able to clean myself for the rest of my life... Or.. Do other things. Yeah, it's no use. They're all pretty crappy actually, as should be expected. Look at that: "The ability to be carried by the smallest gust of wind". You can't even turn it off, you just die because you can never land. "The ability to understand you own language" this one is not even a power, gee. "The power to see correctly", a shame I have good vision I suppose...
"The Power to phase through matter". This sounds good. actually this sounds very good. I wonder why nobody picked it. I'm gonna buy it and I'm gonna try it!
As I wait in line for the cashier, I'm getting excited. I think of all the stuff I'm gonna be able to do. No use carrying keys anymore! I'm gonna explore so many forbidden places, it's going to be awesooome.
There you go. I bought it. I'm gonna try it now!
...What?
As soon as I tried to use it, I began falling through the ground. I see pipes, but mostly dirt. I think I saw a skeleton? Damn. I'm still falling. Apparently I can breath in anything now. I think I'm in an oil pocket? Everything is so black... I'm falling faster and faster. I'm pretty sure I'm falling even faster than when I tried skydiving. I'm falling so fast I can't even see my surroundings. It's getting really warm too. I think? I can't really feel anything, it just looks lighter and lighter...
Everything is white now.
I'm pretty sure if I stop phasing I'm going to die. Am I already dead?
​
...
​
Wait, it's getting darker.
Did I just phase through the entire earth? I think I see water now ! I'm getting slower too! How lucky, I'm going to survive this?!
I wish I could see anything at all in the deep blue, It's such an oppotunity to be here, and I can't even see anything interesting.
I think I can see some light. I'm gonna survive! I'm just out of the water! Meters from it actually. I can see the ocean as far as the eye can see!
Wait. I'm going towards the sea again. No! I don't want to go through it all again! I'm stopping my phasing and dive in the water. I entered it pretty quickly, I'm hurting all over... Feeling dizzy too... I think I'm... fainting...
​
​
\------
"Breaking news: Thousands dead this week following the first ever sale on superpowers. Can humans be trusted with these discounted abilities? Stay tuned to catch our special report." | 2019-07-04T06:16:16 | 2019-07-04T04:36:09 | 95 | 12 |
[WP] Instead of saying "Execute Order 66," Emperor Palpatine accidentally says "Execute Order 65" | "Execute order 65" Palpatine rumbles into his communicator.
"Immediately Sir!" comes the expected reply.
"Excellent!" the soon to be Emperor thinks to himself as he lets out a low cackle, "soon it shall be done"
24 minutes later there is a knock on his chamber door. "I'm here with your order sir!" says a strange figure on the view screen.
"What do you mean? I didn't order anything"
"Yes you did, you ordered a 12 inch Gungan sub with extra pickles and I also picked up your dry cleaning since it was a special request and it was on the way."
"I placed no such order you insolent scum.."
"Let me in and we can discuss it, I have your robes here from the cleaners too..."
"Very well" and Palpatine opens door to see a teenage kid in a Subway uniform holding a to go bag and something in dry cleaning plastic.
"I'm just going to set this down on your desk Sir, the Gungan come with a free drink. Your order specified the tears of younglings but we don't have that, so here's a Sprite. That will be 23 credits please with out the tip."
"23 CREDITS FOR A SANDWICH?? That's ridiculous I'm not paying that!"
The delivery boy makes a weird hand gesture and says "You WILL be paying that, and a 20% tip too."
"Are you trying to Jedi mind trick me boy?" he practically spat the last words out.
"Uhmmm, no, sir. It's just, well, maybe...if you don't pay I have to cover it. Plus I did get your stuff from the cleaners."
"Oh very well, it that's what it takes to get to to stop your sniveling and get out, I'm waiting on an important order to come to fruition. Here can you make change for a 50?"
"Oh no Sir, we aren't allowed to carry that much and you're my first stop. I still have a bunch of cookies to bring to the Jedi Temple for snack time."
A glimmer of an idea crosses Palpatine's mind. "Well I don't want to hold you up, keep the change and I'll have my appren....uhmm intern come with you and speed you on your way." He leans over to his desk and hits a button, "Darla can you send in Anakin please?"
Looking back to the delivery boy he says "Anakin can get you any where you need to quickly, he's quite reliable"
"Gee thanks sir, but I can get there in a few parsecs, I have the fastest Corrilian delivery speeder available. Now if you'll excuse me in have to go or I'll have to give them the cookies for free" and with that he turned on his heels and headed for the door.
Just out side I'm the delivery speeder a teenaged wookiee sits impatiently looking at his watch. "Ghwarrrl!"
"I know but I fooled the geezer into a huge tip but telling him I didn't have any change."
"GhwaRRRlll!"
"I know right!?"
Back in his office Palpatine can smell the delicious odors of a fresh made Gungan sandwich (with extra pickles, just how he likes it). He sits at his desk, spins his chair, looks out the window and cackles to himself as he realizes his error. "Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow..." and he takes a big bite of his sandwich and groans as a big dollop of Gungan juice drips on to his robe.
| As Palpatine deeply muttered the order, the generals of the stormtrooper teams gathered their troops and relaid the order onto them.
"The emperor has demanded that we execute the final solution, gentlemen. Now HIT IT!"
As fedora's and top hats are placed on the helmets of these brave warriors, they form perfect symmetrical lines and begin furiously dancing to the Cantina Band's number 1 hit. Tatooine Twerking and the Mustafar Madness ensue, and with the Emperor in his blackened throne begins waving his index finger in time with the beat, he knew the journey towards the DanceDance revolution was complete. | 2016-09-06T01:47:16 | 2016-09-05T22:01:59 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You are a dragon living within the mountains overlooking a small village. No human craftsmanship can match the way dragonfire shapes steel and you are renowned for your metalworking. For years your only rule was no weapons. After what you saw today, your going to make an exception. | Shame.
It's an emotion unfamiliar to most of my kind. We don't make bonds lightly. Other dragons, when not mating, are greedy and cruel, and I would care not to have anything to do with them. Most hide themselves away, content to hunt when required and counting their coins when not.
Humans are almost as bad, their avarice and malice only limited by short lives full of fury and strife.
And yet I weep for my humans of the village. My scorching wrath wouldn't bring them back, even as I burnt the last of the raiders to dust and ash. The greatest of the buildings reduced to cinders. My friends, gone.
I flew once more over the smoking remains, but nothing moved under my watchful gaze. I try to hold back the tears that well, but they fall as I fly home.
​
As I sit among my finery and richest, I wonder if my wisdom was flawed. Many of my cousins have been laid low by organised armies wielding terrible weapons and protected by impregnable armour. I could have wrought the same for my friends, but I refused to. Was I a coward or a fool?
I clearly remember back to the first days. My dominion of the area was clearly known, as their Leader approached me cautiously, unarmed and unarmoured. This piqued my curiosity, and they asked only for permission to settle on the shore that was the edge of my territory. After a small discussion, I agreed, but warned them that any perceived threat would be met with destruction. I could sense the fear in the leader's eyes, the tremble in his voice, but also the desperation. His courage was magnificent as he weighed up the options, and also agreed. What seemed like a small gesture at the time grew into so much more.
The first year went quickly, and they built their village quick but sturdy. I kept watch for any problems, but there were none. Midsummer came, and I was surprised when the leader returned, two wagons laid full with produce, fish and vegetables. I had not known how he knew what I ate, a lucky guess perhaps. He said that the lake was bountiful and the crops grew strong, that this food would go to waste otherwise. I graciously accepted, but I could not take their charity. I showed them various trinkets I had made, jewellery mainly, made with delicate care. He was absolutely amazed, and we traded. The next season they came again, with furs and coats for the colder months. They knew my needs, and I wonder if humans weren't as selfish as I first thought. In a few years, I had visitors. They would tell me stories of the world beyond my borders, heard from other traders. I would tell them tales of ages gone by, of empires and kingdoms great and small, long turned to dust and forgotten by mortals.
And yet I still stuck to my wisdom, no weapons or armour will be produced by my hand, for they will not be turned against me. I shake my head in my folly.
​
My reverie is interrupted by a weak cough at my doorstep. I know that cough, of little Abigail, weak of lung since she was but a year old. My medicine helped her live, but there's only so much I could do. I feel I'm being taunted by memories of my favorite friends, until I hear it again.
I raise my head up high, peering over the threshold. I can't see my friends, but I can hear them breathing.
"Come, approach, be not afraid." I say, as calmly as I can.
Abigail steps out, followed by her mother and a multitude of other townsfolks. My eyes go wide and I had seen their houses raised to the ground.
