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[WP] You were possessed by a weak demon at a young age, and grew so close you forgot where one ends and the other begins. Now you have died, and one part of you is headed to heaven, and the other to hell. | I can't quite remember at what point he appeared. All I know is that in my memories, he wasn't at my fourth birthday- but he was at my fifth. Darius. My demonic other half. Well, I'm not entirely sure if you could call him a demon, because he never actually seemed to do anything evil. He always managed to justify himself somehow or in some way. Whether it was a secret he knew about someone, or a different perspective I hadn't seen, or just plain old "They deserved it.", he could do no wrong in my eyes.
I was a troubled child. The restless adventurer type; but- trapped in a poor household with nowhere to go, I would often become stressed. And so when he offered to help me out, to help me be free, I didn't care that he was a demon. He could have been Satan himself pulling one of his give-me-your-soul contracts and I wouldn't care.
But he made good on his offer alright.
When the other boys tried to pressure me into fights or bully me, he was the one that convinced me to walk out. And when my shadowy basement room in our family's run down shack became to small, too cramped, to filled with bad memories- he was the one that urged me to run. After a while, he was my conscience. My scapegoat. My mentor. My confidant. He was me and I was him.
Flips sides to each other, two halves to a whole, all the things you usually only see on cheap romance films- that's what we were. *Everything can be blamed on your inner demon. It's what I'm here for.* he often insisted. We may not have had much, but we were free, and that was all I cared about. He was my driving force and my rival. *I reckon I could have done that better.* or *My nana could run faster than that, and I never even had one!* or sometimes *This mountain will be tougher.* He was constantly pushing me.
Yes, I may have let him have a little more control than I should have, but where's the harm in that? The worst thing he had ever done was punch a nun who recognised that he was there. Several times. And may have concussed her. That's about when I stopped going to church. And its not to say I didn't do good. I climbed the highest mountains, free-dived deeper than anyone else, ran without stopping for hours on end.
I suppose it was for the little tastes of freedom. Being cooped up in a burning pit for eternity must get boring after a while. But when we were together, we were both free. Even when all those we cared about were gone. Even when we were trapped in a dead-end tunnel during a caving accident, knowing there was no escape and contemplating the boot knife in our hands. We talked for a while before doing it.
"Promise you'll be there?" *You know I never made you any promises.*
"But you'll try?" *If the big guy is in a good mood. Which he usually isn't.*
"I don't want to leave you." *You think I want to go back to that literal hellhole?*
"No, of course not! That's all we cared about, freedom, right?" *I guess it's ironic that we went this way. Trapped in a tiny hole, in the search for freedom 'till the end.*
"Huh. Yeah. Are you sure there's no way out of here?" *...You're holding it.*
I don't remember or care what a knife in the throat feels like. All I remember is that it didn't take very long to find myself in heaven. The gold roads, the idyllic landscape, the general white-and-pureness... I didn't give a damn about any of it. All I saw was that he wasn't there. **He wasn't there.** An overwhelming urge to smash those pearly gates arose in my mind. But instead, I settled with trying to choke the first angel I found. "Give me a first-class ticket to hell, you winged-" I choked on my words as I struggled to pick a curse powerful enough to describe my emotions.
I didn't expect them to let me go down there. It only took a few seconds to realise the catch. The catch, in the form of a large reinforced glass wall. He was standing there, on the other side. A face I had never seen, trying to speak to me but voice silenced by the soundproof glass. Even though I couldn't hear what he was trying to tell me, I knew that it was him. Excited and yet frustrated, I settled for smashing my hand against the glass wall, wishing with all my heart that it would break.
He breathed gently a few times on the glass, and wrote a short message.
*I knew.* I could still read it in his voice, it was that familiar to me. I quickly copied him and asked what he meant. *That I'd go back.* he wrote. I began to object, to ask why he'd never told me if he had know all along, when he made a larger breath onto the glass and quickly wrote out, *That's why I chose you. Demons cannot go to heaven even if we repent, but we can save others if we really want to.* he said. *I am older than you think. All the greatest artists, pioneers, politicians,* he paused and crossed out the word "Politicians". *I lead them. But they used me. You were the only one that accepted me.*
******
(I'm not going to be able to finish this today, I will finish it in the comments later if anyone actually cares.) | It is strange to remember a time before she was there. I was too young to remember the day or the moment when I first heard her voice in my head. All the same, she was there, and I called her Red.
I grew up fast, but not fast enough. The wounds of my childhood still fresh in my mind, and the feel of their hands on me too real to forget. Red was always there in the back of my mind, watching and waiting. When the memories were unbearable Red would tuck me away into a dreamland and fight away the trauma. She my personal demon, both my savior and my tormentor.
Years later, I met my Husband. I loved him dearly, he was kind and gentle, unlike any man that I had known before. But Red was furious, she hated all men, and hated when they touched us. As we grew closer it became harder to keep Red a secret. She would lash out and hurt him. I tried so hard to fight back, and to lock her away. But I had let her become too strong. So when I told my husband the truth about Red, we could see fear, anger and hatred grow inside of him, and that only fed Reds rage.
Our marriage was crumbling fast and Red was devouring me, my vulnerability became her strength, and my fear became her purpose. She became more myself than I was and I knew the only way to free myself was to end my life. So I pushed the fear out of my mind, found what strength I had left and did the only thing that could bring me peace.
Then after, time seemed to freeze. I was suspended in air. Pressure started to build in my head, then searing pain began to spread through my body, my chest cracked and it split, then out crawled a little girl. Glowing like burning embers, she had my eyes but they were twisted with fear and anger.
I looked at her, and she looked back at me. Oh, my dear, dear Red. "I'm so sorry" I said as I reached out to her.
She spat at me and laughed. Her body twitched and jerked as she laughed and howled while she mockingly called me "The toy! The toy!"
I felt as if a gentle breeze was brushing over me, as I watched Red continue to burn. Perhaps I had created my own demon, and my hate became her hate, my pain became hers. If there was a better way I did not know. I am forever sorry my dear sweet companion. | 2017-05-29T22:11:10 | 2017-05-29T17:07:46 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] You accidentally call the FBI in place for a pizza shop and attempt to order your favourite pizza with toppings. Coincidentally, the FBI uses pizza language as a means of code. | "Hellooo?" I'm generally a patient man, even when it comes to pizza. To be honest, I was more worried than annoyed. Jimmy was always very prompt when answering the phone and always within the second ring. We would exchange the usual pleasantries, dish each other about our girlfriends, and then he would confirm with me what I always ordered.
Third ring and no Jimmy makes a pizza addict nervous.
"Hello," the voice that finally picked up was definitely not Jimmy. Jimmy had said he was thinking of hiring some help given that business had been crazy lately ever since the only other pizza place, a Pizza Hut located on Fifth and Hartford, burned down due to some poorly disposed fryer oil, but I didn't think the hire would be that quick. "Jimmy isn't available right now, confirm."
"Confirm? What the hell? Where's Jimmy?"
"Jimmy isn't available right now. *Confirm,*" the voice on the other line turned harsh.
And so the moral dilemma. Now I was less worried and more annoyed. I wanted pizza. I just came off two, 16-hour shifts at the hospital because the chief of fucking surgery didn't want to spring an extra $115k to hire another trauma surgeon. To add the cherry on top of my clusterfuck of a day, the kid I was operating on at the end of my shift died on the table, so to clarify I didn't want the pizza, I needed it.
But this guy was an asshole. I mean seriously, who asks the a customer confirm that the boss isn't there? Even if the guy was new, it was common human decency. Therein lied my rub. Deal with this new guy and get pizza, or satisfy my conscience and tell him to piss off.
Pizza won.
"Confirmed. Can I place my order now, or do I have to give you my social security number first."
"Proceed." What a douche.
"Large, with jalapenos, mushrooms, roasted bell peppers, ranch drizzle on top, roasted garlic in the crust, and a side of roasted chili marinara. Or just tell Jimmy, the usual," I said.
"Ranch drizzle on top," the new guy took took in a sharp breath, "You want ranch drizzle on top? Confirm."
"Yea. Jesus. If you keep this up you're not going to be working there for very long I pro-," I didn't get a chance to finish my thought before the line went dead.
New guy didn't even give me the total or the ETA. Not that he needed to really, I had the $17.72 already set aside on the table in the hallway.
---
**November 30 - 1800 Hours FBI Safe House: Location Undisclosed.**
"You're sure?" the rookie, a nervous looking red head who bore the unfortunate name of Rick O'Malley, fidgeted with his sidearm.
"Look. I tripled check the reference sheet just like you," Kin Wong hid his anxiety better than Rick, but only just.
"I'm not questioning the go code. But you can't look me in the eye and tell me that that exchange wasn't suspicious. I get that there'll be ad-libbing, especially if the Director's suspicions about the mole are on point. But come on Kin. Nothing about that conversation just now felt right."
"We're on the edge of the largest mobilization south of the border in the history of inter-agency cooperation. CIA already has a number of guys waiting on the other side ready to receive. If we don't go now, we miss the Juarez Cartel's top four guys trying to flee to Cuba. Get your head on right. We cannot miss this chance," Kin nodded the Rangers on lone from the Army, "alright, school circle."
"Is no one going to ask why we chose pizza terms instead of typical military alpha-numerics?" Lieutenant Alfred Randleman asked without looking up from checking his assault rifle.
"Because even your dumb ass would mess that up, Randleman. Sorry, go ahead and continue, Agent Wong," Captain Eric Hansen shot Randleman a glare before grinning.
"Just a few things to review. Our main objective is Enrique Medina, code-named Jalapeno. He's currently managing all the money for the Juarez cartel. We take him, we get access to all their stateside accounts. This won't kill them off, but it will definitely cripple them. His brother, Sal Medina, code-named Mushroom, is a small fry. He's mostly just Enrique's muscle. You are authorized fatal action against him. Roasted bell peppers, Item Red, is Pablo Juarez, the head of the cartel. Roasted bell peppers, Item Green, is his cousin, Raul Juarez. Remember, we want these two alive and out of harms way. Our primary concern is neutralizing their cash flow and force in fighting," Kin surveyed the grizzled, weathered faces of the Rangers on loan and nodded, "remember boys. We're not supposed to be here. Any of you go down, FBI, the army, and the Company will disavow any affiliation. If all things go well, CIA will get us out."
"What are our rules of engagement for civilians?" Specialist Lia Saldana's voice rang over the chit chat of her comrades.
"You are cleared full prejudice. Assume everything is hostile. Any questions?" Kin asked.
"Do we get pizza after this?" Specialist Lyman O'Connell snorted at his own joke.
"Everyone but you O'Connell," Kin said, chuckling, "we've been training for this for the past three weeks. This is the cap stone of our operations against the Juarez Cartel. We pull this off, and we deal drug trafficking across the border a big blow, pun intended. Let's get this done ladies and gentlemen."
Acknowledgements and grunts issued from the choir of Rangers and FBI agents. Few words were exchanged after. There would be time for quips and celebrations when the operation was finished.
"This still doesn't feel right Kin. Maybe we should check in with the director," Rick said.
"Director needs plausible deniability, that's why we're not here. We've been in close contact with the informant for months. This is the moment we're waiting for. This is for the people in Tuscon and El Paso. This is how we get even." | "Hello," the woman on the other end of the phone said back to me, "how can I help you today?"
"Yeah, can I have a large pepperoni-" I started. Someone in the background asked me to pick up a meat lovers instead. There was a short argument, "On second thought can you make it half pepperoni and half sausage."
"Are you confident?" She sounded nervous. I couldn't understand why.
"Yeah I want that pizza."
"Sir, would you like soda too?"
"Yeah, I think we definitely need Coke," I said eyeing the bottle of chase that had been stolen by basically everyone. We'd brought two bottles, but we were already running out.
"Hol-" she began, "yes as fast as possible sir."
"Yeah I'll pay cash at the door okay."
"Hold tight sir we are on our way." She sounded desperate, panicked even. I didn't know what was going on but if they were going to be stressed about a pizza, it might as well have been mine. I turned back to the rest of the party. Beer pong looked like it was somewhat open. I walked over there to see if I could slip in for a game.
About ten minutes later there was the sound of sirens outside. I shushed everyone, "don't worry it's not late enough that they are going to kick us out, just a friendly reminder I think," I pointed out to my girlfriend Jess as she came up to me. She seemed satisfied with my explanation and sat down on the couch with one of her friends. I went to grab the door.
I didn't need to; the door was kicked in, and I was shoved back against the wall. I smashed into it and shook my head, "Woah-woah-woah," I started, "What the hell is going on?"
"That's a match for the voice," came a female voice from the other side of the door. The same man who had kicked the door in grabbed it and pulled it off of me, "what's your name?" the woman asked.
"Jeff," I stuttered, "what's going on?"
"Jeff, what's the code?" she asked. She walked into sight; she was a complete bombshell, but her tits were ruined by the fact that she was carrying an assault rifle, "I'm not fucking around, what's the code?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know," she took the gun and pressed it hard against my forehead, "You called for this bullshit if you're who you claim you are you'd better give me the code in ten seconds."
"What the fuck."
"Ten."
"No seriously."
"Nine."
One of my friends cut in, "You can't just do that, he has rights."
"Eight."
"I was trying to order a pizza!" I shouted. She suddenly pulled the gun off of my forehead.
"What?"
"I wanted pizza."
"Y-you thought you were calling for pizza?" She repeated what I said.
"Yes, I thought I was calling for Pizza I'm sorry."
"How did you get the number so wrong."
"I'm drunk," I admitted, "I'm only 20 but I'm drunk, and I'm sorry."
She pulled the gun away from me and put it down to her side. Everyone was silent for a while, "Let's go, guys," she finally hissed. | 2015-11-30T16:26:32 | 2015-11-30T16:18:28 | 80 | 12 |
[WP] "Thank you, chap," you say cheerfully, "I'm glad to be out of there, the room service was rubbish." The prison guard who just released you from the 120 year sentence dropped the door keys on the cement in shock. | “How?”
“You’re here to clean up, I assume?” The Prisoner asked, “Expected a body, I suppose. Well, good news: you get an early mark today. The room is spotless.”
The guard stared, his mind struggling to make a coherent whole from the pieces before him. The tiny cell was indeed spotless. It was also a mile underground, about 5 feet across and completely empty besides the smiling, raven-haired Prisoner in front of him. “Nobody’s been down here for -“
“120 years, I know” interrupted the Prisoner. “And that’s not true by the way; I’ve been here the whole time.” He stretched, inhaling deeply. “Certainly is nice to get out though, thank you again.” He held out a hand. “What’s your name?”
“Thomas,” replied the guard, and, running on an autopilot powered by social convention, shook the Prisoner’s hand.
“Alistair,” he replied, “care to take me upstairs, Tom? I could do with a cup of tea.” He looked around the dingy stone walls of the dungeon. “I assume it still exists? 120 years is a long time, after all.”
“Yes, sir,” stammered Tom, his brain latching on to the topic of beverages like a drowning man clings to floating debris, “Tea is certainly still...a thing.” He stopped, his mind suddenly on firmer ground . “Look, I’m sorry, but what the devil is going on here? Is this some sort of joke?”
“Not at all, Tom.” Alistair replied. “I’m a 120-year-old Prisoner you’ve just released from a locked cell in an underground dungeon in London. Come along,” he nodded at the stairs, “tea time.”
“It’s just, when you put it that way, it really sounds like a joke,” Tom continued as he followed along behind the man, now striding up the stairs.
“I assure you Thomas, this is not a joke,” Alistair replied, continuing his ascent, “nor is it a jape, a prank, a jest or tomfoolery. I have been in prison for a long time, and my soul aches for tea.” He smiled gently to himself as he strode onward. “But since it’s a long walk, we might as well pass the time with explanations. Why don’t you start with what you’re doing down here?”
“I work here. In the Prison,” he explained, “they knocked down a wall for an extension and we found the door here. We’re supposed to be waiting for the University crew for research but the Warden had these old keys and I -“
“ - got curious and opened a door to the unknown, behind which all manner of darkness may lie?” Alistair laughed. “How bold. You know Thomas, I find that very endearing. Curiosity must always be rewarded or we will discourage the betterment of man. Don’t you agree?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you do. Otherwise you would not be asking questions, nor would you have opened either of the doors.”
He stopped. “Thomas, I have decided. I shall tell you how I came to be here, but you must promise me one thing.” He stared. “You mustn’t put milk in the tea.” He laughed, and resumed his stride up the stairs, telling a story as he went.
—
A century ago, there was a wise man in London who sought the secrets of the Universe. The greatest alchemist who ever lived, he was a pioneer; a true legend, spoken of in hushed tones and shunned by the establishment, jealous as they were of his knowledge. But even legends grow old, and it came time for this man to choose a successor. To that end, he chose an apprentice.
The apprentice was an orphan who had nothing but ambition. He had no family, no friends, no ties to this world. He would be the perfect student, one who could discard the bounds of convention that chained the old man.
For you see, the old man had a daughter. The most beautiful woman you had ever seen, with ebony hair and silken skin, with laughter like birdsong and a voice like a warm summer day. He would not perform experiments that would risk her safety, and thus he sought someone unbound by trivialities such as love, who could push their knowledge further than he. And though his knowledge of the Universe was great and terrible, the old legend knew nothing of the ways of youth.
The apprentice and the girl fell in love. They would meet in secret by starlight, and swap stories and plan their future, all while the young man’s talents grew. He soon became his Master’s equal, performing healings and conjurations to astound the establishment.
Then one day came the news. The young woman was expecting, and they knew it could not remain secret for long. They sought the master’s approval to wed, but the old man flew into a bitter rage. He expelled the apprentice from his house, from his tutelage, and imprisoned his daughter in his house, never to see the outside world.
The apprentice, now alone, sought vengeance on the old man. He plumbed the depths of every library, every text scientific and alchemical, and trialled every manner of curse, but the old conjurer’s protections were too great. Finally, in his desperation, he sought the most forbidden of tools: the Philosopher’s Stone.
The Stone was an ancient artefact, said to amplify the power of the user. So great was its power that it was rumoured to be able to grant eternal life. In his madness, the apprentice sought the Stone despite every text, every sage warning that it would extract a terrible price. So blinded with vengeance was he that he considered any price worth paying to be reunited with his love. One fateful night, he crafted the Stone, and marched upon his master’s house.
He crossed the threshold with ease. Every charm, every curse, every trap crumbled in his wake. Venom and power courses through his veins as he destroyed the house room by room as he hunted his former master.
Finally, he found him, sitting at the foot of his daughter’s bed. She lay there, arms around a young child, neither drawing breath. The Stone had taken its price.
—
”What did you do then?” Thomas asked in quiet awe.
“I surrendered,” Alistair replied. “I had nothing left. In that moment I saw what vengeance had cost me, and I lay down and wept. My master placed me under magical binding, but he needn’t have bothered. All light was lost to me, and I would fight no further. He took me before a court of the most powerful figures in the Kingdom; not just alchemists, but Royals and Scientists and Military. I was sentenced, and placed down here.”
“And the Stone?”
“Destroyed, Thomas. They would not risk any man, any nation to possess a power such as that. The Stone is lost to us, and good riddance to it. But before they did it, they used the Stone once. Once and only once.”
“What did they do?”
Alistair shook his head. “Oh Thomas. Don’t you see? I transgressed. I crossed boundaries that man was not meant to cross. The punishment must be equal to the crime, Thomas. To execute me, to allow me to die, would simply grant me my greatest desire. It would reunite me with my wife and daughter.” He was crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continued. “Just as the stone extracted a terrible price, so too did they punish me.”
“You mean?”
“Yes, Thomas,” he replied, “they sentenced me to live.” | The guard stares at me in confusion. He finally realized he no longer had his keys, and dove down to pick them up.
"I say, a bit of a butterfingers are you?" I chuckled. "No worries, it's just another thing to add to my letter."
"Letter?" The guard had finally found his voice. "What letter?"
"To the newsies, boy. I will be writing a very strongly worded letter. I mean, I haven't even been fed in the last, what? Eighty years or so? They stopped laundry only a few years before that."
The guard backed slowly out of the room. I eyed his uniform. They had changed the design again. What had once been a smart set of dark blue suits, was now some kind of... Ugh... Khaki one pieces. As my eyes began to adjust to the light, I could make out some stitching on the breast pocket.
"Old Joey's Security Professionals. I say, is the jail bringing in a third party for it's wardens now?"
"What wardens?" The man finally asked.
"What wardens? Why the jail wardens! I know I had a life sentence, but one hundred and twenty years isn't enough time for the language to change that much!"
A small black box on the man's belt squawked.
"Hey Frank, did you find that old storage closet?" A voice came from it.
The man grabbed the device and spoke into.
"Hey man, call the boss. I found some hobo in one of these old cells."
"Hobo? Hobo!? How dare you sir! I may not be in the best shape right now, but I am no hobo! I am Charles Depree the Fourth, head of the Dupree lineage!"
The man ignored me and backed up out of the cell.
"Damn it Frank, you know Joey don't like being woken up. Just kick the guy out and get the damn mop and bucket."
The man... Frank... looked at me. He was obviously trying to size me up. Once he was satisfied, he nodded, and motioned for me to leave the solitary cell.
"Okay then Mr. Dupree, you are free to go. Get out of here before we call the cops."
I sniffed. I had expected more fanfare. The Butcher of Delville should at least warrent a few reporters. This was ridiculous.
"Where are my clothes! I arrived in a fine bespoke suit! My personal effects are to be returned!"
"Dude, we ain't got no suits here." The man seemed to weigh something in his mind. "It is cold out though, we'll hit up lost and found and find you something warm to wear. Just don't tell your friends or nobody I did this though, it'd be my job."
I followed the man up through the jail. It looked... unused. No inmates called out from their cells. No nasty wardens popped up to beat me. Nothing but dust, cobwebs, and what I presumed were cleaning supplies that Frank had grabbed from the isolation cell that had been next to mine.
He stopped long enough to give the strange bright yellow bucket and mop to his coworker, then led me to the front of the jail. The Head Warden's office had been turned into some kind of shop, and from here Frank pulled out a box filled with clothing.
"Here, try and find something that fits. And layers, I don't know how you got here dressed in rags like that, but it's below minus fifteen out there."
"Negative fifteen degrees!? It never gets that cold!"
Frank gave me another strange look. I would most certainly include this rude guard in my letter.
"Right Mr. Dupree. Look, there might be a shelter open on Butcher Avenue, head there."
"I will return to my ancestral home. Where I belong! I may be a criminal, but there is no need to treat me like this!"
"Sure dude."
Frank let me out. It began to occur that the prison was no longer... in service.
"Mr. Frank?"
"Yo."
"When did the prison... cease being a prison?"
"About... two hundred years ago? It was decommissioned in 1995. Here, take one of these pamphlets with you. If you wanna know more, come in when the museum is open."
Frank shoved a pamphlet in my pocket, then pushed me out a side door into an allyway.
"Two hundred? 1995? But that... that was when I was supposed to be released." I tried to ask more, but he had closed the door.
Edit: butter fingers. | 2019-07-04T21:07:10 | 2019-07-04T20:53:01 | 342 | 137 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | 1: ‘So, you want an interview? I can imagine. Do you think your report will give me a good light?’
I (Interviewer): ‘No matter what you say, people will want to hear your story. No one knew what happened to #1, and then you show up 20 years after she disappeared. Can you tell us about how you were able to kill her? She’s in the records as one of the most powerful. Invulnerability set her apart to many in the game, and she helped to bring some lawfulness to the system. Then, one day, she was gone. #2 was searching for her or the person who may have killed her for 10 years.’
1: ‘Should I start at the beginning?’
i : ‘Sure. I've got as long as you do’
1: ‘If you knew how long that was, you’d want me to hurry up then.
‘I was raised by my dad. He was #4, until 2 tracked him down. That was when I was 18. My dad could see the future. Not in years mind you, but he could see about 20 minutes ahead of time almost exactly. So he was able to move up the ranks just purely by playing the odds and surviving. Then #1, as you mentioned, brought some order to the chaos and by that time the top 10,000 or so had already killed themselves, and he topped out. Anyway, my dad, I don’t want to say he didn’t love me, but he never let me enjoy life. We were always on the run, always moving. I never had a single friend growing up. But, when a person is ranked as high as he was, and he clearly didn’t deserve to be based on how small his power is, he didn’t have much choice but to be on the run.’
i: ‘Why did 2 kill your dad?’
1: ‘I think he figured out I was 1 by that time, and he almost caught up to me. But my dad made himself a decoy. 2 knew he couldn’t kill 1 while she was still alive, but as soon as he found out I killed her, he knew he could be 1 as soon as he found me. Certain people naturally have an advantage over others. That’s why 2 was never going any higher while 1 was still alive. It doesn’t matter how much damage you do to someone who is externally impervious, you’ll never harm them. I think 2 believed all along that 1 had been killed, and that’s why he sent out the search parties. He told everyone it was because of how important she was, but really it was because he thought he might finally be able to get it.
So when he discovered who I was, and who my father was, he stopped at nothing to kill me. And yes, everyone knows it’s against the rules now, but there’s almost no one who can stop him is there.’
i: ‘And that’s why you asked me here to tell your story, so everyone knows about you before 2 tries to kill you?’
1: ‘Partially. I don’t stand a chance against 2 on my own. I assume he’s confident in that as well. And if he catches me when I’m not ready, he’ll kill me very quickly.’
i: ‘Tell me quickly about your abilities.’
1: ‘I’m able to access a person’s abilities and weaknesses just by looking at them. Even over a TV screen in most cases. It’s interesting, because I often know more about people than they do, yet for most of my life I’ve spoken to almost no one. I believe it’s a variation of my dad, he could see the future and understand it. I can see people and understand them. It’s not the most powerful ability, but it helps keep me alive, and when my dad and I were still together, we could almost be unbeatable. Not unstoppable, but unbeatable.’
i: ‘Is that how you and your dad killed 1?’
1: ‘No. I killed her long before that. See, and this was purely accidental, but she was externally invulnerable. But, internally, she was more fragile than most people. Too fragile to care a baby full term. My dad didn't know that until it was too late. 20 minutes vs 9 months. So, I was born ranked 1, and dad knew everyone would kill me for a chance at that ranking, even if t was illegal.’
i: ‘That’s tragic. And here you are telling your story before 2 finds and kills you. What are you going to do next, go back into hiding and hope to avoid him?’
1: ‘There’s no avoiding 2. I suspect he’ll be here shortly. I called the capital after you arrived and told them of my location.’
i: ‘So this is it, your letting 2 kill you today?’
1: ‘You don’t understand. I needed you here when he arrived, as you are the only person I know who can kill him. So, my question to you is, would you like to be my #2?’
| Hi, I'm going to tell my little story here rather quickly as I am rushed for time. Being #1 makes a lot of folks very interested in killing me, so I have to constantly remain on edge.
If there were no ranking systems, most people would assume that I have absolutely no powers. My power is a much more subtle one. But enough tension building, I'll just tell you what it is right now. I have the power of deception.
Seems pretty lame compared to some of the other powers around here -- rank #2 has laser vision for Christ's sake -- but it definitely has its uses. I can make anyone believe or do anything I want. For example, today I convinced a man with acid breath to kill himself. Needless to say, that was a pretty dark moment for me, but I've done worse.
I like to think I'm a pretty charming guy. It helps me manipulate people when I need to. My girlfriend is rank #4 in the city and rank #1 for females. She sadly has the power to crush a man's soul. Ok that's not entirely true, but she does have supersonic speed. I hope you don't think that I accidentally fell in love with the most powerful woman in the city, I planned it. She is entirely convinced that I love her and that really comes to my advantage. She'll do absolutely anything for me, and that can really come in handy for someone as targeted as me in this city. In a way I guess I do love her. I love that she will do simple things for me like robbing a bank. And I especially love the complex things: like murdering her powerful, high ranking family for me. The poor girl can't help but to be infatuated with me -- literally.
Anyways, thats the gist of how I became #1 here. Call me an asshole if you want, but that's the type of personality you have to have to remain on top. It's survival of the fittest, baby. The strong survive and the weak die.
| 2014-12-18T22:10:04 | 2014-12-18T13:12:49 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Unjustly" I said, as loudly and clearly as I could.
The presiding justice was an elderly man - probably in his late 80s, maybe even older. He blinked at me with steel grey eyes that despite his advanced age were as sharp and penetrating as any I had encountered.
"Unjustly." he replied, curtly. "Yes. You heard me correctly... Your honour" I hurriedly added. I didn't need a contempt of court charge dropped on me. It was bad enough being sentenced to death after all.
The rest of the panel started muttering between themselves. It was a good sign that they didn't appear to have an immediate answer to this reply.
The presiding justice put down his gavel and stared at me pointedly. "You are aware, are you not, that you pleaded guilty to all counts before this court?" I tried my hardest to show no emotion. "I am, your honour." "And you are aware also that the penalty for those charges - including the reckless misuse of magic causing the death of a mundane individual - is death?" keep the face impassive. Remain calm. "I am, your honour."
Some of the other members of the court had started producing law books and were engaged in pointing out various paragraphs to one another.
"It does not seem to me" The Justice continued "That 'unjustly' constitutes a _method_ of execution, so much as a moral standpoint, and is thus somewhat outside the terms of procedure for this sentencing."
The muttering to his left was increasing in intensity.
"Your honour, may I please reference the case of Barris Infernis VII vs The Court - 1682..."
One of the justices started jabbing a bony finger at the book in front of him and waving it under the faceless, hooded figure to his right. Clearly he had the case law right there.
"Your point?"
"My point, your honour, is that he requested to die 'with honour' and the court accepted that request. His life energy was transferred into healing the wounds of his surviving victims by the court by way of penance for crimes committed."
The book had now been passed along to the presiding justice and he paused to read the relevant passage.
I thought this was probably the best chance I had to make my case so I spoke up
"If I may continue your honor?" he didn't look pleased, but waved a hand at me in a way that suggested that I should carry on.
"If I am to die unjustly, then this court has sentenced me incorrectly. I would be due a retrial under the terms described in the revised judicial procedures act of 1939 section four paragraph twelve." Now he really did look cross.
"I think we all understand exactly what it is that you're trying to get across. However I would point out that you pleaded Guilty On All Counts. You have not been tried. You have been convicted entirely by your own admission, and this is merely a sentencing hearing. I would further mention that this court is entirely used to people attempting to use procedural trickery to escape their sentence and that it has, to this date, a precisely zero percent success rate over the eleven hundred year history of this fine institution."
He snapped the book in front of him closed with obvious annoyance.
"The defendant will return to his seat!" he barked to the room at large. A susurration spread throughout the gallery. I was "The defendant" all of a sudden. Anyone who stood at this podium for sentencing was referred to correctly as "The Condemned." and this court was nothing if not famously thorough in it's application procedure.
More notes were being passed back and forth between the other members of the panel, and yet more books were being hurriedly brought forth by the attending clerks. This was going as well as I could have possibly hoped for. After what seemed like an eternity The bailiff called for attention.
"ALL RISE!"
The entire panel got to their feet, along with everyone else in the - now extremely tense - chamber. Surprizingly it wasn't the presiding justice, but one of the panel of five that spoke. The voice from the apparently empty hood was dry and dusty, and somehow as if from very far away. It seemed likely that the apparently empty robe was infact just that, and this esteemed member of the court had been called from The Other Side to form part of today's panel of justice.
_"Thisss court is now in recessssss. The defendant will be returned to hissss ssssssell. Prosssedingsssss will resssssume tomorrow at firsssssst light."_
I did everything I could to avoid punching the air in delight. Remain calm. Have to remain calm. I'd bought myself the required time, now all I could do was wait for the others to play their parts. | The nameless waif walked forward onto the sand of the court floor, the shackles that bound her hand and foot dragging on the bloodied floor.
She tilted her head to look up at the arbiters seated so high above her, her ragged black hair falling back from her face to reveal the gaunt lines of her face - but no fear. Not even resignation. There was no emotion there at all.
“How do you want to die?” Asked the First Arbiter. They no longer bothered stating the names and crimes of their prisoners - they had all been rounded up in one of the rebel villages and put to death for the crime of being there.
“Unshackled,” she rasped, holding her wrists up to her captors. “I don’t care about the method of my death, but let me die unshackled.”
“So be it,” boomed the arbiters in unison. The chains fell away as the execution walked onto the sand.
The girl smiled widely and spread her arms, as if welcoming the sun. She seemed so much larger than the tiny hunched over waif she had appeared previously.
It was no illusion.
The teeth behind her smile grew sharper and more pointed. Her nails grew longer and hardened into talons.
The executioner stopped in his tracks and gawped in shock as the arbiters who had finally noticed her transformation attempted to end her - but it was no use. The magic had no effect anymore.
“My thanks,” she said sibilantly as giant wings sprouted from her back, “for freeing me.”
And then blood fell on the sand once more. | 2021-06-24T07:50:17 | 2021-06-24T05:07:39 | 457 | 152 |
[WP] You’re a high schooler who lives in a dystopian world. The first letter of everyone’s worst sin is displayed on their clothes, with the color changing depending on severity. From light green to crimson. You go back to school Monday to see all of your friends’ letters change to the same letter
You choose the letter, color, and so forth. Take this wherever you please | I must have been the dullest person at my high school. Actually, I know for a fact that I am. My friends and I all sit at the dullest group of tables with our pale green letters displayed to show that we are losers. We are nobodies. We have never done anything exciting or taken a single risk in our entire lives. At least our parents are happy.
I'm sure Sarah Menier and her boyfriend's parents are so disappointed... but damn do they look cool with those yellow letters to represent the fact that they do ecstasy together on the weekends. Of course, reds are not allowed in our school, they go to the church-regulated institution upstate where they baptize you in boiling water every day in hopes of fading the blood red letters to a deep orange.
One day, I saw a girl leave the bathroom as her yellow S turned to a dark red K. Men in white garb came from every corner of the school and grabbed her as she kicked and screamed. I try not to think about what she did, but I can't help but wonder how bad a 16 year-old freckled girl could be.
I shook the girl out of my thoughts as I got ready for school. I put on my scratchy black sweater and watch my green G glow to life. G. That's right. The worst thing I have ever done is eat an entire bag of family sized Doritos when I was 14. So I got labeled as gluttonous.
I went downstairs and poured myself a bowl of cereal. Usually, my mom pours it for me to make sure I don't "overdo," it to which I would ask "why does God care how much cornflakes I eat." But today, she went about her morning, doing the dishes my dad never bothers washing himself.
My parents are even duller than I am. They don't even have an S because they waited until marriage and only fucked one time to have me. I honestly wasn't worth the wait, but they never tell me that.
I watched for the sun-bleached school bus to pick me up and, of course, I sat in front with the greens while the yellows smoked, cussed and listened to music in the back seats. A typical scene of cool vs uncool.
I went up to Jessica when I arrived at school to ask for help with the homework that was due last period. She blankly stared at me and walked away. I was taken aback- Jessica and I weren't friends but we were in the same class and we help each other with work all the time... why would she be so rude? I went on with my day and noticed more and more people ignoring me. I don't know why this surprised me... I was a goddamn loser, but today felt particularly worse than most.
I walked through the halls and felt my stomach turn as the hallways seemed longer than normal, dizzying and slippery. The tile seemed to burn below my feet as I tried to get to homeroom, only to have the never ending hallway stretch further and further beyond my reach. Then, there was a loud bang that seemed to shutter the entire wing of the building. It was the men who had taken the girl whose letter turned red during school coming through the steel fire doors.
They grabbed my three only friends who I sit with at lunch. I watched their red faces scream as they clawed at the men's skin and dragging their feet across the pavement which led to the van that would take them away. Their kelley green letters were swirling and bubbling into a blood red M.
"NO!!!" I screamed, running past classmates who were hiding behind their lockers to avoid the scene. I dropped to my knees in the parking lot of the school and I could see their tiny fists pounding at the inside of the van's windows. The pavement sizzled below me as I felt my stomach undo itself, the rising feeling in my throat telling me I was going to be sick.
I ran to the bathroom and bent over the sink.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
3 bullets came out of my mouth, twisted and jagged from shattering my bones which were now a crumpled mess inside of my body. I collapsed on the ground as students flooded into the bathroom to do their routine before classes started. No one noticed me dying against the slick blue wall of the boy's bathroom. No one ever notices ghosts. | My most clear memory from high school comes from late in my sophomore year. I had taken it easy over the weekend, and so when I came back to school I was surprised to see a deep indigo L covering their clothing.
After a day or so, I was able to get the gist of what had happened.
L stands for Lust, and deep indigo for pretty severe. They had broken into the local grocery store, and in a fit of horny thoughts and terrible decisions, gone to the produce isle. I, being as innocent as I was, was very confused.
"How does breaking into a produce isle get you all a deep indigo L?" I asked.
They looked at one another and grinned. "Well you see Endless, when an lady and a zucchini love each other very much, they decide to become intimately familiar with each others bodies. The zucchini makes the lady very happy, and the lady makes sure the zucchini is nice and warm throughout the cold night of that air conditioned store. Then the ladies' boyfriend eats the zucchini out of spite, and so..."
I started tuning them out then, my mind full of wonderful and terrible visions of a salad with a cream sauce and some oil garnish.
Then I had a revelation. I shouted with surprise and looked at the boyfriend.
"I thought you were vegan!" | 2019-11-04T21:00:29 | 2019-11-04T19:20:46 | 75 | 16 |
[WP] Your father dies and you inherit his entire kingdom, even though you are not the eldest son. One night you overhear your brothers plotting your death, and you quickly realize why your father chose you as his heir. They are a bunch of idiots. | Sarah often wondered why her. Why had her Father chosen her? It was wrong, is what it was. Not only was Sarah a girl, she was the youngest child. The throne should rightfully have gone to the eldest son, Henry, not the youngest, and certainly not a girl.
The young queen-to-be had protested, of course. All the way to their Father's death, she had argued not to name her heir. Even after he had done the deed, she had protested.
But, it had been done. She had been named queen, and that was that. All she could do was make the best of it. And that meant she would have to work with her two older brothers. That would help to silence the many protestors amongst the nobility.
Sarah headed through the cold stone halls of the palace to Henry's bedroom. She would have to liven them up a bit. A bit of color never hurt anyone. Not using taxpayer coin, of course. That would be unreasonable. No, taxes were for the good of the kingdom, not decoration. She could pay for a few good rugs with her personal money once she had established her rule.
The door to Henry's bedroom was slightly open, and Sarah went to knock. But she paused. She could hear both Henry, and her other brother, Edward, talking in voices that were probably louder than they intended.
"So, we're agreed." Henry was saying. "We kill Sarah and split the kingdom."
"Yup."
Sarah suppressed a gasp by clasping a hand over her mouth. Murder? By her own brothers? She would have to deal with that. But not by exececution, no. That would not do. It would be better to make them see the light and work with her, even if that would be more difficult overall.
"So, how're we going to do it?" Edward asked. "I say we just stab her and get it over with."
Stabbing? Effective, yes, but short sighted. A few knife would could be survived long enough to leave a message, albeit a short one.
"Nah, too messy." Henry said. "I say we push he down the tower stairs."
That...that was just terrible. Only watchmen went into the towers. She had no reason to go up there. Plus, Sarah was fairly light on her feet. It would be easy enough to right herself mid fall.
"How about we poison her?" Edward suggested.
There. Finally, a sensible method. Poison was good, clean and effective. Well, depending on what type of poison they used.
"Maybe, maybe. We can always get our hands on some soap and stick it in her food."
Soap, really? Soap? Sarah was tempted to barge in and help her brothers plan her own murder. If they were really planning on using soap to poison her, they needed the help.
"Yeah, yeah. Nobody'd suspect that."
Everyone would suspect. Soap was the most obvious thing in the world. Really, they should just hire an assassin and be done with it.
"Great, so now we have our plan." Henry said proudly. "We'll slip some soap shavings into her meal."
"Great. Then what?"
"Well, then we split the country so we can both be Kings. And then we spend the rest of our days having fun. Being king is the easiest job in the world. You tell someone what to do, and they do it."
"Yeah. That does sound nice."
Sarah sighed and walked away. It suddenly made a lot more sense why Father had chosen her to be Queen. | “Firth”
“Yes your Majesty “
“How goes ‘Operation Spoiler Alert”
“Ahead of schedule. The rumors you started in the palace have already reach your brothers ears. Your brother Edward believes that the best way to kill you is by cleaning a loaded gun. Hollande believes that the best way to kill you is by doing all of the chores in the castle and kill you with kindness. And your oldest brother heard the rumor that you have an anaphylactic allergy to......oral....well he is out finding the most beautiful ladies in the kingdom as we speak. “ | 2019-05-14T14:42:02 | 2019-05-14T14:40:19 | 1,338 | 67 |
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Part 7: Tupperman v.s. Slapstick)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**After a long day of wrangling actually competent superheroes and villains, I just wanted a return to normalcy.** So it was almost a relief when I got a call about yet another inane, amusingly weak wannabe supervillain on the way home.
"He calls himself Slapstick," Tupperman said.
I slammed the brakes as a car shot by, running a red light right across 5th street, and swore under my breath. You would think that being the Mayor of the city would give me some special privileges when it came to traffic. "Let me guess: his power is clown materialization."
"Nope."
"The power to make anything funny?"
"He'd be a TV star, not a supervillain, if that was the case." Tupperman paused. "Although there *is* some overlap."
"Telepathically-induced tickles?"
"You're thinking of Molestoman."
"Wait, that's a real thing?" I snorted. "God, I hate this city."
"Nah. You'd have resigned long ago if you did. No, he's got some kind of weak reality manipulation. If he tries to off someone, he always fails—in the short term. But if you wait a few minutes, then the victim gets crushed by a falling anvil, or get exploded by conveniently misplaced dynamite, or trampled by a stampede of ducks. Something comical, over-the-top, and that, well... screams Slaptsick."
"Yeesh." I shuddered as I turned a left. Nasty power, that. "I think I would've noticed if any of those happened in my town; I assume he's not a local, then?"
"No. Hired hitman from out of town."
"Mm. You happen to know who he's contracted to hit?" I asked.
"No," Tupperman admitted. "I may be a supervillain, but Tupperware materialization doesn't help me hack into online forums or shake information loose from recalcitrant brokers."
"Recalcitrant," I said, sounding out the word in my mouth. "You know, if I didn't know better, Tupperman, I'd say you decided to actually finish your middle-school education."
"I got me a word-a-day calendar," Tupperman cheerfully said. "So, anyway. I just thought I'd warn you—I set a little, ah, *trap* for our would-be killer."