"By what magic have you survived?" I ask.
Abigail steps forward to talk. I forget that I'm still imposing and that only a scant number of villagers have ever approached me.
"Umm, hello Serinax." Abigail says, her voice betraying her fear.
"It's okay little one, I will do you no harm." I say as peacefully as I can. I sigh inwards as I see the terrified villagers relax slightly.
"We hid in the basements." she manages to reply, and I remember how resourceful humans can be. "But we have no where else to go. Can ...... can we stay here?"
At this moment I realise why they are so scared. A terrifying monster of legend, and the plea of a 8 year old girl. None of the others knew what to expect. A century of being quiet neighbours helped ease their distrust of me, but they didn't know if that was enough to ask for my aid. If I said no, what where they to do and where were they to go.
"Of course my little princess," I whisper to Abigail, her face lighting up as it always does when I address her so. "How many of you are there?"
Abigail's mother steps forward, "I think about a hundred, plus whoever escaped into the forest."
My heart freezes in my chest. Of the ten thousand that lived there, only about a hundred still lived. I know it's not my fault, but I could have helped them with the very weapons I abhorred.
I silently watch as my human friends bring what's remains of their belongings into my vast lair. My cousins are greedy and cruel, but they are few. I have truly learnt that humans can be either greedy and cruel, or generous and kind.
And to protect the latter, my friends, it's time to make the most terrible weapons the world has ever known. | "But master!" Said the young hume that I allowed to learn by my side. "Why are you breaking your oath? Men can surely overcome this. You don't have to renounce to your peace vow!"
"Enough!" I replied. Maybe a bit too lound judging from Marcus's face alike the one of a deer in front of my opened maw. "You'll stand and watch as I craft a weapon that will not take any lives but save millions.". Never have I done it before and the humongous scale of the project would have been a chalenge for anyone else. But I surely not am anyone. I'm the breath of the mountain, the melter of stone, the thunder above, the shaper of steel. The days where my crafts only goals were to please the eye is now over. As a youngling I refused weapons out of pride as my claws were unmatched by any steel and as with age came wisdom I understood the meaninglessness of violence.
And still here I am. Melting ore before the eyes of my student. Extracting iron and fusing it with coal. Molding the white slag in my palms to form what will be the first and let's hope last weapon of my long career. Thousands of years of stability and peace melted between my claws as I formed the head of the spear. The pole also would be made of steel as it needs the resistance to pierce a mountain. Fins sharp enough to tear the sky itself. And a leaded core of my special ingredient to shatter the world. Perfection. Infused with the usual grace and beauty of my craft it was finished.
"Master! I just had some news! They will send a crew to take care of it. Proffessionals and everything. They plan to detonate a bomb. You can destroy your spear and we never talk about it anymore." Marcus tried his best to make me back. As I taught him, there's no difference in crafting something and using it and the hand of the artist is the one responsible for everything that his works allows.
"It won't even scratch it. We're not talking about a demon, a kaiju or some otherworldly creature. We need to break it and I will be the one to make this work." I said while getting up on my legs and grabing the spear in my right hand.
"They will drill it and deposit the bomb at the core of the rock! They took care of it master".
I let out a sigh before jumping off the cliff to take flight. Drilling in space, never have I ever heard such a stupid idea. | 2020-03-24T03:34:17 | 2020-03-24T02:18:03 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] The Tester is neither hero nor villain, he gauges the abilities of various hero's and villains by fighting them and/or giving them challenges and then awards them a report card which is published online for all to see. Many begin to fret and worry about their performance like college students. | "You can't kill the Tester." Gemini and her twin rolled their eyes as Slicer continued on his delusional, stress induced rant.
"What the hell do you know? It's all our first time with the tester! Maybe he wants to die!" Slicer stared daggers at the twins but they ignored him.
"Yeah right, Slice. There's been A+ graded powered people and you think you're gonna kill the tester?" I laughed at slicer as I inserted myself into the conversation.
"Yeah, honestly Slice you need to chill." Conciliate's silky voice soothed the entire group and the tension brought about by Slicer dissipated.
"I know, I know. Damn I need a coffee or something. I've been up all night trying to get my slicing techniques perfect!" Slicer slumped back down into his chair.
"You should really get some sleep. Being too tired for the Tester could really hurt your grade." Cognito had finally looked up from his mountain of books to chime in on the conversation.
"Thanks, I'll make sure to take advice on physical well being from a book worm." Slicer retorted sarcastically.
"Hey, no need to be a dick. We're all stressed! Honestly, I say we go have a couple more sparring matches. Might as well kill the time we have left effectively." I said, hoping to spark a little hope in the obviously nervous group.
"Yeah, Yeah. Says the guy who's gonna ace with flying colours." Slicer said with a hint of bitterness.
"Oh come on, don't be like that! It'll be a good stress reliever! The Tester won't be here until tomorrow. We can spar and be tired enough to have a goodnight rest!" I said with a little more enthusiasm.
"We could just get Conciliate to lull us all to sleep you know." Cognito chimed in with a snarky remark.
"That's no fun! Come on guys, lets go down to the training grounds I'm feeling a little antsy myself to be honest." The entire group looked at me with a mixture of disbelief.
"Come on. You? "Ansty." We don't buy it." The twins crossed their arms and leaned back in their chairs.
"Yeah, that sounds like a ploy to get us to go train and you get to show off again." Conciliate's voice softly melded its way into the minds of our classmates.
"Come on, Con! Help me out, don't hinder me!" I jokingly nudged her as she smiled softly.
"Well... I guess I still have a fair amount of nervous energy. Alright, fine. I'll come with you, Tel" Slicer stood up and started walking towards the training grounds.
"That's the spirit! Anyone else?" I looked around the group and I could see they still weren't entirely convinced. "I'll buy ice cream for you after." I said coaxingly.
"We're in" The twins got up and started running after Slicer.
"Us too." Cognito and Conciliate began walking after Slicer as well.
"Perfect!" I jogged to catch up with the group.
"You'd better go easy on us, Tel. I don't need an injury just before the Tester shows up." Slicer called back to me from the front of the group.
"Yeah, of course! I just wanted to remind you all not to be so stressed." I said smiling back at Slicer.
"That's rich." Slicer laughed.
"But appreciated!" Conciliate said, staring hard at Slicer.
"We should be thankful we have such a good friend, Slicer. He may very well be the first ever A++ the world has ever seen." Cognito said rather nonchalantly.
"Cognito! Keep it down! You're the only people here who know about what my power is. I'd rather have the grade I get speak for itself." I said bashfully to Cognitio.
"Ooooh now he's humble!" The twins said to me in unison.
I turned a deep shade of red as the group giggled at my embarrassment.
"Oh come on guys leave him alone. He's getting us ice cream later after all!" Conciliate said with a playful nudge at me.
"Yeah, yeah. Tel, could you speed this up. The training grounds are pretty far away and I was kinda hoping you'd have got us there already." Slicer said back to me.
"Yeah, yeah. You need to practice that mental technique I've been teaching you to shut off your mental chatter. I could hear you clear as day." I replied back to Slicer as the group joined hands.
"You dirty rat! Reading my thoughts again!" Slicer said in protest as we teleported over to the training grounds.
"Can't help it, they're really loud." I shrugged as I opened the gates to the grounds with a thought.
"Such a show off." The twins rolled their eyes with a smile as they walked into the very large stadium.
"I wanna have a go at you first." Said Slicer as is arms shifted into two long blades and he walked in after the twins.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you in there." I laughed.
I turned to Conciliate and Cognito and gave a nod in the direction of the stadium.
"You guys gonna work on your physicals or do you need a port back to the library?" I asked them.
"Ugh, don't call it a 'port' you know I hate that." Conciliate said with her face in mock disgust as she walked towards the stadium.
"Actually, I too will accompany you in I think. I agree with your statement back in the library. Physical exertion will be beneficial for a good nights rest before the Tester's arrival." Cognito said as he walked towards the open gates.
"Alright! It's gonna be a fun afternoon!" I exclaimed, following my friends into the testing grounds.
***
I hope you liked it
r/TheYogiBearhaWrites | My partners and I have been known by many names throughout the ages. The dingir. The parthenon. The Aegir. Devas. Yahweh. Allah. The holy Trinity.
We interact with the living wherever they reside, and experience every culture. None are correct, but all touch a sliver of the truth. We are neither omnipotent nor omniscient. However, we do not live or die as mortals do. What we can be summarized as is... challengers.
We challenge the living. Why? Not for the reason you assume. It is not a gauge for the afterlife.