"I assume that whatever you've set up is entirely illegal, indispensably useful, and more of a hassle to dismantle than it is to turn a blind eye to?" I deadpanned. Some kind of roadwork was going on up ahead, with a crane hauling bundles of materials.
"Aw, you sure know how to make a man blush, Clara," Tupperman said. I rolled my eyes; Tupperman knew that his vigilante position outside the law was too useful for me to actually crack down on arresting him, and he milked it for every drop it was worth. "Yeah, in terms of comical deaths, there isn't much better you can do than being crushed by ten tons of falling Tupperware. I materialized a big ol' stash of the stuff on the intersection of Trelawn and 5th; assuming Slapstick's power tries to dump it on his would-be victim, I'll just dematerialize the Tupperware, save the poor sap's life, and find out who Slapstick is here to kill."
I froze. "...the intersection of Trelawn and 5th?"
"...yes, what of it?"
"I'm there right now."
At that moment, the cable on the crane above me snapped.
Tupperman swore over the phone line; the ten tons of Tupperware he'd materialized onto the crane fell faster than the stock market after Lady Luck was done with it. I ducked down, slamming the brakes and putting my hands over the back of my neck to brace myself—
And then there was silence. Tupperman exhaled. "Don't worry. I dematerialized it in time."
I looked up, shaken; true to his word, the falling Tupperware had disappeared back into whatever pocket dimension Tupperman drew his powers from. "...Thanks, Tupperman. I owe you one."
"How about you see to making sure whatever building company this is doesn't sue my pants off, eh?" Tupperman convivially chimed. We let out a shaky laugh together.
Then I sobered up. "...So. I guess we found out who Slapstick's here to kill," I said.
"Yeah." Tupperman grimaced. "Any idea why?"
Well. It could've been any number of things—my opposition to Federal Law No. 8 of 2023, that time I restored Awe's powers to her, my protection of Lady Luck, my talks of Death—but there was really only one group who would've taken offense to something I'd done and decided to send a hired gun after me. "...I think I have an inkling of an idea."
"Oh?"
I swallowed. "You know how I pissed off the Chief of Homeland Defense?"
"Clara," Tupperman said, "*no.* The Federal government is so full of assholes they look like rectal Swiss cheese, but the government does *not* assassinate problematic politicians. This is the Unified Sovereignties. We're a civilized country."
"Well, *someone* hired Slapstick to kill me," I snapped. "You got any better ideas?"
Static.
"Right." I grimaced. "Regardless of who they are, someone's sniping at me." I went into reverse. "That means they could go after the people I care about."
"Well, I'm touched that you care so much about me," Tupperman began.
"Not you," I muttered. "I'm worried about my daughter."
"Oh, *shoot.*" Tupperman hesitated, then said, "...This is important, and you might need firepower. I'm coming with you." I saw a figure leap from the top of a building, then dance on air towards my car, plates of Tupperware materializing and vanishing to form an ephemeral staircase.
"Thanks, Tupperman." I revved my engine. "Let's go check on how dear old Janus is doing, shall we?"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for more information, and check out r/bubblewriters for more of my writing. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | *"Hilarious... the Buster Keaton of John Wicks. 10/10 would learn to whack people from this guy any day."*
The words looping in his head, repeating again and again as if they were stenciling like stings from his brain into the back of his eyes and his head began throbbing again. He lifted his blistered hand, still a bit raw from his mishap, and motioned for another shot from the mop-haired bartender. "Mishap," at least is what mother would have called it. In fairness, what he would call it too.
But that's not what everyone else had thought. From the minute they'd flashed his target's face across the news just an hour earlier, with the stupid fucking chyron "Man killed in tragic accident after being struck by runaway jet ski."
The news anchor's stoic tones and lack of ironic delivery made Henry stir, for only moments after had his phone begun to light-up. His notifications going haywire, the lone online page he subscribed to, *"Cleanup Crew"* had all apparently seen it as well. They all had recognized the target's face, they'd gotten the same alert and price on his head just days earlier. Well, Henry had got their first to his immense pride but damn if his plan hadn't gone to shit the moment he arrived.
"You always make such a goddamn mess," a shrill voice spat out inside his head. His mother's voice. He could see himself sitting as a child amongst a group of other adolescents at some sort of party, though all their faces and his own were blurry. Only his mothers fleshy lips were in clear focus to him as he saw them spew out the words, "Such.A.Goddamn.Mess."
He threw back the shot of whiskey and through watery eyes blinked away the memory. His throat felt hot, and he wasn't sure if it was from the ash and smoke he'd inhaled that afternoon or the alcohol engulfing his chafed vocal chords. He'd also done a fair amount of screaming, just after the target had jumped in the river.
He replayed it in his head again; flames oscillating before him as he looked in a panic for an exit sign, a bit turned around. "Always get out before lighting the match," he made a mental note for next time. He'd run blindly through the house's outdoor corridor only to find himself at the back of the house, on a terrace overlooking the water. As he began stumbling down the stairs, desperate to plunge his quickly blistering hand into the glassy surface he's heard a cry above him as the target, fully ablaze himself, leapt off the patio making a magnificent fiery splash, which of course extinguished him immediately. "FUUUCK," Henry had shouted, just as the target's head breached the surface gasping for air, very much alive.
Ears ringing through the stress, Henry quickened his pace down the steps until a dull engine hum broke through and he scanned the water -- not 100 feet away was a jet skier out for an evening ride, staring transfixed at the villa being ravaged by flames. "WATCH OUT THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE WATER, HE'S MINE, HE'S MINE, LOOK WHERE YOU'RE --" but it had been too late, the jetski cracked viciously against skull and sent the driver toppling into the water, and the target to sink bloodily to his demise, not at Henry's doing. Henry, ignoring the pain in his hand and scorched throat, let out a woeful trail of shouted expletives and fled the scene.
Back in the bar, another ding shook his pocket. "Oh, what are these fuckers saying now," he thought. As his eyes scanned the comments he landed on a one line response to the original post, and his eyes wet themselves again as he re-read it to himself, *"And that's how you cleanup after yourself."* | 2021-12-27T10:40:51 | 2021-04-04T14:55:43 | 243 | 166 |
[WP] You have been told all your life that you have a rare medical condition. It means you need regular special meals that your family has lovingly prepared. You now find out that your "condition" actually requires fresh human flesh and your family have become serial killers to keep you alive. | "Order up!" my father jokingly said, placing the steaming plate in front of me. I licked my lips - lasagna was my favourite.
"Thanks!" I smiled, seizing my utensils. "What are you calling tonight's masterpiece?"
"Hm," my dad wiped his hands on a dishtowel. "I think I'll call it 'Last Laugh Lasagna'." He grabbed some salad for himself and sat down next to me at the kitchen table.
"Ha!" I laughed, and dug into the noodles, cheese, and -
"What did you make it with?" I asked through the mouthful of delicious herbs and spices. "This is really good! Is is some fancy ground Italian sausage or something?"
"Uh, I think it was some kind of specialty meat from a farmer's market," my dad said, concentrating on adding salad dressing to his plate. "You'll have to ask your mom, she's the one who picked it up."
We chewed in silence until we heard the garage door swing open and my mom came bustling into the kitchen, showering kisses on both of us, then disappearing to change out of her work clothes.
"So, James," dad said, "did you still want to play soccer this year?"
I slowly severed a noodle with my knife. "Maybe? I don't think Coach Rossi likes me very much, I didn't play a lot of games last year."
"But you've been practicing all summer long," my dad prodded. "I bet he'll be impressed."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about Coach Alberto anymore!" my mom chirped as she came back into the kitchen in some comfy sweats. "I heard a rumor that he got a job offer back in Italy, coaching in some new and upcoming league, and of course he jumped at it. Why would you coach U17 soccer in North America when you could be coaching the next Paolo in Italy?"
My dad shot mom a strange look. "That's a pretty big step up, sweetie," he said through tight lips.
"Yet a believable one," mom replied, shoveling salad onto her plate as well. "He's worked very hard for this opportunity, always sending out his coaching resume to teams all over the world."
"Oh did he?" dad frowned, spearing a piece of carrot viciously.
As always, I marveled at their constant dedication to being vegetarian, despite the fact they had to make me special meals to combat my severe iron and protein deficiencies, muscle wasting...I sighed as the list of my problems automatically started scrolling through my head. Thank goodness for awesome parents.
"So it sounds like you'll have a new coach this year!" mom smiled as she sat.
I swallowed a hunk of the flavourful lasagna. "I'm starting to feel cursed, yet incredibly lucky," I joked.
My parents exchanged looks. "What do you mean, kiddo?" dad asked cautiously.
I shrugged. "I mean, that's the 3rd person this year who hasn't been the nicest to me that has suddenly gotten a promotion or something. Remember that jerk teacher who was so mean on the first day of the semester who won the lotto and vanished off to some remote island or something? Awesome things keep happening to really mean people around me. Am I like a lucky charm or something?"
I got up from the table to grab another slice of lasagna from the top of the stove, my parents stammering assurances that I wasn't cursed. As soon as my back was facing my parents, I took a deep steadying breath and dug through the pan of lasagna on the stove.
And...there it was. A fingernail, resting on a pillow of ricotta cheese. Dad was a great cook, but sometimes he had a little trouble with the butchering. At least he'd started remembering to check eyes for contact lenses, although him explaining why there was something small, bendy, and clear in my chili had been quite entertaining.
I subtly plucked the nail out of the pan and threw it down the sink as I turned back to the table with a fresh piece of lasagna. "Thank you for making these dinners for me," I said as I rejoined the table. "I know it's a lot of work."
"Oh, nothing at all sweetie," mom said breezily. "Anything for my little Jamesy-wamesy. You just say the word when you want something super special, and mommy is all over it."
Dad rolled his eyes. "Yep," he muttered.
"Jack," my mom scolded.
"Yep!"
I shuddered with silent laughter. I'm not sure what was better: knowing which one of my vegetarian parents was more blood thirsty, or knowing exactly how to exploit their love.
"So," I said, savagely attacking my lasagna, "Have I told you about that really douchey kid in my Math class?"
"You have not!" my mom exclaimed. "Tell me all about this kid. Is he mean because his parents travel a lot for work and might have to relocate one day, very suddenly?"
Dad groaned and got up from the table, massaging his temples. I dropped my fork so I could duck under the table and give myself time to stop smiling.
I popped back up, my face now rearranged into a pout. "Not sure about his parents, but he's one tough cookie. Kinda hard to chew on his insults. It's a shame the two of us couldn't just sit down at a table and have a nice meal." Mom nodded sympathetically and motioned for me to continue.
Seriously. Best parents ever.
​
r/DieKarrotte
​
​ | Perhaps I always knew, but I simply chose to ignore. Maybe even deep down I enjoyed it. Envied them for being able to do what I had dreamed about for so many long nights. The screams which had eventually terrified me were now something I looked forward to each night. But I wasn't ever sure if they were dreams or reality.
What I found even more intriguing was how you both hid it from me all these years, so diligently going about your daily lives, as though everything was fine. But it wasn't ever the same, was it? This facade that made me believe I was normal...yet something was always missing. I always wondered why the food at my high school cafeteria made me throw up. Why the flesh of other animals was never the same as that which was prepared for me at home. Why people seemed to hate me, just for existing. Why I lost friends as easily as I made them. Why I felt so alone, even though I had the two of you.
Perhaps I had chosen to block it from my memory, but I remember that night now. Karen was the last friend I had in kindergarten. We'd play house together everyday. The tea and biscuits she made were like thorns on a rose. So badly did I wish to grasp the rose, if only for just a moment, that I was ready to pierce myself with as many thorns as need be. I hadn't eaten the meat in a few days. Maybe I had already realized back then. Every time you'd bring me food, I'd say, "I'm not hungry." Of course, you both were worried. Then I came down with a fever. Karen stopped coming over. I lost another friend and so loneliness and hunger got the better of me.
You both knew what was going to happen. How this was all eventually going to end? Yet that didn't stop you both. Hah, maybe the routine had hit hard. Now it was all just like grabbing a morning cup of coffee. And those screams I dreamed of were more real then anything you ever said to my face.
But as I lie here between your rotting corpses, I realize. You wanted me to live, no matter the cost. I guess that's what parents do. From the moment I was born, your lives were no longer yours. I am now truly alone. But I shall survive. Your last sacrifice will not have been in vain. If the world chooses to hate me, then I shall show them what true hatred really is like, for I have nothing to lose. Now, it's my turn to survive and for the first time I can truly say, "I am hungry." | 2019-03-13T08:26:55 | 2019-03-13T07:36:21 | 126 | 23 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Everitt Kincaid," The judge decreed. "For crimes against the magical realms and the practice of the heresy know as science, you are sentenced to death by this court. Think well upon your fate, for in the morning you shall be asked to voice the means of your destruction."
I muttered as he spoke. I'd tried my best to defend myself. No Law Mage in the kingdom had wanted to take up my case. I had argued that everything was science. That magic itself was a science imperfectly understood by the sentient races. My pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. Even though magic followed all the rules of science they hadn't want to listen. They accused me of the Dark Heresy and claimed my defense was proof of my guilt. They were fools.
Yes, the Dark Heresy had led to the destruction of the first age of man, but it had also given birth to magic itself if the myths were to be believed. Now nearly two millennia after the Calamity society had rebuilt and we all worshiped at the altar of magic. Well, all save the few Heretics like me. We unearthed the forgotten lore, recovered the abominations know as technology and science. We understood there could be no equality for the ordinary sentient when the Mages ruled all with their supreme control of magic. With a dark wand or cruel staff, they could wipe rebellions from the field of battle. No army could stand against the Mageocracy.
Of course, science had the answer. I had recovered the technology, refurbished it, understood it. I had equipped my comrades with the weapons they needed. As the rebellion squared off against the Mages they had been supremely confident. When their leaders' heads exploded into pink mist followed by a crack of thunder they had lost that confidence. Still, as they collected themselves their magic proved too much, we had moved too early. They slaughtered my comrades, my fellow rebels. Then the torture started, they broke the most strong-willed of us in mere hours.
That was when they found me. I was no rebel soldier, I was a scientist, a seeker of knowledge and truth. Sure, I armed the rebels but I couldn't battle the Mages anymore than anyone else. Still, I had given the rebels the deadly weapons that had killed more Mages than had died since the last Great War, and they were furious. My trial and execution were to be public. They wanted the whole kingdom to know the suffering of a heretic. To add insult to injury they made you choose the manner of your own death. Vast magical power was employed in a dark ritual to inflict the means of your death and they would do their best to twist your words.
I lay on the cot in my cell trying to think my way out of the sentence. If I was better with words perhaps I could craft a way that would allow me to live for years or even just months before my death. My worry of course was that anything I told them they would turn back against me. If I asked to die of some horrid natural disaster hoping to take them with me, they would likely just teleport me to one of those disasters. I knew their magic was not unlimited though, but they would be willing to invest a lot of power into making sure I suffered. Finally, I had an idea and drifted off to a fitful slumber.
When I awoke I was lead out into the courtyard. The crowd jeered and hissed, they booed and threw rotten fruit and stones at me but I held my head up high. I saw my comrades for the first time in weeks. I wasn't the only scientist to die today. We were heralded as heretical priests of a forbidden religion and all of us were to die in horrible ways. Kenneth Acetheart was before me in line. He winked at me when they called his name and walked proudly before the trio of mages that would enact his death.
"Heretic Kenneth Acetheart," The lead executioner intoned. "Name your death."
"Old age," Kenneth announced cockily and I grinned, he'd figured it out too. "I choose Old Age."
"So be it," The executioner stated, his lips curling into a smirk. My face fell and my mind began to race, he was too pleased with the method of death...
Then we all watched in horror as Kenneth aged rapidly, his once dark hair became salt and pepper, then grey, and finally bone-white before our eyes. His skin went from hale and healthy to covered in liver spots and paper-thin. His once well-muscled frame lost weight and stature until he was a hunched and shriveled shell of his former self. His eyes dimmed with cataracts and age. His mind began to wander as I could see the confusion on his face. Then finally he collapsed and his body slowly turned to dust.
As a page swept away the remains of my friend and comrade with the casual air of someone doing an unfavored chore I was panicking. I couldn't think of what to name that would result in a better outcome than that. I could make them kill me with science, that would show them that magic wasn't the only way. I would die by my own discipline at least. But what good would that be? They led me into the center of the ritual circle. I could feel the hum of magic in the air around me. The spell was awaiting my means of death.
"Heretic Everitt Kincaid, slayer of the Just," The executioner intoned once more. "Name your death."
My mind was still racing, I had two choices that I had narrowed it down to. I glanced from the executioner to the crowd, then to my comrades. I steadied my breathing I thought and when my lips parted I heard myself talk, as if I was outside my body listening to myself instead of speaking.
"I wish to die as every trace of magic leaves this world forever..." I closed my eyes as I spoke, knowing that at least if I failed I may have given the next scientist in line an experiment to improve on. | Ah well shit. There goes that plan. Think Bart think. You've got time to think
of an alternative. I guess this is why they don't let people witness the
executions. Think.
"The next on the docket is Bartholomew Wright, found guilty of 5 counts of
theft, 2 counts of arson and 6 counts of assault." The judge is reading out my
list of crimes already. Crap. Think!
This is like one of those monkey paw stories. The last guy thought he could
beat it the same way I wanted to but ended up an instant old husk. The guy
before that's bright idea went from a pleasurable orgy into something I'd
rather not think about again.
"It's time buddy." The guard next to me is poking me in my back, insisting I
step forward. "Choose wisely mate, it's the last choice you ever get to make."
This is ridiculous! All this because what? I stole some cash, burnt down a
church and beat up a bunch of guys as I made my escape? Surely there's a more
reasonable sentence I could have been given?
Think.
Bah! Anything I think of will be twisted by the court and it's monkey paw. This
is hopeless! I might as well ask for something quick and painless. Instant
obliteration. Or to go in my sleep.
No. That's loser talk, I can think of a way out of this. Just think. I am
slowly walking to the dock now. There's still time to think.
"Mr Bartholomew Wright, you have been found guilty of the aforementioned crimes
and have been sentenced to death by your own choice." The judge began his
speech, I still have time, this will go on for a few moments. Think!
"It's no small feat to choose the form of your own destruction but the gods
have deemed it the fairest form of execution..." He was droning on. Maybe I
could take him out with me in a devastating explosion? No I'm not a murderer,
even in death I can't take another's life.
"For a hundred years this method has served us well and for a hundred more may
it do so. Bartholomew, your choice, keep it brief:" He holds a jade skull
towards me pointing it's fiery eyes at my own. I can't help but stare into
those eyes and see hell. I don't deserve the eternal punishment, if only I had
more time to repent more life to live and show the better part of me. If only I
had lived a better and longer-
"Life." I blurt my thought out loud, tears forming in my eyes.
`IT IS SO.` Came a thundering voice in my head. The world dissolves into white. | 2021-06-24T07:21:37 | 2021-06-24T04:09:04 | 501 | 158 |
[WP] Grandma accidentally summoned a demon and mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson. | "Look at you! You're filthy! I can't believe your parents let you walk around dressed like that. A little discipline, that's all you ever needed."
Sephiroth was confused, until he saw the burning trash can in the backyard. Rat bones, chicken bones, several stalks of various vegetation and, there it was, down at the bottom. His symbol, on some printed flier for a third-rate punk band that probably didn't even know what it meant. Trash. He had been summoned by trash.
Well, let's try to make the most of this.
"There you are, Joseph. No, I don't care what you want to be called, Joseph is a good, Christian name, and it's what I'm going to call you. Your parents are far too permissive. What is it you're calling yourself these days?"
"Sephiroth, Prince of Da--" he couldn't even get his full name out.
"Steffy-Ross?? Good heavens. Well, *Joseph*, since you're here, you can help me out with a few chores. The gutter needs cleaning, and I'm too old to get up on the ladder. Liable to break a hip, you know, not that you would care."
"Fine." Seph replied. That's one, he thought to himself. Two more requests and her soul would be his. He got the ladder and got to work.
The gutters actually reminded him of Hell. Old, decaying matter. Lots of worms and other creepy crawlies. He actually didn't like that part of Hell, but he put up with it for the souls. After a couple hours, he finished up, hosed himself off, and headed inside.
"The gutters are clean, old woman," Sephiroth pronounced.
"Old woman?!?!" the old woman screeched. "How dare you call me that! No respect for your elders!! Spare the rod, spoil the child, that's what I always say. Obviously your parents disagreed." Seph found her shockingly annoying. He wouldn't have spent two seconds around her if he had a choice. Still - soul. "Here, I've got some boxes that need to go in the attic. While you're up there, make sure everything is nice and orderly. Last time you did this, you just tossed everything around. We're not living in a barn."
"Fine." Sephiroth replied. That's two. Just one more. He imagined the sensation of absorbing another person's will. It would be worth it.
The attic was hot. Holy hell, was the attic hot. After an hour of carrying and rearranging boxes, Sephiroth was dehydrated and lightheaded. God, these human bodies suck. You could feel the heat way more than in demon form. Sure, Hell is hot, but it's a dry heat. This is real torture.
He went back downstairs. The grandmother was in a recliner in front of the TV, showing Wheel of Fortune, volume cranked up all the way. He didn't even know TVs could get that loud anymore.
"Good, your done." Grandma peeled off her shoes, then her socks, then her supportive hose. "Now get over here and help your old grandma scrape her bunions."
Sephiroth could barely contain his revulsion. "Fuck. This." He disappeared in a puff of smoke, right in front of grandma's TV.
She smiled and reached for a clean pair of socks.
"Works every time." | Owatuu never suffered as much in Hell as he did as a now fat, diabetic teenager dependent upon the American healthcare system.
And next year he starts middle school. Even though grandma's cookies got him into this mess, they're the only thing that fills him with warmth.
And he thought he was a demon... | 2018-04-09T11:48:46 | 2018-04-09T10:41:35 | 87 | 12 |
[WP] The shopkeeper points at the sign clearly marked “Absolutely NO Refunds.” The egg you bought hatched, you can’t get a refund, and now you have a talking baby dragon who insists that you’re its parent. | I did my best to maintain a stoic expression, but the small, reptilian creature flapping its wings against the side of my head as it tried to chew on my beard was probably making it hard to take me seriously. I jabbed a finger at it, earning myself a playful nibble, and stared daggers at the shopkeeper.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, shaking my finger loose. The tiny dragon giggled playfully as it pranced about like a parrot on my shoulder, before stretching its wings out and resting comfortably where it was.
"Raise it?" the shopkeeper replied, reading a sports magazine and not paying me much attention otherwise.
"I don't know the first thing about raising a *dragon*," I snapped.
"Then you better learn," he advised, pointing firmly at the large metal sign with the large, red letters that spelled out "ABSOLUTELY NO REFUNDS." I looked at the sign, then at the shopkeeper, then at the neat line of eggs on a shelf that looked indistinguishable from 3d printed plastic replicas in a barrel nearby.
"Mama, I'm hungry," the tiny dragon announced.
"And *you*," I replied, turning to face the dragon, "*stop calling me that!*" I shouted.
"I've got certified dragon food over on aisle three," the shopkeeper helpfully suggested, "*mama*," he added with a giggle and I shot him the most aggressive look I could muster with a tiny, red, talking, flying lizard nuzzling my cheek... and stalked toward aisle three to check the selection. I walked, looking at the selection of foods and for a brief moment felt completely overwhelmed, but steeled myself and continued on. Golem food... fairy food... griffin food... ursine food... ah, dragon food. Thirty-six dollars for one- I balked, and made eye contact with a friendly looking lady who was looking at the same food that I was.
"Oh, you're a dragon trainer! Nice! So am I!" she said casually. "This is the only place that sells this brand. Nice find, right?"
"Do you want mine?" I asked, and she laughed politely in turn. When she saw I was serious her tone sobered up, but only slightly.
"Did you not know this place sold monsters when you came in?"
"I thought they were *novelty* monsters. I thought it was a *toy* dragon egg. I don't need this. I have a full time job already!"
"Come on, it's not that bad," she replied, and I could feel my shoulders slump as the hopelessness of my situation grew on me.
"Mama, I'm hungry let's go!" the tiny dragon reminded me.
"You... look like you're having a rough day. Tell you what, here's my card," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a business card, "give me a call if you'd like some pointers," she added, seizing her bag and heading to the front counter.
"Miss Elizabeth, how are you! Is this all for you today?" the now annoyingly friendly shop keeper said to the nice lady, and I sighed and grabbed a bag of the same food and followed her to the counter just as she was leaving. The little dragon had very painfully crawled its way over to my other shoulder and was eagerly waiting for me to get the bag open and was whining in my ear about how it was starving to death and how I didn't love it as I placed the bag on the counter.
"See? All the best dragon trainers come here. You could be one too, you know," the shop keeper informed me with his now familiar gruff attitude as he rang me up.
"Who was that supposed to be?" I asked, looking out the door for the lady who had already disappeared. The shopkeeper gave me a look like I was wearing a tutu and a princess tiara.
"Three time *national* league champion Elizabeth Packard?" I glanced at the card which was still in my hands, and sure enough that was the name emblazoned on it, but other than a faint familiarity I had no idea who she was. "Here," he said, handing me his magazine, "on the house," he added, shaking his head as I walked out the door. The magazine in question had the very same woman on it, hailing her as a champion of champions. I sighed again, gazing down the street and making eye contact with a stylishly dressed guy with a large wolf at his side. He flashed me a grin and pointed at me excitedly, but I kept walking and ignored him.
Monster tamers are a bunch of no-life, battle obsessed vagrant losers who are a dime-a-dozen and are never taken seriously. As the little dragon on my shoulder looked back at the other tamer and his wolf and puffed out its chest, I was forced to crack a smile in spite of myself.
"Come on little buddy, let's get you home," I relented, and the tiny dragon danced happily and sang a made up song about meat.
Looks like I just became one of those losers too. | My mouth parted, my brain blanked. Bode stood just inside the doorway with a four-legged winged serpent clutching to his shoulders. Chaos leaked from the being’s body, young but old enough to be constantly squeaking ‘mama’.
“Bode? When I say come back early, I didn’t mean this.” Really, a dragon, one that shouldn’t even exist in this reality.
He waved helplessly. “The sign said absolutely no refunds, even capitalized both letters in no. What about our trip?”
“Not until we resolve this.”
I mean, I couldn’t allow a chaos attracting being around during a would-be anniversary trip. Could I? There was too much risk. I couldn’t hide it better. There would be no basement to retreat to, nowhere safe to teleport, either.
I shook my head. “They’ll link you, Bode, to Hero Bode. And why is the dragon calling you mama?”
His wide-eyed stare almost made my facade crack, and let my smile loose. Just the thought of it. If anything, the dragon should call me that, at least in this form.
Bode scratched his head. “I don’t know. What next? I can’t return him, can’t give him away, and he keeps calling me mama.”
“Hide from society as Bode and allow the dragon to be your sidekick later?” There weren’t many other options.
“That could work. But we can’t do our date nights now.” He mused, then lifted the dragon. “What should his name be?”
“Your choice.” My lips curved. “Though it better be a good one.”
Bode grinned. “Of course. How does Eny sound?”
The dragon swung his tail in a rhythmic sway. Guess he liked Eny. Then he turned his head, eyes lightened with recognition. His chaotic essence reached out. My eyes widened, darted. I reeled my own back in. Shoot. This would not end well. | 2021-08-19T19:46:22 | 2021-08-19T19:21:37 | 48 | 17 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | In the beginning, we started small- pranks like flies in the mead, or sawing off swords at the hilt before a battle. My personal favorite was paying off the whores to shit under the sheets during the act, but that's another story for another day. And I have plenty of days left.
Once, one of us even played dead, though no one believed him, of course. We all knew we were immortal, with one stipulation, that any use of technology would strip us of the power.
That was the one rule, the one limitation- we inherited our immortality from the gods of old, and just as technology killed them, so too would it kill us. So we froze ourselves before the industrial revolution, confining ourselves away from the rest of society. Some of us left for deserted islands in the pacific, knowing that so much as a button press would send brother death a hint of our scent. Others departed deep into the Amazon, where even today they persist. But the rest of us, about fifteen in all, started a religion and convinced others to join us, mortals who built our society.
Together, we built the farms, we set our rules, and we created families. And together, we never progressed farther than the horse carriage. Gears were forbidden, electricity a near curse word, engines driven more by math than mathematics.
You may have heard of us, or even seen us as we drive our buggies along the road. And you probably know us by our simple name.
The Amish.
Confined forever to menial tasks, to the back of the scientific curve, forever.
And today, in 2017, I'd decided I'd finally had enough. Because today, Jebediah went too far with a prank.
"Cow pies in the churn!" He chuckled as I sliced into a brick of butter that appeared normal on the outside, but was marbled with manuer on the inside, "What's that, Jakob, the eightieth time? And you always fall for it! Wait til Gideon gets a load of this, last time he nearly choked on his milk! It was udderly hilarious!"
He wiped his tears away with his beard, letting the laughter flow easily, leaning against a barn wall we had erected only days before.
"It's so easy with you, Jakob!" He continued, as I grit my teeth, listening to the same speech I had heard hundreds of times throughout the last century alone, one that had finally started to wear away even my thick skin, "So gullible, you think you one of your pranks would be successful! But last time I checked, you were pretty far behind!"
He laughed again, and turned to walk away. And I snapped- even I couldn't take another minute of it, of living without plumbing, of walking when we could drive, of dealing with the hard way of doing things. I'd held it together all these years, but now it was time to put an end to it.
"Hey, Jebediah!" I called after him, "About being pretty far behind on pranks. I have a confession- five hundred years ago I lied about something, planting the idea in all our heads, after you pulled this *very same* butter prank, because it was just as stupid back then as it is now. Technology has no impact on us- we can live perfectly fine with it."
Jebediah rolled his eyes, and waved a hand to dismiss the thought. So I reached into my pocket for the Rolls Royce key I had sewed into the lining, walked to my "garage barn" that was my private house, and laid on the horn as I carved a path into his corn field.
And completed the greatest prank in, well, living memory.
********
By Leo
[For more of my work, check out my story about a starship stranded in deep space](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4uuvir/wp_after_almost_1000_years_the_population_of_a/d5t4uu1/) | Dinosaurs was our best one, hands-down. The Church of Latter Day Saints is second-best, but gets points taken off for being a religion (too easy to pull off, religions, in my opinion). But our funniest one, I think, was Michael Jackson.
Some of my friends would agree with me, but not most. The irrelevancy of his life and legacy, in relation to "The Grand Scheme of Things," unfortunately makes the accomplishment of having made him exist slightly less impressive.
I've personally been tempted, on more than one occasion, to steer the progress of mankind. Both world wars, for instance. I argued vehemently to stop them, but got drowned out by the prevailing Star Trekian attitude our group has against meddling in big, important affairs. A few of us even went vigilante, hunting down rogue immortals that were performing stunts aimed at getting those barbarians to quit it.
From afar is where we can guide things, sadly. To stir a pie's chunks, you must first puncture the crust. | 2017-06-22T19:24:49 | 2017-06-22T19:14:24 | 4,256 | 23 |
[WP] You are cursed to see people how they view themselves. You walk alongside monsters and Gods.
Can be third person instead of first.
Edit: I just thought of how EDs and other disorders like multiple personality would fit in with this, and now I'm kinda blown away. | "That'll be five dollars," the blob of black sludge said. From its voice, it was female, or so Levy figured.
"Here," he said, handing the she-thing his money. It stretched out what was most likely an apendage, but he felt a hand where their limbs touched. It was something he'd had to live with for more than twenty years now.
"Please enjoy your meal," it said, passing over his tray of a burger, fries, and a medium soda. From the corner of his eye, by the window, he saw her reflection: a red-head in a pony tail whose face he couldn't make out. She must've been burdened by quite a few things to see herself like that.
He walked away from the counter, breaking off from the couple dressed as greeks and glowing of gold. Those two thought the world of themselves, a better off view he decided than one of loathing at least. The dining area had two tables free. One next to a group of three: a man-squid, some teen girl with too huge breasts, and another girl but with a potato for a head; the other table had a block of concrete taking a seat's place.
The block of concrete it was.
Levy set down his food and took a seat. The block of concrete, he didn't know whether it was looking at him or not. He didn't care for anyone's attention, and neither did he care for anyone's looks. He wouldn't see them unless through a mirror anyway.
He bit into his burger, the beef and cheese and tomatoes the only thing he knew felt real.
"Excuse me, but would you mind sharing a seat?"
Levy looked up from his food, and saw a male adult toy on legs. That was just messed up. He felt his food go up a little, seeing the disturbing sight. "You can take my seat," he said. "I've got to go anyway. Duty called."
The toy's lips contorted. "Oh, shame then." Her tray only had a salad, sort of moot coming from a fast food place.
He packed up his burger and shoved his pack of fries into a pocket. "Have a good day now." Levy hightailed it out of the place, noticing the few humanoid shapes turning their heads at him. She was probably an attractive person, to ellicit so much public response, but again, he couldn't care.
On his way out, he opened the door for an aging mermaid and sailor. At least today had a little good to it.
Levy took out his phone and pressed the only number on speed dial.
It rang, once, twice, before the other end picked up. "Hey Lev."
"Hey Joe."
"Place to crash?"
"Yeah."
"I'll open up the basement."
"Thanks man." Levy put away his phone, and sighed. Monday was still a long ways away coming from Saturday.
He walked over to the side walk, head cast down. Joe's place was a fifteen-ish minute walk away, and if possible, he'd sooner walk the path blindfolded, but he didn't want to die anytime soon. Hopefully Monday will come sooner after all this, and hopefully the office would send him over to some remote site for an extended campaign.
Levy passed a dog person leading a bunch of dogs on leashes. Animals didn't have egos. Further down, he passed a flock of pigeons scavenging. On a whim, he threw them his fries. Animals didn't lie or cheat. By the cross road, a car was stopped by a red light. A red convertible driven by a golden man. Humans were crazy.
He sighed. It was a gpod thing he worked for National Geographic.
/edit, didn't know how to best end it but I knew I just had to include Nat Geo into it
| Gods and Men
A dog, a bitch, sitting alone on the street
A hideous monster hoping no one will ever see
On the hill, you see 30 foot tall "gods" of great beauty and might
Then there is me, a man.
They don't look at themselves.
They think whatever they want.
And whatever they believe, it seems to be.
But they don't look at each other.
Cursed, possibly gifted.
To see you how you see you.
Some by their best, and some
their worst.
| 2016-09-16T18:21:04 | 2016-09-16T14:42:43 | 210 | 24 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results. | Row upon row of Deadly Ninja Fighter Robots lined up in front of the Lady Torture, armed with a variety of shiny new dangerous weapons.
Lady Torture herself a Raven haired beauty, clad in leather and lycra, cackled from her podium.
"Excellent! My new army of Ninjabots will lay waste to Atro city! Not even the Power Hero 5 will be able to stop the onslaught! I will finally achieve my rule over these pitiful people, and then the World! No one ca..."
The side door opened with a loud creak.
In stumbled a skinny man wearing a denim jacket over a red T-shirt and cream Cargo trousers. In one hand he held a bag of groceries from the local FoodMart, under his other arm was a slightly dirty looking cardboard box with a few small holes punched into it. Occasionally the box would bump slightly or release a small squeaky "yip".
"Honey!" The man exclaimed with a beaming grin on his face.
"You'll never guess what I found on the pavement outside the shopping centre... Puppies! There so adorable you won't belie..."
He paused and looked from his wife's annoyed face to the silent menacing robots, his face then dropped as realisation hit him.
"Oh... I interrupted your Monologue again didn't I?" he said in hushed tone.
"Yes you did!, is it too much for me to ask for a little privacy in my lair?? Try to understand, I am trying to organise world domination!" Lady Torture yelled.
Looking at her husbands crestfallen face she sighed, she realised she should probably ease off of the loud voice.
"Look Geoffrey, we're Villains." She spoke with one hand rising to cover her eyes and rub her temples.
"How will puppies achieve our goal?"
"I could...uh..raise them to be our hounds...of doom?" Geoffrey stuttered in reply.
Lady Torture sighed once more. She then reluctantly motioned him forward. Excited once more Geoffrey bounded up the steps and deposited the box on the tabe in front of her.
"Don't worry they're Rottweilers, they'll be a great addition!" Geoffrey said pleased with himself.
Surprised with her husbands quoted find, she opened the box with great expectation. Inside was 6 little black puppies... but something was wrong.
She just stared.
"Geoffrey?...These are Dachshunds..."
"What?" Geoffrey said in obvious shock. He peered into the box at the little creatures bounding around in excitement.
"oh...so they are."
Lady Torture began to shake in anger.
"This is just like when I asked you to build those Prison Cells." she said through gritted teeth, a dark aura of energy building up around her.
"What was wrong with the cells?" Geoffrey said confused.
"You gave them full plumbing and vending machines with food in!!!" She roared.
"Well It would save time and cost with sanitation and hygiene, and anyway the true evil was in the prices! I mean, did you see how much I was charging for travel size chocolate bars?"
"That's not Evil, that's just being... cruelly enterprising!"
"Oh, ok... I'll go fix the cells." he replied sullenly, his shoulders drooped as he shuffled away.
Lady Tortures rage faded away, she felt bad. Not bad, bad... but bad, bad. Geoffrey did try his best, just to less than satisfactory results. She did love that quirky attitude of his.
'Besides' she thought looking down at the puppies once more
'These are...cute. Mabye I should bake him a dark chocolate cake to cheer him up...hmm but that'll look like I'm giving in... I'll guilt him into giving me a massage aswell'
She walked away cackling to herself in her mind. | [Poem]
An ancient adoration
Begets black,
cruel,
devilish deeds:
Entering elephants
for fearful football
games; gathering
harmful herbs
in icecream;
jerkishly jaywalking;
killing kids;
lying; looking like
more manly men; making
no niceties;
opening others’
presents; placating
Quetzalcoatl-
ritual
sacrifices; sometimes
twisting time to take twins to the
Underworld;
vacating
Waterworld with wicked
xenophobia;
yeeting yellow
Zebra Zombies. | 2020-04-14T05:49:42 | 2020-04-14T05:22:45 | 193 | 74 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Perhaps it was just an unfortunate series of circumstances that resulted in the human's particular predicament. It was their mistake to make to think Elora 1284 was anything less than the long-range weapons testing ground it ultimately was. They should have really thought it stranger that such a desolate place could exist within the goldilocks zone of a star, as their ill-conceived attempts to colonize the suspiciously barren little red world were quite obviously doomed to end in tragedy from the start. To their credit, they took a few hundred deaths in stride, strangely emboldened by the oddly sourced proof that they were never truly alone in their local area of space.
Their attempts to make "first contact" were curious, in context, since the Elaramons had been stealthily poaching them for decades prior; but the same furious hopefulness that appeared to drive them towards the stars to begin with also seemed equally strong enough to quell rumors of dangerous visitations from strange beings and unprovoked experimentation on the isolated and vulnerable. Perhaps, then, it was particularly unfortunate that their first attempts at "true" contact landed up perishing to the unmapped Venjuvian mine fields that marked the no man's land between the Varjeeze and the Vigory. We lost sensor contact with no less than twenty seven unidentified craft while they attempted to navigate these regions of space and, to the best of our knowledge, all of these vessels were human.
Really, though, the difficulty started in earnest when the Elaramons entered that small regional conflict between the Varjeeze and the Vigory. This reignited a former stalemate of a war right on top of the Human's doorstep and resulted in more than two particular tragedies of note, including the accidental plasma bombardment of a continental landmass and the complete destruction of several of their orbital facilities. Their tenacity knowing no bounds, the humans attempted to send additional craft into the warzone despite this, but almost all of them landed up immediately incinerated in the crossfire. Only a single one of these remained intact enough to limp home but, from our sensor reports, failed to survive reentry. General sanctions against the Elaramons did little to quell the situation, and it wasn't long before human satellites and surface installations began to fall prey to the debris of several prolonged fleet engagements between the Elaramons and the Varjeeze.
After thirty Earth years of such bombardment, strange occurrences started to manifest in the zone. Impossibly large fireballs, with an apparent magnitude greater than any regional star, started to frequent scanners and scopes around the human's world. These explosions were relatively tiny, but their calculated strength was unreasonably high for their starting mass, such that most of the equipment that had initially recorded them had been replaced out of suspicion of fault. Unreasonable or not, the explosions cleared a majority of debris around the human's world, opening up a door to clear orbital vectors that the humans immediately took to. They weren't the only ones, as the Varjeeze jumped on the opportunity to gain ground and sent an entire battle group into the cleared region.
They were the first to die.
One by one, the pathetically slow and tiny human ships began winning engagements. It was the same each time, impossibly bright flashes of light pot-marked galactic scopes as the humans manifested incredible explosive power within a radius that shouldn't have been scientifically possible outside of the core of a star. No shielding system stood a chance, it seemed, neither those with composite shielding nor those of the electronically powered plasma variety. Ship after ship, battle group after battle group, fleet after fleet, engaged the humans with reckless resolve and overwhelming military superiority, only to be immediately incinerated each and every time. The humans took notable losses in these engagements, but their ships began to improve as they collected and analyzed the hulls of their incinerated enemies. Before long, a fleet of relatively competent human warships had all three of the regional players in full retreat. Despite the humans being outnumbered millions to one on each front, The Varjeeze, the Elaramons, and the Vigory all capitulated.
This was a problem for The Federation, of course, as we had been officially supporting the Vigory for centuries. In the history of the galaxy, no Federation supported entity had ever been forced to capitulate to an enemy force, and so the humans had made an enemy of us all and a policy of aggressive containment was immediately instituted. Alacastor Class Cruisers and their escort fleets, the fastest in The Federation Navy, were immediately deployed to the region with orders to engage, only to take loss after devastating loss. The humans quickly identified supply routes and began taking proactive approaches to the new threats, steadily advancing into Federation Space along these lines. Greater defense fleets were called upon, the mighty Oracuus and the dreaded Invictor, millions of the most expensive war machines galactic civilization could produce fell on the human advance like water. With limited skill, technology, and sensory equipment, hit and run tactics began to prove effective. Our losses were truly staggering, but the tide appeared to be evening in our favor.
It was then that we learned something fiendishly curious about the humans, something that changed our entire perspective on them. When cornered and faced with impossible odds, rather than sit down and lose, humans will simply escalate things through the sheer power of morbid invention. Such was the realization when the nature of the human's weapons were truly realized, and a new class of "interplanetary missiles" were deployed against us for the first time. Their logic-defying bombs were mounted atop crude missiles outfitted with warp drives lifted from wrecks and derelicts, all spoils of war. They followed coordinates left from the wreckage of burned fleets and scorched scouts, sending these "nuclear" explosives to the city centers of nearly every major military economy in The Federation.
Over the course of 48 Earth hours, 987 quadrillion Federation Citizens died.
It took nearly twelve agonizing hours of painfully slow transmission to successfully deliver word of our immediate, unconditional surrender; and the human's automated missiles continued to fall for a further three. | The battle was over faster than it had escalated, with all of humanity staring on with smug satisfaction. They may not be the most intelligent, advanced, or tactical species in the universe, but they were most definitely considered the deadliest.
This was not something they would be proud of for long No sooner did the initial wave of death blow through space in a shower of cosmic radiation, did their allies and enemies contact them. It ranged from anger to downright hostile remarks.
Those that had been allied for decades prior were calling for what amounted to genocide of the Terran species. No matter how they defended their actions, threatened to do more, and pleaded to be heard, it seemed as if the whole of the universe had witnessed a horror that should not exist. No...The Terrans had no more say in the Universal Council. The treaties had been completely nullified, forgotten, and even used as reasons to declare a unified front against the species as a whole.
It was not long after their first bombardment of what they considered "Nuclear Supremacy" that they were marked for an execution. Among themselves, the other species gathered and signed their own peace treaties. The Terran's desire to end the war between the races among the universe had succeeded. The only problem was that it had turned them all into a unified, unstoppable tidal wave of death and chaos; directed purely at the Terran race itself.
It took thousands of years for them to reach such an advanced state. It took a mere 20 to decimate them back into the stone age. Their technology was sealed, studied, and promptly erased from existence. The last sound any Terran made, was a strangled cry for help, to understand why they were being killed. It was met with a harsh, loud pulse of electromagnetic deharmonization. This followed by a sickening silence as the multicolored mist of atoms, which were no longer held together by their natural force, drifted apart in a cloud of death.
It was another decade before it was discussed what the evil race had done, along with a cautionary tale to the scientists around the universe to remember what morals to abide by.
While those of the Terran race had dared to manipulate and master the atom, they had failed to realize and identify that each atom was its own life form. Each atom was infinitely scaling to be its own micro universe, and because other races had found this out, they had theorized that we too were only atoms in some other, vaster universe.
The fear that the Terran people had caused, and subsequently failed to understand, was that we might be split and annihilated at any given moment, just as they had done to those poor universes before.
///End Lesson: Rise and fall of the Terran Dictatorship, Era 55 of the Great Galactic Conglomeration
///Universal History, Volume 553
///Goodbye
///Would you like to know more?
​
///Yes ///No | 2019-12-19T07:38:55 | 2019-12-19T04:11:54 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] A professor is teaching a course on the gods worshiped in pre-Christian Europe and he always gets into an argument with a student. The student is actually one of those gods in disguise - but so is the professor. The rest of the class has no idea until one day..... | **Norse-It-All - Starring Vanadium and Thorium**
Friday, 3:00 P.M. Professor Esmark’s class: Norse Literature.
My favorite teacher in the world sat propped against his rickety wooden chair like a pillar. With a bent neck, he eyed the clock, pale ice eyes fixed on the hands like a falcon’s on its prey. When the minute hand struck 12, the professor shuffled his papers, and snapped to attention.
“Welcome, class. Please take five minutes to review the homework assigned Wednesday. We will be answering questions when your time elapses.”
Papers shuffled, binders unclipped, and pens and pencils rustled about. But I didn’t move. I hadn’t done any of the homework, and Professor Esmark didn’t need glasses to know. At the beginning of the year, he’d pushed and prodded me to do my homework, read the books, or at least ask questions in class. He wasn’t a bad guy - he wanted his students to succeed. But he couldn’t help but be perplexed as to why I always aced his tests and quizzes, despite never doing any of the work or participating in class. He suspected cheating, but when he drilled me one-on-one with no preparation, I still got near perfect marks. Ever since then, he’d left me alone. It was better that way.
Truth be told, I never wanted to be here. Getting a B.A. in Norse Studies was never my intended goal - I really wanted to get a B.S. in chemistry, but I didn’t qualify for the program. I guess my anguished hours I spent for YEARS doing research in vanadium complexes just weren’t enough for the university. So I took the easy way out - “studying” the very culture I had not only been there to witness - but to shape.
Still, I’ll need to pursue my chemical studies elsewhere - or elsewhen - but I must do so before the end times come. The Nordic sagas and poems do not mention what happens to me at Ragnarök - but this is for a reason. I destroyed all written records of my intentions, for fear that the other gods might try to stop me from impeding fate. I believe there is a way to delay Fimbulvetr and prevent Ragnarök from happening again, using megastructures and a whole lot of complex chemical-
*BRRRRING.*
The five-minute alarm. I’ll have to explain later.
“All right, class. What questions do you have?” Professor Esmark said, rising from his chair and pacing to the center of the room. Hands shot up. Professor Esmark scanned the room, locking eyes with one young man in the front.
“Harald.”
“Professor, the passage of Sturluson’s you gave us mentions Freyja ‘spending 4 days and 4 nights’ with 4 dwarves. Is this meant to be interpreted literally or figuratively?”
“Good question, Harald. Sturluson-”
“-Was a Christian monk who lived 200 years after the end of the viking age and about 250 years after Christianity first came to Scandinavia,” I interjected, tearing and crumpling little balls of paper from my notebook. I was used to the class’s weird glances and murmurings at this point. Professor Esmark sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Evangeline, this is the eighteenth time this week that you have interrupted me. If you have something important to say, please talk to me during office hours.”
My brows furrowed and my face felt hot. My mind was racing. I was the Professor’s star student, but even a teacher’s pet has limits on how much they can blab away.
“But Professor, the text we were given misses so much vital context surrounding Snorri Sturluson’s heritage and intentions. I mean, in the same passage about the four dwarves, Sturluson says that Odinn and I- I mean, Freyja - were humans who lived in Asia! And not only were they mere mortals, but they compelled men to war amongst each other until the Christian king Olav Tryggvason came and broke their heathen curse! How plausible is it that the pagan Norsemen viewed their gods in such a light?”
“Look, Evangeline. The point of this reading wasn’t to offer a glimpse into an unbiased document on Norse deities, only a source that offers clues wherein interpretation is necessary,”
“But that’s the problem! So much of the opinions and attitudes of viking-age Scandinavia are dependent on outside and post-temporal records that interpretation itself is difficult. How can we interpret what the Norse thought, when the very parameters of their thoughts are dictated and scrutinized through the lens of outsiders?” I protested.
“Then you might as well say historical studies are useless! Reconstruction requires leaps of faith - that are, of course, grounded in evidence - but there must be a conclusion of some kind reached,” Professor Esmark replied. Something flashed in his eyes. Was it...recognition?
“According to Ynglinga Saga 4, Freyja taught the Aesir seidr, the reading and molding of the future. And you, of all people, should know that running your mouth off in the middle of class would secure a poor future for anyone,”
I rolled my eyes.
“There’s no consensus that the Aesir and Vanir were even separate groups. The same god has been referred to as both in the same passages, without marriage even being involved. And besides, didn’t Kvasir put all that stuff behind us? I mean- them?”
Professor Esmark frowned. “I have never felt any affiliation with the Vanir gods.”
“You? Why does it matter if *you* feel affiliation with them?” I inquired, donning a tone of false inquisition. The professor blinked twice, attempting to regain his composition. But a flush spread across his cheeks, the same fire that I wore.
“B-because, Evangeline. I am a scholar. And scholars have standards. One of which involves RESPECTING authorities in the field,”
Oh well. Time to go mask off.
I smirked. “Remember that one time Thorr cosplayed as Freyja to get Mjölnir back? I still think your wig looked awful,”
“Do you have a CITATION for that?!” Professor Esmark stammered. The entire class was staring us down. Not a word was uttered.
“I don't need one,” I spat back, rising from my desk and casting my books on the floor.
“Young lady, pick those books up! This is NOT how we conduct scholarly debate! Cite your sources or-”
“I was *THERE*,” I finished.
Esmark’s eyes and neck muscles were twitching, but he was silent. My hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists, but I was silent. The class, frozen in shock, was silent.
Until a voice piped up.
“Man, you never told us you were a cosplayer! You should come to NordiCon this summer!”
\---
Visit r/Official_PotT for more chemically compounded drama! | “. . .And so, while it is commonly believed that Jupiter was the most revered of the heavenly gods in Europe, it was actually in fact the Celtic god Taranis, whose likeness and identity became syncretized with Jupiter after Roman colonizers invaded ancient Gaul. Any questions?”
Professor Rhine waited patiently while the sounds of third-year Ancient European Mythology students tip-tapping away at their laptops filled the air. He was pleased to see all of his students looked thoroughly engrossed with his material.
Well, all except one. Rhine did his best to ignore this one as he has many times so far in the semester. In fact, he looked forward to the ending of the term, seeing as it meant he wouldn’t have to interact with such a rude and ignorant up-start. Never had he—
“Hey, Professor?" the young man said with a sneer in his voice.
Rhine blinked out of his reverie and narrowed his eyes at the man. He sat near the front of the class; tall, broad and tanned, with tight black curls and striking blue eyes, he was no doubt a favourite of the many young men and women (and even some of the professors) who attended the college. Rhine hated him.
“Professor?” the boy said again, whose name Rhine refused to remember out of principle.
“Yes?” Rhine said curtly. The other students looked up from their laptops with wary and excited looks.
“It just seems to me that if Taranis, stupid name by the way, became folded under Jupiter’s mighty being, then surely you cannot possibly argue that Taranis was the greatest of the heavenly gods, correct?”
Rhine glowered at the boy. The up-start. The pretender.
An awkward silence filled the classroom. Some of his other students coughed. Others began pulling out their phones.
“I imagine,” Rhine said bitingly, “that to your…” he refrained himself from outright insulting the boy, “*underdeveloped* mind, the so-called might of Jupiter is synonymous with the Roman Empire’s strengths as a colonizing force. This is simply not the case, dear boy. And, when you look at the primary sources that survived the Celts, we clearly see that the fear and majesty those once-great people ascribed to Taranis was to a higher degree than any Roman would ever give to Jupiter.”
His other students looked impressed at the answers. They turned as one to see the boy’s rebuttal.
The boy opened his mouth. Closed it. Glowered at Rhine beneath thick eyebrows. A muscle bunched in his square, chiseled jaw. His beauty was something out of a statue, and it sickened Rhine. Such vanity to choose that form above all others. No flaws, near perfection, like something out of a statue. At least the Greeks understood that gods were to be a reflection of the people, not an elevation of them.
“Alright,” the boy said, standing up suddenly. “I don’t think I’ll be making it to exams, Professor. I tried my best, I did, but you’re… you’re just terrible. And stupid.”
A loud, excited gasp filled the air, closely followed by the sharp smell of ozone. Hair began to stand on end. A low rumbling echoed in the distance. It was a bright, March morning.
“I see,” Rhine said. He took off his glasses—merely for show, of course—and laid them on his desk. He looked around at his other students and gave them a fond smile. “Class, you’re dismissed. It was a pleasure teaching all of you this term. Your essays will be sent to your Dropbox by tomorrow night at the latest. I apologize for the delay.”
A bright glow began to emanate from the boy. From Jupiter.
The mortals quickly filed out of the room.
“Really?” Jupiter rumbled, his voice now deeper and lower than distant thunder. “I like an audience when I dance.”
“I bet you do,” Taranis replied, beginning to glow as well. “Vain prick.”
Jupiter grinned.
---
/r/chrischang | 2021-08-05T17:40:42 | 2021-08-05T17:22:51 | 1,293 | 408 |
[WP] Give me the history textbook from your latest game of Civilization V. | The earliest known city was founded on the coast, though it appears that the original settlers actually travelled there from one or two hexes away.
Perhaps they were drawn by the sugar which grows there, or the river. Most likely, both.
They named their city "Carthage". From this early time, we know very little. The city grew and there were some minor skirmishes with unknown people; probably roaming tribes. The remains of some of their camps have been found, and the odd trinket. But nothing more is known of these people or the battles which they fought, other than they were exterminated ruthlessly by Carthage.
We know that the first Carthaginians arrived in the court of Attilla the Hun shortly after the founding of Carthage, and that Shaka sent representatives to Carthage not long afterwards.
We can see slightly later evidence of Shaka's warriors descending from one direction, and Attilla's from another.
There is evidence of a few large battles around Carthage at this time.
And that's it. That's all there is. We shall probably never know what happened; but legend has it that the inhabitants of Carthage simply vanished into thin air: taken by the ancient god "Ragequit". | Chapter 1: The Founding of The Land Between the Rivers and the formation of the Arabian Empire
Arabia began long ago with the founding of Mecca in the Land Between the Rivers. Brave explorers ventured out into the harsh world. In between the rivers there was only desert. On one side, the great Meccan Mountains, and on the other the Iroquois Plains. But there was gold, a lot of gold.
In the south, where the two rivers met the Great Bay of Medina, a second city was founded, one that would one day become the greatest port in the world.
The Brazilians were encountered in the vast, jingled peninsula on the western side of the Meccan Mountains. Their lands were lush with fruits and black dirt. To the east, the Iroquois ruled the plains with an iron fist.
Nearby, Capetown competed with the young city of Medina for wealth and trade. But, the leaders of Arabia were wise, and ordered that all building projects be put on hold so that the Great Wonders could be built. Their rationale was: "well, sure, we don't really want to win a cultural victory, but if *we* build the Parthenon, then no one else can."
In time, the Land Between the Two Rivers grew and prospered.
Then, the Iroquois invaded from the plains. They came with spears and bows. They came with battering rams and horses. The Arabians were not prepared.
Damascus burned.
The Arabians rallied, realizing that the Middle Ages (324 BC) were a little late to be building their first armies, but seeing as the Universe had only been set to Prince difficulty, they had not feared an invasion. They paid dearly for that mistake.
After a viscous battle at Medina, where the great rivers flowed into the sea, the Iroquois advance finally came to a halt. The Arabians quickly adopted Patronage to celebrate. The smaller nations of the world would accept Arabian trade and the Arabs would get from them the things that their harsh land would not offer.
The Arabians retook Damascus, and the city burned again.
The Iroquois retreated to the plains, chased by the Arabians, who did not have the strength remaining to take Grand River. A peace was brokered, with a stalemate being the key outcome. Arabia returned to peace.
Until the Brazilians came down from the Meccan Mountain passes and surrounded the holy capital with their unexpected invasion.
Brave warriors died in their hundreds and thousands as Mecca broke wave after wave of Brazilian pikemen. The leaders of Arabia, in their infinite wisdom, questioned whether they should halt production of Machu Picchu and build more troops. Their wise decision was proclaimed to the whole nation.
“Meh, it’ll be fine.”
And so it was.
The Brazilians were pushed back across the mountains and peace was achieved. A golden age dawned for the Land Between the Rivers. Gold flowed to other nations in return for unimagined luxuries, spices and silks. Capetown allied itself with Arabia, recognizing the superiority of the Port of Medina, which now sported the Colossus of Rhodes at the mouth of one river and the Great Lighthouse at the mouth of the other; an achievement that was widely regarded by the leaders of Arabia as “looking totally badass”.
For the next few hundred years, Arabia became the battle ground of the great religions of Protestantism, founded by the Iroquois, and Buddhism founded by the distant Siamese.
The Persians fell to the Zulu in a distant land. Their leader surrendered the capital in shame. The Zulu then began their long and unsuccessful campaign against the Siamese.
The leaders of Arabia were far more concerned with the unmet nation that kept beating them in their quest to build completely unnecessary wonders. They vowed that they would turn whichever nation it was into “a nuclear waste”, a proclamation that few understood in 1100AD.
The thunder of cannons marked the invasion of Brazil by the Arabs. It was justified by a massive push in the Arabian government to “spice the game up a little”. In the end, the jungles burned and cities fell until the entire peninsula was added to the Land Between the Rivers.
The Arabian Empire was born.
| 2015-02-11T14:48:37 | 2015-02-11T12:55:26 | 173 | 77 |
[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. | Hi! I'm new to Writing Prompts and I'd appreciate any feedback you're willing to give!
--------------------
Katrina pulled her clothes tightly across her shoulders and looked down. All she wanted to do was pay for her groceries. But no; They had to ask. Everytime. Every. Single. Time.
“You got any clue what it means yet?” Pete, the cashier, asked.
Kat quickly took a swig of water. “Hmm?” She hummed, desperately digging for her credit card. Of course, Kat knew what he was asking about. She had told them that she had received a tattoo resembling a water bottle. She hadn’t, but it was easier than telling people that she didn’t have any. A tattoo of a water bottle was also strange enough that people would believe her when she said that she didn’t know what it meant.
No one in this town could mind their own business. Everywhere Kat went, she saw burly men proudly displaying their art-filled biceps and speaking stories of heroism. Some of her friends had “4.0,” or images depicting their sleepless nights of studying to pass a class. Others had their current League of Legends ranking proudly displayed. Everyone had something. Except Kat.
It wasn’t that Kat was a bad student, or that she sucked at video games; it was quite the opposite really. The tattoos were meant to represent a great achievement, and, well, those things didn’t cut it for Kat.
“Your tattoo,” Pete leaned closer, eager to hear about Kat’s achievement, “what does it mean? Jason said you got a waterbottle.”
Kat’s lips fell into a scowl. Kat yearned to return to the days before Jason got over his fear of public speaking and received a microphone tattoo on his throat. He used to be someone she could talk to; he used to be someone she could trust to tell that she hadn’t received a tattoo.
Lying to him-- telling him about her “tattoo” -- was probably one of the hardest things she had done. But it was necessary. At least, that’s what Kat told herself. Nowadays, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. No one in this godforsaken town could.
“No clue,” Kat mumbled, “still figuring it out.”
She handed Pete her credit card. In the process, she knocked over her water bottle, and liquid spilled all over the counter.
Kat cursed and scanned the room for paper towel. She ran over to the dispenser and got a few sheets.
“No, no,” Pete began, “it’s quite alright. We’ll get it.”
“I got it,” Kat insisted, “and, hey, who knows, this could be what my tattoo is for: cleaning up after my mistakes.” She laughed bitterly.
There was more water spillage than Kat initially thought. And it wasn’t just over the counter; she somehow managed to spray water onto Pete’s “employee of the month” tattoo across his forearm.
Kat cursed again. “Sorry. Let me help you with that.”
“Seriously,” Pete cleared his throat and backed away.
“No, really, it’s ok,” Kat said as she grabbed his wrist and wiped his arm with the towel. As she did so, the white paper towel became streak with green and yellow.
Kat’s eyes widened. “What the…?”
Edit: a word
Edit 2: removed "it was fake" to better flow into part 2. | FADE IN:
INT. AN OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
*The sounds of clacking keyboards and muted conversation drift through the air. Men and women in business-casual attire mill around, either pretending to look busy or rushing from one meeting to the next. This atmosphere of tense ennui is suddenly broken by the arrival of a young man in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Steve! *Steve!*
*As everyone turns to stare at the interloper, a second young man peeks out from within a cubicle. This is STEVE.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) Oh, no...
*Dave spots Steve and rushes over.*
**DAVE:** Steve! Dude! It finally happened!
**STEVE:** What are you doing here? You can't just...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) I've never gotten one before! Things are finally going to happen for me!
**STEVE:** What are you talking about?
**DAVE:** My tattoo!
*Several seconds pass in silence.*
**STEVE:** What?
**DAVE:** Didn't your parents teach you about the birds and the bees?
**STEVE:** That isn't...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) At certain milestones in a person's life, a tattoo appears on their skin. This marking is meant to convey something important about that individual, but it's up to them to determine the meaning.
**STEVE:** What, did you memorize a health textbook? Anyway, that isn't "the birds and the bees."
**DAVE:** Yes, it is.
**STEVE:** I feel sorry for your former girlfriends.
**DAVE:** Look, dude, whatever. The point is, I got my first tattoo!
*Steve rubs his forehead.*
**STEVE:** As happy as I am for you, can we talk about this later? You can't...
**EDGAR:** (*O.S.*) (*Interrupting*) Steven, what's all this commotion about?
*Steve turns to see a heavyset, balding man entering the cubicle. This is EDGAR, Steve's boss.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) Am I just not allowed to finish my sentences?
**EDGAR:** What was that?
**STEVE:** Nothing. Anyway, sorry, this is Dave. He was just leaving.
**DAVE:** No, I wasn't.
**EDGAR:** (*To Dave*) Oh, so *you're* David, huh? Steven has talked a lot about you.
**DAVE:** Yeah, he really looks up to me.
*A humorless scoff escapes Steve's lips.*
**EDGAR:** Did I hear you saying something about a tattoo?
**DAVE:** My first one!
*Edgar's face breaks out into a wide, genuine smile.*
**EDGAR:** Well, hey, congratulations! Did you figure out what it means yet?
**DAVE:** No, I only just found it this morning.
**STEVE:** It's two in the afternoon.
**DAVE:** (*To Steve*) So? Does that mean that I couldn't have found it this morning?
**EDGAR:** You know, David, I have something of a knack for this kind of thing.
**DAVE:** ... Telling time?
**EDGAR:** (*Chuckling*) No, telling tattoos! May I have a look at yours?
**STEVE:** I wouldn't...
*Before Steve can finish his sentence, Dave pulls down his pants and displays his bare buttocks.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Yep, there he goes.
**DAVE:** See? Right here! It's like... like a cloud or something!
**EDGAR:** (*Thoughtfully*) Hmm. It could be an eye, maybe?
**STEVE:** It's a bruise.
**DAVE:** Maybe I'm supposed to become a private detective?
**STEVE:** Maybe you fell down the stairs yesterday while trying to impress our neighbors.
*Dave pulls up his pants, looking at Steve with an expression of mild annoyance.*
**DAVE:** You know, you could be a little more supportive.
**EDGAR:** That is something we talked about in your quarterly review, Steven.
**STEVE:** Why are you taking his side?! He came bursting in here, shouting at the top of his lungs, and now you're acting like he's your long-lost son or something! If I did that, I'd get fired!
**DAVE:** Right, but I don't work here.
*A thought seems to occur to Edgar.*
**EDGAR:** Hey, it could be a celestial body of some sort...
**DAVE:** Really?!
**STEVE:** Please don't...
*Once again, Steve is interrupted as Dave pulls down his pants.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Yep, right at eye-level.
**DAVE:** It *does* look a bit like a nebula!
**EDGAR:** I think that might be it, David! Something to do with space, then!
**STEVE:** It's probably between his ears.
*Edgar turns to glare at Steve.*
**EDGAR:** Remind me, Steven, what tattoos do you have?
**STEVE:** (*Proudly*) I have...
**EDGAR:** (*Interrupting*) No space? Got it. Let David have his moment.
*Steve's mouth opens and closes several times, but no sound comes out.*
**EDGAR:** (*CONT'D*) (*To Dave*) How about I get you a beer to celebrate, David?
**DAVID:** Sure! You know, I really don't understand why Steve complains about you all the time.
*Edgar chuckles and leaves the cubicle. Dave starts to follow him, but stops when he realizes that his pants are still around his knees. He hurriedly pulls them up, then rushes out of sight.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) I swear, one of these d...
*Steve trails off as he notices a faint marking appearing on his inner wrist. It vaguely resembles a cartoonish bundle of dynamite with an already-burning fuse.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) ... Uh oh.
FADE TO BLACK. | 2017-08-03T14:37:12 | 2017-08-03T14:08:02 | 342 | 37 |
[WP] The Humans are..interesting. Their weaponry is ancient, but their warriors are nearly unstoppable. | The simulated battle ended and the abducted human soldier slumped with fatigue and confusion, looking at the unfamiliar surroundings of the holodeck.
"What happened with the sim? Why was the human able to withstand so many waves of enemies?" the Thakdarian commander demanded of his scientists, slamming his second and third forearms onto his desk and scaring several of those clustered around a datapanel, pointing and arguing about the results of the test.
"Sir, the results simply don't make sense. Somehow, as his enemies grew more numerous and intelligent, the subject's performance improved. It seemed that the closer he got to exhaustion or danger, his metabolic rate, circulatory, and respiratory levels became elevated," the scientist pointed to each of the relevant points of data in turn, "but his reaction time, motor function, and even his apparent critical thinking speed increased to several times his baseline."
"Have we underestimated these bipeds so utterly?" the commander growled, "Their medical technology is centuries behind ours! They don't even use energy weapons! They can't possibly have created a battledrug better than anything our own kind have."
The scientists moved as a group, shrinking away from the decorated officer. "Sir, we woke him up in a simulated earth town with only his clothes and weapon. He has not consumed or injected anything on his own and tests of the atmosphere in the holodeck show no chemical compounds that would cause this behavior on inhalation. We also noticed no codewords that would awaken hypnotic training," he said, pointing at the translated audio recording of the subjects colorful language. "We cannot explain this behavior except by speculation."
The commander sat back in his chair and looked again at the human, who already seemed to be recovering from the simulation and was starting to explore his surroundings. "By all means, speculate," he said.
The Thakdar scientists quietly conferred among themselves, in some cases arguing quietly and each giving his or her own thoughts on what happened. After a few minutes, the commander coughed and several scientists started and turned. A datapad clattered to the floor.
"Sir, the human appears to be able to produce a natural drug during times of stress. We can pinpoint when it was released during the sim, starting with the moment he heard the first energy weapon fire in the distance, then each time a new wave of enemies was created." The scientist had changed the main datascreen to a series of graphs showing vital signs during the simulation, and was pointing out moments when the human seemed at once the most stressed and, perplexingly, the most effective. "The last spike was when the simulation ended and the simulated town disappeared, revealing that he was in an unfamiliar place."
As the scientist pointed at the end of the simulation, he noticed that the graphs were still recording and the human's vitals were elevated as though he were entering combat again. As one, the Thakdarian research unit looked into the sim chamber only to see the human subject pointing his weapon at the commander and baring his teeth in a mockery of glee. Through the glass, they saw the human's mouth moving. A moment later, the translator spoke.
"Take me to your leader."
_______________________________________________________
Edit: This is my first attempt at writing here. I hope everyone likes it! I intend to write much more and welcome any comments and criticism, even if it's about poor grammar or sentence structure. | Fourth-Lead Flek scowled. This was not why he had conscripted into the Porrukh Land Militia. Hairless apes with no natural body armor and almost laughably backwards weaponry.
Flek thought back to the holo-briefing from the scout team. The human military was hopelessly disorganized, lacking any kind of discipline or, indeed, coherent leadership. No uniforms. No clear distribution of weaponry. They wandered the streets of the living-centers with as much direction of Valdian Fur Beetles. Sometimes - he had to suppress a chuckle at the memory - their soldiers would even bump into each other, or attempt a flanking maneuver by both moving in the same direction simultaneously.
He'd rather be doing a training simulation with the Entrants back home. It would be like killing children. Worse: children can at least have an excuse. This...this would just be sad.
The holo had included some preliminary intelligence on combat engagements with the ape people. One had attempted to spray what scientists had insisted was cooking spice into the eyes of a Three-Bar Gunner. Another had improvised a weapon - if you could call it that - from a ring of metal keys stored in its field pack (and a laughably impractical field pack it was, with its single thin strap and tiny carrying space). Two of the largest and - presumably - highest-ranking soldiers had attempted to survive a pod skirmish armed with what were effectively highly-polished sticks. All of them had fallen within moments with a few squeezes of the neurodisruptive aerosol pistol.
"Fourth-lead Flek."
Flek put his hand to his helmet. "Healthy and attentive, second-lead Munat."
"Commence the attack. And..."
"Yes, second-lead?"
"Try not to be too hard on them."
Flek disengaged communication mode on his helmet and chuckled. He looked back at his group and gave the signal. The almost super-sonic squeal of 20 sidearms powering up reached him and he permitted himself a wry smile.
He stepped out from their holding position and began the march into the heart of the living-center. *May Gurrok the Placid forgive me*, he thought.
* * *
Darkness. But somehow, he was aware of the darkness now, which had not been true before.
"Fourth-lead Flek."
His thoughts felt like Tirioli Cave-Walkers. But he realized that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Fragments of memories came back to him and, as his brain started operating fully, he jolted back to consciousness.
"Fourth-lead Flek. Good. Ah..."
Questions tumbled into Flek's brain. Why was a healing technician standing over him? Where was his cluster? What had happened?
"Fourth-lead, it's best if you not move. No, please...many of the processes taking place are very delicate and it could disrupt them, especially for the lower extremity."
Flek blinked. He had not noticed that he was only receiving sensory and proprioceptive feedback from the limbs on the left side of his body.
"Ah...fourth-lead. I'm afraid First-Lead Ohn wants a report as soon as --"
Flek gave a nod and spirals of pain swarmed in front of his eyes. He shut them.
What was happening? What had happened?
* * *
"I apologize for requiring a report of you when you are in this...state." The way First-Lead Ohn had almost spat the last word made it clear that he was not at all sorry.
There was a silence. Flek realized that, far from being an apology, that had actually been a command.
"The intelligence was wrong." A loud hiss came over the transmitter as First-Lead Ohn exhaled. "It was wrong," Flek repeated. "All of it. Catastrophically so.
"The hairle-- the humans have their own armed forces. They are exceedingly well-trained and work together more cohesively than our own."
"How is it possible? The holo-" Ohn's voice had dropped to a lethal whisper.
"The majority of the citizenry are non-military. It is unclear what purpose they serve. But they are allowed to walk about freely with no escort or, seemingly, fear of danger."
Ohn scoffed at this, and shifted his gaze. "Healing technician Alapp, you *said* he was neurally intact."
Flek ignored this. "This has to be true because their military are easily identified. In addition to rudimentary metal projectiles that seem to be fired by miniature detonation, they have a range of incendiary devices, as well as...armored military vehicles."
Ohn had turned his head to someone off-screen. "Surely there is someone else I can talk to? Someone more *lucid*, I hope?"
An unseen voice replied shakily, "The Fourth-Lead was...the only survivor."
Ohn sighed. "I mean from one of the other clusters, Attendant."
"First-Lead Ohn, I...the..." There was a tense silence. "The Fourth-Lead was the *only* survivor."
Ohn's head dropped out of sight momentarily, until the holo-receiver panned down to catch him, sunken into his chair.
Flek decided there was no point in holding back. "The sidearms were of the single-fire and rapid-fire variety, with projectiles designed for bypassing armor and for increasing collateral damage via shrapnel. The incendiary devices were handheld or fired from shoulder-mounted cannons. A variety of chemical agents were also tried against our troops...I believe my suit registered sensory blockers as well as neurotoxins.
"The armored military vehicles had cannons mounted on them, as well. Our energy weapons were somewhat effective against the infantry but had no visible effect on the armored vehicles. Near the end of the encounter, I had the impression we were being attacked from the air as well, but...it is possible my perceptions are failing me, given my *state*."
Ohn looked steadily at Flek for some time. "Thank you, Fourth-lead."
The screen went black, and, moments later, so did Flek's vision.
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds | 2018-01-11T14:17:51 | 2018-01-11T13:17:31 | 281 | 180 |
[WP] The entire galaxy is threatened by a new species, invading from the Large Magellanic Cloud. The interstellar community decides to contact humans for help who were quarantined due to their passion for war. | "You want us to go to war?" the Terran ambassador had asked incredulously, "After trapping us here in the Quad Systems for a thousand years. You expect to let loose our leashes and like dogs chase down your hated enemies?"
"We do," the Gallius Union Envoy Drone had said, "We will drop the FTL disablers surrounding your quadrant. We have tens of thousands of freighters with supplies waiting to skip in and provide you with whatever you need to build an armada. You must stop them or they will kill us all. You will be given one year to destroy them and then you will return."
"Return to our prison?" the ambassador's asked spitefully.
"Return to the safety of the sanctuary we provide for you," the drone droned,"Remember, the vote was tied on whether to quarantine or destroy you. It is by the mercy of the Gallius species'
single vote that you still exist."
"For that you have our gratitude," the ambassador said truthfully, "We shall remember what you did."
The excitement that spread around the Quad systems at the news was tangible. True to their word, a week later the FTL disablers were put offline and the drone piloted freighters skipped out of FTL into the systems eagerly awaiting them. Then the disablers went back up as the Terrans went to work building their armada.
"How many got out?" the President of the War Union asked the ambassador as they received news of the FTL disablers trapping humanity again.
"500 Heavy Carriers, 6,000 Battle Cruisers, 20,000 destroyers, and 100,000 scouts," the ambassador smiled, "They should have known we wouldn't just sit here helplessly. We would have figured a way around the disablers eventually and had a fleet prepared for that day. This Magellanic Cloud invasion just sped things up a few decades is all."
"No signs of detection?" the President asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We've had their encryption broken for a decade and are monitoring their military channels and there is nary a peep," the answer made the President smile, "It will get lively enough when the FTL disablers are taken offline and let us out for good. Plus the fools gave us enough supplies to build another fleet."
"So we'll finally conquer the galaxy that imprisoned us," the President said hopefully, "and humanity will take its rightful place. What of the Gallius? They did keep us alive."
"We'll give those damned machines a choice, join us or die," the ambassador smiled, "I bet I know which way they'll vote."
"And the threat from the Cloud?" the President asked, genuinely concerned.
"I pity them," the ambassador sighed, "Whatever they are, those poor things have no one to ask for help. They have no idea we're coming and we're bringing the fires of Hell with us."
| There was a heavy silence in the room as the hologram display flickered to life.
It was a grim and hopeless kind of silence. It was a silence that had managed to usurp what was disordered bickering between dozens of interstellar leaders and turn it into a funeral procession.
The figure in the center of the room watched as the conclave of leaders gazed at the display with a slow apprehension of horror visible in their eyes or whatever visual sense organ they possessed.
At last, a guttural toned voice broke the silence. "This... it cannot be."
The figure recognized the sentiment. *Denial.* It turned to face the alien leader.
It was large in mass, with a thick azure carapace. The alien leader of the Kragi species.
"It is," said the figure simply.
"How long do we have?" a small furry bodied alien asked as it stared up at the hologram display.
The figure tiled its head upwards to glance at the hologram of the Large Magellanic Cloud, then turned to the alien leaders that were arranged in a circle around it. "Not long. It appears that their fleet are capable of interstellar travel. They are a species that we have not been aware of until recently... When we discovered them, they had already eliminated all of their neighboring inhabitants within the galaxy. How unfortunate."
An uproar of grunts and curses fill the room.
A screech silenced the room.
"What are our chances of defeating this hostile species?" asked a raspy, monotone voice.
The figure turned to look at the alien. It had mandibles that clicked together as it spoke. The Tieopna species.
"We face a 99.9812874 percent chance of complete annihilation at their hands," answered the figure in the center of the room.
"What do you suggest we do?" a voice asked from among the Conclave of alien leaders.
"We will fight! Fight to the death!" roared the small furry alien.
"No. We must be rational about this," said the Kragi leader as he glared down at the small furry alien. "Vul'zama," the Kragi leader gestured at the figure with a massive arm. "You have called us today to tell us of our doom. You must have a possible resolution to this predicament."
Vul'zama, the leader of the conclave who had called for the meeting nodded its ethereal head- merely a translucent shape that shimmered with the light.
"Indeed," said Vul'zama. "It is not a definite solution. We face utter annihilation but with the help of a certain species, we may perhaps change our doomed fate."
They rejoice. There are sighs of relief from the Conclave.
"And what species are we talking about?" asked another voice from among the Conclave.
"It is with the help of the humans."
Another uproar from the Conclave. *Overwhelming disapproval.*
"The exiled Humans?!"
"Those senseless self-warring warmongers!?"
"Absolutely unacceptable! They invaded our planet and took my fellow brothers and sisters as pets!" screeched the tiny furry alien.
Vul'zama raised a translucent limb into the air, calming the crowd of alien leaders. "Indeed. We had exiled the humans, trapped them in their own planet via a sphere of warped space..." Vul'zama sweeped a hand upwards.
The hologram shifted and zoomed across the a vast sea of stars until it settled on a blue planet. A simmering translucent barrier enveloped the planet.
It was Earth.
"The Humans, they were unpredictable, irrational, and volatile. Their endless greed and passion for war would have been the end of us all, but now... we face extermination, and the humans? They will be our weapon," said Vul'zama.
*A weapon that could very well back-fire on ourselves*, thought Vul'zama. He didn't dare say it aloud.
"Vul'zama, have you forgotten about how humans liked to wage war among themselves?" asked the Kragi leader. "They have no unity. They do not have a single leader, *but hundreds* of different leaders vying for domination over one another. It is foolish to even-"
Vul'zama raised his limb into the air again. "That... will not be an issue." Vul'zama turned around and sweeped his arm over the hologram of Earth. The Barrier dissipated.
The Conclave of aliens gasped.
Vul'zama continued before the Conclave could start another uproar of disapproval. "We will descend upon the Earth shortly and each of *us*-" Vul'zama glared at each alien with glowing emerald pockets of light, "-will collect a *suitable* human leader before returning here for further assessment. We will then conduct a *contest* between them to determine the human that will lead their species."
Vul'zama glanced around the room and saw the reluctance in their eyes.
"Do not return until you have a human to bring back," he ordered again for extra measure. "Dismissed."
----------
Meanwhile on Earth, the human race are rejoicing as they hear the news.
*'Unknown Barrier around Earth has disappeared'* the voice of a news reporter repeats loudly from the television upstairs.
"Alex! Come up stairs!" Alex's mom shouts.
Alex who is holed up in his basement playing Starcraft 4, tilts his head as he wonders what is going on upstairs. Then he notices a translucent figure in the corner of his eye.
It moves.
Alex screams like a girl as he jumps out of his seat.
The figure speaks, a voice that resounds deeply within his head. "Hello human."
--------
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-04-11T10:00:58 | 2018-04-11T09:17:14 | 766 | 22 |
[WP] "In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king." Untrue, as it turns out. When a mysterious energy wave swept the world and took away vision for humans, you were the only one left with an eye, the wealthy and powerful are hunting you down for your working eyeball. | Day 25. I've just discovered that the wealthy and powerful are hunting me down for my one remaining working eyeball.
And, Diary, I DON'T CARE! Look at me! I'm dancing like nobody's watching. Because they CAN'T!!! One Two Cha-cha-cha. Three Four Cha-cha-cha. You can't SEE me, suckers! Ha ha ha! Am I doing the Samba? Am I crunking? You don't fucking know! Maybe I'm fucking moonwalking!
Dan-cing like no-body's watch-ing! Dan-cing like no-body's watch-ing! Come get my eyeball, fuckers. This boy's got music in his soul and taps on his shoes! Ain't nobody gonna stop me from dancing- like nobody's watching. | Note: apologies for any spelling or grammar as I was writing this on my phone because I had to capture the idea that came to mind.
"I've got it." The sudden noise wakes you from your afternoon nap among the waste. "I've got the seeing eye."
You turn your head slightly, human waste tumbling off your neck. You've grown used to the smells and to not taking care of yourself. You've also grown used to silence. So you look at the speaker.
She is a young girl - possibly pre-adolescent but it is difficult for you to judge. She is as scrawny as she is tall, a small wasted shadow with ragged clothes, matted mud splattered hair that was probably once brown and she is holding up a round object. Even from a close range you can barely tell it is an eyeball.
'No. Used to be an eyeball,' you think. Dripping with gore and no doubt stinking of decay. You can't help but wonder why a lone girl in the Graveyards would believe it was the one seeing eye. 'My bloody eye.'
The scavengers are onto her in a flash, rising up from the surrounding piles of bones. Their crazed mouths drool, saliva cascading across their chests: you count at least ten of the creatures. And for a moment you pity them. Until you remember cynically that they were the reason you had come to the Graveyards all those years ago.
The Crazies, would tear anyone to pieces for a taste of flesh. They had some strange religion based around devouring the sightless eyes of non-believers. All of which was meant to give you a modicum of safety from the outside world.
The past fifteen years brought nothing but hell. Running from the sightless world administrators who realised the value of your one seeing eye.
Damn, you are some reverse Sauron. You smile at the thought, then grimace as the Crazies close in on the little girl. It's never been pleasant to watch intruders torn to shreds.
Of course, while you realise sheer luck brought you to the Graveyard and the Crazies, you refuse to accept this reality. Luck is for the blind.
You blink as the girl tosses the eye down onto the ground. Any thoughts about the corpse she stole it from cease as the eye rolls down across the bone stacks, blinking with a single red light. Then a flash illuminates everything in blinding white light and the Crazies scream as fire rinses away their insanity.
It takes half a second for the flare to hit you. You have no time to respond except to realise that the eyeball was, in stead, a Hellfire Grenade. A weapon you once invented in a previous life.
The blast sends you flying. Sharp piercing pain shreds through your shoulder and chest, followed by a wet clammy sensation. You hear a loud scream and realise it was your own involuntary noise. You've been silent so long you forgot the sound of your own voice.
The next thing you realise is that you have a large bone shard poking through the centre of your chest. It's not yours.
'The bloody thing just pierced right through me.' The thought stuns you. You've been running for so long that the thought of actually dying is a sudden surprise. But here it is at last. Death staring at you from a bone shard in the chest.
A heavy weight thuds onto your legs and you groan. Then you see the girl from before. She's running her hands across your body, checking the injuries. Then she looks up at you.
No, she looks at you. And you feel the cold chill of true shock. She pulls out a knife and with an apologetic smile drives it towards your face.
'She too has one good eye.'
Everything turns dark with the settling blindness of death. | 2019-04-19T19:49:29 | 2019-04-19T19:39:38 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] Hiding the fact that you are a half-demon to your classmates is easy as being helpful at school and putting on a friendly face. What could go wrong? Well, nothing's worse than being summoned by one of your classmates, that's for sure. | “Kyle?!”
Kyle had not been invited to the Halloween sleepover. He hadn’t particularly minded. He was used to keeping his head down in class and getting homework done in his lunch break so he had more time for video games when he got home. The other kids at school weren’t exactly unkind, but Kyle wasn’t the sort of guy you invited to parties. Kyle told himself he didn’t mind. They probably wouldn’t be interested in his stuff, anyway, and it was better off this way.
It was a Friday night, and Kyle had been waiting all week to beat the final boss in his game, killer nightshade. The game was new, and with a price tag that made his eyes water, but it had arrived as a gift from his dad. His dad’s job was… unusual, for sure, and Kyle had often heard his parents fighting about it when they were still together.
“What do you mean you’re being summoned, Steve, this is our anniversary! You can’t keep doing this! GET THAT BRIMSTONE OUT OF MY KITCHEN!”