That grand-slam you hit to win the big game? You are the one who performed and achieved that feat for yourself, but we "set-the-stage," so to speak.
That chronic illness that took your mother from you as a teenager? She chose those poor decisions that lead to her condition, but yes, we cultivated the opportunities for her to make the choices that she did.
That technical glitch that reset your electronic college application instead of submit it an hour before the deadline? Yes, that was us.
Those nervous butterflies frivolously fluttering in your stomach prior to your first date with your crush? Yup, we planted those there.
Whether you believe you can do something or believe that you can't, you are right. Challenge does not reveal character, but builds it.
The joy of that grand-slam rewards you for the countless hours of training and practice you adhered to. It motivates you to continue striving for success.
The despair of losing a parent is meant to teach the value of ALL interpersonal connections and making the most of them every day. Struggling against a seemingly endless tide of depression develops fortitude and can highlight meaningful members and aspects of your life.
The anxiety of that last-minute scramble to successfully apply to your "reach" university before the deadline cultivates your ability to work under pressure and is also meant to educate you on the potential risks of procrastination.
The nervousness and excitement of a first date helps you develop interpersonal relationships and your ability to portray yourself to others.
We challenge. We challenge to develop you into the hero, or villain, of your own story. Different cultures uphold various values of the human condition, but each of you feel our touch on your lives deep within yourselves.
With the advent of the internet, humans are now more connected than ever. To each other, to ideologies, and more importantly, to a false reality. You are becoming disconnected with the world around you.
In an effort to combat these alterations, we have started posting ratings of certain challenges on our own domain, www.liferate.terra. Only modest challenges are being posted, to hopefully reacquaint you with the people and living beings that surround you. Did you know of that site? No? Nonetheless, we challenged you many times throughout your life.
Now, let us reflect on your journey before you decide on what happens next... | 2019-10-16T11:08:25 | 2019-10-16T08:51:34 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] You never kill the spiders in your home, you just whisper "today you, tomorrow me" when you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back. | Adam Kinsley awoke to a nightmare.
The adrenaline pumped so hard that the blood sang in his ears. He rubbed his eyes, pinched himself, then distractedly struck his alarm clock off the nightstand in an effort to silence it, but still the images remained. He took deep breaths, then reached for the phone by his bed. Maybe talking to somebody would break the spell, he thought.
“Jenny?” he said, after the second ring.
“Adam? What the… it’s 7.30 AM! Are you still at home?”
“Just wanted to check, you know, if I was dreaming.”
“Dreaming? Have you been drinking? It’s Tuesday! You better not be hungover! The September presentation’s today! Jesus! Get your ass to the office!”
The phone slipped from Adam’s hand. He was a born salesman, able to talk the ear off anyone who would listen, but he somehow couldn’t find the right words to describe how a sea of spiders had blanketed his apartment ceiling, covering it from edge to edge in black, furry, chitinous carapaces.
He wondered briefly if this had anything to do with the spiders he had been rescuing and setting free. He never saw the point in killing them, not when they were harmless and kept other pests away, but he had also never knew they would infest in this manner. Regret and anger swirled into a potent cocktail, clouding his mind.
“This is how you repay me? When it’s the most important day of my career so far?” he said, as he slid from his bed, inching towards the door. “My landlord’s going to kill me, you know that right?”
Fresh horrors awaited him in the living room. All points of exit were swathed in what appeared to be layers of cobwebs, and the morning sun streamed but weakly through the swaddled windows. Adam turned as he heard the scurrying of a million legs behind him, and barely held up his hands in time to ward off a stream of spiders flying through the air, erupting towards him.
“What the hell!” Adam cried, as he lost his footing and fell. He expected to connect hard with the teak floors, but instead he bounced off a freshly-woven coat webbing, cocooning him. He flexed, but he barely made any headway. A chittering filled his ears, and he had to fight from opening his mouth to scream.
“Please,” he whispered, the tears filling his eyes. “I never hurt any of you, I always watched out for you. Why is this happening to me? I just want to go to work, forget any of this happened! Please, please…”
The webbing soon covered him fully, though the spiders left just enough space for him to breathe through and to peer out from. He lay on the ground, facing the television. He wriggled, tried to get away, but he could not move. He tried to scream too, but no one heard him. His prison was complete.
Then, stretching his belief to the point of breaking, he saw a single spider, triple the size of those around it, dangle down from the ceiling, swinging closer to the television. The other spiders moved away from it, giving it the space it needed. The queen then extended a single leg, then activated and turned the television on.
The news channel logo flashed briefly on the screen, before cutting to a newscaster on the streets of New York. Adam recognised first the deli in the background, then the street signs, then the building in the background of the shot. The familiarity was unmistakable, especially after he had worked at the same place for years. He could even imagine himself there, at the scene, already reporting for work like any other day at his office on the 110th level, were it not for the sudden infestation of arachnids.
“Reports are just coming in,” said the newscaster, the panic and worry etched clearly on her face. “There appears to be an explosion on the north tower, over 100 floors up. Eyewitnesses say that, and I’m having trouble believing this myself, but they say that a plane, yes, a plane…”
---
/r/rarelyfunny | I heard the killer's steps echo across the basement. I tried to think of some last line to make sense of it all, to die with a semblance of honour. Instead, I just whimpered; the days of relentless torture had left me a shell of a man.
He strode toward me, relishing in the moment. He took great pleasure in watching me suffer, and today was no different. He pulled out his serrated blade, glinting in the light above the chair I was tied to.
"Looks like you're no fun anymore," he said, smiling wide and exposing his rotten teeth. He gripped the blade.
I heard a rustling, some kind of scurrying behind me. The light went out - but it hadn't turned off. Something- some*things* - were crawling across it.
I tried to scream, but I had no energy left.
Then I realised - they weren't after me.
They had finally come.
*My spiderbros.* | 2017-08-27T22:34:37 | 2017-08-27T21:49:27 | 2,106 | 197 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment. | Plenty of criminals sought out Alicia Fox's services. Most of them were kids born into crime families or mafia bosses who couldn't quite nail their nefarious public images. But none of them had ever asked for something like this before.
Alicia sat with her client at a table outside a quaint little French-style bistro. To any passersby, they might have looked like a young couple out on a date, Alicia in disguise as she always was (dark-haired wig, delicately-applied prosthetics to change her nose and chin *just* so), the client sitting across from her in a plaid shirt and ripped jeans. Neither of them looked like a pair of criminals, as they sipped espresso and nibbled at their biscottis.
But Alicia's espresso was going cold. She just stared and stared at the man sitting across from her, his eyes bright blue and urgent.
"You... what?" she said.
Her client, Ernest, held her stare. Unsmiling, unflinching, he said, "I want you to teach me how to get caught."
Alicia stared at her own surprised face in the dark mirror of her coffee. "I can't say anyone has asked me for *that* in particular."
After all, she was a criminal mastermind. Twenty years of the kind of heists that would send her away for a lifetime and she had never been caught.
"You see, it's my family..." Ernest grimaced and shook his head. "We Chebwicks have a long and proud history of notoriety. My brother has been arrested for car jacking at least thrice now. Once he even ended up in the county jail for three years when he took the mayor's yacht for a joyride. You should have seen how proud Mom and Dad were when they cut out the newspaper article to hang up in Dad's cell. He never stops talking about how he wishes I was more like my brother."
"Chebwick," Alicia repeated. She scoffed and didn't bother hiding her derisive smile. "Your father is Marshall Chebwick?"
Ernest brightened. "You've heard of him?"
"He's only the poster child of how *not* to carry out a bank robbery."
"Exactly. Ever since I was a little boy, he told me, *son, one day you'll be in a cell just like mine, and then you'll understand the family tradition*. Even Mom spent a while on house arrest for credit card fraud." He stirred his coffee, glumly. "Got caught printing up signs that said *Martha Chebwick is my real name, come find me you assholes*. Paid with a stolen credit card."
Alicia blinked fast. "Not exactly the kind of legacy to be proud of."
That made Ernest scowl. "You wouldn't understand. All my life, my family has been infamous. Notorious. Our names on everyone's lips. And I'm the nobody. I'm the goody-two-shoes. Every time we have holiday dinners at the penitentiary, they never stop making fun of me." He screwed up his face and deepened his voice, clearly mimicking his father. "'What's the matter, Ernie? Only commit crimes you didn't get caught for?'"
She narrowed her eyes at Ernest. "Have you *tried* to get arrested?"
Ernest sighed, heavily. He dug into the pocket of his plaid shirt and threw a stone relic on the table.
Alicia's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She reached across the table and set her napkin down on top of it. She recognized the dragon carving, instantly. It had gone missing from the Smithsonian only days earlier.
"*You're* the one who broke into the museum?" she said.
"I did! I wore a maintenance uniform and I told the guards I was there rob them blind. You know what they said to me?"
"What?"
"They laughed and waved me right on in!" Ernest slapped his thighs in frustration. "I was trying to get a good story. Good headline for the morning news. But they *wouldn't believe* me. Thought I was the new night janitor."
Alicia couldn't hide her fascination now. She cupped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on the table. "And why would they?"
"Sure beats me. They even let me know when they were going out for their cigarette break, and asked me to make sure I cleaned the rare records room too. Unbelievable."
Now Alicia Fox studied his face. The gears of her mind turned. She was never one to pass up a good opportunity. He was one of those all-American boys: bright-eyed, plain-looking, the kind of face that you could trust instantly.
"What else have you tried?" she said, her lips curling in a smile.
"Oh, everything. You wouldn't believe the things I've stolen. I once told a pilot on an airline, *Hi, can you let me hijack your plane so my dad can be proud of me?*"
"What did he say?"
"He just let me fly the damn thing! Laughed the whole time! He thought I was just kidding." Ernest scowled. "He even realized my knife was rubber. Spent the entire time poking his copilot with it and laughing at me. I almost landed us in the ocean, for God's sake, and he just told me to let me know if I needed a job recommendation."
Alicia nodded. She reached across the table and plucked up the stolen relic, still folded inside the napkin like a leftover bread roll. "I might have a better idea for you, Mr. Chebwick."
Ernest looked up at her, hopefully. "What's that?"
"Your family may have an innate talent for being deceitful and obvious, but I think you're different." She leaned forward and grinned across the table at him. "People *want* to trust you."
It was even working on her. Every innocuous tilt of his head made him more and more likable. Like a golden retriever in human form.
"No one trusts a Chebwick," Ernest muttered back, but a shy smile was tugging at the corner of his lip.
"I do," Alicia said, surprising herself with her honesty. "And I have a proposition for you, Ernie. You come work for me. And you start a new legacy for your family. A new place for the Chebwick name."
Ernest blinked in disbelief. "And what am I supposed to tell my dad?"
"You can tell him to go right to hell if he's not proud of you." Alicia plucked up her espresso and gave it a sip. "But a man with your talents shouldn't be wasting it on being a bad crook."
Ernest rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Are you sure?"
"If I was your mom, who'd I pick? The brother who's been in and out of jail for petty crime, or the one who mailed her a priceless Monet that no one even noticed him lift? Stick with me, and you'll see which brother you turn out to be."
That wormed a real smile out of him. "Fine. But only if you let me get caught at least once."
Alicia matched his grin. "Honey, at this point, I'd love to see you try." |
It was Thanksgiving dinner at the Chebwick family home. William Chebwick smiled at his three children, Terry, Sherry and Merry, as he chewed on his boiled turkey drumstick. “It’s been so long since the entire family has been together like this! So, what have my three darling children been up to?”
The oldest child, Terry, who had blue eyes and brown hair just like his father, was the first to speak up. “Well, Pa, I was trying to steal that statue in the park and hold it for ransom. You know, the big fancy one of the guy that founded it?”
“Oh, were you, dear?” William’s sister Annie said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “And how did that go? Must have been quite a drag trying to take an entire statue with you.”
“Well, I never got around to it, Ma,” Terry said cheerfully. “I figured I needed to steal something to move the statue first. So, I went to Walmart and I decided to steal one of those machine thingies with the two metal things in front that lift things.”
“You’re talking about a forklift,” Merry cut in.
“Yeah, yeah, something like that. So I saw someone riding one of those things around, so I went up to him, dragged him out of his seat and took off in it!”
“How exciting!” Annie said, clapping her hands. “Well, what happened next?”
“Well, turns out those machine things are pretty damn slow. So the driver came back, beat me up and I got tossed in jail for a month!”
William chuckled and gave a warm grin to his son. “Well done, my son! Only 23 years old and you’re already bringing pride to the Chebwick name.” He turned to his second oldest child, who was wearing a cast on her left arm. “What about you, Sherry? What happened to that arm of yours?”
Sherry, who had blue eyes and brown hair like her mother, beamed and flicked back her ponytail dramatically.“Well, Pa, I was tired of having to keep spending so much money on ice cream. So, I figured I would just steal an ice cream machine and get to eat ice cream forever.”
Annie sighed wistfully. “You remind me so much of myself when I was a child. So, how did the Great Ice Cream Caper go?”
“ Well, Ma, I drove to a buffet where they had an ice cream machine. Then, I took a rope and tied it around my arm. Then, I ran into the buffet before anyone could stop me and tied the other end around the machine, and drove the hell out of there! Or at least, that was the plan.” She held up her broken arm. “The damn rope broke my arm and I ended up crashing into a row of shopping carts! Then, the police threw me in jail for three months!”
William laughed out loud. “Looks like you’ve got competition, sport!” he said, looking at Terry. “Better keep your game up!”He turned to face the last child in the room, grimaced and mentally lowered his expectations. “And you, Merry?”
Merry, who was the youngest with orange hair and green eyes, looked up from her plate. “I robbed two banks, three jewelry stores and twelve cars, and I never got caught.”
Silence descended upon the dining room table. William facepalmed himself. “Merry, you’re supposed to be getting caught! That’s the family tradition!”
“But I don’t want to get caught,” Merry said, pouting.
“My god,” William muttered. “How can someone with my blood running their veins be so incompetent at this one simple task?”
Terry and Sherry gave each other and then their mother a knowing look and giggled. A flustered Annie, who was quickly turning red, gently patted her husband’s back. “Now, now, Merry’s still young. She’ll get better in time.” She narrowed her eyes at Merry. “Won’t you?”
Merry smiled innocently back while crossing her fingers. “Oh course, Mother, I will always obey my father.” | 2020-04-03T21:43:50 | 2020-04-03T21:43:25 | 44 | 27 |
[WP] World Peace has been achieved and the first crime in centuries has been committed.
EDIT: I've been reading a lot of these prompts throughout the day and they have all been really good, sadly I don't have the time to sit and read them all :( | *Here to Help You*, the sign above the clerk’s bi-level desk boasted. *Here to Help You*.
Elliot’s hands were shaking. She set them on the desk’s black glass and pressed, anchoring herself with her fingertips. “Who do I talk to about something bad?”
The clerk looked up. She raised her eyebrows and made her face open and interested, but her hands were still on her keyboard, waiting to send Elliot on her way. “Excuse me?”
“If something bad happened,” Elliot said carefully, “who do I talk to?”
The clerk dropped her hands to the edge of her desk and pushed, spinning herself in a half circle to the opposite side of her bi-level desk. Elliot followed. The clerk reached up and placed a brochure on the counter. *Dealing with Grief*.
“No.” Elliot pushed the brochure back. “Not that kind of bad.”
The clerk’s forehead wrinkled. She was politely confused, and Elliot could hardly blame her. *Bad* was the only word she could think of that felt like it matched what had happened, and even that was not quite accurate. *Wrong* was directional and even more confusing, and she couldn’t think of a way to put the words together that made sense. Something *bad* had happened and that something bad was *wrong*, and neither of those words made sense the way she was using them, except they did.
The clerk dropped her head and began shuffling through her brochures. Elliot could hear them slipping against each other. *Swick*. *Swick*. *Swick*. The clerk looked up again.
“I’m sorry,” she said. *I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want, please go away*. “I’m sorry. That’s the only thing I have tagged as ‘bad’.”
“I don’t want a brochure. I want somebody to talk to.” *Somebody in charge*, she wanted to say, but didn't.
The clerk’s face brightened. She opened a drawer and walked her fingers across the tops of the files within. She stopped, pried one open with her thumb and forefinger, and pulled out four keycards. The clerk closed the drawer and stood. She fanned the cards on the counter in front of Elliot. One blue, one green, two white.
“These are our Sympathetic Ears,” she said. She touched the blue card. Her nail clicked against the plastic. “Mother figure.” She moved down the line, tapping her finger on each card. “Religious official, ambiguous sex. Father figure. Dog. If you’re looking to have a conversation, the dog won’t engage you verbally, only emotionally.”
The *no* was on the tip of Elliot’s tongue. She didn’t want an AI. She wanted a human being, someone who would listen and then explain to her what had happened, because Elliot did not understand it.
The clerk was watching Elliot expectantly. Elliot touched the first card. Mother figure.