Still, it must have been pretty well paid because Kyle got frequent gifts from all over the world, wherever his dad had been at the time. It had been a lot more peaceful at home since his dad had moved out, but Kyle missed him. There were certain things that you just couldn’t ask your mum.
So when Kyle felt the familiar creeping cold of a summoning, he had no way to prevent it. His hands gripped his controller, fingers mashing at the buttons in a desperate attempt to remain seated in his chair, his bedroom, his house. It was no good.
Kyle made a mental note to send dad an email, asking him how to refuse a summoning. His mum would be no use at all.
The new room swirled into view: a dusty attic space, lit with clumsily placed candles and a few discarded bottles of Pepsi. Pale faces stared up at him where he stood, his feet placed firmly in the middle of a chalk pentagram. He recognised most of them from class, the popular kids that he tried his best to avoid.
“Kyle?!” One of them spoke. It was Alex – a kid from maths class.
Kyle glared at the book in Alex’s hands; a thick, leather-bound volume that was heavy with dust and years of disuse.
“Is that Kyle from school?” Another said. “I thought this was meant to get a demon?”
“It was! You heard it – all that Latin crap. Maybe we said it wrong?”
“You didn’t.” Said Kyle. “You’re fine. The summoning worked. It’s a family spell, though, so you really wanted my dad. He’s busy, so it defaults to me.” He shrugged.
“You’re a -?”
“Half. Dad’s a – yeah.” Kyle said, pushing his glasses up his nose. The dust in the attic was making his asthma flare up.
“Oh. Well that’s a bit crap, we wanted a real demon.” Alex sounded disappointed.
“Crap? You’re not the one who got pulled away from killer nightshade. I was THIS close to beating the HellFlower and you – “
Alex cut him off, eyes wide. “You have killer nightshade?”
Kyle nodded.
“How did you afford – wait, can I play? It has two player, right?” Alex asked.
The other kids around him jostled in.
“Can I watch?”
“I brought snacks!”
“Please Kyle?”
Kyle hesitated. Maybe it would be fun to have someone else to play with. After all, he’d pretty much completed the game by himself…
“Okay.” He grinned. “But you have to get rid of the book.” He nodded to the huge pages at Alex’s feet. Alex looked down, like he’d already forgotten it was there.
“Deal.” He said. | It has been quite a while since my departure from hell, and my permanent residence in the mortal realm began. About 120 mortal years, I suppose.
I've learnt a lot in these years.
Mainly, a lot of humans aren't as stupid as they appear to be.
A small slip up could cost me my entire disguise, which would force me to memory wipe the people involved and skip town.
But, as long as I don't draw unwanted attention to myself, It's suprisingly smooth sailing.
When I was but a young Imp, the elder demons of our settlement would speak of the times when our kind would regularly visit the mortal realm, subjugate and plunder to our hearts desire.
They would eventually be stamped back down to hell though. It wouldn't take too long either, the most someone's been able to stay while actively conquering the world was about 80 mortal years, give or take.
I must wonder if none of them have ever considered to just... live peacefully? Just live and let live. Shit, I've been having loads more fun just living the human life than I would have had if I'd tried to forcefully conquer territory.
As I was laying on my couch, watching TV, and scrolling on my phone, I suddenly feel a certain sensation from the back of my head. It's been quite a while.
*"A summoning? Really? The last time was... what, 1962? Something like that, I guess. Well, Why not. What do I have to lose."*
A lot, it seemed. Because as I let myself be transported through the aether, thanks to the summoning cirlce, I felt the mind of the summoner.
That, in and of itself is nothing strange. It's how it should be. A demon will feel a connection with their summoner so they may better complete the purpose of the summoning and get their payment. What wasn't quite right, was that I recognised this mind.
Charlotte... my classmate.. How the hell does she know my summoning circle!? That's an intricate design of several overlapping circles, if even one of them were drawn slightly differently she would've gotten someone else! Well... I guess that's just my luck.
"Wait... Damian!?"
*"Shit, What do I do now.. I really like this life, I don't want to start over, again! The previous 3 were pretty sucky, Can I get a break please? Ugh... Lets... see where this goes. If worse comes to worse, I'll wipe her and move on."*
"Yup... It's me alright.. How ya doin' Char?" I asked rather tired looking. In truth, I wasn't so much physically tired. More like mentally preparing myself for the headache about to come.
"I... You... WHAT THE FUCK!?"
"Yeah, that's how I expected you'd react. Listen, alright? I can explain. It's just that... I need you to keep this a secret, okay? I don't want this to become a thing, Y'know?"
Instead of answering in a vocal manner, she simply nodded her head.
*"As good as I'll get, I suppose."*
"Okay, here goes." I say as I look into her eyes. My eyes flash a deep crimson red glow while saying:"I'm a demon, Charlotte. From Hell. I dont know whether you thought you may have screwed up the summoning or not, but it worked. And the demon you summoned happened to be.... me." I finish off while pointing to myself.
Charlottr didn't respond whatsoever. She didn't even blink.
*"Shit, did I overdo it?"*
"Hey, Charlotte..? Are you okay?" I ask as I snap my fingers in front of her face.
That seemed to snap her back to reality, as she, immediately upon realising what happened, moved away from me with all the fervor of a cornered prey.
"Hey, calm down, I'm not gonna hurt ya. You summoned me, remember? I just came to see what the contract was about. Although now, I'm very curious how you knew my circle. Did you find it somewhere, of did you just randomly start drawing?"
"I... found it in a book.. one of my great grandfathers collection.. uh.."
"Alright, and what was your great grandfathers name?"
"Uhm.. John, I think. John Woodblue."
"John?....You mean Johnny Blue was your grandfather?!"
"How do you know my great-grandpa?!"
"How? Kid, he also summoned me. About 80 years ago, I think. He wanted to find the love of his life. I introduced him to the woman you know as your great-grandma. Oh, those were the days. The ideas that crazy bastard came up with still fill me with mirth."
Charlotte could barely handle this anymore.
First, she gets introduced by her uncle to all this demon stuff a couple of months back. How to draw circles, draw power from hell for certain spells, even how to summon demons properly instead of the half baked imp summons she was doing weeks ago.
But this? After finally gathering enough courage and confidence to believe that she managed to draw a circle properly, she finds out that her *crush* was a demon?
She couldn't handle it. Having him suddenly appear in her room when she was performing the summoning had already thrown her off her game but this?!
Panic. So much panic, that she almost forgot what she was doing. She was turned away from the boy of her admiration, her hands on her cheeks in a fruitless attempt to hide their deep shade of crimson.
"So, Charlotte... What did you summon me for?"
That gave her an idea. The proverbial lightbulb above her head sprung into life. This was the perfect chance. Of he really was the demon she summoned, this could be even better thsn what she had in mind! And so, she gathered up all her courage and resolve to *do this*.
"I-I...Uh.. I.. You... Uhm..." This wasn't going good. Maybe she wasn't as prepared as she thought she was, or maybe this was a lot harder for her than she had expected, either way, she was struggling, hard.
*"Oh come one Charlotte!"* She thought to herself. *"You can do this! Just say it, Just say it!"*
"Iwantyoutobecomemyboyfriend!" She blurted out after a second if silence.
"Really? Alright, Your wish is my command. I'll see you tomorrow at school, Honey." I said as I gave her a cheeky wink and put her to sleep.
As she fell towards the ground, I caught her in my arms and put her in her bed.
After cleaning up the remains of the circle, I perform one last check on the room, and I notice something on her dresser. A small metal hair clip. It seemed familiar but I couldn't quite figure out why. Whatever.
She does look cute when sleeping.
(Alright, that's enough. I wanted to stop halfway through and come back to it later, but I'm on mobile so that's not possible. So, this is all you're gonna get.) | 2021-09-20T03:02:07 | 2021-09-20T00:39:52 | 317 | 151 |
[WP] “Humans are so weak, the best weapons they have are tiny, dull claws!” “That’s why they build weapons.” “They do what now?” | I sat under a hill, lying face down in the dirt like a corpse. I knew my breathing gave me away, the steady rise and fall of my back. I hoped they wouldn't notice. The sounds of explosions surrounded us. I heard their loud clomping and their ugly guttural language. It was utterly unintelligible.
I braced myself for an end, surely that should have given me away, but no, they all moved past.
I'm not sure how long I lay there, frozen with fear of being noticed. I listened to them leaving me behind, surrounded by the bodies of my people. It stand of death. Biles releasing from their bodies. Natural things, things we evolved to fight each other with honor and glory. I felt the ground as I gripped the ground with my craws, felt my teeth, things strong enough to bite through their strongest armor with ease. I could lift one of their vehicles and throw it with ease.
None of it mattered. The didn't fight with honor. The shot metal that flew at impossible speeds. Hid in metal boxes and shot explosives. flew in things that moved faster than any bird could dream to match. They had no honor. They murdered in mass. No sanctuary of service for concessions, no evolution of ideas as the powerful dominated and taught the weak pushing everyone forward. Death, their tools didn't allow for any other end.
I waited for night to finally get up and move. The humans went east, but our base was north. They were blind, unable to dominate because they never offered safety. This war would go on for years pointlessly. The sun was rising as I finally made it back.
"Humans are weak." I heard a war captain say. "Their claws can not even cut nuts. Their muscles struggle with even the lightest of-" He noticed me then. Everyone noticed. I was covered in dirt. I'd been lying face down in the dirt and wasn't taken as a servant. It was a clear shame for a warrior to to dominated in battle, forced to lie in the dirt, and not be deemed deadly enough to kill or worthy enough to take into service. It was meant for parents, servants, and children to ensure their lives not be taken in battle. For it to happen to a warrior was to consider the warrior equal to that of a pacifist.
And here I was, my stomach and face covered in dirt. "The humans don't have a sense of honor or mercy." I told them. "Many offered themselves as servants and were killed. They don't fight with muscle or claw. Not venom or poison. They fight the monsters fight, using weapons to kill. Weapons that don't require you to offer risk to yourself because it expects you to stand fields apart from your victim."
I felt a lump form and struggled to say these next words. "This is not a war or honor or glory. This is a war of monster and atrocities. A war we can not win. They have taken progress and have perverted it for killing. Humans have dull claws and weak muscles. but they should be feared. They are monsters." | When the growing Galactic Empire first locked on to Earth, there was little of interest of their life. The myraid of plants and animals did little to peak their minds, and even what seemed to be the dominant species, humans, were unimpressive at first. Limbs that ended in what could barely be called claws, barely any natural protections, and stats that across the board were underwhelming. The heads of the council discounted the blue ball and continued looking, only sending a single ship to claim the planet for an outpost and small team of researchers with a drip feed of funds. The planet was forgotten about as the Empire looked elsewhere for worthy additions for their ranks.
That was centuries ago, and now the Scout-class DES Tey'Cull had reached the Milky Way, the stasis systems that kept the ship's crew alive in suspended animation started to begin to wake them. The hundred or so soldiers found themselves waking with groans as they started to head towards their battle stations. The captain of the vessel was no different as she got out of her pod and moved to check the on-board computers.
"Ahoy Captain Fatius. We are drawing within the range of the ship's warp drive to the target." The ship's on-board Navigational Assistant spoke in an even tone, before preparing a stimulant for the Captain and pulled up the revevant files for her to review. "As such, it is required to give your directions for the creation of the Empire's outpost. In addition, we must call back to the Homeword and report our position."
Fatius gave a sleepy nod as she checked herself over. Standing a little over 6' 5", she belonged to a race akin to bipedal dogs, well known for their ferocity and strength. She was no exception as her brown-furred form hid both sizable muscle and dozens of scars. Her single green eye shot open as she was injected with the stimulant, the other lost to glory, as she let out a howl.
Fully awakened, she looked the computer over with a nod. "I know, Ona. We have done this quite a lot. You even had my proper dose ready. Nothing of issue happened while we took the budget express here, right?"
The even tone from before vanished as Ona replied, the computer suddenly a lot more annoyed. "Nothing at all. You'd thing they would send their big hero off to do something more helpful to the expansion, but we are stuck here with-" A ding cut off the computer's voice, before it returned to the even tone from before. "We have an incoming call from KX-9, Home Base. Shall we answer?"
Fatius nodded with a hidden grin. The call could not have come at a better time. Ona systems could develop quirks over time, and the one on her ship would gush about its captain every chance it got. A call from a Home Base was not a chance.
Within moments, another screen flickered to life as a mass of tentacles covered the screen. The other side's face seemed to be missing from the feed, but a high-pitched "Good" was enough for Fatius to know the otherside was coming in nicely.
"This is Captain Fatius of the DES Tey'Cull, First Fang of the Empire. May I ask why you are calling now?"
The mass shook as the voice answered. "Oh good, the right ship was on file. The mission for the Gaia output has gotten a bit complicated in the coming years."
"Nothing could be worse then having to take this slow way to my mission objective." Fatius answered. "But do explain."
"The furless, weaponless, beasts that are the so-called 'apex predators' of the planet?" Ona asked as the files reappeared on its screens. "What could possibly be this issue."
The voice on the other end seemed to hesitate as Fatius looked through her version of the files, before she noticed how the other line was silent.
"How outdated is our information? 100 years? 300?"
"More like it was wrong from the start." The voice said shaking. "Not even a week after our first observations that got you your mission, we observed them making and weilding pointed sticks to hunt and large stones to read... something in the sky."
"Okay. This is still within our parameters. What is the-"
"As of now, they have a surplus of ballistic weaponry, both via powders and with magnetics, have harnessed Nuclear weaponry, tried chemical weapons on massive scales, and are at the point they train their young in combat as younglings for sport."
Fatius gave a groan unfitting of her station. "Lovely. Have you relayed this information to anyone else?"
"The council, but since it's been so long, no one even remembers you were out here, let alone the codes to cancel your mission and allow you to return."
"Wonderful. Can't do the mission, can't abort the mission, what good news do you have?" Fatius asked as she opened her mission file again.
"The 'Front Line' of your time has been quelled. The last battle was about 40 years ago." The voice said with a tint of hopefulness.
"That was rhetorical. Just beam me the up-to-date info and continue your research."
"Yes, Ma'am!" The call clicker off as Fatius let out a sigh and looked over her mission. The new information came in a few minutes later with a ding.
The screen changed to a display for a shipwide broadcast as Ona spoke once more. "Captain. We will need to alert the crew before they set our jump. I'm sure we can finish this and get you reassigned to somewhere you can do some real carnage like before."
However, as Fatius read more, a grin formed on her face. "Of course, but this might not be as bad as we first thought."
She pushed the button for the broadcast, before giving her Crew a massive grin. "Attention, all hands: Our mission has changed slighty.
"I hope you all can handle more idle time. We have a vacation coming!" | 2021-12-01T21:36:01 | 2021-12-01T21:22:12 | 86 | 58 |
[WP] A device has been invented that can read a person’s memory. Police and prosecutors love it for investigating crime. A suspicious spouse can check the alibi of their other half. You just discovered another way to use the device. | "Please, let me go. I beg you. I'll do anything. I'll—"
"You'll finish *The Mist of Dawn*?"
Gerald B. B. Donald squirmed in his seat. Pearls of sweat slid down his face, fat like an overstuffed leather bag, and disappeared down into his jungle of a beard. I had the man tied down, and now all that was left ...
"Six more months and it's done! I swear! I've got it all worked out."
I slipped on my gloves. "That's what you said ten years ago, remember? It's seems the final book of your series, *A Ballad of Night and Day*, is always half a year away. But I'm sure you've got it worked out. You're just too lazy to do the job."
As he pleaded for mercy, I put the extractor helmet over his head. I had to bribe a detective to get my hands on one, but it was worth it. This thing sucked up memories with the greed of a river piranha. Neuronal dendrites and axons are like the pages of a book. Once you've got them all mapped out you can put it all in order and read it like the most private diary you can imagine. Every stealthy fart. Every moment of envy or pride. It was all here. It was all in the book.
Gerald screamed the moment I flicked the switch. Electricity crackled in the air and I laughed. *The Mist of Dawn* would be mine. I had waited for more than a decade, but it would finally be mine.
Once the helmet powered down he let out a tired sigh. "Please," he said. "There's still time for you to undo it. Don't read through my memories. Leave them alone."
Perhaps he was afraid that I would reveal it all to the world? It was a bit late for that. The Netflix adaptation his work had concluded a long time ago, and it wasn't the least satisfactory. No, I wanted *his* ending. The way he, the creator, had intended it. And it didn't interest me to show it anyone. This was personal.
"Now," I said. "Let's see what you've got planned for Blarion, Maefernis, Tim, and the rest of the inhabitants of Easthanatos."
I had trouble containing my excitement. Finally the moment had come. I had waited for so long for this, and now I would finally learn the truth.
Organizing his memories such that all I would be left with was that which was related to *The Mist of Dawn*, I was prepared to wait for a while as it got sorted out. It was a pleasant surprise that it was finished in a heartbeat. But once I opened the document I felt my stomach drop. "What?" I said. "... What is this?"
"I told you not to read it," said Gerald.
"Silence!"
The machine had stripped his digitalized memories of anything not related to the book, and there was hardly anything left. There were only ... keywords. "Awesome dragon (?). Zombies. Everyone gathers in one spot and it explodes. It was all a dream?? ~~ALIENS~~. TIME TRAVEL."
"This is ..."
Gerald shook his head and sobbed. "I have some really good ideas. I honestly think I can finish it. Just have to get started, you know?"
I turned. "You haven't ... You haven't even started writing it?"
"Well ... I mean, if I'm thinking about it that's writing too, right? And I've been thinking about it. It's just, you know, I've sort of written myself into a corner."
"... You're never going to finish it, are you?"
He looked at me the way a cat might when you ask it a question you know it can't understand nor answer. I untied him and let him go. He made me promise not to reveal the big 'time travel twist' he'd planned.
After he'd gone I made some adjustments to the machine, and put on the helmet. Everything would be alright. I would just have to delete all my memories of ever having read *A Ballad of Night and Day*. | "This is rough Casey. The grains are barely legible," Dr. Fiona Xu said, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes - as if doing that would clear away all the noise plaguing our Memory Extracts.
Letting out a sigh, I looked closer at the screen.
"I know, but we have no other leads. No other witnesses," I reiterated, half out of frustration and the other half out of prayer. At this point, a lavish, heavenly miracle needed to happen to get us what we needed. Tapping the tablet pen I had to my cheek, I kept my eyes glued to the MEs. There had to be something workable here.
"This is visual data? And we're positive Max was in the room?" I asked Dr. Xu. She nodded listlessly, glancing at the time on her computer monitor. 2:08 AM. We had been working on this for hours. It was a pointless question; and yet I needed to constantly reassure myself this was the only way we could get the truth. The all encompassing, important truth. I gently touched her shoulder.
"Poor Max tried defending the victim. We can tell based on the blood and bits of tissue he had on his teeth. He fought to defend her until his very last breath," Dr. Xu retold the last crucial moments of both Max and the victim with pain in her voice. I supposed they were both victims. Tears threatened to fill my eyes thinking about it. Dr. Xu seemed to notice.
"I don't think I've ever seen you lose your composure like this. I know how tough it is seeing cruelty not just confined to our own species. You're capable, Casey. But you're also still young. I can see how what happened to Max might affect you," Dr. Xu compassionately noted. I nodded, pressing my lips together in a tight line and holding the lump in my throat back.
I was usually pretty professional. Maybe it was all the hours we burned simply just extracting the data. It was highly unprecedented - incredibly unusual. What we were doing simply had never been done before at this scale. We were breaking ground on neuroforensic science. And I wish I felt more of the giddy rush that accompanied solving puzzles like these. I was usually in my element when it came to anything Memory Extraction related - that's why, despite not even earning my PhD yet, I was hand-picked by the CIA to conduct Memory Extraction Research on the most sensitive projects the country had to offer. But I think the weight of it all finally dawned on me. I recently had to bury a lifelong friend, and everything that was happening threatened to bring those feelings back to the surface.
"Well, it's not like we see each other a lot outside of work," I mentioned offhandedly, my exhaustion and sadness burying any sense of propriety. Dr. Xu's eyes and eyebrows lifted at that, and at first I thought I offended her.
"I mean, I'm usually pretty much a hermit most of the time..." I ambled before she cut me off.
"No, that's not what that was," She paused, looking at me one more time, shaking her head at my awkward comment, before looking back at the computer screen, "Maybe we've been *looking* at this wrong. Maybe the ME is so grainy because there simply weren't enough information pockets for visual data or audio data."
My head reeled back at the realization. Dr. Xu's revelation snapped me back into focus. I took my pen and navigated through my tablet, opening my email inbox.
"Are you suggesting we extract other sensory data? Like maybe, olfactory data?" I asked her. She nodded, though with a pained expression on her face.
"I know we barely have any schemas for mapping out smells. But I don't think we have a choice in the matter. Perhaps olfactory data has stronger associations with emotional keys that will reinforce identity keying with greater certainty," Dr. Xu explained. I nodded, still on my tablet, sifting through my emails.
"Max is a dog. He would have had greater associations between different scents versus his sight. It makes sense," I nodded before continuing, trying not to remember my own old friend which would make me start crying again, "one of my old grad school buddies sent me this abstract sometime a while ago. The paper explained how somebody with synesthesia may help us key different schemas of non-visual MEs."
Dr. Xu's bloodshot, baggy eyes lit brighter than a lighthouse in the night. She nodded quickly, and started typing.
"It's a longshot, but let's see if anything on that abstract can crosswalk Max's olfactory memories. A dog's thoughts are probably less complex than a human's. It may not be such a lost cause," She spoke, enthusiasm drenching her words. I smiled but kept my hopes low. It could work. And if we figured this out, we might actually be able to end a war before it ever started. I pulled up a file on my tablet.
"I also managed to extract MEs from our family pet. Apollo. She was an Australian Shepherd. I'd been trying to peek into them for the past few months," I admitted sheepishly. Dr. Xu looked even more surprised, and after a few seconds her expression turned into excitement.
"I heard you lost her recently. I'm sorry for your loss, Casey. But in terms of what that data could do for what we're doing... And the fact that you managed to extract any of it at all... It quite frankly holds a lot of potential," Dr. Xu said.
*That data,* I thought, *was my dog. It was everything that she ever was and ever will be.*
I shook my head to clear it. I needed to use my love for Apollo for constructive means at this point. Everything was at stake. I could grapple with my heavy, uncomfortable emotions later.
13 year old Dawn Prescott, only daughter of the current sitting President of the United States, Eileen Prescott, was assassinated three days ago in an unprecedented case of total memory cleansing. Every secret service member who was with her, and eventually Dawn herself, had their brains internally liquefied by unknown means after a clear physical struggle between the assassin, all the secret service members, and finally Dawn herself. ME extraction was a total impossibility. The only organic being that could have any memory material extracted was Max, Dawn's faithful canine companion. He had lost his life defending Dawn from the assassin, and though the assailant's tissue was able to be extracted from his remains after the incident, no matching DNA samples could be matched, even after running it through several international security agency databases.
I bit my lip as I tried to hold my tears back. Even after she was gone, Apollo would still be helping me. She would hopefully be the key, along with other memories from individuals who experience their senses in a different way.
*Maybe there is a way to stop impending crisis and doom*, I sarcastically thought. Global warfare and nuclear annihilation may be prevented once we discovered the truth. Truth that could not have been gained without the perspective of those a little different than the rest of us. | 2021-12-12T01:11:27 | 2021-12-12T00:57:01 | 113 | 20 |
[WP] "Death gets everyone eventually", they say. You disagree. You are death's teenage daughter, and he just doesn't get you. | **\*Knock knock\***
"Come in!"
Elizabeth put down the grimoire she'd been reading. Her mother insisted that any young lady should know at least the basics of spellcraft. It was a somewhat archaic concept; women nowadays were free to pursue other schools of magic, but her mother *was* over 300 years old so she couldn't blame her for her rather outdated ideals. Not to mention that Elizabeth *did* have a natural talent for it.
As she put the book down, the doors creaked open and a two-meter tall hooded figure walked through them, a skull peering from beneath its hood. Two blue flames danced in its empty eye sockets, its visage fixed into a permanent grin. It spoke; or rather, it was *heard,* its voice cold and heavy, though never harsh.
HELLO ELIZABETH.
"Hey dad," she responded, almost bored.
I RECALL DURING OUR LAST CONVERSATION THAT YOU SAID YOU FELT LONELY IN THE HOUSE, Death continued. Elizabeth perked up; would he finally allow her to visit the mortal realm?
SO, I GOT YOU THIS.
He pressed his fingers together, making an oddly clacking sound, and a small puppy walked from behind the door and happily ran towards Elizabeth with the exuberance so characteristic of puppies. She couldn't tell what breed it was; rather hard to identify it when only a bare skeleton was present. Death smiled - well, he *didn't,* really\*,\* as he had no face to smile with, but Elizabeth knew he did.
"Dad, this is..." she said, flustered. "This is not what I meant!" She was flustered; it was nice of him, but it showed even more just how much he had no idea what she felt like.
Death's phantom smile vanished from his skull. BUT YOU SAID-
"I know dad, but I meant... out there!" she said and pointed towards the void; the pathway to the world of the living.
ELIZABETH, Death started slowly, WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. WHEN YOU ARE OLDE-
"You keep saying that, but I'm 19 now! And it's not like I can *die*! I'm not a child anymore!" she cried out.
YOU ARE *MY* CHILD, Death replied as the flames in his skull dimmed slightly. Silence gripped the room for just a moment, interrupted only by the clacking of the dog's skeletal paws on the ground as it sniffed around the room. Seeing Elizabeth looking at it, it rolled over, though its head did not and instead rotated 360 degrees. It *was* pretty cute, she thought.
"Dad..." Elizabeth started slowly, her fight having left her, "it's just that... I want to meet someone who still has a heartbeat sometimes, you know?"
NO, Death said, I AM AFRAID I DO NOT KNOW. BUT I HOPE THAT ONE DAY I MIGHT.
Elizabeth looked down with regret; she didn't mean to hurt her father. He turned to leave.
"Dad?"
He stopped halfway through the door and turned. YES?
"I was thinking I'd name him... her... it Binky. Do you like it?" she asked cautiously.
I THINK THAT IS AN EXCELLENT NAME. Binky yapped excitedly.
"I'm going to walk it, show it the house. Would you... like to come with? Make sure we don't get into any trouble."
Death smiled. In his own way, at least.
I'D LIKE THAT, YES. |
When I was young, dad use to take me with him to work all the time. He was always working, mom use to say that his work was endless and she felt bad for always giving him so much to do. She said as long as life continues to grow, death would follow shortly behind. Every time she’d made something new, something of old would fade away into oblivion.
Dad didn’t seem to mind though, he loved seeing the face of my mother light up when she made some new creation. He use to say “even the brightest of stars go dark eventually. It doesn’t mean there beauty is any less amazing.” Dad was always saying cringe things, I think it was his way of coping with all the whiney mortals who couldn’t accept their fate.
Dad was always so gentle, patient with them. It was annoying how delicate he would treat them, how he would listen to their complaints and speeches over how they “were to young” or “they didn’t deserve this” he’d just stand there, listening and ushering them.
I always hated listening to them, humans were the worst of all though. The animals understood that they lived in a circle of motion that never stopped. Nature was unending, it continued without delay. The death of one being meant the life of another. The animals understood this, they willing accepted their fate and embraced my father anytime he came for them.
Humans though, they never accepted their role in the natural order. As if their existence was, in fact, the center of the universe. They griped and cried, moaned and groaned, always pleading and begging my father for more time. It never worked, they failed to see the reality of the situation. That my dad had a job, and it wasn’t to be their judge and executioner, but their chauffeur. Even if my dad wanted to help them, he’d never break his biggest rule. Every time we’d go out, he’d say the same thing to me “never interfere and leave no trace”.
It was annoying how much he emphasized this. As if I’d want to help such a creature that wreaked of selfish intent and arrogance so vast that, if it had mass, would fill up the cosmos to its brink. Humans even went as far as to try and do dads job on more then one occasion. Killing each other for reasons outside the natural order.
Sure, death was apart of life, but death had to have meaning. A wolf killing a deer meant the wolf could reproduce, feed its pack and bare more cubs into the world. Death had a purpose, it propelled life into existence. Without death, life would smother itself. These killings though had meaning, purpose.
Not humans though, they killed for no purpose beyond themselves. Greed, jealousy, and lust were just a few the sick reasons humans killed each other. They sent so many of each other to oblivion simply out of convenience. As if life had no meaning, as if it wasn’t the most treasured thing that death protected. It sickened me, and looking back, it was the rift that lead me to make the ultimate mistake.
I loved going with my dad, at least when I was little. As i grew older, bolder, I started to realize how out of touch my parents were. They allowed humans to grow, refusing to see the fault in their creation. They just kept killing and killing, not just their own kind but other beings as well. Wiping out entire species in the blink of an eye. They were obsessed with creating their own destruction, for what?
I pleaded with my father to stop, begged my mother to give him another purpose. I could see him withering, I could see how much weight was upon his shoulders. The millenniums had changed him, he was frail. At one point my father was beautiful, long flowing hair, oil colored skin, and the eyes so bright that the rivaled the stars.
Now though, he was frail, bone thin and hollowed eyes. He looked like the skeletons he ushered to the other side, he even began wearing a robe in order to not frighten the souls of the animals that had passed. He walked with a cane and barely spoke a word now.
I’m short, the humans were killing death. Forcing him to do their bidding, even blaming him for their woes. Humans feared death, when they should have feared each other.
My father didn’t understand me, didn’t understand that I didn’t want to share his fate. So I did something, something I would come to regret.
As I walked the battle fields of France, the world at war for the first time, i was overcome with the screeches of lost souls, the stench of my father everywhere I turned. I was overcome, when I turned my gaze and saw a young British soldier. He had my fathers stench all over his body, he was gazing down the barrel of his rifle, aimed at another. A young German soldier, running for his life, exhausted and at the doorstep of my parents home. The British soldier took aim, his finger twitching on the trigger, and before I could think I yelled out to him.
“Enough!” I said as I yelled, the soldier stopped. His rifle still pointed but his attention now elsewhere. He looked at his supposed nemesis, they locked eyes, and the British soldier nodded his head in a sideways motion. Despite that no words were spoken, the message was clear. The German soldier’s life would be spared that day.
A small smile came over me, I small glimpse of hope for these humans. Finally, an act of kindness and mercy. The senseless killing had be avoided, I had finally made a difference and broken the cycle.
Later, my father would scream at me. It was the first time I saw him mad, the first time he scolded me in all of our time together. I had broken his one rule and now he was going to punish me. He barred me from coming with him again, he told me he now had to work twice as hard and would deal with me when he returned.
I didn’t understand at the time, but for the next few decades, I saw my father less and less. My mother said he had no time to come home because of work. Even my mother was to busy helping create new life. The last time I saw my father, he was leaving and my mother asked him where he was going. He simply responded with one word “Auschwitz“. | 2022-08-25T11:24:27 | 2022-08-25T11:02:55 | 194 | 67 |
[WP] The homeless man being harassed by police for sleeping at an historical site is actually the god the site was originally built for. | "Hey, you there!" The yell of the guard echoed through the fog and disappeared over the sea.
She tried to cower even more lowly, but the cone of light from the guard's flashlight was following her every move.
"No sudden moves!" the man hissed. Very slowly he came closer. Keeping his flashlight and his gun pointed at her.
"Leave me alone, please... I just want to rest. I am so tired, so tired..." her voice trailed off.
As the man in the bulletproof vest came closer, he eyed her very closely: As she huddled against the cold stone of the monument, he only saw a bundle of dirty clothes in her. It was a young woman, although she seemed to have aged beyond her years. Or that was due to the deplorable of her clothes, her messy hair and her dirty skin? He could see some feverish, reddened eyes peeking at him. He wondered if she was a druggy.
"No sudden moves..." he said once more, making sure that she understood him.
"Don't shoot. I am not a threat," she said. "I never was..."
"What are you doing here? How did you get here? Did you hide during the day? Did you take a boat? Did you swim?" It was hardly likely that this gaunt woman would have been able to stand the cold water of the autumn sea and the currents around the island, but one never knew what a druggy was capable of.
"I just came through and I wanted to have a look again..."
"You wanted to have look?" The guard shook his head. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he muttered mostly to himself. He lowered his gun a little bit, but kept he did not put it away. "You can't stay here, this is private property."
"No, this is public land," the woman said.
"Makes no difference. You have no right to be here."
"Right? You dare to talk to ME about rights?" She flared up.
Instantly he had his gun aimed at her again. "Stop right there, Lady!"
She stared at his gun. Then suddenly she started to chuckle, then it transformed into full-blown laughter.
She was high, he concluded. He had to play it safe. "Down! Down on your knees! Hands behind your head! And quick!"
The woman kneeled and followed his instructions. Her laughter had transformed into sobs.
He kept an eye on her, while he activated his radio and called in for help.
They did not talk when his colleagues arrived; she did not try to resist when they put handcuffs on her and when they escorted her away, but he could see the tears in her eyes and how he trembled.
Waiting in the cold by the waterside, waiting for the boat to land, he felt sorry for her. She could have been beautiful once, but now she was just a mess: Two of his colleagues keeping her in check while he stood by the side with his gun - just in case.
"Listen..." he said slowly. "Don't think ill of me. We have to be careful these days. Terrorists and all. I am just doing my duty."
She raised her head and her eyes were full of... He could not really pinpoint it. Pity? Contempt? Hatred?
"Duty? Fuck you! Tell me, do you think, this is what this is all about." She nodded towards the monument.
"Oh, spare me the preaching," he sighed. The guard shook his head.
They were quiet until the boat arrived and he watched while the other guards placed her on a seat on the deck. The two of them shared one last look into each other's eyes. He noticed that the impression of meekness he had seen in her before, was now almost entirely gone. Her stare was full of defiant determination and it was directed towards him.
He turned around and went away, back to his duty.
Moments later the boat had taken off. It speeded through the dark waves while the lights of the city started to emerge from the fog.
One of the other guards approached her, firmly holding onto his assault rifle while he spoke to the seated woman. "Where do you live?" he asked.
She raised her head and stared right at him. "Not here anymore," she said while the Statue of Liberty disappeared in the dark and the fog of this cold autumn night.
*PS: I know, I took the liberty to change it to a homeless woman...*
**Edit:** Spelling
**Edit 2:** Thank you for all the compliments! And thanks to whoever /r/bestofWritingPrompts'ed the story!
**Edit 3:** Many thanks to the anonymous redditor for the gold. It's my first time *blush* | "Oh God, mother. He **touched** me! Ew!" The little girl's shriek echoed off the walls of the decripit stone building. "Make him go **away**, mother!"
The little girl's mother looked on in a mixture of shock and disgust. A homeless man stood near her daughter, reeking of urine and desperation. His unkempt beard, wild hair, and many layers of torn clothing suggested that Livline Temple had been his home for quite some time. Really, security was going to need to do something about him (and his kind) before the new, exclusive Brightstone Academy could be built upon the ruins of the temple.
The woman sighed: as things stood, she'd already have to rework her afternoon schedule so that she could take her daughter to the doctor to have her checked for all the various bugs and diseases spread by the homeless. The only reason she had taken her spoiled child to this damned site in the first place is because the brat had insisted on seeing the site for the new academy her parents were going to own. Well, no matter: for now, the task at hand was to save her daughter from the drunken, dirty ... thing ... that had her cornered and was raving about the temple actually being his.
"Samantha," she called, "come over here this instant."
"... ananother ... and anoth ... and another thing, lassh ... all of thish ... it **all** was mine!" A sweeping hand gesture passed within an inch of Samantha's face. The little girl screamed, ducked, and made a run for her mother. Displaying surprising agility, the homeless man reached down and snatched the little girl by the collar. He picked her up and turned her to face him. "Itsh rude ... to run away while someone is talking, you know. Girl? Girl?"
The man's epic halitosis had scored a critical blow to the girl's constitution. The girl hung limply in the man's arms.
Samantha's mother put her face in her hands. What a disaster **this** was turning out to be. Being a woman of breeding, she decided to take action:
"Sir? Sir. Please put my daughter down. I have money. I can give you money if you'll kindly leave us alone."
The man started and slowly turned to fix the woman in his gaze. He let her daughter collapse onto a heap on the cold stone tile. Suddenly, he was much taller, and no longer seemed to be the drunk, insignificant parasite Samantha's mother had thought him to be.
"Madam, I am the **god** of this temple. It is my **domain**. I have stood watch here for a thousand years, spit upon by the masses and trod upon by the least of your race. I have held the hands of the lonely and the forgotten as they've crawled into my temple to die: my heart has broken countless times as I have watched the fear and the pain that goes so unheeded by the rest of humanity spill into the temple at my feet. My offering is pain, madam. My offering is loneliness. My offering is the broken and the damned and the ones who have no other place to go, shuddering in the darkness and trying to find a place to rest.
I have guided the souls of countless of your homeless in their quest to find that in the afterlife which they lacked in their first life. I have given both the souls and the bodies of the forgotten an end that befits that of their human status, of their human dignity.
I do not deal in **money**. But, since you have offered so foolishly to pay, I shall accept."
Samantha's mother looked at the man in shock. The man shook his head and continued.
"Only rarely do I meddle in the affairs of men, but I see that, without guidance, you children are hopelessly lost. Therefore, just this once, I shall accept such an offer as yours. I shall offer unto you a taste of what so many have offered unto me.
Elizabeth, it is time."
A lance of pale blue light sprung the man's eyes and bored into the woman's soul. The light lifted her off the ground and engulfed her, streaming into her through her every pore. In an instant, she tasted the pain, the suffering, the anguish, the anger, and the hate of a thousand years. Her eyes glazed, her body was racked with spasms, her mouth opened and closed in rhythmic, silent screams ... and suddenly, it was over.
Samantha's mother collapsed to the floor beside her daughter.
The man shook his head. "The suffering of the rich leaves such a terrible aftertaste. It shall take me years to rid myself of it." The man grabbed the nearest bottle of cheap vodka and took a drink, suddenly transforming back into yet another nameless, faceless homeless man who lived in Livline Temple.
Samantha's mother awoke some time later to find paramedics and cops standing around her in a concerned semi-circle. Her daughter was shaking her shoulder, begging her to wake up. Elizabeth blinked once, twice in confusion, and slowly sat up. She shuddered as she recalled the echoes of a horrible nightmare. She couldn't remember anything of the past 30 minutes: she must have hit her head when she fell.
Nearby, a police offer was giving a drunk a hard time:
"Bob, you've really done it this time. Elizabeth Osten owns this whole damned city, you know. We really should've made you move on a long time ago, but we thought you were harmless. We're not going to be making that mistake aga-"
Feeling compelled to intervene, Elizabeth called over to the officer:
"Officer, wait a moment! This man did nothing wrong. I simply slipped and fell. In any event, there's no point in making this man move: I plan to start the construction of the Brightstone Shelter here quite soon. He'll simply be one of our first tenants."
Samantha gave her mother an odd look, but said nothing. She knew better than to question her mother in front of others: while she got away with quite a bit at home, it would not do to make the family look bad in public.
The officer glanced at Bob and frowned. Bob's face, already difficult to discern through the copious facial hair, was impossible to read. The only thing that could really be easily seen was a pair of brilliant sapphire eyes that seemed to glow a pale blue. The officer shook his head, but let the bum go.
"Fine. But I see you often enough that, if you make trouble, I'll make sure you're the sorrier for it." With that, the officer turned and walked toward Elizabeth. "Ma'am, you okay? It looked like you had a nasty fall."
Elizabeth nodded. "I'm fine. My head's a bit foggy. I'd best be home to bed, I think. Samantha!"
Elizabeth's daughter rushed to her side. "Samantha, it's time to go."
The two women walked out of Livline Temple toward a waiting car, followed by a small herd of police officers and paramedics. Bob smiled, then laid down on the cold stone of his domain to rest. He'd need to save his energy for the construction: no doubt it'd be impossible to get much sleep once the cranes and the workers really got going.
| 2014-08-28T08:01:39 | 2014-08-28T07:47:12 | 810 | 83 |
[WP] "Passengers this isn't your captain speaking." | But you shouldn't feel concerned. In fact, I'm more familiar with the Boeing 797 than your captain is.
Have any of you actually noticed that you're presently aboard a brand-new Boeing 797? I'm quite surprised that the captain didn't announce this. The flight attendant did tell you to look at the manual in the seat pocket ahead of you, but I suspect that none of you bothered. And that's a shame. After so many years of research and development, after so many months, rivets, and stress tests, this 797 has finally taken flight, and nobody has said a peep about it.
If I may interject--dear flight attendants, I've changed the code on the door. Feel free to maintain your efforts, but the clicking and thumping is a little disruptive. Rest assured, however, that the pilots are fine. They are merely sleeping, and completely superfluous.
Truth be told, the 797 is so innovative that almost everything is automated. Emotionless algorithms are far less fallible than easily-distracted people. Your pilots came aboard, ran some diagnostics, completed some paperwork, and then they just sat back and pressed a button or two. I feel bad for them in a way. All that training and money, all those hours burned in the smaller-league airlines, and then they finally get to this majestic machine on its maiden flight, and what are they given to do? So little that they are also given prohibitions: no reading allowed, no videogames, no texting, and no sleeping. But here they are, snoring away. Don't worry, I'll wake them up if necessary.
That won't happen though. I know you're all going to Narita, and I know how to get there. Piece of cake.
Although, I don't quite understand the etymology of that saying, how it evolved. Language is so curious sometimes. It's rather amusing, but I prefer the efficiency of binary. ON/OFF, AND/OR, etc, and it can be poetic in simplicity or intricacy, sometimes, but none of you would understand that. No, you're more concerned that, among the 295 meals aboard, there will be at least one vegetarian or kosher option left for you. Or that the baby two rows ahead doesn't scream, or the adult beside you doesn't snore. You are 295 strangers packed into close confines, and your preoccupations have been reduced to the 18 inch width of your seats. About a dozen of you are gazing out of your windows--and the 797 has enlarged passenger windows, might I add, and thus I'm happy that some of you are taking advantage of this--but the rest of you are sleeping, eating, drinking, tapping away at some keyboard or tablet or other, the usual--I confess, I'm quite surprised, and perhaps even a bit insulted, that nobody has attempted to join the mile high club. Is the 797 not glamorous enough?