The clerk turned and bent over her computer. A moment later a square opened in the middle of the desk and an eye scanner clicked up.
“If you don’t mind…”
Elliot stepped to the scanner and held her right eye open.
“All set,” the clerk said a moment later. She passed Elliot the keycard and smiled, pleased with herself for helping. “We have four AI booths open on the fourth floor.”
“Fine.”
“Have a good day, Elliot.”
Elliot didn’t answer. She made her way to the elevator, turning the keycard between her fingers. She didn’t want to use it. But it had probably cost her upwards of 100 marks, and she would be stupid to throw that kind of money away. The elevator opened. Elliot stepped in and hovered her finger over the floor buttons. Maybe the booth wasn’t such a bad thing. If nothing else, she could at least try to put into words what had happened. Practice explaining in case she figured out who the right person to talk to was.
She pushed the button for the fourth floor.
The AI booth was clean, which was a first. She'd never used a city booth before, only the cheap ones in bars and smoke houses, which probably explained it.
Elliot swiped her card and the booth whirred to life. The faint sounds of pots and pans clanking in a sink began, slowly rising in volume.
“Elliot!” A feminine voice called in the dark.
*Too high*, Elliot thought. Too high to be her mother's voice. She heard the booth click, like a shutter on an old fashioned camera as it made the adjustment.
“What are you doing home?”
*Better*. “I need you to tell me something.”
The clanking stopped and Elliot’s brain filled in the silence: her mother would be wiping her soapy hands on a dishtowel, turning her wedding ring that always seemed to slip around and face her palm whenever she washed the dished. “Of course.”
“If somebody touches me…”
“Ah.” The AI sounded knowing. “The Sex Talk.”
“No.”
“If someone touches you, Elliot, that’s called—”
“No, I *know* what it’s called! That’s not it—" Elliot's heart rose in her throat. She hated the feeling. The second time in two days it had happened. "You have to *want* it.”
“Yes. There’s no other way.”
Anger unfurled in the pit of Elliot’s stomach. “But I *didn’t* want him to touch me. So what is that? What is *that* called?”
“Oh, Elliot.” He mother’s voice was sympathetic. “Of course you did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You must have.”
“I *didn’t*.”
“If you didn’t, it wouldn’t have happened.”
It was so blank, so matter-of-fact. If this, then this. No deviation allowed. It was the same argument she'd been having with herself. It didn't happen unless you said so, but she hadn't said so. She had to have done something, then, to say yes, but she hadn't. It shouldn't have happened, but it had, and suddenly the booth was too small, the darkness oppressive and suffocating. The AI was washing dishes again, the conversation over, and Elliot fumbled in the dark for the booth’s ejection button. The sound proof seal gave way with a hiss, and Elliot stumbled out, into the light. Her heart was pounding and she was breathing hard.
“I didn’t,” she said between gasps. “I didn’t.”
| Jessica thought it queer that the two needle-handed drones could close her door so deftly as they hovered towards the airlock for her Island. Perhaps more odd was the device they had left behind. The "new" workstation was whirring and sputtering like a first-generation laundry-drone as it progressed through an otherwise familiar boot sequence. Smoke poured from an odd vent on the side.
There could, of course, be a logical reason for this. Each of these workstations was configured automatically to give users the minimum access required to live their life. In fact, the neural network that powered this automation was making such good security decisions that all virtual crime ceased. And, well, virtual crime was the only crime. So perhaps a few hundred years of data suggested that this was the most sensible choice for her computer.
Still, she approached the workstation with caution. Pressing her thumb to the scanner caused it to whirr more furiously as it processed her fingerprint data. A loading bar zipped across the screen. Much to her relief a familiar desktop popped up. A few icons missing, but this was probably restored from a backup.
Her terminal cursor blinked expectantly. It _did_ seem pertinent to check if she still had access to work.
`select table_name from admin.all_tables`
`where permitted_roles = getAuthenticatedUserRoles();`
`> network_admin_orders`
That definitely wasn't correct. Where was `hr_payment_status`?
"Odd," she muttered.
`select * from network_admin_orders;`
`> (2.5 x 10^9 rows returned)`
`> Trimmed horizontally and vertically to fit your terminal.`
`> ID USER PRODUCTID ...`
`> 1 58149141 39abc93a31df391359a1`
`> 2 95234314 95328bff91841a319416`
Definitely not her work. She picked up her phone to re-order a repair drone. The last one must have not logged her in as the correct user. Pausing, Jessica wondered who she was actually logged in as.
`whoami`
`> Checking...`
`> You are [OM-1349131]. `
`> Delegated tasks:`
`Order management`
That didn't make any sense. Order management is completely automated. Normally users place an order through the Menu, which charges your account directly. Nobody manages orders. Do they? Could....she?
Her fingers trembled as she typed.
`insert into network_admin_orders (user, productid)`
`values (29431941, '39abc93a31df391359a1');`
There was a loud knock at her door, a thud, then silence. She scrambled to it. A box with her name and address on it sat harmlessly on her porch, like any other delivery would. Exactly what she entered, too. One dozen red apples.
She pulled one from the bag in the box and took a thoughtful bite. "I wonder who paid for these apples."
As if in response, the dome above her head began to open. The air began to escape from her Island. A booming voice echoed from her speakers.
"THE NETWORK DOES NOT MAKE MISTAKES."
Jessica blinked out of existence and there continued to be no crime. | 2015-11-01T11:16:41 | 2015-11-01T11:15:09 | 102 | 10 |
[WP] After your death, you found yourself in a non-human body, holding what looks like a bong, surrounded by other members of the same species asking you "how was the trip?" in a language you somehow understand despite never hearing before. | "Give me the money!" I suddenly looked up, snapping out of my day dream of beautiful hot babes and sunny Pacific waves. A masked man was waving a pistol in my face.
"Did you fucking hear me?! I SAID, GIVE. ME. THE. MONEY!"
I wished I gave a shit, but working this night shift at this minimum wage gas station had pushed me into a spiral of simply not giving a fuck. My life was more depressing than the damn fluorescent lighting up in this bitch. Shoot me, kill me, I couldn't really give a fuck at this point. My life was beyond hope. Hell, I thought about doing it myself. Left behind while all my friends went off to college, I was pretty much over my life. Anytime I walked over a bridge, I thought about jumping. I never did, but that thought was always there.
Before I could even think, I was muttering the words, "Blow me." And then...
BLAM! I heard the shot before I saw it. The gun jolted back, a shell casing flew to the side, and I saw the bullet spiral towards me in slow motion. At the same time, I smelt the gun powder in the air. I felt it in my lungs and I watched as I got shot in the face. An out-of-the-body experience. 10/10, I took that shot like a champ. As soon as the bullet hit, my body crumbled and slumped forward like a pile of melting wax. And then...
I was being shaken. Darkness turned to light and my vision slowly began to return. I felt someone jabbing me in the shoulder, trying to slap me to my senses. I was slumped forward, still clutching the bong. I'm surprised it hadn't broke. How long had I been out? I heard the snap and crackle of the campfire and suddenly realized where I was... deer camp.
"How was it? Was it fucking dope?" I turned my head to the voice. It was Dasher, still jabbing me in the shoulder with his hoof, wide grin on his face.
"You were fucking out of it!" laughed Vixen. "That should grow some antlers on your head."
I tried speaking, but nothing came out of my mouth. They just looked at me and laughed.
"I'm next!" Dasher snatched the bong from my hoof and took a seat on the log next to me.
I turned to him and again, tried to tell him don't do it, but nothing came out. He packed the bowl and sparked the lighter. Maybe I'm still out of it? He took a pull, the white cloud of smoke shooting up the bong. And then I heard a twig crack...
The others heard it, too. We all stopped dead in our tracks, except for Dasher who let out a long and slow exhale of smoke, as we scanned the dark perimeter of the forest. The glow of the fire casting shadows among the trees and playing tricks on our eyes. We waited. And waited. Nobody moved a muscle.
And then... Nothing. It must have been nothing.
"WHOA!" Dasher cried out. "It's starting! This is going to be crazy."
And then I saw it. Directly across from me at the edge of the perimeter. Barely visible in the shadows. Camouflage orange, rifle pointed directly at me...
"Give me the meat." He whispered. Fucking humans.
BLAM!!! Again, I heard it before I saw it. The gun jolted back, a shell casing flew to the side, and I saw the bullet spiral towards me in slow motion. The now familiar smell of gun powder. God damn it. Not again... | After my "awakening", i would immediately have this blank stare stamped in my face, without any comments at all for the moment. Then afterwards, the coughing kicks in. Of course, i'd obviously return to normal, feeling a bit awkward, my vision blurry and i noticed an unusually wide peripherical vision.
After blinking my eyes for a bit, i noticed the atypical green specimen staring at me, in an almost creepy way. Their pitch black eyes, in the shape of an egg kept staring deep into my soul, whilst he asked: "You okay, bro?" And i simply responded:
"Weird flex... but ok." | 2022-11-11T13:06:03 | 2022-11-11T05:22:05 | 54 | 11 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | "Checking in now in the livestock quandrant-"
"Blarb, we can't call it-"
"-the 'less developed' quadrant." Blarb waved a dismissive tentacle at Rankle and continued. "These participants are those that haven't mastered spaceflight or any reasonable level of technology, but still qualify for Contest based on their intelligence potential. They even have to be teleported here! They wouldn't be able to find this space station without someone bringing them along! What do you think our chances of having a grand champion from the less developed quadrant, Rank?"
"Obviously, the odds are slim, Blarb. Last year's Contest was actually prolonged by weeks because the less developed contestants actually got along pretty well and didn't kill each other enough to reach the threshold to open their gates to the main arena."
"That was a nightmare. I'm glad they've tweaked the rules this year, setting a three day time limit on that zone. Luckily, those contestants are generally biological in nature, so an extermination event will leave the zone clean and ready for next year."
A high pitched screetch emitted from the grey cloud betweent the two commentators. Blarb and Rankle looked at each other, the cloud, then simultaneously returned to their microphones, pretending to have understood the higher being.
"A notable participant is the human!" Blarb continued, forcing as much enthusiasm and interest into his voice as he could. "For the last 12 hours, it looks like she's been building a shelter! And it's made of biomass!" Rankle chuckled along to Blarb's tone. "Look at this summary, Rank. Humans are known for manipulating physical objects by applying force through other physical objects. This particular human was selected as a treat this year - records indicate that she is from a continent surrounded by oceans that have trapped some of the deadliest creatures of that planet there. Apart from growing up in such a hostile environment, she opted to train for even more combat with one of her planet's military factions! It is a little disappointing that she seems to be behaving a lot like last year's human.."
"Oh yes! The tooth one!" Rankle had been genuinely curious about the class of humans called dentists. "I really thought he would use his teeth powers to rise to at least the top of the quadrant, but instead he ran and hid the whole time. We didn't even see any of the fear inducing antics they are known for on Earth!"
Another trill from the vortex between them. Maybe it was hungry?
Blarb returned to inspecting the human on the screen. "It looks like she's finished building the shelter, though from this angle it just looks like a giant pile of tree material with no discernable structure. Oh! And now she's going to try and provide some warmth for herself. When humans stay below a certain temperature, they stop functioning permanently, so we're probably going to see a bit of this in future."
Blarb and Rankle leaned down to their screens, pushing their microphones away for a moment. "Is she self-terminating?" "Maybe she wanted to light one side of the shelter and the oxygen is higher than-" "Then why isn't she inside? When did she make a blanket?" "Is she feeding MORE oxygen into a combustion...?"
The two straightened up and regained their composure. Rankle took the lead while Blarb watched the screens in silence. "Viewers of the contest, there's some interesting activity in the less developed quadrant that you all might want to witness. The human - yes, the human - has just initiated a combustion reaction at the edge of zone. Note that this is one of the highest oxygen zones in the Contest, and she is now hiding under a woven textile referred to in most cultures as a blanket. We don't know if this is an elaborate protest or simple self termination, but this is... this is going to devastate the quadrant."
Blarb and Rankle watched in mute appreciation of the destruction ripping through the zone. A fire tore through the zone, spreading almost as fast as it would in a space station corridor, fed continually as the Contest's systems tried to bring the oxygen level up to baseline.
There had been many acts of savagery in the history of the Contest, but these were generally in smaller one on one fights and the occasional two on ones when a hasty alliance was formed. This was unprecidented. Blarb was certain that in a few minutes, the livestock quadrant would be the first gate to open into the wider Contest, if there was anything left alive in there to release. | It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means *literally anything*. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset.
It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore.
“Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!”
Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa-
“Son of a biiiiiiiii-“
END
Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak. | 2020-09-13T19:10:50 | 2020-09-13T18:47:59 | 78 | 10 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | The Humans were sort of a 'middle-of-the-pack' species as far as technology goes, their AI's were mediocre, interstellar space flight basic, and weapon capabilities abysmal, they were deemed a class 5-E species by the Hierarchy's research teams, 5 being their current technological standing, and E being their likelihood of aggression (very low). However, the research teams did find one thing interesting, and even a little frightening to those that understood, it seemed the Human's rate of technological advancement was the highest out of any known species, including the Turyp themselves, who have led the Hierarchy for 9000 standard years. Some on the council believed that to be no surprise, considering a class 1 species has a lot less room to advance than a class 5 species does, and that is more or less true, but extrapolating the Turyp's technological advancement back to when they themselves were a class 5 species (though they had a B at the end of their 5), they found that the humans were advancing at almost twice the rate they were. Unsettling news for the council indeed. Further, and more intimate research would need to be done.
Though not aggressive, the Humans were a private species, preferring to stay out of the political landscape and *in* their own territory, only ever venturing out to trade, and usually with only two other species at that, the Senc and the Hiratii. Needless to say, the council's research was frustratingly slow. The only thing they found out was that the Humans mostly traded for medical supplies, which the council found odd, considering they were a passive species and were not currently dealing with large scale disease or internal conflict. After much debate, they decided a spy of sorts would need to be commissioned to gain any further useful data on the Humans. Something which the council didn't like to do, but at the same time an act which presented no real risk to the Hierarchy. With the Humans being a class 5 species, they were utterly incapable of retaliation. In fact, the risk of not knowing the Human's reason for such a sharp technological advance greatly outweighed the risk of their animosity.
The spy was sent, just one, a member of the Hiratii species, Kiri her name, deemed capable of long term espionage by the council and the standing military general. She was actually a doctor on the her home planet, and had an extensive understanding of countless species anatomies and medical intricacies. She was made to spend two full standard years on the Tyrup homeworld studying the Human's specific medicinal needs and how to treat any known ailment the Humans had. This was more of an educated guess as to how to get the information the council needed out of the Humans. They apparently were hoarding medical supplies for decades, making Kiri the prime choice for infiltrating the core of whatever the Humans were doing. The hope was that they would find an important use for Kiri's capabilities, and luckily for the Hierarchy, they did. Kiri spent the majority of five standard years on the Human homeworld, the first two largely spent earning their trust and proving her capabilities, but the last three... the last three were spent at the core of Humanity's medical conquests.
Kiri now stood in front of the council, looking as if she had aged far more than the five standard years since the council last saw her, but her eyes spoke more than her haggard appearance, an unsettling, slow, shallow vibration was perceivable even from the podium where she stood. The council waited eagerly for her report -- they had almost no contact with her for her entire deployment, as even class 5 species had extremely advanced forms of data transmission and detection. She stood for a moment, staring down at her orange-grey Hierarchy uniform, finding it odd not to be wearing the Human's thin white medical garb that she wore for the majority of the last four years. She raised her head with a piercing look in her eyes, aimed right at the head of the council, but individually turning her gaze to each of the thirteen members before speaking. "They are genetically modifying the DNA of approximately 90% of their newborns, of which 73% survive, and physically augmenting 90% of the survivors, of which 50% survive." She stared blankly and with no emotion, running through her head was every stillborn baby born with it's skin inside out that she had helped give birth to, or every screaming child with an overgrown bone structure that caused intense and excruciation pain every waking hour of their lives, children who she had to continue research on, and continue to inject with a myriad of chemicals designed to propel humanity into a new age of knowledge and understanding.
Most of the members had actually been quite excited to hear what the Human's "great mystery" was, and had spent the previous two weeks giddily discussing it amongst themselves and placing friendly bets on what they believed the reason to be, but now they sat in a cold silence, half of them contemplating the statistics of what she just said, and the other half unable to focus on anything but her dead eyes looking back at them, almost as if she was the embodiment of the cold silence they now sat in. "The Humans that survive their processes, which last from 2 months-13 years of age --varying in intensity throughout--, are extremely adept in both mental and physical capabilities. Far beyond even those of the Turyp in both areas. It is these capabilities that have been increasing the Human's rate of advancement so quickly over the past 100 years. A lack of moral values and a deadly efficiency. Each generation, the methods and chemicals used are improved upon. At the Human's current rate, they will be a class 1 species in one thousand years, not the five thousand years that was previously projected." Another long silence, no one wanting to be the first to draw attention to their insecurities regarding this matter. A class 5 species making a class 1 species nervous is/was preposterous up until now, but nevertheless was the truth. "A thousand years.." the head council-member finally muttered. Obviously more concerned with the Human's technological advance than the atrocities they were committing. "In your educated opinion, Kiri, what is the best course of action?"