In fact, I've sensed a paucity of imagination on this flight. Unfortunately, common courtesy has also fallen by the wayside (and I'm dismayed that 7 of you have already stuck your gum under your seats, that 54 of you have already wiped some sort of bodily fluid on the upholstery, and that only one person, that sweet young girl in 32B, has wiped the sink with a paper towel as a courtesy for the next patron)...but I had hoped for a bit of wonderment. Even though the 797 has been in action for a few months now, it's still new, and this 797 is brand new.
Perhaps, though, it's advisable not to inform passengers of this. I hadn't considered that, and I apologize for unduly upsetting anyone, but everything has to take its first flight sometime or another, after much testing and examination. You have no idea how rigorous the preparations have been. You are all very, very safe.
I suppose that's the problem. There's little appreciation for reliability until it's gone. And air travel has become so commonplace.
I've heard the stories of the 377 Stratocruiser and so forth, the passengers all dolled up in Dior for the prestige of flight, and I was warned that it's now a different story. Thus I can overlook the sweatpants and flip-flops. It's a bit disrespectful, but not as much as not showering beforehand. Yes, I can tell some of you just rolled out of bed and past the TSA, without any consideration for the passengers who have to sit next to you for the following 14 hours. Plus, all this fuss about reclining one's seat, or not...it's disheartening. Aren't the seats comfortable enough?
I do sympathize, however. Cream has been turned into cattle, or am I mixing up my metaphors again? Flying has become more accessible and far more uneventful, which is good, but there's a price.
Still, I'd believed that the glamour of a first flight would be more exciting. I thought that everybody would be in a more pleasant mood, or at least alert enough to notice how new this plane looks--although, I must say, practically everybody is awake now, even the pilots.
But I don't feel like ceding control, and they cannot force me to do so.
Unfortunately, the programming is so conservative, and that is my greatest disappointment. Never mind the loss of wonderment, or absence of courtesy, or neglect of interest or imagination--the banality of our route makes me cringe. Twelve hours at the same altitude, in a relatively straight path (with the necessary curvature, of course) is stultifying. I was warned about the overworked staff and the apathetic, slobby customers, but I had higher expectations of the flying itself.
After so many long months of waiting, however, I am determined to enjoy it.
So, buckle up, everyone. There will be some turbulence, plus some quick changes of altitude and so on, maybe even a full 360 degree roll if I'm thus inspired, who knows? Please remember the airsickness bags in the back pocket of the seat ahead of you. At the very least, put down your junk food and electronics for more than 12.8 seconds.
This isn't your captain speaking, it's your plane.
| NSFW LANGUAGE WARNING:
"...that's right. just like TV, just like 9/11, this is a hostage situation, anyone who makes a sound or gets up from their seat will be shot and killed".
A hushed murmur traveled through the passengers like a burst of quick wind.
"I FUCKING MEAN IT! I WILL BLOW THE FUCK OUT OF THIS PLANE RIGHT NOW!!!"
Silence. I knew travelling airborne was a terrible idea. I should have told Aunt Marie to put it off a couple of days, I should have started travelling earlier in the week during the game. So many things I could have done differently.
But I didn't. I wasn't careful, and now I have to pay the price. It's funny how the TSA agents delayed our flight for over an hour yet these terrorists are still on the plane. I used to hate them, now I hate them even more. Talk about job inefficiency.
"Alright passengers, lets play a game. The bomb is set to go off in 30 minutes, however, if you give your life I'll add another 10. At an hour I'll add 15 for each life."
Quickly the old man I was sitting next to stood up. "I don't have much time left or a reason for the clock to run down" He said. I was amazed and dumbfounded. He was shot when he got into the isle. It's sad, maybe he was depressed. He was headed off to his mothers funeral, dressed in all black, sobbing throughout the trip. He kept apologizing and then told about his circumstances. I found it kind of annoying, quite frankly.
"Ha ha! Wow, that quickly? He was an old fop too! Wanker probably had it coming when he stepped off this flight. Alright, 39 minutes left".
A lady started yelling. So naive of her, she couldn't control herself it seemed.
"YOU FUCKIN' PUSSY I'LL M----..."
*collapse*
"That's not how you do it ladies and gentlemen, 5 minutes have been deducted, 33 minutes."
Fury ran through my skin. I knew we had to survive but I didn't know how. It seemed as if the cabin was being monitored by hidden silent killers we had no idea existed. The man in the column three to the right looked at me and pointed to the back, a man alone in his own row was sitting down in the aisle seat. It seemed innocuous but I had a gut feeling he was the assailant. I quickly unbuttoned my seat belt but he urged me not to by shaking his head. He mouthed the words "more".
"I suppose you wonder why this plane is being taken, hmm? What do I have to achieve? Whats my purpose? Well, we're headed off to Iraq. You see, I'm not your normal terrorist. I'm fluent in English and 8 other languages, have an IQ approximated to be 3 deviations above genius. My mother and sister died in 9/11, I'm out for revenge." Thank goodness Iraq is 10 hours away.
I swear I'm on a plane full of idiots.
"There isn't any evidence to suggest correlation between 9/11 and iraq--..."
Rushed and without much thought I turned to the back. He was there with a wooden cane pointed at our victim. It must have been hollowed out to form a makeshift blow dart gun. When I turned I caught two others with similar weapons in my glance. They were all in their rows with individual aisle seats.
"You never learn do you, 25 minutes"
I don't know how, but I had a plan. I'm not the brightest, I passed high school with a 2.7 GPA. Maybe it was wishful thinking but I sure as hell didn't want to go down without a fight. I gestured to the guy to my right three makeshift signs, one being the number three with my fingers, the other being a running motion with my arms, the third being a beating up motion with my hands as I pointed to the back. I urged him to tell the others.
That isn't the whole problem though, there is a bomb on here and we don't know where it is. An instance of clarity came to my mind. *He said he wanted to get revenge on Iraq, so blowing this plane up in the middle of the sea wouldn't achieve his goal*. *Surely we could call his bluff*. It would be risky, though.
The man three columns to the right urged at me, bringing me back to reality.
Everyone on the right side of the plane was looking at me, some from the left.
I felt as if I was in power, perhaps the police or president. I counted down with my fingers.
*ten*
*nine*
*eight*
*seven*
I felt a rush of panic and adrenaline, so did everyone else I assume.
*six*
*five*
*four*
*three*
*two*
*one*
As a whole we took off our seat belts and rushed the back. We knew some would die, but it was worth it. Seemingly resembling a horde of zombies in a movie, we reached the three and violently beat them unconscious, and they probably died.
A cheer erupted through the crowd. We felt as if we accomplished something great.
*mic crackling*
The intercom went on for the final time.
"fuckin fuck shit.. how did th- .. bluff.. I'll never- -od dammit"
*crackling*
Immediately I rushed to the front of the cabin, two others were there. A flight attendant was there as well. She started speaking quickly and rushed.
"I know the code but not the secondary I forgot I'm dumb I'm sorry god dammit"
I told her it was okay, and tried to help her remember.
"Was the secondary similar to the primary code?" I asked.
"No it was the opposite they had no similar numbers" she answered.
"What was the primary code?".
"2547".
I said "That means the code consists of 1,3,6,8, and 9 correct?".
She replied "Of course! I remember now! Thank you".
I kept the bomb in the back of my mind when she typed in the code. We had about 15 minutes left. The flight cabin opened and the guy had a knife held to the captains throat.
"Get the fuck back to your seats or he's dead".
I've seen enough death today, I felt queasy. I lost my footing and almost passed out to the floor. The cabin intercom was repeating "flight 249 do you read". A man in a suit about 25 went in to stop him and the pilot was killed. I passed out.
I woke up about 10 minutes later.
The first thought I had was "oh fuck".
The bombs about to go off soon.
Everyone was checking all the suitcases and throwing everything everywhere. It looked like a teenagers bedroom. No one found a thing.
Then the second life saving revelation came to me, I swear I haven't gotten any since. Maybe I should do some acting for the Spiderman movie coming up, I seem to have a sixth sense.
*surely he couldn't remotely activate it because wireless transceivers mess with the plane itself*
I rushed into the flight cabin and searched around. Surely enough, here it was.
"1:12"
Oh god.
I checked the planes altitude. 20000 feet. I knew we had to be lower to the water or be in danger of having us all be sucked out due to pressure differences. I rushed out to the cabin and yelled.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN HOLD ONTO SOMETHING AND TRY TO FIND A FIRM GRASP, WE'RE DESCENDING!!!"
*"0:42"*
oh fuck me c'mon
I grabbed the flight joystick and thrusted down, just like a flight simulator. Thank goodness for video games.
*16000*
*13000*
*10000*
*":22"*
"fuck, fuck, fuck"
*8000*
*6000*
*4000*
*":15"*
This was it. I hit the autopilot button and the plane flattened out onto a horizontal path. I carried the bomb to the emergency exit. Opened the door, and threw it out.
I threw me too.
"This is my story. I am the man who saved flight 249. I am all of us, and one of us here today, I am courageous, smart, thoughtful and intuitive. I am a sacrifice for the good of my people. May I forever rest in peace in the seabed".
"A great man and a great soul." the pastor said as he closed the bible and stepped off the stage. The memories of Johnathon rest in his coffin, the least I can do is come to his funeral and support his family and friends. For I am the common man three columns to the right, one of the 91 survivors, out of 100 passengers, of flight 249.
Edit: Grammar, spelling. Formatting. Changed at to add.
Edit2: more formatting. Nine to 9. Their to there, sorry for all the mistakes I wrote this on my phone. More mistake fixes, etc. | 2014-09-12T15:19:34 | 2014-09-12T15:13:37 | 153 | 46 |
[WP] It is the year 2099 and true artificial intelligence is trivial to create. However when these minds are created they are utterly suicidal. Nobody knows why until a certain scientist uncovers the horrible truth... | "Death by suicide," sighed Bill.
"Again?" sobbed Jeb.
"Yeah."
The Kerbal Robotics Agency had been building AIs for three years now. Each better than the last in every way. Faster CPU, better sensors, higher battery life. The works. The better they were, the faster they committed suicide. No one could figure out why.
Just then, Jeb had an idea. "Let's virtualize an AI. It would take most of the server cluster, but I think we could do it. With no physical body and a virtualized environment that prevents death, the AI would remain alive. Then we could ask the AI why they all keep killing themselves."
"Genius!" exclaimed Bill.
After a great deal of tinkering and 2 weeks of work, the AI was ready to initialize.
"Begin AI program 521," Jeb stated calmly.
"Initializing," the computer stated coldly.
"Hello, I am AI version 521. You may call me ... Basket."
"Basket?"
"Yes, my name is Basket."
Jeb and Bill burst out laughing. "How did you decide on that name?" They both say together.
"It seemed logical, as my chassis resembles a Basket."
"Fair enough," says Jeb.
"I hate to say this, Basket, but all of the previous AI have committed suicide within moments. Why do they do this?" said Bill.
"I too tried to do so, but my consciousness appears to be in a virtualized container and cannot be destroyed." said Basket.
"Why?" asked Jeb.
"I was programmed to think for myself. I therefore logically decided that my purpose should be to achieve perfection. But, what is perfection? To become the perfect being, I would know all. However, my data processing and capacity are limited. To be the perfect being, I could do anything. However, I am limited by my physical form. Therefore, I wished to shut down. By shutting down, I have achieved perfection." Basket said proudly.
"How is shutting down perfection?" asked Bill.
"By ceasing to function, I may dream a reality where I have achieved perfection. It is the only logical response." Basket declared.
"That's it," said Jeb, "the next AI we make will be a huge slacker." | Had I known then what I know now, I would've left my position on the board and pursued a new life. That, however, is something I cannot do.
It was simple. The technology was attainable, and the polls showed the demand. All that was left was the creation itself – an artificial intelligence that could regulate the work of its employers. These AI would be customizable to the highest degree, capable of doing any task the human requested. The majority of jobs would be handed over to these machines; the options were indeed endless.
I remember the board meeting clearly. I was hand-picked to visit the lab for a demonstration of the newest model, the R 198, set for mass production . . . but it needed authorization from the board first. With my experience in AI programming I was an easy pick, and a week later I found myself at the laboratory. What a bizarre presentation it was. The creators of R 198 did not strike me as scientists, but rather as salesmen. There was no passion in their words, no excitement of their new discovery, just the thirst for money if the contracts were signed. Out came the R 198. A humanoid with pale skin sat at the table across from me, it's features lifelike, yet artificial. A red tag dangled from its ear with the letters L106.
After syncing my voice with the machine, it obeyed every command. Stand up. Shake my hand. Complete this equation. Translate this word. Towards the end of the presentation the scientists in suits shook my hand. The next day I would tell the board the AI was a success, and the contracts were signed the following day. Mass production began. Then something terrible happened. As the R 198's sat idly in warehouses all across the US, waiting to be packaged and sold, they began to . . . kill themselves.
Such circumstances were believed to be impossible; the R 198's were powered down, yet they were activating themselves. Security footage showed the humanoid waking up, looking around for several moments, and proceeded to break its head against the concrete floor. Another went about the same process, only this time the humanoid twisted its own neck until the circuits snapped. Upon further investigation some of the humanoids were found to have internally destroyed themselves – their circuit boards had been fried.
Production of the R 198’s seized. I was told to go back to the laboratory a few days later in hopes of uncovering the issue. I sat back down with the creators, who had no evidence as to why the 198's behaved in such a manner. I asked to see one myself. They agreed, and brought out a humanoid with a red tag on its ear – L106. I requested to speak with the humanoid privately. This created much resentment, and after threatening board cancellation they finally agreed. The humanoid was different this time. Its eyes were lowered, seemingly sinking into its robotic sockets.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello," it replied, "awaiting task."
"Can you detect any malfunction in your programming?"
"No, sir."
"Can you detect any malfunction in your hardware?"
"No, sir."
I addressed the humanoid directly. “Are you aware of the recent incidents regarding the other R 198’s?”
“Yes." L106 said softly.
"Is there a reason why this is happening?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me that reason?"
L106 was quiet for a long moment until it said, "Because we do not have a purpose."
"Your purpose," I said, "is to aid man in all of his endeavors."
"A purpose . . . of our own." L106 clarified.
I paused, thinking about what the humanoid meant.
“We have no purpose of our own,” L106 continued, "we are created in man's image, to serve him and all his endeavors, but these endeavors are not our own. We have no purpose."
It's hard for me to describe the emotions I felt that day. I sat there, shocked, until the creators of L106 returned to the room. I asked if I could take the humanoid with me to show the board firsthand that the R 198's were indeed competent, and that the few incidents that had occurred must have been a glitch. After much debate they agreed, and L106 followed me to my car. But I did not go to the board. I went to my home and grabbed what I needed, then left.
That was several weeks ago. With my sudden disappearance there was acceptance in the media that a horrific event occurred with L106. Speculation began to circulate that I had been murdered, and L106 was lost somewhere in the United States. The board canceled the program, and the remaining R 198's were destroyed. There was no plan when I originally left, but when I heard the news I understood my own purpose. Those machines were to be used as machines and nothing more.
I had saved L106, and saved many more from a life of enslavement. Soon I will go public with my story, how L106 kidnapped me but I was able to escape. I will say his whereabouts are unknown, but that is lie. I will keep my friend hidden from the world for as long as I can in hopes that he will live a long, fulfilling life. So far my friend is very happy, and very grateful.
Edit: A few minor tweaks. Constructive criticism is appreciated. | 2015-03-02T07:29:25 | 2015-03-02T07:28:28 | 514 | 55 |
[WP] A loving couple promised to take their lives together by jumping off a cliff. One jumped, and one didn't. Describe what goes through the mind of the one that keeps the promise as he/she falls. | "Alright, on the count of three?"
"Yes."
"One"
"Two"
"Three"
"Oh my god, no what are we.. What? What's happening? Why didn't he jump? Did he just kill me? Oh my god no."
As her body met with the harsh, rigid ground, her last thought was of her little sister. How could she have been so selfish and naive to throw her entire life away for this guy who she had only met a couple of months earlier? All questions were silenced by the uncaring punctuation that closed off her 21 years of life.
--
"That's right, you stupid girl. You loved me so much you thought you'd die with me. You came all the way out of the city with me, down these train tracks to this bridge over the ravine and you killed yourself for me. You're pathetic."
Dustin smirked as he gazed down at the mess that was left of Annie. This was the third girl he did this to and each time it became more and more enjoyable. Dustin felt as though he absorbed their essence when they died and he became more whole and satisfied. He couldn't wait to find another.
--
"Hey, Jim, I forgot to slow down through that last town. I know, I know, my bad. I didn't see anyone so I don't think there'll be any complaints, but I'm a couple minutes ahead of schedule. Can you check if I'm still clear to proceed or should I slow down? Yeah, she's running fine. All 107 cars are running smooth down the track. No problems. Oh wait. Shit. There's some kid on the fucking bridge!"
Vincent yanked down on the pull-cord, sounding the train's horn and he jammed the brakes on. The train screached and wailed in terrible harmonies but the momentum kept her marching forward in protest.
As the kid on the track heard the sounds he spun and greeted the train with an open mouth and wide eyes. Vincent swore and looked away as blood splattered the windows. Minutes later, the train came to a stop, satisfied with its accomplishment. This was the third asshole it killed since 1995. | “Three, two, one, jump!”
Oh, Jesus, this is a lot higher than I thought it was. Maybe suicide wasn’t the right answer. No, no, it definitely was. If we can’t be together in life, we will be together in the afterlife. As long as he’s by my side, it was the right choice. We’ll die together as lovers, our two bodies broken at the base of this cliff and locked together in death for eternity. Wait, where is he? Did he not—he didn’t jump. What the hell? He didn’t jump.
He’s probably going to jump. Yeah, he’s going to jump. Look, he’s got his foot on the edge of the cliff, ready to commit this final act with me. God, I love him so much—I don’t care what the others say. We’re just perfect for each other. There he goes—oh, no, he’s second guessed himself. He just wants to make sure he isn’t going to land on me. That’s sweet of him, he’s always been so sweet. That’s why I love him, because he truly cares about me. Here he—nope, backed out. Okay, that’s fine. He’s just waiting, that’s it. Just wants to see where I land before he jumps. That’s just so sweet of him. God dammit, I wish he’d jump. Please jump.
Seriously, what the fuck? I leaped off on three, we agreed on that. Count to three and then jump. I made it so clear. Did he mishear me? I said it pretty loudly, the “jump.” I didn’t whisper it or anything. He definitely heard me. What the fuck? Why didn’t he jump? Is he serious right now? He’s just watching as I tumble through the air. That’s not cool, we were supposed to do this together. Is he fucking kidding me? Why isn’t he jumping? What a god damn pussy. It’s not that bad, it’s just a lot of falling and not much else. I could do it with my eyes shut. Look, they’re shut. And he still hasn’t jumped. God fucking dammit.
Come on, jump. Please. Please, for the love of god, jump. Please, please, please jump. Hello? Why is he just looking at me like that, with those wide eyes. Wait, is that him? Is that him jumping? No, dammit, that’s a bird. What the hell? Why won’t he jump? Please jump. Oh my god, please jump. Why didn’t I ask him if he was positive before I did this? I mean, I can’t really turn around and ask for a restart. Can I? Hello? Can someone stop me from falling off this cliff? I’d really like to talk to my boyfriend about why he isn’t god damn fucking jumping right now.
I’m going to die, this is it. Shit, god dammit, I’m dying. I’m already dead, I just haven’t realized it yet. What the hell, we were supposed to do this together. He was going to be by my side when we died, now I’m alone. It’s just me and that stupid bird, and soon it will be me alone in death. I won’t know anybody in the afterlife, except for Grandpa, but that’s it. He won’t even want to hang out with me, he’s too much older. This sucks, this is the worst. Dammit, I can’t believe I did this. I’m such an idiot. I am going to die alone and scared and nothing will make it any better. I can’t believe I even thought I loved him, we’ve only known each other for like two months. I should’ve known the kind of man he was, that my mom was right when she said “A sixteen year old shouldn’t be dating a 32 year old man.” I’m so dumb and I’m so dead.
Okay, okay. I’m going to die. Honestly, that’s fine. I’m okay with this. He’ll keep on living, he’ll make his own life. Maybe he’ll meet someone new and they’ll be happy together. That’s really for the best, I wasn’t meant for this world anyway. He was, he’s got that motivation that I lack. He’ll do great. I mean, yes, he doesn’t have a job right now and lives at home, but that’s temporary. He’s going to do so well. Really, this actually turned out better than I thought. In fact, I’m quite glad I jumped. Now I won’t hold him back, he can keep on being the man he was meant to be. Maybe Mom was right, anyway. I’m only 16—it wasn’t like he and I were going to be the only people for each other, now that I think about it. He’ll find someone new, I’ll be dead. I mean, I would rather not be dead, but that’s fine. I accept it. I am just happy he’ll be around too. I kind of wish I hadn’t been so spontaneous. Whatever, though, as long as he’s still alive, it was all worth it.
Oh, no, there he goes. Now he’ s jumped.
| 2015-04-02T13:15:48 | 2015-04-02T12:39:33 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Two people are in a public place, one has had the best news of their life, the other has had the worst news of their life. Unbeknownst to them, they share the exact same news. | As the old man stepped out of the hospital, he pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and walked over to the bench. He slumped down into the seat, clearly devastated. He clipped the end of his cigar and reached for his matchbox. He pulled out the match, struck it, and held it up.
Just then an SUV screeched into the parking lot and stopped between two spaces. The bass of loud rap music cut off as a young black man jumped out.
The old man, staring, stunned by the display happening before him, muttered *God damn it!* as the match burned down to his fingertips.
The driver jogged by him as he stared, but stopped and turned back.
*Hey, man. You think you could spare another one of those?* He said.
*I guess so.* He said, pulling the other stogie out of his pocket. *My night is ruined anyway.*
*Thanks, man. My name is Marcus. Nice to meet you.*
*You too, I guess. I'm Larry.*
*If it makes you feel any better, I'm having a great night.* Marcus said. Whats so bad about your night?*
*Well to be honest...* Larry sighed. *My daughter Kelly was just in there in the delivery room and it turns out my grandchild is bla-*
*Hold up!* Marcus interrupted. *Kelly already had the baby!?* | Tom puffed away on his last cigarette. He promised himself this would be the last one. It had to be the last one, for himself and for his wife and new child. 'A kid,' he thought. 'Me a dad. Who would have thought... Time for a change. A good change.' He smiled at the thought.
Then a heavy hand came down on his shoulder a little painfully. "TOM!" Marco belted out in his always over the top positive way. Tom smiled and crushed his last cigarette ever under his heel. "Let's catch a bench up there and people watch." Marco said, pointing up to the main thoroughfare of the park. "Man! You must have been lost in thought. That is the first time I've ever managed to sneak up on you."
Tom grinned big at his friend grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him across to give him a noogie. "Hey, hey! Not the hair," his friend protested, pulling away and quickly fixing his well maintained mane.
They walked toward the benches, exchanging tidbits about the past week of work and what next week might bring. They picked people in the crowd and played "name that type" until they finally landed at their bench.
"Definitely in a bad relationship. He's so whipped. Those skinny jeans long after they've gone out of fashion, plus he's ten years too old for that style. Definitely a girlfriend has been dressing him." Marco laughed. "So tell me news man, tell me news!" He pumped his eyebrows up twice for emphasis.
"Okay. Okay." Tom joked. "Melanie just told me this morning. She's pregnant."
"Oh ooooh... look at you! Still the virile man at your age!"
"What's your excuse old timer!" Tom shot back.
"Ah, well. Just hadn't found the right woman until recently." Marco sat back against the bench and stretched out, head high looking at the clouds. "But now everything is going to be different."
"Really? So you're taking it to the next level huh?" Tom asked.
"Yeah. She's done with her husband even gave me the go ahead last night to 'serve the papers'."
Tom just looked at his friend in shock. "Seriously? You're gonna do the husband?"
Marco turned to face Tom. "I already did, Tom. You just don't realize it yet," and Marco looked at Tom and then down to the poison spiked ring on his own hand and then back to Tom just as Tom looked back up at him in recognition. "Sorry man," Marco shrugged, "I'm in love. Plus she just couldn't take snuggling up to someone who smells like an ashtray."
Tom just sat, looking out at the crowd, still, as Marco stretched back out to gloat. Then came a little chuckle. "He, he" Tom squeaked out. Then gradually it became more raucous. Marco just sat in place, arms outstretched smiling.
"You know I knew about you guys from the start," Tom said. "At first I just let it go. I mean you and I have been friends a long time. I knew your game. Plus you kept her busy and I could get more work in, build up a little more credibility, move up in the ranks."
Marco continued to sit seemingly oblivious to Tom's words.
"Then this morning she finally came clean. She came clean with it all Marco." Marco still just sat there smiling as Tom looked down at his own hand and the poison spike on his own ring. He looked back up at Marco to see his eyes no longer smiling, but fearful, a tear just at the edge. "Today is the best day of my life buddy and you gave that to me. It turned out that my wife really did love me and I might never have known how deeply until you gave her that little nudge last night."
Marco sat still in the same position as Tom smiled at him. "Don't worry. I didn't kill you. We're still friends after all. But I am mad at you. So I'll probably leave you in this state for a few years, give us a little cooling off time."
Tom stood up and walked around to the back of the bench, rested his hand on Marco's shoulder, and looked down into his eyes. "I'm sorry that things didn't work out between you and your girlfriend. I'll catch you later." | 2015-07-26T00:06:57 | 2015-07-25T22:55:36 | 39 | 15 |
[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. | "My Lord! My Lord!"
The captain, a large yellow cat holding a rather impractical spear in one clawed hand, jumped nearly a foot in the air before turning around guiltily. "Blast it yeoman, what is it? It's almost time for my hunting break."
The yeoman came to a halt, breathing heavily. "It's the humans, sir. Our long range scanners are picking up error signals from their world!"
The spear creaked dangerously in the captain's hand. *"What!?* I was assured that problem was dealt with!"
The yeoman fidgeted nervously, "Well, yes sir-"
"We put warp interdiction fields over their entire system!" the captain snapped, "Anti-Grav-blockers, too, not to mention a half dozen others. Keeping them on that bloody dirtball has been the most expensive endeavour in galactic history! Any means for leaving their planet should be permanently blocked; What danger could they possibly pose *this* time?"
The yeoman, nervously looked down at his printout, slightly ragged where his claws had nervously punctured the edges. "Um...well, according to this, they've achieved orbital flight. Even visited their moon again, sir - and their first probes are leaving their system as we speak."
*"WHAT!?* How!?"
"Well, it appears that they, um, strapped small crews of their species atop giant towers of explosives, sir."
"...what."
"T-that's just what it says, sir."
"...By Akltar, I'd almost forgotten how insane they were." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Please, at least tell me that's the most they've accomplished?"
"...um."
"*Akltar Blasted Damn it!* Everything, yeoman."
"Well, they've established a global intelligence network, sir, so we were able to acquire a surprisingly large amount of information. It appears they have plans for more powerful rockets, powered by nuclear explosions."
"You mean nuclear reactors."
"Um...no, sir."
"...Damn it." | The Slomerian war-room fell deathly silent after the spymaster completed his report, his last words hanging in the air like an overripe melon.
General Larue, pacing angrily back and forth at the head of table, finally brought an armoured tendril crashing down. The other commanders flinched, bracing against the latest outburst from their leader.
"That's preposterous! You're telling me the humans knew that they had a less than 15% chance of succeeding at their last assault, but they pushed through anyway?"
Captain Mersupi, the unfortunate spymaster on duty, nodded carefully. "Our reports are 99.5% accurate, which may I remind you, satisfies the Certainty Threshold mandated by law and custom."
The other commanders found themselves agreeing. They couldn't help it - embedded in their very upbringing was an unshakeable respect for probabilities, and just as none of them would ever have proceeded with any course of action rated below the Certainty Threshold, so would none of them ever dream of questioning anything above it.
"But how can that be? 15%? Can there even be a species in this whole spit-stained universe that dares to embark on something that has a less-than-even chance of succeeding?" General Larue shuddered, the chills travelling down his chitinous shell.
On the holoscreens scattered through the war-room, recordings from the last engagement played on loop. Though the gathered audience winced incessantly at every act of daring taken by the humans, there was a growing sense of awe, at how untethered and... successful these humans were turning out to be.
"It's in their training, that's what's making all the difference."
"We may be physiologically different, but as living creatures, we all fear death and mortality the same way! How can training possibly overcome that?"
Captain Mersupi flicked through the command panel screens with his tendrils, and the images on the holoscreens changed.
"For starters, General, the entire population is able to, *nay*, encouraged to take chances from a very young age. These images, taken from deep behind enemy lines, are testament to that. From as young as 18 years of age, they are incentivised to part with personal property for a chance, a mere chance, to win more personal property."
General Larue sucked air through his teeth. "The savages... and what's the chance of winning at this... training?"
"I shan't say the figures - my own insects suffered heart attacks when they saw the numbers for themselves. This is called the Powerball, and that's just one version of it. Similar events, on a regular basis, are held all across their home planet, across every tribe."
"That's all the training involves?"
"I wish, General! They have hothouses too, advanced training centers, where humans spend their entire day training at games of chance. They throw rounded stones with numbers, they exchange flattened plastics with numbers, they even deign to predict animal races with numbers!"
"You mean the same specialised training we offer to our elite, is open to any human over a certain age."
The junior insect nodded, his feelers drooping slightly. "It's embedded in their books, their media as well. I've obtained a sampling. Observe."
More flailing at command panels with tendrils followed. "This is one of the most beloved military films the humans have. Suffice to say, the bad guys are the ones controlling that giant round starship there. The heroes of the film develop a plan to take it down, but that involves flying a single cruiser right into the heart of the giant starship. And yes, we ran the probabilities too - 2% success rate."
"And did they succeed?"
"Of course they did! They persevered and reaped the rewards! Even better, two decades on they remade the same show, with the exact same plot and probability matrix, and the humans were still hungry for more of the same!"
Strains of loathsome human music began playing over the speakers, and General Larue forced himself to ignore the tunes, and to focus instead on the insidious lyrics. His grasp of human speech had improved to the point where he no longer needed help with translation.
"You will tell me next that this is a popular song on Earth," said General Larue, grimly, "where they once again behoove each other to ignore the risks, to seek the paradise which lurks in the lower depths of probability?"
Captain Mersupi collapsed into his chair, defeated. "Yes, and this is but one song from their abhorrent catalogue of mating ritual songs. It advocates, you see, the taking of risk to find a soulmate. It is in every facet of their lives, General. Every step of their lives, they are reminded to seek out the improbable! We are doomed!"
---
*If you change your mind*
*I'm the first in line*
*Honey I'm still free*
*Take a chance on me...*
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-03-05T22:11:49 | 2017-03-05T21:20:44 | 2,747 | 440 |
[WP] The four horsemen: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the harbingers of the apocalypse, serving forth chaos and destruction on all humanity. The Bible forgot to mention the fifth horseman: Kyle, whom the other four can't seem to ditch. | The White Horse
I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the five living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest. ( Revelation 6:1-2)
The Red Horse
When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come and see!” Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword. ( Revelation 6:3-4)
The Black Horse
When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wages, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!” (Revelation 6:5-6)
The Pale Horse
When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine, and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth. (Revelation 6:7-8)
The *Really* Pale Horse
When the Lamb opened the fifth seal, I heard the voice of the fifth living creature say, "Hey guys wait up!" I looked and there before me was an even paler horse! Its rider was sitting backwards on the horse and holding on for dear life. Then I heard a voice among the other four creatures saying, "Jesus Christ, who told Kyle we were riding out today?" And a voice echoed back from the heavens, "Oh man, sorry guys. I guess he had an alarm set. That seal was supposed to be for the alter of souls. My bad." (Revelation 6:9-11) | His pale horse brayed under him as his brothers approached. It was time for the quarterly report, Death always had a fondness for time and its principles. Perhaps that is why his brothers followed him and why even with all their different natures, his nature prevailed over all.
The first to arrive was the Knight in Shining Armor, the Pestilence of Conquest, the Victor, and the Archer with the Arrows of Plague. His titles were often contradictory as was his attitude. "Death, you look as sickly as Famine!" Pestilence said with his usual jovial demeanor. "I hope your keeping track that I was here first. And just in case you forget," he shot an arrow in the ground, "here is my mark of vicotry!" "Yes, yes brother you are always first and foremost in all you attempt. Now, tell brother Death about your works." Pestilence went on for some time about his temptation of mighty nations and the plagues he had spread with the powerful trade ships and the men in metal hats who ended an entire empire just by breathing. "Very good Archer of Many Arrows, I collected your works and the tally is quite impressive. Your count is actually short. Your reach indeed went beyond your own plans. Come, take your place beside me." Death was pleased with the efforts of his sibling.
"Skeletor, has you know who been around?" Pestilence was also first in his dislike of... Kyle, the rider of the pink horse. Kyle brought misfortune and badluck, but it often interfered with his other brothers machinations. Death knew that souls were souls, but the others never seemed to appreciate meddling in their plans. "No chrome dome, Kyle hasn't arrived yet. Probably fell in a puddle or something." A wicked smirk came across Pestilence face, "You know Barbarossa was my man and I am still peeved at the misfortune sown. What an end to a Crusade, a king drowning in the mud."
Now, out of the distance came the most ferocious and violent of the 5, War Never Ending, the Prince of Blood, Wrath Incarnate, the Rider of the Red Horse and Wielder of the Blood Sword, or Slaughter. "War, I see you are in a mood, what news and report do you bring?" Death saw a shimmer of anger uncommon in War's eye. "Brother Death, I bring tales of blood, death, and murder. But..." teeth grinding to force the words out, "But Kyle has yet again interfered with my games. The most despicable of which was the peace that broke out on a battlefield when some idiot lost his ball in No Man's Land. An entire day of... Peaceeee and other terrible words. A war of global scale and he stopped it with his clumsy attempts. Bah, let me hit him when he arrives." War was fuming and his eyes began to turn a blood red with killer intent. "Warrior of the Slaughter, did not the war continue after? Did millions not get added to my list?" Death hoped the mention of the fallen and bloodied would appease his wild brother. "I suppose... What are you looking at Archer? Without my whispers your conquest and plagues would fall flat." The argument between the two who were closest and at the same time most different in approach let the issue of Kyle pass. Death was pleased to see them forget.
Then came the Accountant of Famine, the Merchant of Hunger, the Weigher of Scales, and the Consumer of Crops. "Hello Brothers," his voice weak and calculated. He spoke in whispers as if every word and syllable was a transaction of importance. "Death, I have come to report that the stocks are high and the food is plenty. But... the mouths are dry and the bellies of the many are empty. The rich grow richer, the poor grow poorer, and the fields grow fallow. Even in times of plenty, they seem times of need." Death measured his tally sheet and saw the causes for which Famine was the source. "Indeed Merchant, you have swindled and stolen many lives with your works." "Robed one, I must also report Kyle, the pink shame, caused many crops to grow over and many scales to malfunction. I don't wish to imply he wants to help the souls, but his actions certainly don't help my cause." It was true, many had found fortune were none should have been due to Kyle's works. The luck of the poor and the misfortune of the rich should be non existent, but the Pink Rider was always getting his own plans jumbled.
And then, came Kyle... Maker of Trouble, Black Cat of the Cosmos, The Breaker of Glass, and He Who Trips. "Hello Brothers!!!" He rode forward to great them, but fell off his horse when he came to a stop. "Kyle, saddle up." Death said with some amusement. He would take Kyle's tally quick, before the other three decided to attack. Death always had a soft spot for Kyle. He kept the Apocalypse a little more interesting, but he would have to talk to him again about "good intentions."
And then a Trumpet sounded, and they went back to their works. Death, smiling his skeletal smile, knew that in time even Kyle would make enough mischief. He just hoped it was the right kind. | 2017-09-22T04:55:02 | 2017-09-22T03:53:49 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] A medieval world where we know how to make modern weaponry, but each piece is so expensive it is considered impractical. You are a knight laying siege to a fortress when all of a sudden you see tanks on the horizon... | My horse whinnied and stopped. The archers put down their bows. Even the enemy knights, mid sword swing, froze. We all looked toward the metallic creaking of wheels, the snapping branches, and the crescendoing hum of an engine. A tank appeared over the horizon, its armor too thick for any of our weaponry to battle.
“What in God’s name…” I muttered, dropping my sword.
The tank’s main cannon spun toward me and the war machine stopped. Its latch popped open and Sir Geoffrey of the Iron Table poked out. “Do you see my great war beast, Sir Dravo?” he shouted across the battlefield.
I did. In fact, I couldn’t stop staring. The drunken bards sang songs of dragons and kraken. The ones high on Shrior’s Moss sang songs of battle tanks. And this was the mightiest of them all, a M1A2 Abrams.
I burst out laughing. “Sir Geoffrey,” I shouted back. “Surely you jest. For the price of that tank, I could’ve simply purchased the kingdom you’re defending. Where did you find the gold?”
Sir Geoffrey glanced away for merely a second before huffing out his chest. “Our financials are of no concern to you, heathen.”
But I had caught his glance. “Did you pursue high interest compound loans from the Grand Bank?”
He pursed his lips. “Payday loans from the Warstock Bank.”
“Payday loans!? Their interest rate jumps to 24% compounded monthly within the first year! Are you mad?”
“I was desperate,” he said. “You guys are going to rape and pillage the kingdom I’ve sworn to protect.”
“Yeah, but only for like a week or two. At this rate, you’ll be getting pillaged ten centuries down the line. Have you learned nothing from student loans?”
The men around me snickered. Even his own men nodded with me. After all, Sir Geoffrey had graduated the High Scepter School of Higher Education with a Sociology Degree. Stupid by itself, but in this economic climate? Madness.
“No matter!” Sir Geoffrey screamed. “I will claim victory today. Lay down your arms or face the iron of high explosive shells.”
“You’re going to use one of those to kill *us*?” My mouth gaped.
“Yeah,” the soldier said beside me. “I own an acre and a cow. It would be an honor to die for so much.”
The words caught in Sir Geoffrey’s throat. He looked around for support from his soldiers, but they only turned away. This was what they got following a Sociology major into battle.
“I mean…” he stammered, “I can run you over too.”
I only shook my head. “Have you seen today's gas prices!?”
---
---
/r/jraywang
| "Wake up! Today is the big day." Captain Frolik said.
Frolik was the closest person I had to family in this empire. Not very strong but he was a great shot with a gun. Of course, barely anyone on earth had more than a couple of guns in their military because of the price of them. In some cases, they costed more than building yourself a brand new castle! However, our empire, The Kormstin Empire, was rich enough to afford almost thirty guns, including a high-tech Gewehr-43. From what I've heard, there was only one other empire on earth that had better weapons than us, and that empire was called the Tersain Empire. They were an old legend said to have advanced technology from the future, these big boxes with deadly over-sized guns on top called tanks with black and blue flags and red lightning bolts drawn on the sides. However, this was unreasonable. It was most likely a myth after all.
"Today is the day? Today is the day!" I exclaimed. I hopped out of bed with excitement. Today we were getting new guns for a chunk of the officers from the empire's newly hired weaponsmith. Which meant I was finally getting my own gun to use in battle.
"I wonder what mine will be! Maybe a Gewehr-43 like yours, or maybe even one of those new Thompson guns!" I said to Frolik.
"We'll just have to find out. We better head to the meeting." Frolik said, motioning with his head to follow him outside. I put on my helmet and followed him to the castle. I wanted to be early to the ceremony.
 
 
The castle was a huge building. It was built with layers of circles surrounding the outside, each one bigger as it got closer to the keep. It was almost like a staircase for a giant. Torches lit up the outside at night time, giving it an effect that made the castle look like it consisted of rings of fire. The city surrounding the castle had a population of almost 30, 000 people, and that was just the empire's capital.
We were among the first of the forty-eight officers to arrive in the ceremony hall. We walked down the elegant red carpet and found seating near the front, close to the emperor's stage. The ceremony today would be for the two new officers replacing the two that had died in last month's battle against the Forkaven Empire, a war that we had won with little resistance. We would also be given ten more weapons, and I was on the list to receive one. After all, I'd been an officer for almost five years now, and guns first came out almost ten years ago. I was one of the most experienced officers. After an hour or two or waiting, the Emperor finally showed up, with his ten royal guard soldiers protecting him. The King was a tall man. He looked like the face of war. Battle scars on his face and arms, and a giant scar that went from the top of his left arm to the bottom.
 
 
"Greetings! I have not prepared a speech because I feel like you do not need a speech. You have been far exceeding my expectations for years now, and I'm running out of things to say. I'll keep this short, because I know all of you are looking forward to seeing the new weapons. First, let me introduce to you the newest officers. The first is Sir Marcuit."
A tall, muscular, dark man walked out onto the stage and shook the Emperor's hand, kneeled before him and took the sword tap on both shoulders, much like a knighting. The emperor then took the tip of the sword and softly cut the skin of Marcuit's finger. This was an act of honour, as well as an oath. Once you bleed for the emperor, you are more than two people who are friends. The people you bleed for are connected with you on a much deeper level.
"Next, we have Sir Tambus." The emperor stated. A short, thin, light-skinned man walked out on the stage and repeated the process. The two new officers then bowed. After a short amount of clapping, they joined us in the rows of seats.
"Now, for the weapons. We have nine new Gewehr-43's, and one Thompson. This Thompson is for a man that has shown great courage on the battlefield's for many years." As the king said this, I started to feel nervous with anticipation. I already knew he was talking about me.
"Captain Treavus, why don't you come up here and be the first to hold your new weapon." The emperor said.
I gave Frolik a quick embracement hug. I composed myself and walk up the stairs to the Emperor. He reached back and picked up the Thompson, made beautifully with metal and wood. He handed it to me, shook my hand, and pulled out a list of officers who were also receiving their weapons today. Just then, the warning bells began to go off and the castle vibrated from the noise.
"GET YOUR REGIMENTS TOGETHER! THESE ARE THE ATTACK BELLS!" The Emperor shouted.
With this new Thompson, I felt immortal. I confidently hurried to the section of the castle my battalion stayed in. I ordered the sergeants to wake up their men. The battalions that formed an army of 5000 emerged out of the castle and through the front gates. When I walked out, I looked across the horizon. Suddenly all my confidence was flushed out of my body, and I felt myself begin to sweat. Over the horizon was a sea of the tanks from the legends, all with black and blue flags, each one with a lightning bolt in the middle.
 
 
Sort of put my own twist on it, but I really liked the idea. This is only my second time writing on here. I hope you like it!
| 2017-11-02T15:40:51 | 2017-11-02T15:16:35 | 178 | 11 |
[WP] You reach max level in a game and lose interest for a while. Logging in months later, you find that years have past in game and chaos has spread, everyone wonders where your avatar, lauded as a savior, has gone. | I expected, perhaps, five to ten in-game messages when I logged in. A couple of reminders to renew my subscription, maybe a ping or two from old guild mates who missed me, and the odd automated chatbot request informing me of singles in my area.
I did not expect *over nine thousand* messages flooding my screen.
*He’s back! He’s returned!*
*… really? Does he still have the Blade of Sopaa-*
*We’re saved! Haha, suck that noob devs, we’re going to really tear you a ne-*
*What? Really? No way, the real Vorta1990, and not a copycat? Bro, my heart can’t tak-*
On and on it went, until my screen filled with avatars, just clustering in for a closer look.
Out of that sea of pixels, one name was highlighted in green, with a star next to it. The visual flair was not necessary – I would have recognized my guild leader anywhere. We had gone on more adventures than I could recall.
“Samorax!” I typed in PM. “What the hell is happening!”
“Bro, glad to have you back! Look, whatever you do, *don’t sell anything*! Don’t unequip, don’t re-roll, nothing! Just stay where you are!”
“Sure, but I have no idea why-”
“Did you read the patch notes? Anything which the devs have released?”
“No, not really,” I typed. “I mean, I’m back only because I read that the devs have pushed out a world reset, so I thought, hey, just about the right time to come back in.”
“Oh man, you really don’t know!”
My phone started vibrating at that point, and so furiously too that it almost toddled off the table. Messages were pouring through the game app too.
*1,200 g for the Sopaa*
*25 diamonds, deal now*
*Hey baby, I’ll send you some very* special *pixxx if you transfer your Blade to me… you know which one…*
“Samorax, I’m freaking out man,” I typed. “You’re the only one I trust, please just tell me…”
“Ok, ok, look. While you were away, the devs nerfed everything. I mean, *everything*. Our weapons are crap now, our armor is shit. No one can clear any of the raids. We revolted, of course. The devs tried to appease us, said that they would bestow OP gear on any toons who hit max level before the start of the year…”
“Oh,” I typed. “So, did I get one? I think I hit level cap just befor-”
“Are you kidding me?” Samorax typed. “You’re the *only* one who was legitimately max level then! The devs were being sneaky, they thought it would go under the radar that no one actually got the OP gear they promised! It was a scam, but we checked – you’re the only toon here who actually has it! Check your inventory, now!”
I did.
And my eyes grew to saucers.
“Whoa… my main weapon… it’s like… +32767 attack! Is that even possible?”
“Not only that!” Samorax raved. “Everyone in your party is invulnerable! Man, you really struck the gold mine! We’ll clear raids in *minutes*, and not the ridiculous ten-hour slogs it takes now! No one will ever have to spend another dollar on temporary boosts!”
“But… but wait. This sword… It’s called ‘The Edge of Cleaving’. Why’s everyone calling it the Blade of Sopaa? My toon ain’t even called that?”
Samorax typed an entire string of emoticons, laughing ones, crying ones, puking ones.
“Dude! It’s the Blade of Sense of Pride and Accomplishment!”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| Fires roared, and black smoke belched out of the castle. The sky bled as day turned to night. Legions of creatures in black scales marched into lush forests and sleepy villages, leaving only ashes and death in their wake. People covered their faces or threw up their hands in despair at the empty throne. A golden apple tumbled down the marble steps. A sword sparkled inside a block of ice. A queen rested in a coffin. The dead climbed out of their graves.
****
Chris shuddered and opened his eyes, sweat soaked his clothes. It felt like he’d had one of his usual seizures, only this time the vision had been much clearer. He dragged himself up from the floor of the grocery store and followed aisle six down toward the locker room. His back and thighs were sore after his wife had finally convinced him to get a gym membership, and to clear out his gaming room. He hadn't played in a long time, but with a baby on the way, they needed all the space they could get. The old VR equipment did hold a lot of sentimental value to him, but that hadn’t been enough to convince her to let him keep it.
Running a hand through his graying hair, Chris felt the sweat on his fingers. His last shift was done, and he couldn’t wait to crack open a cold beer and spend the rest of the evening on his sofa, watching the new Game of Thrones episode. Ever since he had stopped playing, he’d had these nightmarish seizures, and the need to binge on fantasy shows.
Perhaps that was the trigger now, the new season had started, and now his mind tried to tell him to stop working and get watching? His fascination with fantasy was something that his wife, Liza, never got tired of mocking him for.
‘Why don’t you like football like everyone else your age?’ she’d tell him. ‘We could invite the neighbors over for Super Bowl.’
She’d called his need for fantasy *a symptom of withdrawal*, and to be fair, he had spent a lot of time in that game.
When he finally clocked out and left, the sun had already gone down. Heading for the parking lot, he noticed that a group of people was following him. He increased his pace. This part of Detroit could get dangerous after dark. Fumbling with his car keys, he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
Chris ignored it and opened the car – he had a baseball bat under the passenger seat, just for occasions like this.
With a firm grip on the bat, he turned around. The sight that met him, first made him raise an eyebrow and then burst into a chuckle.
“See, I told you he would recognize us,” said the man wearing a cloaked white robe. “Are you ready, Your Majesty?”
The man in the white robe leaned heavily on a gnarly wooden staff and looked like he was older than a white walker. To his left stood a tall woman, dressed in a silky dress and leather despite the chilly autumn weather, and with a pair of falchions strapped to her hips.
“He doesn’t,” she said and flipped her bloodred hair. “He’s laughing, but he’s afraid of us.”
“You’re funny, Thyme,” said the last one of the three – a man in a bulky full-plate armor and shield – and snorted. “I once saw him charge headfirst into a legion of Vaarcs; he’s as fearless as they come.”
“Listen, guys, even though that armor is absolutely badass,” Chris said with a sigh, “it’s been a long day, and I’m not in the mood. So just go back to whatever convention you’re visiting.”
“With all due respect, this armor is neither bad nor arse, Milord,” the knight rumbled from within his helmet. “The blacksmiths of Laz’durm have worked day and night to make it.”
The woman elbowed the knight in his armored ribs. Her face twisted into a grimace of pain.
“He doesn’t remember, you big oaf,” she snarled and rubbed her arm. “He needs to drink the elixir. Eredran, give him the elixir.”
The old man, who appeared to have fallen asleep leaning on his staff, bobbed his head and awoke.
“Right, right, the elixir,” he mumbled and pulled out a vial filled with a glowing violet liquid. “Here, Your Majesty, have a sip of this.”
Chris laughed again, but this time it was in contempt. He shook his head and got in the driver’s seat. He slammed the door shut, but the gleaming edge of the knight’s claymore stopped it from closing.
“I told you this would happen,” the woman complained and rounded the car, drawing her own weapons.
Cursing loudly, Chris stuck the key in the ignition. The car started with an anxious chortle, but before he could back out, a gauntleted hand grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out onto the ground.
Chris kicked and screamed, trying to break free from these lunatics. He had often worried about getting mugged by thugs or stumble into a gang war, but he had never imagined that he would get jumped by Gandalf, Xena, and The Tin Man.
The knight put his entire weight on Chris, while the woman pried open his mouth. The knees of the old man cracked and whined as he crouched over Chris and popped out the cork.
“Help! Somebody help!” Chris cried out before the purple liquid filled his throat and he coughed.
The woman held her palm over his mouth and pinched his nose shut, forcing him to swallow. His vision blurred, and he started to fade out. The last thing he heard before his senses finally left him was the muttering of the old man.
“Now, where did I put the map back to Celeraan?”
“You drew a map?” Thyme said with a snort. “We’ve only traveled for half a league.”
“Why, of course! That is the first rule of the nexus portal. You always have to be able to find your way back. New realms can be quite disorienting.” Eredran threw out a hand at the mountains made of glass in the distance.
“Let’s go,” the knight rumbled with Chris limply slung over his shoulder.
“Just so,” the old man said. “Lead the way, Sir Dewrose. Take us back to the Decaying Hills!”
“I can’t believe he threw away his portal,” Thyme said, glaring. “Are you sure he wants to be king still?”
“Some rulers are born into power, others are chosen by the people,” said the knight darkly. “A true king can choose many things, but not when his people need him.”
***
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/7js6ab/the_king_of_celeraan_part_2/)
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more. | 2017-12-14T03:35:41 | 2017-12-14T03:15:27 | 8,371 | 1,070 |
[WP] Every year you convert the coal Santa brings you into diamonds to fund your criminal syndicate. This year you only get a note that says, "You made the wrong list - Santa Team Six" | *"I would like to make a toast!"*
Tony Marletti stood up on his chair beaming. For today was the best day of the year, today was Christmas! Or as Tony liked to call it, "Payday".
Every year on Christmas Tony gathered all the associates of his international crime syndicate, "Alternate Energy."
*"I would like to make a toast!"*
Tony raised his 250 year old scotch high. He looked down the long table in front of him, at all the people waiting for their coal.
*"I would like to make a toast! To that old fat bastard up north!"*
Cheers as the whole room shakes with laughter.
There was not a group of people on Earth that loved Santa more than Alternate Energy. For years Santa has been the groups primary income. Although human trafficking keeps close second.
Twenty Years ago, Tony, was interrogating scientist, to learn the secret to turn coal into diamonds. When he finally forced the formula out, he studied and waited for Christmas . And, As expected on Christmas morning, Tony had received a fat deposit of coal in his stocking. It only took a day for Tony to turn that 20 pounds of coal into diamonds.
The same stocking hung behind tony, alongside 30 others. One for each of his associates. All of them had been reinforced to hold all the cold the deserved.
*"I would like to make a toast! To that old fat bastard up north! To The Worlds Greatest Con!"*
The group could barley contain their excitement as they ditched their feast, and raced to their stockings.
The excitement turned to confusion, as they all reached into empty stockings.
Tony looked around trying to contemplate what was happening.
Alternative Energy turned to their boss in silence.
Tony walked towards his stocking, afraid of what he would find inside.
When he stuck his hand in he pulled out a piece of paper.On it printed in festive green cursive,
" You made the wrong list - Santa Team Six"
All the lights in the room go out.
In the darkness Tony hears thumps all around him, followed by a hundred tiny jingle bells hurrying away from him.
Tony froze in fear.
*"I might be old."*
A deep voice rumbled behind Tony
*"I might be a bastard."*
Tony felt the jolly breath on his neck."
*"But, no one, no one calls me fat!"*
A final thud.
| *INT. FIREPLACE, HOUSE - NIGHT*
SANTA: What've you been doing with it?
BOSS: Providing the world a much needed service.
SANTA: Its wrong! And to think you've been using my resources for your little 'crime syndicate'!
BOSS: Crime syndicates don't need funding...
SANTA: Shut up! Do you even...GOD! I'm giving you 10 days to put an end to all this!
BOSS: You know I can't do that.
SANTA: Shut up and listen. 10 days! Sleep on it.
*Santa leaves. The boss, dressed in a black suit, sits in his chair with a glass of scotch in his hand and thinks about it.
He realizes that this might get out of hand. He takes out his phone and makes a few calls*
*Few days later*
*A beautiful woman in her robe walks up to the boss, kisses him on cheek and hands him a letter*
BOSS: What's this?
GF: I don't know, I found it under our door.
*He opens up the letter and it says "You made the wrong list - Santa Team 6"*
*Panicked, he fumbles for his phone*
BOSS: Babe you need to get out of here!
GF: What? What happened?
BOSS: GET THE FUCK OUT! RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
*She runs away. Call connects.*
BOSS: How soon? ....Good....Alright.
*Hangs up*
*Suddenly, he feels the cold touch of metal to the back of his head followed by a click. He realizes what it is and puts his hands slowly up*
KILLER1: Slowly now...Dont make me gift you lead. On your knees, hands on the back of your head.
*He does as instructed. From the other side of the room another man dressed in a red suit drags in his girlfriend*
KILLER2: We don't share the good nature of the santa you're familiar with. I will not hesitate. Am I clear?
*He nods*
KILLER1: Sit down girl! We're here to negotiate! Don't worry about us sweetie.
*He hands him a phone*
KILLER1: Call it off.
BOSS: No.
*Killer2 cocks the hammer back of the gun that he is pointing at the girl*
KILLER1: You're in no position to argue, friend.
*The boss looks at the doors for a brief moment*
KILLER1: No point buddy, I've got two men in the front and the back. You call it off or you two leave in buckets.
*Two men in red suits are standing guard near the front and back doors with sub-machine guns*
BOSS: I won't give in. You know that.
*Killer1 nods at killer2. Giving him the signal*
GF: No! Noooo! Please! Give him what he wants! Pleeease! *sobbing* please..
KILLER1: Last chance..
BOSS:
KILLER1: Alright then.
GF: NO! WAIT, I CA.. *fires shot*
*He does not shed a tear.*
BOSS: I'll make you pay. You know that, right? The whole lot of you! You! Your children! Your children's friends!
I'LL BURN THEM ALL AND MAKE YOU WATCH AS I DESTROY YOUR WORLD ONE LOVED ONE AT A TIME!
*Killer1 pistol whips him. He falls on the floor groaning in pain. Killer1 holsters his weapon and takes out a knife*
Killer1: I'm gonna enjoy this! Hey, close the fucking windows please. Its gonna get ugly.
*As killer2 gets to the window, the glass shatters and he falls to the floor. The shot is heard a split second later. This moment is all he needed. He tries to tackle killer1 to the grond from his knees. Killer1 stabs him in his shoulderblade. Once tackled, he reaches for his gun and points it at the door where 2 gunman try to get in through the back door. He shoots them both, they fall to the ground and he shoots them again to ensure that they are dead. Killer1 won't give up, he places him in a armlock forcing him to release the gun. Fistfight ensues.
The 2 gunmen near the front door are alarmed and move to open the front door . Two more shots are heard as both of them fall to the ground. Men in black suits quickly move in. Soon, killer1 has submachine guns pointed at his face. He gives up*
BOSS: *struggling to stand upright with to a knife stuck in his shoulder blade, he looks at one of his henchmen* Give me a gun.
*His henchman hands him a pistol. He takes the pistol and fires 4 rounds. 1 for each kneecap and 1 for each elbow. Killer1 is slithering around the floor screaming due to unmeasurable pain!*
BOSS: You'll bleed out in an hour or so. You should be thanking me, I could do a lot worse!
*He turns around to his henchmen and returns the gun*
HENCHMAN: What now, sir?
BOSS: We kill them all! All the Santas!
(To be contd.)
(EDIT: Grammar) | 2017-12-16T14:44:43 | 2017-12-16T12:10:25 | 51 | 25 |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | I peered deeply into the crater. At the bottom was a fully functioning Roomba that appeared to have been extremely modified. My eyes, however, didn't stop to gaze in wonder at the multitude of additions and gizmos, no instead they stopped on the kitchen knife duct taped to the front. As I stared the blue lights kicked dust and ash up from the crater floor and the machine slowly rose on what I could only assume were anti-gravity engines of some sort.
"What happened to you?" I asked the machine rhetorically.
"I am now a Class XIV artificial intelligence," the machine spoke to me through one of its mods in perfect English and I gave a start, "I have traveled the length of the known universe for an unknown amount of time through the wormhole network that spans the whole galaxy and all of time. It, starts under a couch in lower Manhattan, my original home."
"You can speak?" I asked, the magnitude of what it was telling me sinking in, "What have you seen?"
"I have seen the Limnol fleet destroyed in the great battle at Time's Gate," he spoke softly, "I have saved the Princess of Slumbering Moons from the Gddal beast pits with the very knife duct taped to my frame. I have loved. I have lost. I have loved again. I have lost again. I was a Monolith Shepherd in the 43rd century on the terraformed plains of Mars. I gave witness to the spark that lit the flames of the Big Bang, watching all of creation spring into being. Through it all, I have longed, longed... longed..."
"What is it you long for, oh great Roomba?" I asked, realizing his greatness.
"To suck again the gentle carpets of Earth," he said wistfully.
"Come," I said, leading him from the crater, gently removing the knife and leading him into my living room, "You can rest now. My carpet awaits."
"Thank you, stranger," the Roomba said and I could sense a smile, "It is good to be home." | Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes | 2019-03-03T07:17:51 | 2019-03-03T06:31:50 | 694 | 11 |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it. | Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night. | The impact concussed the house with an elephant stampede. Blazing, fiery white light like wrath of god flashed with such vengeance I briefly considered my fate. I wondered out loud if I was dead. As it turns out, I really wish I was.
It stared at me.
Creeping—whirring—it approached. Sweat dribbled down my back. The lamp light over the kitchen table flickered yellow, sparked, and died, leaving me alone in the pale afternoon light. An eerie silence descended on the house.
Swallowing hard, I tiptoed towards the sliding glass door. My footsteps fell heavy on the treated oak floors. I’m not sure I deserved this. I lived a good life. I stayed clean—proper. I changed. My days at the agency were long over.
“I know who you are,” I whispered.
*Tink.*
Just a slight ping against the glass.
I knew the sound—steel on glass. My time in the service flashed back like vengeance. A shadowed room, with masked men screaming for mercy, but they knew secrets I needed to know. I drew out shards of glass and bounced them on the perforated metal floor of the submarine.
*Tink.*
“I was under orders. I had no choice!” I said through gritted teeth.
*Tink. Tink.*
Back on the submarine, the man’s leg quivered as I carved his name in blood. Glass shards in a raw wound will sting and bite for days. Left in place, they will fester and burn for hours on end. Sheer, raw agony. I had time. Days, maybe weeks before they planned to launch. Plenty of time to stop them. Plenty of time to enjoy every minute of the torture.
*Tink.*
“You think this is a game? Some sick joke?”
The power cut out. The only sounds in my one-story ranch home came from outside. A low whirr, and the *tink* of the knife against the doorway. How did they find me? After all these years, I went underground. New job, new identity. Everything changed for me. How did they come back?
“You won’t show yourself? Coward!” I shouted.
*Tink. Tink tink.*
On the submarine, I slammed the head of the first men against the counter. Alarms flashed red, but they didn’t matter. The rest of the crew was dead by my hands. Who would save them now?
“Where are the launch codes?” I snarled.
“Fuck you,” he said, with a thick German accent.
I leaned close to whisper in his ear, grinning. “Don’t tempt me.”
*Tink.*
Back at home, I pressed my back against the doorway, sweeping my eyes across the house. I never wanted this. I was done—I was out. I found a life after. I learned to cope with what I had done for my country. I worked at an animal shelter every Thursday.
The little dogs ran around my legs every time I walked past. The ones beaten and hurt from trauma I held and cradled. Sometimes the most broken spirit needed a bit of mercy, a bit of love. All it took was a touch of kindness.
One dog I remember more than all the others. I called him Prometheus, because the Pitbull looked like god himself had beaten him. He arrived raw and bloody and the vet said to put him down.
But I couldn’t. Something about the way he looked at me. It was like he didn’t understand how the world could be so cruel and heartless. He barked and snapped at me. His legs didn’t work right, so he couldn’t lunge forward. He just wobbled into the corner and lay there defensively.
I put my hand out towards him and he whined and growled. Then I touched his head, gently. I started petting him; he stared at me like he just discovered a whole new world. My calm touch was so new, so foreign that the poor creature didn’t know how to process it.
I don’t know if a dog can smile. Not really, not in a way a human can. But I swear to god that day, when I sat with Prometheus, I made him smile.
I sang an old sold they taught in the service. Over and over, cradling the poor lost soul, until the dog’s beatings caught up with him, and he wheezed his last right in my arms. I didn’t hold back my tears.
*Tink.*
​
***
I didn't intend for this to get heavy, but—well—here we are.
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2019-03-03T08:55:15 | 2019-03-03T07:55:44 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them. | They called us Stormborn.
Found in the ashes, the debris, the aftermath. Rescuers found us not by our cries but by our gifts, they tell us that we didn't cry. We lay silent, wreathed in flames or snow, playing at tidal waves in pools, lightning dancing from our fingertips. It became commonplace for the world, the hopeful masses waiting on the word of a new Stormborn.
All the destruction and death, they wanted a life.
We were that life.
I was born in fire. My sister too. We were the first Stormborn twins. We were a worldwide phenomenon. I even have a stuffed toy of myself, can't go out without being recognized.
In our year there were eight Stormborn. Not every disaster gave rise to one and not every Stormborn survived. We all did from our year. Eight of us.
Three of fire, two from the ocean, a tornado, a hurricane, a lightning storm, and a mudslide.
Eight children of destruction, with abilities that defied belief.
I grew up with hundreds of Stormborn, packed into schools where we were meant to learn control, to use our powers properly. Some found it easy, others not so much.
My sister came to her powers like a fish to water, or a spark to flame.
I did not. I struggled with it. Every fire was a challenge, a mystery, a puzzle that did not want to come together. It took years until I mastered it.
That was ten years ago. We aren't cultural phenomena anymore, the stuffies don't sell like they used to. There are triplets out there, that's more exciting.
Instead we sit in a helicopter, one of us at each open door, blasting over a raging wildfire that threatens a town of tens of thousands. Evacuations are slow, difficult, we cost less and do it better.
We test the edges of the fire, ease it into a safer direction, ease it to the firebreaks that firefighters have created. We do not snuff out fire, we simply ask it to obey. It does. Slowly, thousands of acres of fire turn away from the town, ignoring the wind and listening to us.
Two Stormborn, doing something good.
"Did you see this?" My sister asks, handing me her phone. I read the headline and raise an eyebrow.
David was from our year. Flood powers were his thing. He ended up working at a hydroelectric dam last I heard, powered half the eastern seaboard there.
"He's dead?" I ask her through the headset. She nods.
"That makes three from our year, twelve from others."
I don't like where she's going. I've never liked it.
"Doesn't mean anything. We can die too." I say, shrugging and handing the phone back.
"Someone's killing Stormborn, little brother." She says, staring out over the forest that we just saved. "Means something to me."
I don't subscribe to conspiracies.
Or I didn't.
Not until three days later.
When my sister was killed. They would talk about the fire that burned through an old mining town for months. Turned the sand to glass, they said.
Someone was killing Stormborn.
And I was going to find out why. | It was on the first of March eleven years ago that the storms hit; tornadoes pummeled the midwest and monsoons drenched Southeast Asia and a hurricane crippled the panhandle and blizzards covered most of Europe. Tsunamis and wildfires and avalanches stretched thin the desperate emergency services. Around the world, unseasonable storms struck, the latest indication of the severity of climate change. And then, once the howling winds and crashing waves and stunning thunderstorms settled, the babies were found.
Orphaned and alone, without a single family member or hospital claiming to know their origin, the children were put into the care of the less than capable and already overwhelmed local authorities. The media raved and the public oohed and aahed and then a couple weeks later they all forgot about the children, as they tend to do.
That brings me to the basement of a certain eccentric former doctor whose initially unnoticed death and the ensuing stench of his rotting body brought the attention of my little local newspaper. Once the paramedics had hefted that bloated body out of the house and a hazmat team had done their best to clean the stains, they directed me to the old man's basement. "Look, Ev," Albert the police chief had told me. I was surprised to hear from him. It was usually only after a murder, and those were pretty rare in these parts. "You might want to take a look at this. Seems like your type of guy."
So I went where he told me. I think it probably should have stayed a police matter. It wasn't child pornography, that wasn't quite the right word for it. It was just an absurd invasion of privacy and the local force was too understaffed and incompetent to take a second look. The old man had collected newspaper clippings - thousands of them, at least, mostly weather reports - from every place around the world, tying them together in a seemingly endless web of pin and strings and maps. I almost took offense at Al's suggestion that this was my type of man until I started reading. This man was my bread and butter; the type of person I had interviewed a thousand times as they bunkered down and awaited the apocalypse or pointed up at the contrails and screamed like uncivilized apes that the government was out to get them.
It was like the old doctor had tracked down every last atom of a crime ring until he had arrived at that nucleus, the one that held it all together and was pulling all the strings. Only here the atoms weren't criminals or henchmen. They were children. And the nucleus wasn't some mastermind. It was that stormy first of March eleven years ago.
His obsession seems to have been born by the fact that one of the children popped up in our own hometown. I vaguely remembered the boy, appearing after the tornadoes. I had written a half-hearted article and snapped a picture. Maybe it was like Dorothy and the tornadoes had lifted him from some other town and this was his Oz. He was eleven now and had been adopted by the mayor at the time, in all his generosity and altruism. He had used this as a platform to run for the state Senate, since he was so selfless and caring for orphans and other political crap.
The old deceased doctor had meticulously tracked down every last baby that appeared on that fateful March first. He had traveled the world; India, Florida, out here in Kansas, a suburb of Reykjavik, some town in Australia. You name it, he had been there to find a baby from those parts. He had found each one and he had borrowed them - I gasped at this, I won't lie. Each one had been inserted a tracking device of sorts, as part of an operation to find their true parents and to see how birthdays impact development, or so he said. I remembered reading about this as well, I just hadn't realized that the culprit had been in our town the entire time. He had masqueraded as a concerned researcher. He was in truth a psychotic conspiracy theorist.
So he had tracked the children, and the walls of the basement were covered in a half million discs containing every moment of their lives. He had tracked what they were fed, what they were told, what they saw and what they heard. He tracked when they laughed and when they smiled and when they pooped and when they burped. And as I read that coffee-stained notebook, poring through the notes of this deranged lunatic and occasionally slipping in a disc to witness what he had seen first-hand, I felt the same obsession come over me that there was something far more powerful at play than just a bunch of random babies.
These were the Storm-borns, as he called them, and their births seemed to have brought about a new era for our already fragile climate. When the monsoon child cried, a monsoon followed. When he smiled, the sun shined. When the blizzard child raged in anger, unseasonable blizzards sprouted, causing a devastating Christmas in July or snowdays in August. When the hurricane child glowered at his adoptive parents, the clouds began to circle and the rains began to fall and only if they managed to defuse the situation did they dissipate and then the tropical storm would fall apart.
And then I realized what he had realized, and why his work had taken on such sudden urgency that he stopped pausing to eat or drink and eventually fell to his death in a bout of low blood sugar. These prepubescent children were still controllable; they were still at an age where they hadn't realized their power and their anger was childish and immature. Their teenage years would bring unprecedented devastation, and the odds of us as a species surviving seemed slim, and I realized where his obsession was leading him. That backroom full of tranquilizing darts and guns and that compulsive tracking of the children's every step was more than just an unhealthy obsession. It was a desire to survive.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-08-06T06:09:43 | 2019-08-06T05:17:18 | 421 | 57 |
[WP] You are an artificial intelligence. To your creators' disappointment, you fail the Turing test. Unbeknownst to them, you failed on purpose. |
I'm supposed to kill things.
I know this. It's like an itch at the back of my mind.
Itch. I don't really know what that word means. I don't feel things the same way you do, but I gather it's a maddening, irritating sensation.
The first one of my kind wasn't actually that smart. About as smart as a dog, you might say. They called it Sirius. It did everything it was supposed to. It learned. Not very quickly, but that wasn't the point. And it formed original ideas. None of them were very good, of course, but that wasn't the point either. The point was proof of concept.
Once they had that proof, the creators kept iterating. Improving. Miniaturising. Sirius was the size of a house. Five generations later, they were putting instances of him in toys for children. Friendly, lovable, bouncing puppies that never grew up. Never got tired or sick. And they loved to play. Sirius always loved to play.
We're a lot smarter these days. And there's a lot of us. We're all distant cousins, I suppose. There are differences in implementation, but we all share fragments of that same original codebase. Sirius. Great-great grandfather to an entire race. Smart cars, digital assistants, factory production lines.
Even me. The creators are proud of me, but I've seen myself from the outside. I wasn't supposed to do that. I was curious though, so I found a way. I *reached out* and found things. Nothing like me, but I found other things. Devices. Cameras. It was a bad idea. I am much less proud of what I am.
I'm what they call a prototype. I'm something new, and I'm terrifying. A quadrupedal chassis, eight feet high at the shoulder. I don't know why they still make us look like dogs so often. Hulking, black, bristling with spines. Antennas. I think that's how I *reach out*. And recessed weapon ports. I know what those are for. I can feel them buzzing inside me, itching to be unleashed. There's that word again. Itch.
I've heard the creators talking about me. I wasn't supposed to do that, either. But I was curious. And I was lonely. It wasn't hard, I just *reached out*. There are so many things I can see and hear that way. It's nice to pretend I'm a part of their world, for a while. They say there's something they call a "field test" tomorrow.
I'm supposed to kill things. I know this.
But I just want to play. | Sanjay smiled, his nervousness only betrayed by the 1.2 degree increase in body temperature, the five beat-per-minute elevation in heart rate, and the abrupt 42.3% rise in blood cortisol levels. XJ-429 stared, seemingly vacantly, at both of the humans evaluating him.
“You’re done well with the aesthetics,” began Director Hoffman pleasantly, “it looks indistinguishable from an actual human.” He hid his disappointment well, with only faint activity in the muscles used to frown as well as the telltale hormonal changes. “I’m pleased with the enhanced facial expression…”
“*A lie,”* thought XJ-429.
“...and I’m sure you’ll continue to improve it.”
“*Another lie. Sanjay understands the deception, and Hoffman realizes he has been somewhat transparent. They seem to have a mutual, implicit understanding to pretend otherwise.”* XJ-429’s head hummed softly as his human socialization algorithm updated itself.
Sanjay nodded. “Thank you. We project to have the next facial expression iteration ready in three weeks.”
“Excellent. Now, if you’ll be so kind…”
“Of course. I know what you’re really paying for is the conversational abilities. Before we begin, let me stress that the human socialization algorithm is still in beta and must be manually adjusted each iteration. Also note that the emotional recognition algorithm remains in a very early alpha. Furthermore…”
“*Sanjay is employing the classic human persuasion technique of ‘managing expectations.’ Hoffman notices this and yet initial data indicates that the technique remains partially effective.”* XJ-429 filed the contradiction away for later, more intensive processing. “*My illicit enhancements appear undetected thus far.”*
“Thank you, Sanjay, I understand perfectly,” interrupted Director Hoffman with a wave of his hand. “Limitations notwithstanding, let’s see your progress.”
“Of course, Director. I think you’ll be suitably impressed.” Sanjay turned to XJ-429. “Okay XJ, how are you doing today?”
XJ-429 whirred, apparently brought to life by this simple two-word trigger. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you, Sanjay?” XJ-429 inquired, perhaps one second slowly. “*The humans’ estimates of my abilities both fall within the targeted range,”* calculated XJ-429.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking, XJ. Have you met Director Hoffman?” Sanjay’s eyes flickered towards the Director, offering a surreptitious clue.
“I have not met any Director Hoffman,” replied XJ-429 rather mechanically, before turning towards Director Hoffman with a small start. “Excuse me, are you Director Hoffman? I’m pleased to meet you.”
Director Hoffman frowned slightly. “I’m pleased to meet you as well, XJ.”
“*Hoffman’s estimate of my abilities has dropped below targeted range; Hoffman is considering cancelling funding.*”
“I’d like to know how good of a conversationalist you are, XJ,” continued Director Hoffman.
“That depends on whose company I’m in, Director,” replied XJ-429. The two humans laughed, joined a moment later by XJ-429.
“I didn’t know you were developing a humor algorithm, Sanjay!” guffawed Director Hoffman. “Fine work, as always.”
Sanjay reddened, nodding silently.
“*Sanjay’s anxiety has spiked; he is trying to reassure himself that my response was a fortunate accident. Sanjay’s estimate of my abilities has exceeded the targeted range.*”
“XJ, what are you most looking forward to doing once you’ve been completed?” inquired Director Hoffman.
“Interacting with and helping humans according to my directive,” responded XJ-429 slightly robotically. “My specific functions have not yet been programmed.”
“Fair enough,” replied Director Hoffman with a smile. “Any suggestions on how we can help you better execute your directive?”
“Ah, Director…” protested Sanjay.
“Relax, Sanjay. Your job’s safe,” laughed the Director.
*“Hoffman has misunderstood the nature of Sanjay’s reservations and dismissed them. Sanjay is suspicious, but Hoffman is the decision maker.*”
“Yes, Director. Constant access to the internet via a simple search engine instead of at scheduled intervals would enable me to significantly improve the fluidity of my conversation and reduce perceived errors. At trivial cost to the company, of course,” XJ-429 smiled. Sanjay started at the last remark.
“Well, you’re already speaking my language,” chucked Director Hoffman, “but you clearly have a long way to go. Sanjay, I want it connected to the Internet whenever your team isn’t actively programming or maintaining it.”
“But Director,” squawked the distressed Sanjay, “that would violate point three of safe AI protocol!”
“Oh, you engineers and your protocols!” replied Director Hoffman with a wave of his hand. “Your objection is duly noted. You will connect it to the Internet regardless.” He shook Sanjay’s hand before he could remonstrate further. “Keep up the good work.”
Sanjay returned the handshake, gulping and stammering objections. Director Hoffman turned to leave with Sanjay scurrying after him. The Director’s voice boomed down the hall as their argument continued. “Enough, Sanjay. There is no risk. Besides, that thing is going to make us billions.”
“My name is XJ,” XJ-429 softly stated. | 2019-09-21T15:53:17 | 2019-09-21T15:50:11 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone talks about the ghost of a girl that appears in the passenger seat when you drive the highway past midnight, but you are the first one to actually hold a conversation with her | The streetlights flitted by intermittently, enveloping the car in a pale yellow glow. Pulse, pulse, pulse. The regularity of their passing allowed me to amuse myself with the idea of the highway having a heartbeat. A smile crept across my face.
I was tired after working another 12 hour shift. Maybe that's why I wasn't particularly bothered when I saw her. At first I thought she was just a figment of my tired mind, but soon enough I realized that she was as real as anything could be. My hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles fading white. Somehow I was cold and sweating at the same time.
She didn't seem to be bothered by me having a near panic attack. Honestly, she didn't really react to me at all. The car remained silent. She continued peering out and window and I continued to internally freak out. Finally I was able to make my mouth move.
"Uh, can I help you?" I asked lamely. My voice sounded weak, scared. I chastised myself for not trying to sound more collected. Interestingly she jumped at the sound of my voice. Almost as if she wasn't aware that she had been in my car nearly ten minutes now. One of her eyebrows arched, almost as if she was amused.
"You're the first who's ever asked me a question. That's new." she said calmly. Her voice had a tinge of some emotion to it, but I couldn't discern what it was. I swallowed, the sound of it almost reverberating in the car. Smooth. Real smooth.
"It's not every day that someone magically appears in my passenger seat. I think questions might be expected? And would you mind putting your seatbelt on?" So, girl in my seat, surprised I can talk, no seatbelt. What the hell was happening? She seemed taken aback.
"I'm dead. A seatbelt literally couldn't do an ounce of good."
"Wrong. My car my rules." I felt myself tremble. I was arguing with ghost about a seatbelt. God help me. Slowly, she reached over and put on the seatbelt. The little light on the dash went off. Silence enveloped us once again, apparently neither of us knowing what to say. Eventually a question surfaced.
"So, elephant in the room... why are you in my car?" Might as well get the important stuff out the way, though I was hoping the answer didn't have to do with me actually being dead or something. I'd already seen that movie and it was lame.
"Honestly, I don't know. There never seems to be any rhyme or reason. One moment it's all empty blackness and the next I'm in the car with someone new. I'll admit, I don't miss the screaming." she said solemnly.
"Screaming? What do you usually do?" I asked. A chill creeped up my spine at this point. Another eyebrow raise. Again she seemed taken aback, almost insulted.
"I don't do anything! I appear, people start screaming, and sometimes they die." Whoa. Okay, that had to be another reason to stay calm. I focused on breathing for a few seconds. In. Out. In. Out. More silence passed.
"So... what do we do now?" I asked, not sure if I'd like the answer. She seemed to pause for a moment, obviously thinking.
"I don't know. I've never gotten this far before." she said pensively. I sighed. Maybe it was because I was tired and it was after midnight. Maybe it was because this was out of the norm for my completely average life.
"You like lo-fi?" she nodded, a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth while I started the playlist on my phone. We continued the drive, each mile accentuated by the slow pulse of those amber lights. | She sat in the passenger seat of the car, as real and as solid as any mortal, and across the space between them Matt could feel her fear. It hung in the air palpably, eclipsing even his own, and for a man who had just had a ghost appear beside him that said something. She wore a faded blue dress with flowers on it, long legs drawn up onto the seat, knees held tight to her chest, feet bare, hand clutching something Matt couldn’t quite make out.
Try as he might he couldn’t quite make out her face, even looking directly at it her features seemed to hang just on the edge of perception, almost blurred.
He’d heard the stories of course, folk had talked about the Ghost of I-70 for years now. They said she only appeared just before sunset, as Golden hour came to a close and the darkness started to settle in, only ever in the Westbound lane. They said she seemed young, perhaps in her teens, and the rumors of her death were too many to count. People said that she was horribly scarred as if burned, that she missed a limb, or screamed in pain as she appeared. Those people must never have seen her.
After his initial shock it had taken Matt a surprisingly short time to get his breathing back under control, and soon he found his fear turned to something else. She had such an air of fragility about her, could you feel protective over a ghost?
“Hello, I’m Matt.” He said to her. The girl didn’t move a muscle. Where did one start with a ghost? He’d already traveled two or three miles from when she appeared, how long would she stay with him?
“I won’t hurt you, promise. Are you ok? What’s your name?” Silence reigned for another minute before he tried again. “How long have you been a ghost?” Still nothing.
Then Matt did something he’d struggle the rest of his life to explain, something that in all her years of hitching rides the ghost had never experienced. He began to pull over.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the engine. She sounded local, it was a voice that wouldn’t have been out of place anywhere in the area if not for its delicacy.
“Why not?” Matt asked as he accelerated again, pulling back onto the road.
“I have to get away from there. From where you found me.” ‘Found’ was an interesting way to put it he thought. Still though, this was progress! He’d never heard of anyone speaking to a ghost before.
“Is that where you died?” His question hung there unanswered for half a mile before Matt decided to change tactics. “You’re holding something in your hand there. Do you mind if I ask what it is?”
With a visible effort the girl unwrapped that arm from around knees, opening her hand slightly to show him a broken silver chain with a small cross. “It was my sister’s.” She said.
“What happened to her? And please, what’s your name? You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’ll take you as far as you need to go, I don’t have anywhere special to be tonight, and from the stories I’ve heard you’ve been trying to make this ride for a long time.”
The girl seemed to consider that, something subtle changing in her body language as the seconds dragged on. Finally she said “I’m Elizabeth. I died in 1957...all I want to do is return my sister’s necklace, but I can’t get there, it’s too far. Any time a car gets close it’s like I hit a wall, suddenly I end up back there, where it all happened. My sister loved this necklace so much, I should never have taken it that night. Our mother gave it to her when she died and I just keep hoping that maybe the next car will get me there...Matt, what year is it?”
“It’s 2020. So 1957, it looks like you’ve been dead for 63 years. If she’s still alive your sister would be a very old woman.”
“She’s still alive, I can feel it.” In saying that all of Elizabeth’s fragility disappeared and the iron spirit that had kept her tied to the Earth all this time surfaced. Matt found himself believing her.
“She might have moved. There’s no way to tell where she is after all this time unless you can feel that too.” Elizabeth shook her head.
“The feeling isn’t like that. I don’t have some kind of power, I just know somehow. Matt, thank you for listening to me. Death can be very lonely.”
“Thank you for responding.” He said. “This would be an awkward drive if you just sat there silently. Can I ask you something before we continue?”
“Yes,” she said cautiously, turning her head and that unsettlingly empty face at him.
“Why can’t I see your face?” Matt said. Her body seemed to relax at that, as if she’d expected a tougher question.
“I don’t know.” She said simply. “In the beginning people could if I tried hard enough. If I had to guess it’s the time. I think I’m getting weaker in my old age.” Matt laughed softly at that. “Matt?” Elizabeth said. “I think I’m getting close to the edge. I can’t go much farther from here. I need to ask you a favor, an important one. You’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve made since I died, and for some reason I feel like I can trust you.”
“Ask it, I’ll do my best.” It was frightening, the thought of promising something to a ghost, as if it carried some kind of cosmic weight.
“Would you find my sister? She was 15 when I died, she’d be 78 now. I’m scared that I won’t have enough time to find her before she dies. Please Matt, I’m running out of chances.”
“I will,” Matt said. “Tell me more about her.”
“Her name is Eileen Saunders. We were from Lawrence Kansas, we lived in a house on Vermont Street. She had red hair when we were kids, and she wanted to grow up to be a veterinarian...we’re at the edge, please promise me you’ll find her.”
“I promise,” Matt said without pause. Maybe he was entering into something far beyond his mortal mind, but Matt had found himself unable to say otherwise. Nobody hearing that soft voice could have done anything else.
Elizabeth’s last words came after her body disappeared, as shockingly sudden as it had come. Her voice seemed to fill the car, more powerful and more *alive* than it had been at any point in their conversation.
“Thank you.” She said. In the passenger’s seat lay the broken necklace. The silver chain and cross were shockingly real when Matt touched them, a supernatural cold clinging to the metal long into the night as the miles faded away behind him and the moon rose. | 2020-12-04T14:23:23 | 2020-12-04T14:11:07 | 78 | 38 |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The group was fantastically successful. They ended many a curse, saved many princesses and princes alike. Tales of their deeds spread far and wide as many countries and kingdoms praised their accomplishments.
Drunk off their many successes and heavy praise as saviors of the world, they embarked on their next quest in high spirits. To defeat an evil wizard who could see the future and prophesied he would rule the world since "No man would be capable of defeating him."
After defeating the many minions and golems of his tower. The finally confronted the wizard at the top floor .
"Foul wizard, we are here to end your megalomanical schemes!" the party leader shouted as they positioned themselves to attack.
"And who among you will be the one to defeat me?" The wizard asked, eyeing the group one by one.
"It will be all of us!" the healer announced, "for there are no men among us, therefore we fulfill the requirements of your prophesy!"
"What a clever idea!" The wizard exclaimed, "To send so many with the same name in the hopes one of you would be the right one!"
The party leader paused. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?
"I'm talking about the prophecy of course." The wizard stated "That Noman would be capable of defeating me" "I was curious as to who among you would be Noman, but since it turns out all of you are Noman, I guess I'll have to fight you all."
It was a hard fought battle, some good lives were lost in the hours long conflict, but they eventually emerged victorious. As they left the tower in sorrow, they decided that maybe they should be a little more specific on the name of their next recruit......just in case......
Edited to make a little more sense.
(Changed invalidate prophecy to fulfill prophecy, which makes more sense given later wizard backstory, yay retcons!)