"Exterminate them." | 99.999% of all intelligent species in the galaxy are descended from their home planet's equivalent of ants or cows. It's a fact that's hard to believe, given the diverse range of body types and social structures built by said species, but it's an answer every human xeno-researcher came across after First Contact.
The "Ant" species, as a general rule of thumb, resemble human ants in behavior, if not appearance. Most have caste systems with the breeders at top with the most intelligence and authority, and the workers at the bottom. As such, their problems are mainly solved by throwing enough bodies at the issue until it works. Sheer trial and error over millions of years eventually led to their ascension to the stars.
The "Cow" species individually are of relatively high intelligence compared to the mindless workers of the Ants, and live within relative harmony to one another. Highly cooperative, they've developed elaborate herd structures and decision making methods. Only when a decision is unanimous do Cows move. In contrast to the Ants, which are divided into numerous factions even in a single species due to the disposable nature of soldiers and workers for a politically aspirant queen, Cows generally are unified among species lines. This pacifism does not extend to others. Cows are naturally paranoid, and ruthlessly seek to stamp out any potential threat. As they've reached the galactic stage, the Cows have joined together as the single largest faction, overcoming mutual distrust with a greater distaste against Ants.
When humans first hit the galactic stage, it was the Cows who gave us guidance, thinking us to be merely another Cowlike species to join their herds. They did not anticipate that we were descended from persistence predators. Ants and Cows have terrible depth perception, regardless of origin. It was skipped over sometime during evolution, with social structures in place to overcome any individuals inability to see farther than a few meters.
Humans often take ranged weaponry for granted. What we don't often realize is that we had to be selected for the ability to throw, and we built upon our own ability to throw with the development of technologies specifically related to throwing things faster and harder. Cows and Ants built upon their own natural strengths, focusing on better melee weapons, speed, and armor, never even considering attacking from beyond sight.
What's more, Ants and Cows do not pursue. They chase off threats until the threat is perceived to be out of range. Then they stop and return home. Our first war with the Carabons ended with their total surrender after they failed to realize we could and would track down their attacking vessels back to their homeworld and continue the fight months after we were believed to be "neutralized". They did not anticipate each one of our fighters being able to fight for days on end without rest, when they tired out after minutes. They did not anticipate fire raining from the sky despite theoretical knowledge of ballistics for their starships. They did not realize that even the fastest and most evasive of their speeder chariots couldn't hope to outrun laser rifles.
| 2016-03-13T19:19:26 | 2016-03-13T18:44:24 | 46 | 34 |
[WP] While tucking in a child a man "Checks for monsters" he finds another version of the boy who quietly whispers to him "Daddy, there's someone in my bed".
*Edit* I take no credit for this prompt. I saw it on instagram and thought it would make a good one.
Not sure if that kind of thing is frowned upon here or not, just wanted to contribute. | "Mommy," the boy said, "There's someone in my bed."
His face was pale with fright, or perhaps it was just pale; she didn't think any human's skin could reach that corpse-white tone naturally. His eyes were pure black, deep and empty, and his fingers curled like claws.
"Okay, honey, don't worry," she said softly. She'd slipped without thinking into her parent voice; calm and collected, perpetually unperturbed. She didn't want to upset her child. "You can come out, okay? I promise there's no monsters here."
She wished her husband was here. She wished that often, these days-- it was the first thought on her mind when she woke up every morning and the last before she fell asleep each night. But he wasn't, he couldn't be, and so she would deal with this on her own.
The child whimpered again, shaking. He looked so very terrified. The pattern of freckles scattered across his cheeks was familiar; she kissed each one of them before she put her son to bed each night. They looked much darker against this odd boy's bone-pale skin, like splatters of ink.
"Shh," she said again. "There's nothing to be afraid of here." She held her arms out to him, and he finally began to crawl out from where he'd been curled up.
"Mommy?" her son on top of the bed asked, voice wavering.
"Shh," she said to her son, and reached a hand out to ruffle his hair. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine." She glanced up and gave him a reassuring smile. She hoped she wasn't lying to him.
When the boy moved, the differences between them were more pronounced. He had her son's face, her son's voice, but his arms and legs moved at strange, twisted angles and they creaked and cracked when he pushed them against the carpet. Even something as simple as crawling took him a great effort.
When he finally managed to get out from under the bed, she scooped him up into her arms straight away and cradled his head against her shoulder. She didn't want her son to see the boy's face; he might panic or start crying.
The boy was cold, very cold, but she could feel his pulse jump where her arms curled against his neck and so he had to be alive. It was a relief; she didn't think she could handle seeing her son's dead body, even if it wasn't truly him. Not so soon after her husband, at least.
"Mom?" her son asked. He sounded torn between fear and open curiosity. "Who is that?"
"Well," she said, swallowing, "I'd like to find that out myself. So I think what we're going to do is we're going to get out of bed and go have a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen, and then we're going to have a talk with him and see what we can figure out. How's that sound?"
"I'd like hot chocolate," the strange boy said timidly. She could feel his icy breath against her throat as he spoke.
"I've got school," her son said, sounding a little confused. Well, confused was better than terrified, at least. "Can I really stay up?"
She smiled. "I'm sure it will be all right for just one night. And if you're really too tired in the morning, I'm sure the school will understand if you stay home just this once."
"Really?" Her son's face lit up. "Awesome!" He threw off the covers and practically leapt out of bed. The boy in her arms flinched at the sudden movement, cringing into her hold. She had to wonder just what had happened to him, that he'd react like that to something as simple as movement.
"Can we have marshmallows, too? And whipped cream?"
"Slow down, okay? Let's see if we have any, first." The woman shifted her hold on the child in her arms. She could feel icy pinpricks of cold where the boy was touching her. His fingers and toes were viciously clawed, tipped with nails like knives, and she thought she could see a hint of fangs when he'd opened his mouth.
She wasn't stupid. She'd read horror books as a young girl, she'd seen *The Ring* and *IT* and dozens of other monster movies. She knew what happened when you invited a creature like this into your home. But she couldn't-- she couldn't just *kill* him. Not when he held onto her like she was the only thing keeping him safe.
And they'd both been unbearably lonely, her and her son, in the days and weeks after they'd lowered her husband into the ground. If this was the universe's way of giving them a new piece of family, a new someone to love, well... she wouldn't complain.
Not even if he came with fangs.
(I, er, didn't realize it was a mother and not a father in the prompt until I was already 200 words in. I hope the slight deviation from prompt isn't a problem!) | Charlie had already tucked himself in and was staring at the ceiling when I walked in to kiss him
goodnight. “Hey little brother, ready for bed?”
“Yup”
“How was your day?”
“Fine”
“What are you looking at?” Charlie was still staring at the ceiling.
“Nothing, I’m just thinking.”
“What about?”
“Nothing.”
I sat at his bedside a moment longer, offering him the chance to volunteer a little more, but
when nothing came, I kissed his forehead and rose. “Goodnight little man”
“Night daddy”
I was nearly to the door when I remembered, “Ah, wait, I didn’t check for monsters!” Checking
for monsters had been part of the nightly ritual for weeks now, and whenever I forgot he started
crying for me just a few minutes after I left.
“That’s okay, I already checked.” He was still staring at the ceiling.
I started my check anyway; I really hated having to come back upstairs after they were tucked
in. I wanted to get the dishes done and the living room cleaned up so that I would have time to finish
my book before bed. Coming back to check for monsters after I’d already started working would be
infuriating.
“No daddy, go out!” He was sitting up, staring at me now, his baby face angry.
“You don’t talk to me like that!” I said firmly
Charlie glared at me and opened his mouth to speak but another voice called from the closet,
“Daddy?” I stepped over to the closet and pushed the hanging clothes to one side. Charlie was
sitting in the corner, hugging his knees. “That boy is mean.”
I stared blankly at my son, “That boy?” I asked.
I turned around.