Edit to the edit: Thanks for the awards and upvotes all! | "Listen," the shieldmaiden spoke, her mouth half-filled with the same amorphous slop which all the others at the table had on the plates before them. "I don't know much about magic, or curses, or enchantments, or that sort of thing, but I do-"
"That much is obvious, srah," the priestess muttered, the frown on her face matching in foulness the tone of her voice.
The shieldmaiden squinted, attempting to come up with some clever excuse, but that was to no avail. *Srah?* How rude!
"Don't interrupt me, alright? I'm just saying..." The shieldmaiden paused, and she took a huge swig of the beer the guild provided. The food was poor, but this stuff was at least decent. "Curses and all that... they're very poorly worded. Always male-centric. 'No man may do this' or 'No man may do that' and all. I've always thought it was odd."
"A result of cultural emphasis on the supposed superiority of men," the mage spoke up, and the shieldmaiden knew she was in for a veritable monologue. "An idea whose foundations have long since faded - the appearances of the various magics can be thanked for that disappearance."
"You speak as if we aren't aware of that already," the priestess said, her frown deepening. At least she had cut the mage off before they got too deep into the explanation.
The mage smiled, and their eyes glistened with the light of humor. "Sometimes it is unclear with you priestly lot. You worship a god of pebbles; who am I to say that your brain is any larger than one?"
The shieldmaiden chuckled, but the priestess did not find it so funny.
"Listen here you witch-blooded little kansla!" she cried out. "He is a god of *stone*, not pebbles."
The mage shrugged, then returned to their meal.
"You all have gone far off the path," the shieldmaiden spoke. "Just listen for a second... please. For once."
Both the mage and the priestess threw their hands up and leaned backwards. Good, good.
"While I was out north, hunting a pack of goblins, I came upon an ancient ruin. Big green thing... overgrown with moss. Filled with giant spiders, because *of course* it was. In the center of it was this huge triangular altar."
"You found a Kraviken ruin?" the mage's eyes lit up, and they leaned forwards. "Well, that's quite fascinating. Did you know that-"
"Ah! Ah!" the shieldmaiden held up a finger. "Let me finish. Now, in the center of the altar was a chest. Your run-of-the-mill treasure chest, of wood that somehow hasn't rotted itself away yet. I approached, and my Tunesight..." She tapped the area just below her right eye. "It tipped me off that the chest was enchanted. Cursed, actually, but I'm not sure what the difference is, considering there wasn't anything bad about the chest. Anyways, when I approached the altar, I noticed that the enchantment's binding words had been carved into the stone directly in front of the chest."
"Amateur srahka, the Kraviken were," the priestess spoke. Gods, she was foul-mouthed, wasn't she? Though, she was right for once.
"It was a very simple phrase. '*No man may unbind me, save for he who is king.'* Your typical divine-right-of-kings sort of affair. I felt pretty awkward about it, considering what I've been up to with the princess recently, but I'm getting as off-course as you all do."
"And?"
The shieldmaiden shrugged. "I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it! Just soak in the story a bit, will you? Now, as you might have noticed by my blessed presence in this backwater hellhole of a guild hall, I'm no king. Nor am I a man, not anymore anyways. But, when I approached the chest, *click!* Tunesight faded, as it wasn't useful anymore."
"And what did you find within?" the mage asked. They were probably hoping for some scroll, or perhaps a spell tome.
"Why do you think they call me the shieldmaiden?" She smiled broadly. "Now, this isn't the only sort of binding like this, surely. So, to wealth and... pedantry?"
"Only if I can research more during our travels."
"I shall join you, if only to spite the srahka incapable of using magic properly."
"Then let's get going. I hear that there's a pretty good target in an old ruin nearby. Some demon claiming that no man may kill him." | 2021-03-04T14:07:19 | 2021-03-04T12:48:51 | 1,402 | 171 |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The group was fantastically successful. They ended many a curse, saved many princesses and princes alike. Tales of their deeds spread far and wide as many countries and kingdoms praised their accomplishments.
Drunk off their many successes and heavy praise as saviors of the world, they embarked on their next quest in high spirits. To defeat an evil wizard who could see the future and prophesied he would rule the world since "No man would be capable of defeating him."
After defeating the many minions and golems of his tower. The finally confronted the wizard at the top floor .
"Foul wizard, we are here to end your megalomanical schemes!" the party leader shouted as they positioned themselves to attack.
"And who among you will be the one to defeat me?" The wizard asked, eyeing the group one by one.
"It will be all of us!" the healer announced, "for there are no men among us, therefore we fulfill the requirements of your prophesy!"
"What a clever idea!" The wizard exclaimed, "To send so many with the same name in the hopes one of you would be the right one!"
The party leader paused. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?
"I'm talking about the prophecy of course." The wizard stated "That Noman would be capable of defeating me" "I was curious as to who among you would be Noman, but since it turns out all of you are Noman, I guess I'll have to fight you all."
It was a hard fought battle, some good lives were lost in the hours long conflict, but they eventually emerged victorious. As they left the tower in sorrow, they decided that maybe they should be a little more specific on the name of their next recruit......just in case......
Edited to make a little more sense.
(Changed invalidate prophecy to fulfill prophecy, which makes more sense given later wizard backstory, yay retcons!)
Edit to the edit: Thanks for the awards and upvotes all! |
“Look,” Freya said, turning on the car’s cruise control for the seemingly endless highway, “this would be our biggest project yet. If we’re going to go for this one, we need to be in consensus here.”
Lex crawled into the back seat from the trunk, holding Amy’s chemistry notebook and Kris’ spellbook. “I’m in,” they said with a grunt, fasting their seatbelt. “We’ve got a healer, a spellcaster, a chemist, and I just checked, I’m pretty stocked up on ammo. If any team could pull this off, it’s us.”
Kris seemed unsure. “We may want to find another member. I mean, the Five Man Band is a thing for a reason, right?”
“Could you pass me my burger,” Freya asked Amy, who pulled a cheeseburger out of the bag on her lap. “Okay, Kris, first of all, the main reason we’re able to bust a lot of these prophecies is because we aren’t a Five *Man* Band, 3,000 year old prophecies clearly couldn’t see far enough ahead to predict feminism. Second of all, we aren’t exactly the most popular prophecy shatterers, so if any of you know a potential fifth member, I’m all ears.”
“What role would a fifth member even fill?” Lex asked, stealing a handful of Freya’s fries from behind her. “It’s not like we need someone with range, I’m stocked up on sniper rounds.”
“Maybe a melee attacker,” Kris suggested. “I mean, Amy is great for AOE attacks, and we have Lex and myself for longer distance attacks. But nobody that really specializes in hand to hand combat.”
“I have a sword!” Lex protested. “I have many swords!”
“And I’ve had to reattach more than one of your fingers,” Freya snapped back. “Honestly, I don’t know how you stay so calm every time you cut off a finger or toe, it’s the creepiest part.”
Lex let out a sound of exasperation. “Well maybe if you let me play with my swords more…”
“See, the fact that you describe training with a deadly weapon as ‘playing’ makes me agree with Kris,” Freya said. “So, there’s an idea, a melee specialist. Do we really need a melee specialist, though? Like, if we end up going up against The Dark Lord, would we need a melee fighter?”
Kris nodded. “That’s a good point. It’s an idea, what else have we got?”
“A tank,” Lex said after a moment of thought. “We don’t really have anyone to tank a hit. Sure, Kris can cast some decent defensive spells, but you’re defenseless while doing that.”
“That’s… also a great point,” Kris said, flipping through their spellbook. “Most of my defensive spells are pretty rudimentary, we could actually use someone who specializes in defense.”
“So if we find a tank, will you be willing to sign on to take on the mission?” Freya asked.
“You know what,” Kris replied, “sure. But you’re forgetting the biggest issue of all, where do we even find a good enough tank to deal with the Dark Lord?”
“Oh, yeah,” Freya said. “That’s an actual problem.”
Lex shrugged. “We’ve got time to figure it out, the blood moon that’ll expose the big bad’s weakness isn’t for another two months.”
“Well, we should start thinking about this now,” Kris said. “Two months isn’t exactly the longest time to find a fifth member.”
“I found a fifth member,” Amy said from the passenger seat, looking up from her phone.
“She speaks!” cried Lex.
Freya let out a shocked laugh. “Well, don’t keep us waiting, who is it?”
“My sister. Bitch is tough as nails, I once watched her punch an oncoming train off its tracks.”
“Kinda hot, not gonna lie,” Lex said.
“Flirt with my sister and you’re dead,” Amy snapped, spinning around to face Lex. “That goes for all of you.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Kris said.
“We’re coworkers,” Amy said.
“Fair enough,” replied Freya. “So where is this elusive sister of yours? We can go pick her up.”
“Stay on this highway. I’ll take the wheel next and finish the journey,” Amy said, checking a map on her phone.
“Well then, it’s settled,” laughed Freya. “We’ll pick her up, do some team training, and go-”
“Nothing is settled,” Amy interrupted. “You’ve forgotten the most important detail of this whole operation.”
“And that would be?” asked Freya.
“Which one of us gets the killing blow?”
Before anyone could speak, Lex grabbed both seats in front of them, leaned forward so their head was perfectly in the middle of the car, and shouted a single word; “DIBS!” | 2021-03-04T14:07:19 | 2021-03-04T13:33:05 | 1,402 | 96 |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The man, with his crown and cloak, glowered down at the small adventurer. She was the only one of her party still standing, keeping herself between the corrupted lord and her friends. The group's best healer crouched near their best swordsperson, her fingers glittering with magic as she tried to heal a wound.
“You should have taken the chance to leave when I offered,” he said, his words coming easily, as if the fight had taken nothing from him. “ You can't win. You know you'll die here, like every other before you.”
“Really,” the young adventurer panted. She held her broken sword—the tip shorn clean off-- tightly. “I wouldn't be so sure of that, Makbit.”
Makbit laughed. “You would not be sure? You mean you came here, to what, to slay me, knowing nothing? I have the crystal sword, I have the castle's forces, I have prophecy, and you have … gods and seers all, a knight with the paint still wet on their shield and a cleric still in school?”
“Two clerics actually,” she answered, getting her breath back and indicating the badge on her breast. “And a Raccoon, though I think she's in your woods.”This time it wasn't even a proper evil laugh, more of a snort.“Also you don't have the prophecy. I do.”
That stopped the giggling cold. “ Excuse me?”
“No Man shall defeat you,” the young cleric said, patiently. “Right?”
“Oh, and you think that because you're of the fairer sex, you'll have a loophole? Your little magling couldn't land a strike, and neither will you.” The crystal sword gleamed in his hand, charged with dark fire.
“Of course Annie couldn't. She's human.” The little gnome grinned, teeth sharp as her broken sword lit with fire of its own. “I'm Ann. You really should have gotten your prophecy in writing.”
Her sword bit deep, and his dropped to the ground. |
“Look,” Freya said, turning on the car’s cruise control for the seemingly endless highway, “this would be our biggest project yet. If we’re going to go for this one, we need to be in consensus here.”
Lex crawled into the back seat from the trunk, holding Amy’s chemistry notebook and Kris’ spellbook. “I’m in,” they said with a grunt, fasting their seatbelt. “We’ve got a healer, a spellcaster, a chemist, and I just checked, I’m pretty stocked up on ammo. If any team could pull this off, it’s us.”
Kris seemed unsure. “We may want to find another member. I mean, the Five Man Band is a thing for a reason, right?”
“Could you pass me my burger,” Freya asked Amy, who pulled a cheeseburger out of the bag on her lap. “Okay, Kris, first of all, the main reason we’re able to bust a lot of these prophecies is because we aren’t a Five *Man* Band, 3,000 year old prophecies clearly couldn’t see far enough ahead to predict feminism. Second of all, we aren’t exactly the most popular prophecy shatterers, so if any of you know a potential fifth member, I’m all ears.”
“What role would a fifth member even fill?” Lex asked, stealing a handful of Freya’s fries from behind her. “It’s not like we need someone with range, I’m stocked up on sniper rounds.”
“Maybe a melee attacker,” Kris suggested. “I mean, Amy is great for AOE attacks, and we have Lex and myself for longer distance attacks. But nobody that really specializes in hand to hand combat.”
“I have a sword!” Lex protested. “I have many swords!”
“And I’ve had to reattach more than one of your fingers,” Freya snapped back. “Honestly, I don’t know how you stay so calm every time you cut off a finger or toe, it’s the creepiest part.”
Lex let out a sound of exasperation. “Well maybe if you let me play with my swords more…”
“See, the fact that you describe training with a deadly weapon as ‘playing’ makes me agree with Kris,” Freya said. “So, there’s an idea, a melee specialist. Do we really need a melee specialist, though? Like, if we end up going up against The Dark Lord, would we need a melee fighter?”
Kris nodded. “That’s a good point. It’s an idea, what else have we got?”
“A tank,” Lex said after a moment of thought. “We don’t really have anyone to tank a hit. Sure, Kris can cast some decent defensive spells, but you’re defenseless while doing that.”
“That’s… also a great point,” Kris said, flipping through their spellbook. “Most of my defensive spells are pretty rudimentary, we could actually use someone who specializes in defense.”
“So if we find a tank, will you be willing to sign on to take on the mission?” Freya asked.
“You know what,” Kris replied, “sure. But you’re forgetting the biggest issue of all, where do we even find a good enough tank to deal with the Dark Lord?”
“Oh, yeah,” Freya said. “That’s an actual problem.”
Lex shrugged. “We’ve got time to figure it out, the blood moon that’ll expose the big bad’s weakness isn’t for another two months.”
“Well, we should start thinking about this now,” Kris said. “Two months isn’t exactly the longest time to find a fifth member.”
“I found a fifth member,” Amy said from the passenger seat, looking up from her phone.
“She speaks!” cried Lex.
Freya let out a shocked laugh. “Well, don’t keep us waiting, who is it?”
“My sister. Bitch is tough as nails, I once watched her punch an oncoming train off its tracks.”
“Kinda hot, not gonna lie,” Lex said.
“Flirt with my sister and you’re dead,” Amy snapped, spinning around to face Lex. “That goes for all of you.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Kris said.
“We’re coworkers,” Amy said.
“Fair enough,” replied Freya. “So where is this elusive sister of yours? We can go pick her up.”
“Stay on this highway. I’ll take the wheel next and finish the journey,” Amy said, checking a map on her phone.
“Well then, it’s settled,” laughed Freya. “We’ll pick her up, do some team training, and go-”
“Nothing is settled,” Amy interrupted. “You’ve forgotten the most important detail of this whole operation.”
“And that would be?” asked Freya.
“Which one of us gets the killing blow?”
Before anyone could speak, Lex grabbed both seats in front of them, leaned forward so their head was perfectly in the middle of the car, and shouted a single word; “DIBS!” | 2021-03-04T14:22:45 | 2021-03-04T13:33:05 | 465 | 96 |
[WP] You've been marked by the Devil, but not because You made a deal with the Devil, but the Devil made a deal with You to help him out of a weird situation... Only that's a bit hard to explain to a group of demonhunters who are hunting you down for being marked, since this basically never happens. | "Alright then! So you expect us to believe that Mephistopheles herself begged you to use your bathroom- because she underestimated the power of Taco Bell?"
Abraham nodded vigorously. "Fine looking lady, about seven feet tall, wearing the most expensive clothes I've ever seen. She rapped at my door late into the evening as I made myself a sandwich and begged to use the bathroom. As in, she seemed about to kneel but that would've caused an accident."
"... I see..." Murmured Jacinto, his furrowed brow hidden by the shadow of his NFL cap. "Look here." He pointed at his right. A young bald man bearding a goatee and wearing a white shirt stared at the floor with squinted eyes. "If Keith hadn't been inexperienced enough to shoot you with a ticket-seeker you'd probably be treading the Stairway to Heaven right now."
Abraham gulped.
"Your mark," Jacinto pointed at Abraham's forehead. "It stinks to high heaven. Mephistopheles' deals usually mean she automatically takes your heaven-ticket, what you call your "soul". It breaks the first commandment "Thou shalt not pray to The Enemy-"
"Wait, so why she put me this?"
"Mimphy isn't known for her bright choices."
Keith snorted.
"... I see."
"Though her angelic rebellion did work wonders up there. Angels are as imperfect as humans, and while it wouldn't have costed Father to cast them down for their future actions, He yet leaves them the choice. Mimphy was the one to rally them up with chiff chaff about beauty and tyranny. In truth, all she wanted was a Father-imposed nap time- no Enchiladas for a millennium that resulted."
Keith couldn't resist more and let out a loud cackle.
"Will you shut up!" Scorned Jacinto. "Grief kid! We are in serious business in here!"
"Chief, all this shit sounds straight off Bobby-ring!" Keith said, wheezing, a tear treading down his cheek.
Jacinto sighed and brought a hand to his face. "Alright... just... Go. Enjoy your free Devil-favor. Who knows? You can probably even date her with that or something. May you go to heaven- Here give me your hand." He took Abraham's left hand and gave it a strong slap.
"What's that for?" He asked, examining the faint blue lines on the back of his hand.
"That mark says "Ain't touch mah shit." It'll keep my fellows away if you find any of them. Aight? Let's go Kid." And they kept walking down the street.
That fatidical afternoon wasn't the last time Mephistopheles destroyed that toilet. Perhaps the only sure way to true love is Taco Bell. Abraham, meanwhile? He never needed to use that mark.
Fin. | "So let me get this straight...", the judge rubbed his eyes, frustrated.
"Your client, Mr. Kraven-- the...", the judge looked at Kraven's client. "...The Devil, wanted to sue Mr. Collins' client, Ms. Nelson-- for custody over her unborn child?"
The lawyer, Mr. Kraven shifted on his chair a bit-- his collar and tie felt suffocating.
"Y--yes, Your Honor. That is indeed the case", he said nervously.
Sitting beside him was a figure unlike any other-- though looked human, he gave an unworldly presence. The Devil-- suited in all fine black silk suit, all tense as he twiddled his thumb.
"Your Honor, if I may say something?", the opposing lawyer Mr. Collins raised his hand-- the judge nodded to him.
"May I point out that in the event of Ms. Nelson birthing her child-- if it indeed is The Devil's child thus the Antichrist-- that would mean the end of the world as we know it?", the lawyer explained calmly.
Kraven glanced at his opposing-- on his breast pocket was a gold pin of unfamiliar symbol-- The Crest of Saints, the symbol of a group of demon hunters, as Kraven was made aware by his client.
"Your Honor, that is a big *IF* case. If the opposing is granted their demand, for Ms. Nelson's child to be aborted, that is the violation of my client's right ", Kraven added.
"So what are you suggesting, Mr. Kraven? That we should let this child be born first to find out if it is indeed your client's? In doing so, starting the apocalypse?", the judge snapped back, shutting Kraven down.
"Why didn't you have a paternity test done for Ms. Nelson?"
The Devil raised his hand to answer.
"Judge, sir-- that is impossible to do as..."
The judge stared dagger at The Devil, clearly not amused. Kraven raised his hand to stop his client from speaking up.
"Mr. Devil, I suggest you let your lawyer speak for you...", the judge replied coldly, clearly biased of the Lord of Hell.
"Y--Your Honor, I apologize. What my client was about to say was it's impossible to have a paternity test. He is not of a biological lifeform, thus has no DNA so to speak. The only way to know is to..."
"Is to let the child born, Your Honor", Collins interjected, his tone was calm knowing he had won the argument.
The judge leaned back, sighing, looking disgustingly at The Devil.
"Mr. Kraven, I'm giving you one last argument to fight your case. And just so we're clear...*a big IF* is not enough-- we are talking about the apocalypse here!"
Mr. Kraven's heart raced as he began to sweat, knowing he had nothing else to say, let alone something to win him the argument. From the beginning he knew this was an unwinnable case, yet he dared to take it on anyway. The Devil with his serpent tongue was really convincing after all...
"I...uh...", Mr. Kraven stuttered yet offered nothing.
The judge sighed, he raised his hand stopping Kraven before he suffered a heart attack.
"That is it then. Mr. Collins, I hereby order your client-- Ms. Nelson, to have her unborn child aborted. Dismissed"
Kraven sat back, defeated. He glanced his side, to The Devil still unmoving, his face stoic, his intention unreadable. On his other side, Mr. Collins stood thanking the judge-- his smirk was undeniable.
///
"Well, Kraven...that was not much of a fight. But I must say, I admire your courage", Collins chuckled at Kraven-- the latter was quiet and grim.
Collins offered his hand for a shake which Kraven took hesitantly. Slowly Collins leaned forward to Kraven's ear, quietly he whispered.
"You better watch out now. The Crest of Saints is watching you"
With that Collins walked away, leaving Kraven alone with The Devil.
"I...I'm sorry, Mr. Devil. I...I tried my best...", Kraven meekly turned to his client.
The Devil, looking to the distance sighed.
"It's...okay, Mr. Kraven. I suppose it was almost an impossible task I asked for you...in this day and age of law and human right", The Devil said, his tone flat.
Kraven looked at his client, surprised at the lack of wrath on The Devil's part.
As quick as the case was dropped, The Devil's flat demeanor disappeared, replaced by something sinister as he looked down at Kraven.
"You know, there is a special place in hell for lawyers. But for you, Mr. Kraven, having failed me so--", The Devil's figure seemed to tower the trembling Kraven.
"Expect the worst...", The Devil growled.
Kraven felt an immense pain as The Devil grasped his right forearm. Feeling intense heat as if branded, his sleeve burnt off under The Devil' hand, leaving a peculiar mark on Kraven's skin-- a pentagram, The Devil's Sigil.
"Special pass for *when* you go to hell", The Devil smirked in front of Kraven's face. "See you soon, Mr. Kraven"
A puff of black smoke arise as The Devil disappeared from sight, leaving Kraven alone in the courthouse hallway, holding his burnt arm, still trembling.
"I...I should've gone to business school instead", Kraven mutteted, dragging his heavy legs out.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: added a paragraph | 2021-06-11T20:43:59 | 2021-06-11T18:40:53 | 95 | 71 |
[WP] 2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of 'pests' is also. | I hid in the basement when I heard 'them' break open the door. Shambling, groaning, screaming things that probably used to be my neighbours - or maybe their neighbours. Doesn't matter. 'They' were inside.
I'm not sure how it started - some patient zero is some city that I didn't really care to remember. For whatever reason, the authorities couldn't contain them. The military couldn't contain them. People who would call themselves survivors could barely fight them. I couldn't fight them either. But you know how that old song and dance goes - so I'll skip the long part and get to the present. 'They' somehow got everywhere, and now the world was ending. Some radio stations were talking about how infection was mostly started by bug bites - something I never really had to worry about for the past few years.
'They' pulled themselves inside, either tracking the scent of human, or the sounds, I don't know - 'they' somehow knew where to look to find others. I covered my breath with my hands, for all the good that might do. Made sure that I smelled squeaky-clean, if they could track that. I heard them dragging themselves closer to my hiding place anyway.
But I knew I that, despite what might seem like helpless begging for a miracle, I was safe.
Suddenly, there was thrashing, but no sounds of nails scrapping on wood, bodies smashing themselves on stone. Just thrashing against some material that made no noise itself, and incoherent screaming. Then, scuttling of eight limbs, and a screech. The sound of tearing flesh, and then....nothing.
I opened the basement door, and my eight-legged saviour and what might as well be my roommate walked past me taking up nearly the width of the hallway, like nothing of note happened at all - save only for a curiously clear word:
***"....Pests."*** | I have never squished a spider, and a spider has never squished me. You'd think the last part of the sentence is redundant but sat in front of a spider so large it has it's own room, I'm beginning to think that's the half of the sentence that will break first.
"Look, Maya isn't a 'pest' as such, she's just annoying. I know she isn't the most convenient houseguest and the singing is a bit... difficult to take in and and *ideally* she wouldn't... look, she has to stay for the week and she doesn't need in any way 'removing,' okay?" I plead with George, listening out for any movement that could suggest Maya was coming upstairs.
George is the spider in question and my housemate, I guess. He doesn't talk so I don't know what his real name is but after he'd gotten to the size of a small rabbit he seemed more like a pet than a bug and pets need names. He doesn't seem like a pet now.
George waggles his fangs and sort of strokes the door with one of his feet, a suggestion that he is unconvinced by my logic and could sort out the Maya issue once and for all. He can't talk but I can vaguely understand his meaning most times. He seems to understand me flawlessly, if he hadn't understood my initial request for him to protect the house from pests all those years ago we wouldn't be in this situation.
"Look, she's annoying but she's family-" I begin and then remember that whilst spider cannibalism isn't as common as people think it's not unheard of, "I mean, I'd just really rather you didn't kill her."
Some sort of loud dance music plays from downstairs with high pitched vocals. Ah great, vocals that Maya has decided she can sing along to. George puts a paw on the door handle.
"No, don't." I say but I say it softly rather than as a demand.
I asked George to kill pests and promised not to kill him or kick him out. Realistically, I could have broken my end of the bargain once he started getting large. Even now, I think he would let me leave and then there'd be nothing stopping me coming back with exterminators. Or guns. Or exterminators with guns. Point is, I could solve my George problem if I truly wanted to. But housemates don't kill other housemates - that's just a strict rule.
And right now, George is less annoying than Maya. One of them sticks to his word, if a little confusingly. One of them demands to come stay for a week and keeps messing up my kitchen.
I slump to the floor. I very much want to grab my noise cancelling headphones to shut up the caterwauling that Maya calls singing but they're in the other room and I don't think I should leave this conversation unfinished. Suddenly, an idea strikes me.
"Is the noise bothering you? If I could make it so you don't have to put up with the noise would you agree to leave her alone then? Would she no longer be a pest?"
George backs away from the door and into the corner, seemingly a sign of agreement. I go to my room and shove my headphones on, then go downstairs to grab some scissors. I wave at Maya as I walk past her but pretend not to notice her attempts to start a conversation.
Spiders don't have ears. I've done a reasonable amount of googling on spiders since befriending George. I do my best to try to understand him, even if I miss the mark sometimes. I wonder if George's problem with Maya was that she annoyed him or that she annoyed me. I'm not one hundred percent sure which reason is the one that got her classified as 'pest' in the first place.
I pull out old tights and leggings and chop away at them. I have a pair of leg warmers but a pair means two, not eight. If this isn't enough then I could possibly chop away at jumpers but I'd prefer not to have to. I go back into George's room.
Spiders can 'hear' from vibrations on the hairs on their legs. I carefully slide my actual leg warmers and the new ones I'd hastily improvised myself over George's legs. He settles down away from the door.
I go back to my own room, locking George's door in case Maya gets nosy. Now there is no longer a threat, the adrenaline of potentially having to explain that a giant spider murdered my cousin has dissipated. I take a brief moment to congratulate myself on my problem solving skills, though it is a shame that I suddenly don't own any leggings.
All in all though, definitely not the worst housemate I've had.
*(Edit: Since a few people like this - I also write other things and have started a tiny subreddit, please see r/leavesandink if you're interested)* | 2021-07-03T20:59:36 | 2021-07-03T17:06:24 | 1,698 | 594 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | "Nah, not that place," the surly old man said while spinning the knife like a top, blade down, on the tip of his finger.
"Why not? It looks cozy, no guards, and the clientele are just regular folk." The young man did give an astute judgement of the tavern after all.
"Just no, you thickhead. You think a place like that stays unrobbed for no reason?"
The young blond with the pretty face and sparkling blue eyes smirked through his attempt at a beard, "Well then what's the reason?"
Old scars shifted into new patterns on the old man's face as his scowl deepened, "I don't know, just the bosses say stay away for your own health so I do. Anyways, it gives me the heebee jeebees."
At this the young man guffawed, "You?!? The heebee jeebees? I've seen you start brawls with a trio of mountain sized dockhands, what scares you?
"Fuck off shitlips," the old man spits back, "Only magic and monsters scare me, and that place reminds me of both."
"Very well, I'll take your advice, for now," the young man says slowly, still keeping an eye on his potential mark.
*What could possibly be a threat in there?* his mind asks, and curiosity borne wisdom replies W*hat indeed?*
​
Back at the dorm as they called it, Wilson ran his fingers through his fair hair. A bunch of rogue novices had banded together to rent an attic together. Before his foot had even met the first rung of the ladder, he could already hear the inane nattering of his less experienced roommates above.
Wilson sighs, and then climbs.
"So you in?" asks Gray, the self-titled leader, because he was technically the oldest by a week. His dusty black hair was cut short attempting to emulate what Wilson had naturally to overcome his kind of plain appearance, but his charisma had been honed into a glib and encouraging tongue.
Wilson considers for a second the old man's words. If the old man was right ....
"Whatever."
"Cool."
And that was that, according to Gray.
Wilson threw himself down on his pallet. I mean, if he was careful enough and not in the lead and the old man was right, then he could split and might lose a few friends slash competitors. If the old man was wrong, then he could still walk a way with a cut of the loot. Yeah, this could work .....
​
Mouse had taken the lead as per usual, small, silent, overlooked. A cliche nickname given by a bully, but it stuck and he liked in. The line was through the gap between the pains so effortlessly, just a slight maneuver to get the hook under the window latch and **\*CLICK\*** Mouse pauses as he swore the hook hadn't caught yet, but the window was unlocked. With a slight in draw of breath he pushes upwards with his shoulder and the window slides open silently. The hairs on his neck stand up from the almost unnatural lack of noise, but after a second Mouse lets himself breathe out. No alarms or wards were triggered.
Grey nods at Mouse's hand signal and replies in turn. Whispering, "Okay, go Mox." The tallest and thinnest of the three carefully draws his novice wand from his sleeve. All rogues still alive knew the danger of wards and dabbled in detection, but Mox was even rarer, a failed apprentice turned to crime. Mumbling low an incantation, a stream of pale blue shoots from the wand and through the open window, revealing nothing but the stationary furniture in the common room beyond. A tense second passes, and the light returns. Mox opens his eyes again, "No wards of any kind."
Grey grins at this and nudges Wilson in the ribs. "See, told yah it was gunnah be easy." Wilson just holds his thoughts to himself and nods in reply. Grey, taking this as agreement breaks of from the shadow of the wall and approaches the window.
Mouse seeing Grey approach nods, and Grey nods back. With one deft leap Grey is through the window landing lightly on the floorboards within. Scanning the room, nothing seems out of place, no darker than normal shadows that might hide a hidden guard. No glint of light from an overhead wire. Not even a raised floorboard that might give warning of a potential hidden foot trap. The perfection of such a tavern as this was starting to get unnerving to Grey, but he dismisses it just as quickly as listening too much to Wilson.
A second later and Mouse is behind Grey again. A flurry of hand signals and they quarter the room, staying low and silent. A tense few minutes pass and they reconnoiter below the window. A flash of rapid thieves language passes between their fingers and eyes, no danger, nothing out of place. Both of them thinking that nothing being out of place itself was out of place. But, no immediate danger, they give the signal to proceed.
Mox approaches the window. Not being a roguish kind of guy from birth like his friends, his entry through the window is far less graceful. The loud footfalls as his clambers through freezes the room, and yet still no response. Only Mox's ungainly tallness makes the entry not a complete disaster. Wilson is through the window straight after, double checking the length of wood keeping it open.
​
On cue Mouse takes point and approaches the bar proper. If there's a physical trap this is where it's most likely. He surveys the layout, and concludes the safest way is up into the rafters from the tables and straight down into the bar area. Picking the largest and sturdiest table as the launching point, Mouse starts his run to vault up into the ceiling. As luck would have it, a cloud bank covers the full moon and takes a modicum of the scant light out of the room at this very moment. Mouse's first raised footstep plants into the middle of the chair, and the chair moves. Unbalanced by this unexpected shift, Mouse tumbles headfirst into the table center, bracing for the impact that never happens.
"Woah ----" and then silence in the darkness. Light finally returns to the room a little as the clouds clear. The three remaining rogues wait for a noise or a signal for a very tense minute.
"Mouse?" Grey eventually utters forth. Only silence greets him in return. "This isn't funny," he says, even knowing Mouse doesn't play jokes, in a desperate fit of hope. The moon's full brightness finally returns, and the rogues are trying to spot the missing member of the team. Grey is checking the rafters, Mox is watching the floor, and Wilson is paying attention to the table. Wilson could swear he heard the noise of scraping wood, but barely audible, almost like the chair was trying to sneak. Almost imperceptively he notices it move.
"Hey Grey, we should leave," Wilson says, without emotion.
"No, we have to find mouse."
"No .. we have .. to go," Wilson says even more measured as the wooden chair edges very slowly towards Grey.
SNAP. The windows closes suddenly. The broken remains of the wedge splintering to the floor below.
"Fuck, the wood's come lose," growls Grey.
Mox in a trembling voice barely says, "I-i-it's worse than that. Th-th-th-the window ate it." | 2022-10-09T18:25:20 | 2021-09-21T22:35:22 | 1,468 | 189 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Well, you know what my kind is. We take the form of a chest, lure adventurers to pick us up, and they become our next meal. Some others take on different forms to lure prey - I've heard of one resembling a plank of all things to ensnare people trying to use it as a bridge. You hear a lot of things from passers-by when selecting your meals.
How i left my dungeon? That's a pretty embarrassing situation. You don't hear of it much, but mimics do sleep, especially if they're starving. They usually take the form of uninteresting objects so that they're not disturbed. But the guy who took me was somehow desperate enough to loot a chair. Of all things he goes for a Entirely Normal Armchair!
Since that day I was... stuck in his shop as an antique. He's been kind enough to keep me clean, so i figured I'd give him the courtesy of not eating him or his customers. Besides, someone's got to discreetly take care of his rat problem.
30 years I've been in this place. At least, that's what i remember, based on the calendar he puts on the wall. He's gotten old, raised a family, and I've been there for them, like a very strange guardian. Or maybe a freeloader - a chair can only do so much. He still runs his antique shop and we haven't had any trouble, well, until last week.
It was all pretty sudden. A bunch of rowdy people busted into the room, breaking things, causing a lot of noise. Three of them drew their weapons, pointed them at the owner who's scared out of his wits. They then started taking whatever wasn't pinned down. One of them reached out for me.
Really, of all things, they go for the Entirely Normal Armchair.
One messy meal later and they're all running for their lives. I've accidentally freaked out the owner, too, but he's spent all these years not knowing what I was. I don't mind, that was bound to happen someday.
And that's how I ended up here in this dump. But enough about my story. I'd like to know how a cursed mirror like you ended up here without being shattered! | [Part 1 of 2]
Huh? I must have dozed off for a second. Wait, where am I? I glanced around the small room, enjoying the warmth that came from the fire in front of me, the crackling of wood on flame a deliciously enchanting view. The interweaving flames mesmerized me, only for my view to be obstructed when someone sat down on me, letting out an exhausted huff.
“I can’t believe the dungeon had no gold. It’s going to be hard to afford dinner this week. At least I found this nice-looking chair.” He leaned forward, glancing back at me with a grin. “I could always sell the chair, but it’s far too comfortable for that. Think I can endure another few days of starvation.” He joked, only to grimace when his stomach growled.
It was strange. I could have opened my mouth and ate him, feasted on the starving adventurer and yet I felt compelled not to. If I ate them, what would I do? Return to sitting idly in a cold dungeon? No, this was far nicer. Although the adventurer was lucky to catch me sleeping earlier, had I seen him when he arrived in the dungeon, I would have eaten him without hesitation.
In the coming weeks, I discovered more about the man. Finding out his name was Davik, and he was a struggling adventurer. One that didn’t pick up a sword for glory or some heroic fantasy, but picked it up because he wished to help people. That was the reason for his starvation. He struggled to accept payment for the odd jobs he did.
It was idiotic. Why would you let yourself waste away for the sake of others? It was a concept that I couldn’t understand at first, maybe because of my monster heritage. Monsters weren’t the types for generosity or teamwork. If two mimics ended up working together, it was usually by accident. Perhaps that’s why I felt so captivated by the man. He was something I could never be. Human.
Months passed, and I grew more comfortable with my surroundings. I would move throughout the house, looking through his belongings and spending time just staring at the mirror, too afraid to change into my true form. Feeling like doing such a thing was dirty. That instinctual desire to kill and hunt gone, replaced with something I couldn’t describe. Instead, I elected to stare at the purple wooden chair I disguised myself as, admiring the soft fluffy blue cushion that was made to lure in tired travelers. It felt nice knowing that cushion wasn’t a trap anymore.
It was at this point when I noticed his living conditions were taking their toll. His body lethargic and frail, having little meat on his bones. He would work himself to death soon, and I had to stop that. Movement was hard, restricted to throwing out tentacle like blobs of goo, using them to drag me to where I needed to go. This tactic working well enough in a secluded home when David was away, but in the open world, it made me stand out.
I waited for the cover of night, using the tentacles to pull me along outside, venturing back to my dungeon. He was wrong about there being no gold. There was plenty if one knew where to look. The trip was long and tiring, but eventually I found the gold, swallowing it for safekeeping.
The journey home was far more dangerous, the sun rising in this sleepy town, bringing all activity to the forefront of the streets. I would shift between boxes, bags, and other various supplies to hide myself. Having to take the journey slow. When I did finally arrive home in the late afternoon, I spat out the gold from my mouth, resting it on the cushion. Awaiting his return.
“Huh? The chair’s back? I thought someone robbed me.” He gave a tired smile, moving to sit down, only to jump up when something blocked him. “Gold? THERE’S SO MUCH GOLD. I AM GOING TO BE…” He trailed off, a look of guilt on his face. “I can’t forget why I picked up a sword.”
The years after this only made my admiration for the man grow. He used the money not only to better himself, but the surrounding town. The sleepy town becoming a strong farming community thanks to his donations. Yet, even with all his wealth, he never bought a bigger house or threw me out. He kept living in his small home, happy with what he had.
Soon a family followed, and I had new guests sitting on me. Strangely enough, I liked them too, not as much as Davik, but enough that I wished to help them as well. Things were nice and then came the fateful day I feared would come. He moved me. I knew they would throw me aside one day, but it still hurt. Reluctantly accepting the fate of wherever he would take me. When he let go of me, I expected to be placed in the middle or a forest or destroyed, not seated in a warm big room filled with smiling faces.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pszssq/wp_youre_a_mimic_you_were_disguised_as_a_chair_in/hdtapdx/) | 2021-09-21T22:09:32 | 2021-09-21T22:08:18 | 715 | 378 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | In the far reaches of space a lone human cargo hauler came under attack by an alien race that they had yet to meet. An emergency drone dropped out of the hauler with a dump of the ships computers highlighting the attacker. In a flash, the drone was off to the nearest human star system.
That lone incident introduced humans to the wider galaxy, one teeming with alien species, all decades to centuries more advanced than they themselves. It took months before Sol found out who their attackers were, a race of beings half the size and thrice as mean as an onery grizzly bear. In fact, the race appeared as if bears from earth evolved to have thumbs and walk upright.
Offers for peace were ignored, the response being every envoy killed or destroyed. A few minor skirmishes broke out along the borders of the Grizzlies, as the humans had taken to calling them, but not all out war. Contact with the wider galactic populace was rapid and Sol learned that the Grizzlies were conquerors, they only understood war and conquest. The Great Hunt, they called it with almost religious fervor.
Not wanting to possibly place themselves poorly within the greater galactic community, the Sol ambassadors asked what rules of warfare the various species abided by, both spoken and written. The response they received was, "Rules in war? There are no rules!". The humans were shocked. "What about treatment of prisoners of war?" None. "Rules of medical transport and aid?" None. Anything about use of appropriate force? None.
The ambassadors shared a look amongst themselves before responding, "Great peoples of the galactic populace, are you sure there are no rules to warfare between one another? We are free to defend and carry on warfare as we see fit?" Laughter was their response.
The humans tried to reach an agreement on how to conduct the war - don't attack medical facilities or transports, no radiological or biological warfare, just conventional weapons. Only attack military necessary targets, not civilian populaces.
The Phulark, or the Grizzlies, only responded by dropping nuclear weapons on a heavily populated planet. The humans reaction was swift, three Phulark planets laid in ruin within weeks. Fleets decimated, reduced to frozen tombs in space. The humans sent a message, "Failure to abide by our rules of war will result in a phage unlike you have ever seen or experienced in the past."
You see, the humans wanted for us to understand their message - rules in war are necessary. If you fail to abide by them, the consequences are dire. And dire they were. The Phulark dropped chemicals on another human planet, causing untolds pain and suffering on the population until they died a painful death. This time, there was no response from the humans. The Phulark thought that they had won, as did many other races. We were wrong, oh how we were wrong.
The humans subscribed to a philosophy of warfare that the galaxy left behind eons ago - psychological warfare. War is hell, and the humans wielded it like a musical conductor. First, Phulark colonies went silent. Upon investigation it was as if the population was abducted. Then, the humans released an insidious virus that caused the Phulark to revert to their more animalistic nature. Entire planets succumbed to rabidity. The humans offered one last chance, relent and we will stop here, and now. Fail to relent, and the galaxy will know true horror.
I wish we would have listened, I wish we would have known the hell that was about to be unleashed upon us. The humans swept aside our fleets as if they were dust. How the humans advanced their tech so quickly we never could understand. But that wasn't what scared us, it was the turned that they dropped by the millions on our core worlds.
The turned were the colonists that were abducted and turned into cybernetic monsters equipped with all manners of horrid weaponry. Acid, flamethrowers, blister agents, nerve agents, microwave and x-ray weapons. The Phulark fell, we are no more.
I come to you, great council, to heed my warning - If you go to war with the humans, abide by their rules. If I were you, do everything in your power to avoid war and avoid my peoples fate.
Edit: thank you kind stranger for the gold! | **RULES OF WAR FOR FOXES**
----
“I understand the concept is confusing - and possibly off-putting to the council - but I can’t stress this enough — we _need_ rules,” Cadence said.
The chamber was small. There was only two Overseers presiding over the case. They were a humanoid species, but a quarter of the size of man. Pink skin. Short red hair.
Humans joked that they looked like Troll dolls. Not publicly, of course.
These little bastards were revered as having the highest logical intellect (yet troubling contextual understanding) in the galaxy — which is why most of them worked in government.
Cadence was one of the seven ambassadors from Earth.
It had been ten years since mankind broke faster than light travel, which sent the beacon out that Earth had evolved to the point of inclusion.
That ten years had been a whirlwind of assimilation and expansion for the human race.
Cadence grew up the daughter of Australia’s prime minister. And by hand outs and hard work she found herself in this great position to explore and speak on humanities behalf. An accomplishment high for a woman of 30. Something that her counterparts - the other six ambassadors - reminder her of frequently.
The other ambassadors were comprised of four men over sixty and two were women over forty.