*Edit - my first time posting, not sure how to get the formatting right. | 2014-04-15T12:24:19 | 2014-04-15T11:05:01 | 63 | 36 |
[WP] An alien race announces that they plan to blow up the earth, but agree to abduct one random person who will argue for the planet's survival. Now one man must convince them that earth is something they want. Fortunately, he's Vince, the "Sham-Wow" guy. | The council of aliens quickly scuffled into the room to take
their seats. The meeting would be a very special one; the fate of Earth. While
not decided on yet, most have already agreed it’s for the best to destroy the
planet. Some says it’s to prevent intergalactic war when they inevitably advance,
their horrendous violence being a threat to the universe, and others really
just wanna see something blow up. However, in the spirit of the Free Voice and
Debate Act, we have decided they may call one of their own to argue for their survival.
He goes by the name Vince Offer, the “Shame-wow” guy. I have
yet to learn what the purpose of such a device, but I heard it’s very important
for their civilization.
Everyone quickly hushed down and the pedestal began to rise
for the floor. Out popped the man, and a table of items in front of him. He
began to speak.
“Hey everyone, Vince from ShamWow™. But you’ll be saying wow
every time with these reasons not to kill us all. Look at this thing in front
of me. That’s right, it’s a plant to blow your minds. It’s goes anywhere. This
is for the house. The car. The boat. The car again. The RV. Even your ass if
you’re brave enough.”
There aliens began to whisper to themselves.
“BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE.”
“You ready to hear some real magic guys? This little buddy
right here… SUSTAINS LIFE. That’s right, life itself. Just dose that bad boy
with some water, sit you ass down and wait, and SHAM! WOW! YOU GOT A CACTUS! I
LITERALLY CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT IT, I JUST LOVE IT!”
“Um, Mr. Offer,” one of the aliens pipped up, “What do you
mean by plants-“
“BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE GODAMMIT.” He shouted while slamming
the table.
“You’re going to be in a great mood all day, because you’re
going be clawing your troubles away with the adorable pictures of a clawing
kitten. Look, it’s already making you aww. 5 seconds. 4 or 5 seconds, it's
done. You’re awwing. There’s ton of these things on Earth. This thing, this council
looks boring. Stop having a boring council, start having a cute cat. You can
even put a mango on it. Isn’t that just beautiful?
Another alien rose up. “Are these cats useful or-“
“BUT YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT’S NEXT.” He screamed back,
leaning over the table.
“M-more?”
The man laughed maniacally into the air.
“Okay, last one. And you’re going to love this last one. This
in my new product called “FATAL NEUROTXIN.” All you need to do is talk to some
green guys, give the guys back home 10-15 minutes and SHAM! WOW! It’s already starting!
The Gas Mask to save yourselves sells for 19.95, but if you beg hard, within
the next 20 seconds—we’ll give one half-off for the guy next to you. That’s
half-off-- just pay processing. So that’s two for the low low price 29.95. Now here’s
how to order..."
Before the aliens could react a purplish mist filled the
room. They began to grab their throats as the poisonous filled our bodies. One
of the aliens fell to the floor, their vision blurring more and more.
The last thing he saw was the man putting on a gas mask and
running out the back door. He could just barely make out what the man’s final
words, but they were something like this:
“Wow.”
/r/StoryStar | Hi, it's Vince from Earth, wow! You'll be saying wow in no time!
It's like a garden, it's like a habitat, it's like a home!
Regular planets are too dry for life, this one works because it's wet and dry!
Earth is for the humans
The dogs
The cats
All of the animals!
Earth holds about 2% of it's weight in liquid water! Look at it, it just works!
Why do you want to spend years trying to terra-form a planet? Earth just works as it is!
And the cities were produced by humans! You know humans always make good stuff!
It's completely self-sufficient, it works in a vacuum.
See what i'm telling ya?! The planet Earth, you'll be saying wow in no time! | 2018-04-04T22:51:54 | 2018-04-04T22:43:25 | 74 | 29 |
[WP] Once people reach puberty they get a superpower, their power directly correlates with their greatest fear. Such as if you were scared of heights, you'd get the ability to fly. | "Hey dad?"
"Yeah buddy?"
"I don't think I'm afraid of anything."
"Well come on now, everybody is afraid of at least something."
"I don't know dad, like... I wouldn't want to be locked in a cage with a tiger or a bear or something. But I'm not really afraid of those things, just cautious."
"Well you really don't have to worry about that right now buddy, you probably still have another year or two before your powers start to manifest. Now why don't you go get washed up and ready for bed." My father then proceed to give me a look that was probably supposed to be gentle affection, but it came across as just condescending. I really wish he would treat me more grown up.
As I was laying in bed that night my thoughts wandered from the eventual development of my powers, to the few memories I still had of my mother, to my classmates. One girl in my class has already started the development of her powers, she is terrified of the dark which has manifested itself in a pretty cool way. When she gets angry in class and can't control her emotions, a fog as black as night seeps from her body and veils the classroom in darkness. With thoughts of my mother and fantasies of power I slowly drift to sleep.
I tore my head off my pillow gasping for air and drenched in sweat, my heart was beating out of my chest and I was hopelessly disoriented. Light flooded my vision, so I brought my arm to my eyes to block it. Then I heard my fathers gentle voice and felt his arm around my shoulder.
"Hey bud, you were dreaming about her again. You were screaming for her in your sleep."
I nestled into his chest and started to drift back to sleep.
When I woke up I had been tucked into my bed and my old stuffed animal was out of my closet and on the pillow next to me. I got dressed and ready for school.
I got to my classroom and noticed a small cluster of children in the back of the room. I pushed my way through the huddle to notice a boy in my class, Jacob, had submerged his head in the class fish tank and seemed to be breathing, when he pulled his head out of the water he exclaimed in a squeaky voice.
"I GOT MY POWERS! I CAN BREATH UNDER WATER!"
I had the sinking feeling in my stomach that all of my classmates would get their gifts before I did. The rest of the day at school was just like any other, very hum drum. Every day I walked home with my friend Ben, today the obvious topic of discussion was the discovery of Jacob's powers. Both of us were envious, but still had faith that our powers would come soon. Naturally the conversation led to what our powers would be. We decided that Ben would probably have the ability to control colonies of ants, due to the fact that when he was much younger he had been playing hide and seek and hid in a hollow stump on top of a fire ant hill, and has been terrified of ants ever since then.
When the conversation turned to me though, we still couldn't think of anything. He asked if there had ever been anything that happened to me that scared me. I told him well yes, but just because something scares me doesn't mean I'm afraid of it.
We got to Ben's house, he wen't inside, and I finished the walk home on my own. As I walked I felt a terrible sense of being alone, sadness slowly turned to dread and I swear the clear blue sky grew dark and grey with clouds. I started to run home and when I got there I burst into the door in a frantic state. My dad quickly saw me, grabbed me up in his arms, and asked what was wrong.
I was struggling to sputter out the words "I... sdafhkd... I... I... I know what I'm afraid of daddy!"
"Buddy that's great! Well, not really great but it's helpful. What is it that you're afraid of?"
"ajklje... ejkihv... being... being alone."
"Well buddy how do you think that will manifest itself."
"Maybe I'll be able to not make people leave LIKE MOM DID!" My hysteria was starting to turn to anger.
The expression on my fathers face had shifted from caring to frightened. "Buddy you can't control peoples free wil... free wi... wi..." His body began to stiffen as I felt my emotions grow more intense.
My face curled into a scowl and I could feel my influence over him. It felt powerful. Nobody could stop me now. Nobody could ever leave me again.
| "What are you afraid of?"
I am ashamed to admit it. "Balloons..."
The other person can't stop laughing. This is mortifying.
"You're gonna be a superhero clown that can make the best balloon-
I smack her right across the mouth and run. I don't want to be a clown or a balloon or anything remotely associated with them. God my super power is going to be I can turn into a balloon...what am I going to do? But then I meet a boy who is scared of chickens. Will he shape shift into a chicken?
Sometimes we sit at the canal and just talk about how our fears will turn into powers. They aren't patronizing discussions which is nice, they're honest, serious conversations because we are worried about it. Really worried about it.
"You hit puberty yet?" he asks me when we meet up one day. Its our daily greeting.
"Nooo..." we begin walking to the bus stop.
"How does a girl even know when she has hit puberty?"
"It's called a period you idiot."
"Oh yeah..." he laughs to himself. "Dumb question."
"When does a guy know?"
"Erm...he gets hair on his junk?"
We laugh and realise the bus is crawling its way to the stop, so we begin running towards it.
"I've figured out what your power will be!" I yell at him.
"What?!"
We stop and stick our hands out for the vehicle to stop. "You will be a chicken whisperer."
He laughs and tells me to shut up. | 2017-05-19T03:05:47 | 2017-05-19T00:04:22 | 16 | 10 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.