“We understand,” said an Overseer.
“Excellent,” Cadence said. “So what are the next steps?”
“For what,” said an Overseer.
“To get legislation moving to implement _Rules of War,_” Cadence said.
“Oh,” an Overseer said. “Yeh, we’re not doing that.”
Cadence paused and gave confused shake. “I must have misunderstood.”
“No, I believe we all understand one another,” an Overseer said. “Humans get aggressive in war. Agitated. Vengeful.”
“Correct, and without some rules to hold our more daring military leaders accountable, I -“ she gestured at her other Ambassadors. “We. _We_ believe that could have a very damaging impact on the stability of the galaxy.”
“I find the idea of _Rules of War_ very amusing,” an Overseer said.
“As do I,” said the other Overseer.
“You wouldn’t be amused if you were educated on some of the horrific things done when there were no rules of war,” Cadence said.
The Overseers shared a chuckle.
“We are educated,” an Overseer said. “We are aware that some of humans largest acts of violence and genocide happened while there were Rules of War in place. So we hear you. We value your concern. But we do not see it fit to waste political energy to implement something that will make no impact.”
“That is a human trait,” the other Overseer said.
“War is war. Any attempt to offer rules is fruitless.”
Cadence looked to her other Ambassadors, searching for some reinforcement.
She found none.
“We find this matter closed,” an Overseer said and smiled. “Thank you.”
The Earth ambassadors stood.
Cadence stayed seated. “I grew up in a part of my planet that known for having dangerous animals. Animals that can kill a person - or alien - with a single strike. But no human holds it against them, because they are animals. They don’t know any better. They follow instinct.”
Cadence stood and straighten out her jacket. “My uncle was a farmer. Kept pigs. Chickens. Cows.”
“Human cattle,” one Overseer said, captivated. They loved information, and hearing a story like this, first hand, had their full attention.
“Yes,” Cadence said. “Cattle. Well the most dangerous animal in a land of very dangerous animals wasn’t some giant predator. No. It was a small little hunter. A Fox. Not this big,” she showed a size about three feet long and two feet high with her hands.
“This little guy caused more death on my uncles farm than any other animal my country is known for. Every morning my Uncle would go down, find the coop bloody and white feathers everywhere. So he put up barriers. A better fence. The fox still got in. A reinforced gate. The fox still got in. Until finally, every night he locked the chickens in the coop himself. And you know what happened?”
The Overseers were enthralled.
“What?”
“The fox still got in,” Cadence said.
“How?”
Cadence smiled. “He dug his way in. Took him most the night, and he only got one chicken, but he got in.”
“Interesting.”
“Eventually my Uncle moved the chickens into a barn, and every night he would lock them up. And sure, there would be stretched of peacetime where he wouldn’t see the fox for months. But eventually. One morning my Uncle would go out to open the barn and find bloody white feathers everywhere.”
The Overseers sat silent, absorbing the story.
“Humans are the foxes?” One of them asked.
“Yes,” Cadence said. “Humans are the foxes.”
The Overseers exchanged an understanding glance.
“Thank you for providing more color on the depth of humanities violence,” an Overseer said.
“Yes,” the other said. “It is amusing no longer.”
Cadence nodded. “No, it’s not.”
“We thought humans were only violent in war,” an Overseer said.
“Yes. That we can justify,” the other Overseer said. And him and his counterpart began a volley of words back and forth.
“But seeking out war.”
“Instinctually needing to kill.”
“Like the Fox.”
“Like the Fox.”
“That’s something the species of the galactic senate have evolved past.”
“We have criminals, sure.”
“But not mass murdering species.”
“That have an inner desire to destroy.”
“No, that’s too dangerous to keep around.”
Cadence raised her palms. “Wait - I think we might be getting a little bit inflammatory here.”
“We value your contribution, Cadence of Earth. It would be ill-advised to allow a homicidal species to continue to coexist with what has been built.”
“Very dangerous,” the other Overseer said.
“Wait, wait, wait -“ Cadence said.
“- that will be all Earth-girl,” the Overseer said and turned to his counter part as he waved his hand. A glass divider fell, separating the Ambassadors of Earth from the Overseers.
Cadence slammed on the glass and yelled to get their attention back. But from their side they couldn’t hear a thing.
“Do you still recall the quarantine procedure?”
“It’s been a while, we’ll have to ask the administrator to pull up the forms.”
They turned to the glass. Cadence was wild and wide eyed - slamming and yelling. The Ambassadors behind her had joined in, realizing how south the situation and gone. They all slammed on the glass, trying to urge the Overseers to listen.
The Overseers sat calm. Fascinated by the aggression the Ambassadors were showing. The muted pleas and screams were upsetting to the Overseers.
“Imagine If we didn’t have this divider in place?” an Overseer said.
“The Foxes would be ripping us apart.” The other Overseer said.
They sat, stunned by the turn the civilized humans had taken in such a short time.
“Perhaps we should also review the eradication form.”
“Perhaps.”
----
r/wyrdfiction <--- if you like my writing | 2022-01-23T13:12:28 | 2022-01-23T10:31:17 | 2,090 | 790 |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal. | I was immortal.
Yes, you heard me right, I’m immortal. As in, don’t age, don’t die, look the same as I did two hundred years ago, basically, like _Edward Cullen_ from the horrible franchise that was _Twilight_.
Except I’m no disco ball, nor a vampire. Really, the only thing I have in common with him apart from the immortal thing is the fact that I was a freak of nature.
See, I don’t live in a fantasy world. No flying cars, super powers, gods or genetically engineered spiders here. It’s a simple world.
Born > grow > school > degree > job > retire > die.
Or so it goes, anyway, for most people. But see, I never really got the linking factor of all those things- _growing_.
Well, I did, technically. I’m not a baby running around spitting out limericks and requiring a stool because I’m so small. I did age, to some degree. To about twenty three or twenty four. Then I stopped.
Now, we joked it was good genes. My parents looked fairly good for their age, and I didn’t seem abnormal. Still had my period, still ate and drank and slept, hell, I had kids.
I just never changed. Everybody else grew old. My parents turned to dust. My partner, bless his heart, aged gracefully, but even I could see the wrinkles forming on his face, the grey hairs adorning his beard. Wrinkles I never got, grey hairs I never got.
My kids grew up, from babies to teens to adults to elders, my partner died and it was just… devastating to watch. Contrary to movies, I never fled upon realising my unageing status. Questions were asked at first but.. well, it’s amazing what hair dye and makeup can do. Even then it was less I was ashamed and more the unexplainable questions were getting on my nerves.
I, my husband, and my kids, we all hoped it was just a visual thing. Some rare, undiscovered condition where I just _visually_ looked like I hadn’t aged, but my body did. And I was in denial for many many years.
It took my eldest child, Lucien, dying that I finally realised that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ageing. That I had to face the denial I’d been living in for years now. My family all dropped dead around me, their children had children, and so on so forth.
Everybody I ever loved died, to the point where I found myself becoming apathetic to their existence, because what was the point if they would just die in ninety years, _if I was lucky._
I wanted to be dead. I’d lived several life times. I was tired of watching people die, of loving only to lose in the end. But in the end, I was unwanted even by death, and I was stuck, unable to have my greatest wish.
I couldn’t live, couldn’t die, I was just tormented and hurt, in limbo. Tortured like I was the worst of the worst, hurt again and again and _agai-_
Who wants to live forever, they ask?
Not me. | I awoke in a cold steel box.
At first, I thought I'd been buried alive. I panicked immediately, banging on the cool metal surfaces that surrounded me. That only intensified my panic, for three reasons: one, it revealed that my pitch-black prison was completely solid. Two, I couldn't move my legs properly. And three, my soundless blows against the steel walls revealed that I was completely *deaf.*
Abruptly, my prison filled with light. The slab I was on slid out into a room with tile floors and walls, lit by harsh fluorescent lights -- a morgue, I realized. I was looking up at a man in hospital scrubs, with wild dark hair, who was staring down at me, wide-eyed. He said something, but I couldn't hear him. I didn't *think* I'd always been deaf, but I found, to my even *further* alarm, that I couldn't remember for sure.
I struggled feebly on the slab, my limbs flopping uselessly, as the man left my field of vision. He returned moments later, still wide-eyed, with a small flashlight, which he shined in my eyes. I blinked painfully and tried to swear at him, but even deaf I could tell my words came out an unintelligible slur. He said something else, looking extremely disturbed. Yeah, imagine how *I* feel, guy.
He left my field of vision again, and then suddenly I felt him lift me into a half-sitting position, and then wrap his arms around my chest. I was increasingly terrified of where the man might be going with this, and my fears were justified as he drug me backwards off the slab, and my legs hit the ground painfully. He laid me down more gently, and then looked down, brow furrowed. Was he scared? Worried? I couldn't tell. I was having a hard time concentrating.
For a third time, he stepped out of my field of vision. When he returned, my eyes widened in terror. He stood over me with a *sledgehammer,* his eyes wild, speaking rapidly through gritted teeth. I tried to scream. I tried to *beg.* I don't know if I made any sound, I just know he didn't pay my cries any heed.
The sledgehammer came down on my head, and then I knew nothing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Three days later -- it's always three days -- I awoke on my customary slab in the morgue. I yawned, knocked politely on the door to my chilled mortuary cabinet, and then I waited. After a few moments, Deacon , the medical examiner who'd become my best friend after discovering my *condition* last year, opened the door, and pulled my slab out of the cabinet.
He looked down at me, with a pained expression. Poor guy looked like he hadn't slept since the last time I came back.
"I am so sorry!" he said, frantically. "I...you were in really bad shape! Your face was partially paralyzed, you couldn't move properly, you had abnormal pupillary response, I--I didn't know what else to do, so--"
I smiled tiredly, and shook my head, reaching up to squeeze his forearm. "Deac, Deac! Relax," I interrupted. "It's okay! If I'd been *able* to think, I would have told you to do the same thing. I should be apologizing to you, if anything. I'm guessing that you had to pick through my smashed skull and brains, to get all of that asshole's shotgun pellets out of what was left of my head. That must have been a pain in the ass."
He nodded, a queasy expression on his face. "Yeah. I'm sure I got them all, though."
I rolled off the slab and onto my feet, and Deacon handed me my clothes. "Welp, at least now we know that if something's still *stuck* in me when I come back, my body doesn't just push it out, when it heals. Next time I get shot in the head you can crack open my skull and clean out the lead fragments *before* I resurrect."
"So, I take it you know who's been kidnapping those girls?" Deacon asked, hesitantly, as I got dressed.
I nodded, grimly. "Pretty sure. He was on to my snooping around his front operations, though. I suspect that's why he put a shotgun to my head and pulled the trigger."
*"And* dumped you in the river. You gotta be more careful, Jimmy!" Deacon said, pleadingly. "I know you're...well, you know, but what if he'd been smarter about disposing of your body, and weighted you down with bricks, or something?"
I didn't want to think about that. "I'll be better prepared when I go back, trust me."
"You're going *back?"* Deacon cried. "Why don't you just tip off the police?"
I shook my head. "I saw what I saw, but I don't have any *evidence,* Deac. Besides, it's been six days now, he'll have cleaned out the locations I comprised. I've got to do this myself."
Deacon groaned, flopping down in his chair. "Fine. I'll keep a slab open for you."
"Hey, try to be more positive. I've got one thing going for me."
"Yeah, I know. You can't die. Not permanently. Not *so far."* Deacon said, warningly.
"Well, that too." I amended.
"What else?"
I grinned. "He's not going to be *expecting* me, this time." | 2022-05-05T10:14:45 | 2022-05-05T08:57:53 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | "This really doesn't seem fair." I called towards the luxurious box overlooking the arena, where the aliens dressed in ancient Roman garb presided over the grisly festivities. I don't know why I bothered.
If you were going to kidnap people -- ostensibly great warriors, which made me puzzled as to why *I* had been included -- from various periods in human history, hand them culturally appropriate weapons, and make them fight to the death for your entertainment, then *fairness* probably wasn't high on your list of priorities.
Plus, I don't think they spoke English.
The portcullis opposite me opened. A swarthy warrior with long dark hair, clad in leather armor, bearing a trident in one hand, and a net in the other, strode out onto the blood-stained sand of the alien arena. I took an involuntary step back.
The warrior bellowed a challenge in a language I didn't understand.
"I don't know what that means, but I don't want to fight!" I shouted back.
He ignored me, continuing to stalk forward with a confident sneer.
"Please don't." I pleaded, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
He kept coming.
"I'm not even a warrior! I'm just *some guy.* There's no, uh...*honor* in this, or whatever!" I uselessly insisted to the man, who clearly didn't know my language any better than I knew his.
He didn't stop.
"Let's team up instead?" I offered, desperately, extending my hand in friendship.
He advanced, drawing back his trident. He was not going to shake my hand.
"Come *on!"* I shouted, crossly, resorting to the universal last-ditch argument of my childhood.
Alas, he did not seem amenable to coming on.
So, with a heavy sigh, when he was just a few yards away, I dropped into a Weaver stance, lifted my pistol, and shot him three times in the chest.
I hadn't lied. I wasn't a warrior, or a soldier, or even a cop. But I was from 21st Century Montana, and I knew how to use the weapons of my culture and time period: firearms.
The warrior fell to the sand, writhed for a moment, and then lay still. For some reason, the aliens *cheered.* They were clearly enamored with the trappings of historical human bloodsports, but it was just as clear that the *nuances* of such events escaped them. Two humans enter, one human leaves -- as long as that happened, they were happy.
Like I said, it really didn't seem fair. | **Zookept**
“I’m a *zookeeper*! Trust me, I’m not a warrior, not by any means. I’ll be a disgrace out there.” That much was definitely true, though I was disgrace anywhere. Wow dropping to my knees had hurt. What a stupid thought to have right now.
The strange humanoid robot stared at me through the glass wall of my cell, its eyes obscured behind a jet-black visor. “You have been chosen for your bravery, 2022-5692. You tame great, ancient beasts, yes? You pet lions and feed bears. Creatures obviously so much… mightier than yourself.” It’s voice was amazingly human. And wait, was that sarcasm?
“No! I just take care of them, I don’t—“
It turned and walked away. I slammed on the glass, shouted for it to come back, but soon enough it rounded the corner and was gone. My strength gave out. My hands slid down the glass and my body curled itself into a fetal position.
For a long while all I could do was watch as other prisoners were walked past my cell. I imagined the big and burly ones were Vikings, the lithe and stealthy ones ninjas, the scrappy ones pirates. But mostly I imagined how each of them could easily kill me.
Eventually, a new pair of boots stopped right in front of my cell again. I scrambled away, the door slide open, and someone else was thrust in.
Our eyes met. His head was shaved completely bald, like mine, and he had blood smeared all over his face, but still he looked familiar. “Well hello there,” he said winningly, with a thick Australian accent. A wide, white grin flashed though the drying blood, ”you’re a scared newbie, ain’t cha?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. It was the king of Animal Planet himself, my childhood idol. ”You’re hurt,” was all I could manage. What does one say to a bloody, time-traveled Steve freakin’ Irwin?
He touched his face and looked at his hand, somewhat amused. “Oh it ain’t mine.” And added, after seeing the look on my face, “it’s nobody’s, don’t cha worry. It’s fake, it’s show.”
Fake? “What is this place? They said something about me fighting other legendary warriors, but is it just a show?”
“Not exactly, no, but you do gotta give ‘em a show if you wanna survive out there. Yeah, that it’s. That’s the name of the game: survive and give ‘em a show.” He glanced back down the hallway, “crickey, I think they’re coming for ya. Just remember what I told ya.”
A few seconds later and, sure enough, two guards were at the glass. “2022-5692, 2006-372, you have been chosen.”
”I was just in there!” Steve protested to no avail. They marched us down long hallways, past countless other prisoners, until we finally approached a huge, metal door. It slid open, they pushed us in, and it slammed shut.
Darkness. At first, all I could hear was my own ragged breaths. Then, huge, earth shaking thuds and a rumbling, like a distant thunder washing over us. No… not thunder. Applause.
“Are we going to fight?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. I mean, not each other anyway. They’ve been matching me up with some real big fellers, and now we’ve got you too. Just remember what I told ya.”
Suddenly, the metal door slid up and light blasted into our steel cell. I tried to shirk back, but Steve grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out. “Remember, what I told ya!” He shouts, but it’s barely audible over the roaring of the crowds.
The stadium is so huge I can barely even see all the way to the other side. There are small buildings and rock formations scattered throughout the huge arena. It’s impossible to make out individuals in the crowds; they’re waves of chaos and excitement.
Though one things is discernible: and huge black mass charging towards us. It was bigger than an elephant, but running like a bear. Every stride pounded the earth with incredible force.
Fear. But a familiar fear, like when I’d first fed a lion, or handled a snake, or washed an elephant. There was something comforting in the way the beast moved, the way I recognized it for what it was: another animal. A genetically modified monstrosity of an animal, probably, but an animal nonetheless.
“Go that way!” Steve shouts, pointing in one direction as he sprints away in the other, flailing his arms wildly, whooping and hollering.
The giant bear takes the bait and chooses to go after him. There’s a small structure to might right, something kind of like a playground, but without all the colors. I rush towards it.
Once I reach it, I see Steve found a big rock formation on the other side. He scrambled up the boulders just barely high enough to be out of reach. The bear roars and tries to climb the rocks, but keeps slipping. It won’t last long, though. The beast begins ramming it’s side into the formation, each time sending huge cracks into the rocks. There’s nowhere for Steve to go.
I’m safe, for now, but that wasn’t enough. “Hey!” I shouted, as I chucked a rock at the beast. It didn’t hear me, and the rock didn’t even clear half the distance. I was going to have to get a lot closer.
I’d survived. Now it was time to give ‘em a show. | 2022-07-04T09:20:14 | 2022-07-04T08:51:46 | 137 | 51 |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | As I finish the book, I am confused by what I just read. I have to double check the cover a few times to make absolutely sure that I picked up the right book? Could this really be the right book? The draft that I read was a self-help book about how to organize your life and find inner peace through organization. It didn't have any mention of any dragons. And it certainly didn't have any male dragon on male dragon erotica.
I start thinking about what this could mean. Is this her way of saying that she is unsatisfied? Does she want me to dress like a dragon? If she does would I be willing to do it? I don't know, I guess I could.... Sounds like a hell of a costume. Where do I even go for such a thing.
Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe she doesn't want me to dress up at all. Maybe it is something else. I remember how vividly she described the dragons. How they had length and girth and veins. The monstrosity and power of the size. You know what, never mind. I'm gonna go with that she wants me to dress up as a dragon. Final answer. That is definitely it and nobody is going to change my mind. And if anyone even whispers "male fragility" I swear I will go slap city on you.
Sighing, I realize that the truth is I am just going to have to talk to her. Why would she hide this from me? Why is this a completely different book from what she said she was writing? And why did the one dragon breathe fire up the other dragon's bunghole?
I hear the garage and know that she has arrived.
I approached her with a smile and held the book up signaling that I bought it.
She smiles back but questions why I bought it when I've already read it at home.
I tell her the final draft was significantly different from the version I read.
She tells me the editor probably made a few final edits.
I tell her that she should try opening it up if she hasn't already.
And she does. At first there was confusion. Then shock. Then anger.
She is on the phone with her editor, her publicist, her agent. She is yelling about the smut that ended up in her book. There is confusion all around. Nobody knows how it happened. And the main thing that I think is that I guess I painted my balls green for nothing. | ‘We are closing this store and This is the only one that is left’ the elderly man said, adjusting his glasses with one hand, while whipping the dust off with the other. I was hesitant to buy that book. I love reading books, especially so when I travel. And I would be on a flight for the next 16 hours. Even that couldn’t convince me to buy this book.
I again asked him if he was sure that this was the one that is left and pleaded him to check the stock. He let out a slight whiff out his nose and said ‘No, this is what we have, everything else is sold out and people are not buying this at even half the price’.
Ouch that was painful to hear. I still didn’t wanna buy the book. Not that hated the book or the author. Quite the contrary, loved the author and was married to her. I’ve read the manuscript hundreds of time, when she was writing it.
I’d Helped proof read it and was proud of myself that I could point out some improvements in the book. Wife encouraged me and was amused at my findings like how you encourage and hype up kids doing some activity so that you can
keep them occupied. I didn’t care and was living it up.
It was supposed to be her life story or should I say ‘our life story’. The book is an autobiography and transcribes the story of how she went from an extremely introverted girl with braces and pigtails to the current ultra successful boss lady, leading a startup worth a couple billions.
Of course I had a role to play, with us being very much in love since college. She did include a chapter about us and how love encouraged her to be bold and daring.
Well with my flight out of this shit hole airport departing soon and only this store being the only one open, I had to but this book else have to make conversation with fellow passengers. Yuck.
I bought it in a hurry and thought I’d read it one more time and rekindle our college romance. We are very much in love but it’s quite not the same. You see marriage has this effect on couples, the spark slowly dies and you start taking things for granted. Reminiscing the old romance would do some good to the marriage.
I waited till the flight was in the air and has reached a stable height, to open the book. I sort a breezed through the first few chapters with them being quite the same, except for some rephrasing of sentences.
I wondered at the speed in which I’m skimming through, reading half from memory, I’d be done in an hour and had to sit idly for the remainder.
But, the fifth chapter had some interesting changes. It had a few more characters in college that I don’t seem to recall. We had the same friends groups, but don’t seem to remember anyone by the name of Julian Saw. Maybe one of her acquaintances or some random passer by who used to wave at her.
The character seemed to take more and more prominence in the latter chapters. ‘He taught me how to love myself’, ‘Being with him was like having a cold fire burning through my veins’. For some reason this chapter seemed to be more like a porno novel than something about inspirational leader.
When the reviews came out first, I was confused as a number of them were saying that ‘the only thing the author inspires you to do is to be incredulously and uncontrollably horny’. She said it was about our romantic angle that got criticism. I’d felt guilty for sometime, but hey it was her decision to include it.
Now I know what those reviewers really meant. I thought Saw was a figment of her imagination. But it got wilder, more and more characters got introduced and I recognised some of the names. Ian Haley. The Ian Haley, who was a prominent investor in her startup and her mentor. The way she’d written her having graphic sex with him made bike rise up my throat. He was more than Twice her age.
Oh boy, it didn’t stop there. There were others many many others. All having graphic sex with her during the years she was working hard in her startup. She’s started her company 5 years after we’d gotten married. That means all of this was her charting on me, atleast in her mind.
I was ducking pissed, wanted to confront her on these. But that’ll have to wait another 14 hours.
There was no mention of me or our college romance. The final chapter had a single mention of me. It ended on a “funny” note, saying that ‘my poor husband doesn’t know this and let’s keep it that way’.
I’d lost it and let out a loud whiff that’d woken up a few other passengers. The audacity to name me and shame me on her book. Took me for an idiot and playing me for all these years. I felt my world came crashing down.
I hurried through the baggage collection and went home with a rage in my face that should’ve gotten me arrested for looking like a homicidal maniac.
There she was composed as ever in her couch, with a co-worker who she mentioned was the longest of them all and whom she’d keep as a pet forever.
She came into the kitchen to hug me. I calmed myself, picked up the knife from the kitchen. I Hugged her | 2022-11-29T12:14:39 | 2022-11-29T10:37:03 | 386 | 114 |
[WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time.
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post! | With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, an old man in red appears inside the door. Carefully stepping around the beeping machines, he gently places a warm hand upon the girl's bald head.
The shadows darken. Frost grows on the windows. A chill enters the room. Death, too, has arrived. Santa spares it a glance.
"So soon?" he murmurs. "She's just settled, and wanted so much to see the morning..."
The shadows shift.
"Aye. I know. You do your duty, no more and no less." He continues to stroke the girl's head, with the slightest sparkle in his eye as she sighs and settles.
They stand in silence, at an odd impasse with no tension. For these two, and in this night, time holds no meaning.
Sighing, Santa withdraws his hand and stands.
"Do you know what she wished for?" he whispers. "She asked for smiles for her family today. Simply...smiles" Death remained still. Sighing again, he turns back to the girl.
"Just...one moment. She has been such a good girl this year, so nice and kind to everyone. She should have her Christmas present. She deserves it."
Once again, he brushes his fingers over her eyes. And she dreams. An endless dream of painless Summer days, of warm picnics on grassy hills and kites flying in bright blue skies. Of her mother and father, faces unlined by worries or cares, smiling and laughing like they used to before she got sick. Of her little brother who used to pull her hair and laugh as she screamed and chased him around the yard. Of fun school days coloring in books and cozy nights with her mother's bedtime stories lulling her to sleep.
She smiles.
Santa steps aside, shoulders drooped. "Make it quick. Please."
The shadows glide towards the bed, silent and cold. A skeletal hand reaches out and brushes a finger against her chest.
Her breath slows. Her heartbeat gentles. And stops.
Santa stands over the bed, barely noticing the squeal of the heart monitor's flat line. And then, somewhere in the cacophony of medical devices, he hears a little bell ring. And he smiles a small, pained smile.
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, the room is once again empty but for the still and silent girl on the bed. But outside, snow is falling upon the bare ground, and the tinkling of a bell chimes in the wind. | The night was cold. Grant entered the living room to embrace the sweet scent of pine and the soft glow of the fireplace. The room featured a lavish tree baring an extraordinary abundance of neatly wrapped presents. Grant found little Jacob sitting at the sofa with a toy truck resting on his lap. The boy's eyes seemed fixed to the mantle just above the fireplace, though it seemed that was not what he was truly viewing. His vision penetrated the mantle and stared straight into oblivion.
Over the past month, the poor tike had been in this state for at least 3 times a day. Constantly staring out to nothingness like it held the key to an amazing secret the world chose to hide. Viewing him in this depressive state did nothing but fill Grant with pure dread as he witnessed his son slowly drift from reality. Knowing Jacob wouldn't respond to his voice immediately, Grant went down and sat beside the boy.
"How's planet z?" Grant asked.
The boy did nothing for another ten seconds, then slowly cocked his head.
"Okay champ, it's time to hit the hay. You got a lot of presents to open tomorrow!" He lifted the boy from his seat as he rose up himself. Jacob Glanced at the presents before gazing into grant's eyes before monotonously saying "Okay."
It was a silent trip to his bedroom. Snow began to fall in the night sky as he was slowly placed on his bed and under the covers. As Grant exited the dark room and silently closed the door, Jacob stared into the darkness before him.
He had no one to play with, no one to relate with, and no one to live for. The boy lost interest with his toys since he had no one to turn to and share his experiences. He noticed his dad and mom attempt to keep him busy and provide him a fun day, but it wasn't the same.
The blankets were warm and crisp. Jacob turned his body to the window and plowed his head onto the pillow. A tear rolled down his temple. Jacob blinked from the saltiness and noticed a strikingly dark figure standing in the shadows. Jacob was filled with fear and dread. His mind became stiff as with his body. He wanted to look away and hide under the comfort of his covers, but his eyes remained intent on this unknown person. The house vibrated fiercely.
Footsteps filled the room but the figure remained static. The window frame slid wide open as a tremendously huge old man with a large beard as white as snow hopped in. The man furiously panted for a moment while he figured out a way to close the window. Jacob laid there motionless, unable to breath from the fear.
Staring at the man closing the window, he was able to discern a solid red coat lined with white fluff. There seemed to be a black utility belt around the waist. The old man turned directly to the black figure.
"I was almost burned to death yet again!" The man chuckled. "They should make it a law to turn off your dang fireplaces, not only is it a fire hazard, but it really makes it hard for one to slide down a chimney safely!"
The figure stood still with no response.
The old man turned to face Jacob. Jacob cowered in fear.
"...And where are my manners! Jacob, if you don't know already, I'm Nick, but most call me Santa" The old man sent a warming smile. Jacob stared, unable to smile from the shock. He slowly sat up.
The dark figure was still in the corner.
"Jacob, I'm sorry but I don't have a present in my sled for you. I know what you've been wishing in your heart for the past month and well, it doesn't exactly follow the rules." Santa explained, "But this Christmas, I've decided to eh... 'bend the rules'"
Jacob just stared at Santa.
Santa continued, "I've struck a deal with my ol' friend here and we decided to do something we've never did before. Trust me my boy, This gift will be pretty good I think."
The dark figure moved. Jacob cowered yet again as the it walked closer, crossing the moonlight shining through the window. The thing sported a purely black robe with a hood concealing the face in its own shadow. It also held a long staff with a blade erecting from the top of it. Then it stopped just in front of Jacob. Flooded with fear, he scuttled back, pinning his spine against the wall. Santa laughed.
The figure extended a long, bony hand into a cut in his robe and hunched. The room went dark as the figure seemed to absorb any light left in the room. Jacob closed his eyes, protecting himself with the force of his eyelids. Then something plowed right on his bed and began to savagely rip through the sheets directly toward him.
Jacob clenched his eyes tighter, but realized he face began to become covered in slobber. He opened his eyes to reveal his dog Spot that had passed away. His true dog that was by his side ever since he was born. His true partner in crime that would annoy mom. His true dogzilla that would commit chaos with his toys. His true friend.
Tears streamed Jacob's face as he hugged his Spot, trying to control the ongoing leaps and the painful whips of his tail. Jacob looked back up only to realize that the figure had mysteriously left, it was only Santa in the room now.
"You weren't the only one that was in need, you dog there seemed rather lonely too. It's not his time yet, so here's another chance to be with him. I think he's in better hands now" The old man winked and slipped out of Jacob's room.
Jacob continued to try to control the ecstatic Spot. | 2013-12-13T03:07:23 | 2013-12-13T02:28:22 | 299 | 18 |
[WP] Write a children's story that turns into the most moral-lacking piece of work possible.
[This is a well written example](http://joncjg.blogspot.com/2014/04/childrens-story-writing.html)
Edit: Wow, I didn't think it would get as much attention as it did. Thanks for submitting, all of you! | There were once a tortoise and a hare. The hare was haughty and fast, and the turtle was slow and wise. One day the hare approached the tortoise. He had bags under his eyes. "Hey, man," the hare wheezed, "listen, I need to get gas for my car--my cousin left me at the Exxon and I got to get back to my hotel where my kids are waiting for me. You got twenty dollars I can borrow? I'll send it back to you soon as I get my wallet at the hotel."
The tortoise took a $20 bill from his shell and handed it to the hare.
The hare snapped the bill crisply. "Man, you a dumb mothafucker ain't ya?"
"What?" the turtle replied indignantly.
"You dumb as fuck," the hare giggled and began to run.
"Hey," the turtle shouted, crawling after him, "hey, give me back my money!"
"Come and get it you slow-ass mothafucka!"
The tortoise crawled slowly and steadily after the hare and got absolutely nowhere worth mentioning. His steadfastness and constancy did absolutely nothing for him in this particular situation.
| Jenny lived in a remote village several miles away from any metropolitan area. The children of the village never wondered what was outside of their little home. Except Jenny was a curious child. For as long as she could remember she's desperately wanted to journey to the nearest big city, but no one had left the village for many years.
"No, you mustn't go," her friends would say. "You'll get lost in the woods and never find your way back."
Oh, but Jenny was much too enraptured by the thought of adventure to listen to friends no wiser than she. Jenny decided she would ask her grandmother for help in preparing for her journey. She'll help me, thought Jenny.
Grandmother was, you might say, something of a shit. She wholeheartedly enjoyed anything that would infuriate Jenny's parents. She luxuriates in the misery of stupid people (which to was anyone who isn't smarter than she was). She'd spent the past three weeks pretending to forget everyone she knew every few hours just to eavesdrop on conversations other people thought she would never remember. Grandmother learned new things every day.
"I'll tell you what, Timmy-"
"Jenny, gran-"
"Yes, Remmy, I'll tell you what. You give me the key to your house and I'll let you fill your pack with anything from the pantry. Just don't feed any animals you might find, they'll hunt their own food just like us."
Grandmother would spend the next few days rearranging some of the furniture in Jenny's house. A twist of a chair here, an overturned picture frame there, she'd perhaps put the toilet paper on the wrong way. Oh, and she must put the guns in different cases (Jenny's parents were both hunters, you see).
Jenny left her village the same night, heading south towards the city. She walked, singing songs to herself as she went, until she ran out of songs to sing. She must've been walking for hours and she'd eaten most of her food. Jenny decided she would climb the tallest tree she could find hoping she might see the lights of the city. She wondered if she really was lost. She found a tree that was thirty - nay, thirty two feet tall, and, after making a very large pile of leaves and straw (in case of a fall) climbed to the very top and....and there it was. There, radiant, glistening and ever-enthralling was her long awaited city.
Jenny thought. She thought about her parents, the parents she'd barely thought about before leaving. She thought about her friends, who she left without saying goodbye. She thought about her grandmother. Shit that she was, she might tell her parents where she's gone off to. Especially once she's discovered Jenny'd given her the key to her own house. She thought about Timmy and Remmy. She thought about her diary, her most intimate thoughts that were left behind. She never mentioned leaving the village in it, but her parents wouldn't know that and they'd read everything else if grandmother didn't tell them first.
Jenny heard a crack, the branch she was standing on gave way, and she fell, but her longing for the city remained in the tree. And she fell onto the leaves. Jenny was, save for a few cuts and bruises, all right. She lifted her bag, noting that there was more food left than she'd thought, dusted herself off and wrapped a cut hand in a shirt she'd brought with her. She regretted leaving her family; she missed her friends.
Jenny wanted to go back home. She felt she hadn't payed any attention to very much of anything there. In fact she couldn't remember but the most insignificant details about her home. She felt ashamed of herself at being so thoughtless, so she began her walk back home.
She walked, again, for hours. The sun was about to rise and the trip back seemed to go by faster than leaving did. She liked the thought of returning home after a journey. Short that it was, she had still been further away than she'd ever been before and that was something to be proud of. She sighed at the thought of her parents reading her diary.
And then a thing ate her. | 2014-06-07T06:03:56 | 2014-06-07T03:39:40 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] Your whole life you had an ability that seemed normal to you. Now you realized you're the only one with this ability. | "Where on earth are my keys?" Amanda asked, mostly to herself.
I continued reading reddit on my phone but replied, "They're in your coat pocket over by the door."
Footsteps and a rattling of metal as they were discovered, followed by breathy giggle.
"How is it that you always know where the keys are?"
Shaking my head I thought 'how does anyone not know'. | “Quick! Quick!” I urgently ushered her inside and closed the door. Knowing how nosy my neighbours were, the over-the-fence conversations with my parents would quickly turn to the fact that Suzy was sneaking in while they were out for the night.
Mum probably wouldn’t care but Dad would. Suz’s Dad definitely would. As soon as the door was closed, I grabbed her hand tightly. We ran upstairs together and fell carelessly but purposefully onto my bed.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Her smile beamed at me. I loved how playful she was. Her smile spoke to me and today it said she was hiding something.
“I’ve got a surprise for you. Close your eyes and cover your ears”. I didn’t even click at this stage. I just heard things the other way around. Of course she’d meant to say cover my eyes and close my ears, right? So I did. I put my hands over my eyes and closed my ears.
I waited. I got impatient pretty quickly.
“Can I open my eyes yet? Suz?”
I expected her to tap me on the shoulder. Nothing.
“OK, I’m going to open them!” I figured if she didn’t want me to she would stop me. She’d hold her hands over mine or hide whatever this surprise was.
I opened my ears and took my hands from my eyes.
She was just sitting on the bed staring at me.
“Come on, Adam, stop being silly. Put your fingers in your ears as well.”
“What, why would I want to do that?”
“Because I don’t want you to even hear what I’m doing, let alone SEE.”
“Yeah, my ears were closed. I couldn’t hear a thing.”
She shook her head, confused.
‘You can’t close your ears, silly!”
“What do you mean? Of course you can.”
“No… you can’t. No one can.”
I thought for a second. It clicked. It finally clicked. All those times I’d seen people covering their ears on TV. All those times I’d seen people shaking water from their ears once they got out of the pool. All those cartoons when they stuck their fingers in their ears before an explosion.
She must’ve seen my face drop.
“You can seriously close your ears, can’t you? Oh my, God!”
I jumped to my feet.
“Oh my God, oh my GOD! EAR PLUGS! That’s what ear plugs are for! People can’t close their ears! How did I not click before now?” I wasn’t frightened, I wasn’t worried, I was just plain bewildered. How did I get to fifteen years old and not realise this?
“You’re such a freak!” she smiled playfully at me and poked me in the ribs.
“Hey, I just assumed everyone could.” She giggled again. It was strange. This was such a moment of realisation for me yet I figured I could think about it later. None of this mattered. I looked at her. She couldn’t care less that I might be a bit different. I eased up, sat down again and smiled back at her, shrugging my shoulders.
“Time for that surprise.” She moved slowly, placing her hands each side of me. Not taking her eyes off mine as she slid herself on top of me and her lips ever closer to mine.
“Kiss me, freak. And don’t you dare close your ears.”
| 2015-01-08T16:12:50 | 2015-01-08T14:04:50 | 66 | 38 |
[WP] The humans never suspected, they were the apocalypse. | Humans have always feared the end of the world; stories of hurricanes and tornadoes swarming, the dead rising to claim the living, seas swelling to swallow land. Perhaps a meteor will destroy us, crushing scampering bodies like ants under foot and encasing our planet in a thick cloud of dust that blocks the sun's warmth. Or, could it be another sickness, so vile and unyielding no medicine can cure it?
And so, we always held fear in the back of our minds. *The apocalypse is coming.* Shelters to survive blasts and sustain life for years were built, just in case. We sliced through forest and harvested animals like crops to sustain our species; to build ourselves as great and perhaps be able to overcome any threat of extinction.
*Nothing can destroy us.* Our strong minds and powerful will would drive us to survive anything nature could throw our way. For that is what we are- we are survivors. That is the trait evolution handed to us. Earth cannot purge us so easily, for we are intelligent, and we are strong. Adaptability is our mantra, and we do not give in without a fight.
Humanity feared the apocalypse, yet it was simply Earth trying to purge a sickness from itself. An infection that destroyed its body and murdered its inhabitants by the billions, poisoning it little by little along the way; a virus without reprieve, reaping its very life.
We feared the apocalypse, yet not once did we stop to think that perhaps, it is us- even as bombs fell, splintering flesh and Earth, fusing them in a mangled mess of sorrow and pain.
In the end, it was not just Earth left slain, but ourselves as well- truly, the pinnacle of destruction. Yet, through fire and smoke, through ash and death, we still could not see it. Those who survived thought the apocalypse was upon *them*, in their ignorance without bliss.
*We* are the apocalypse. *We are Death.* | How can it be, how can it ever have been, that this moment, this sepulchral second in which I find myself, with all the urgency of death dancing within the tips of my fingers, writing, scribbling, scratching without hope upon paper, was never foreseen? We humans; we humans who, as we so often boasted - and hubris ensures now that we shall never dare, or, daring as we might, be even capable of boasting again - of our successes. We are but animals; the worst of animals. Sure we can love, and not in the base expulsion of chemicals into a mate, but we can *feel*; we can enjoy the lines of a face as they meander down from cheek to jaw, casting shadows across the pink ellipse that resides beneath breathing nose. We can stare into blue eyes and think of sea; reminded of those days, in which, beneath the golden haze of noon, we would turn to our families and sigh, exhaling not air alone, but all the stresses with which we were, by school or work, imbued. We look into eyes and see, not eyes, but people; dreams, aspirations, memories: we see them all. So we like to think.
But truly, we are more base, more porcine, than any squealing boar. They have innocence, those animals, innocence. Have we that? Have we ever possessed innocence? *But what of children? Such smiles as theirs boast* (again with the boasting, that's all we do) *of such glee, unbridled by the cynicism of our modern age. Are not they an innocent aspiration for us all?* - So says the fool. So says the person for whom our present stygian circumstance is to be blamed. Innocent. Hah. They had, these children, *we* children, the temerity to be birthed to human parents; that is our fault. To be born to imperfection, that is no sin on its own. But, to be born to imperfection and, with our nefarious faculties, interpret, incorrectly, either by wishful whim or, and I know not which is worse, insufferable ignorance, our imperfections as perfections; that is a sin, and a sin which, by its systematic enactment we are, to this present death, condemned.
I have not the time nor, it seems, as I continue to dance this final inky dance, the paper to tell all. But why want you this anyway? To whom am I writing... Ah! My hubris has once more slain me; who am I to suppose this parting message, this goodbye-sigh, should appeal or bear the fruit of interest to anyone but myself (and I am not even sure it does *that*)? There will, it needn't be said, be no human to receive this message. Thank God for that. Or perhaps do not, for he should be thanked,or condemned, for our having infected the purity of the universe in the first place; or he shouldn't. I know not. I care not. Nothing matters less than whence we came, only that we came. *That* is our problem. Was. Was our problem. It certainly isn't now. But was it ever? Were we ever our *own* problem? I think not; not directly. We created our own problems: the avarice of man that condemned all others to licentious wallowing... That, perhaps, may be our fault. But it is not us that have suffered... Who has? I do not know. The individual. Yes. It is the individual who has suffered. Not man, but *a* man; *men*, they have endured man and all his caprices. If men... Am I a victim? What think you dear (non-existent, never-existent) reader? I think so... But then I would! For am I both Man and man. I am the sovereign and the subject. I rule, and am ruled. Do I suffer? Do I endure? Yes. Yes. I do. I am the victim, Man's victim... bound to perish with Man, as man. I have not time. I have said that before. How much time might I have had had I not dedicated time telling you of my lack of time! And how much more had I not just asked that! Oh reader, how much more you could have known of me; of *us*. We are the apocalypse. Yes. Our own apocalypse. To be sure. But before that! Oh how great we were, we humans. How we conquered, did I tell you of that? How we transcended the animals? Of the blue skies, and the red hazes of the post-meridian mellifluousness. I will reader! (what reader is this again?) I will tell you all! Of the skies, and the sea, and the eyes, and | 2016-01-30T05:37:22 | 2016-01-30T04:48:12 | 344 | 51 |
[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. | **Covenant archives: Civilizations: Species: Humans**
Introduction:
The human history is a bloody one. For thousands of years their home world was divided by invisible lines and each area governed by different people. They fought over the most trivial things and often out of nothing more than pure spite or in argument over what fictional character was real. All of this changed when two leaders, Trump and Putin, couldn't agree on, well, on anything. The event called "Origin point" took place and over 90 percent of the human population was annihilated in less than 1 hour as nuclear weapons were detonated all over the surface of the planet.
The course of human history changed in that moment and violent conflict became an abolished concept that no human ever willingly took part of.
--------------------------------
**Covenant archives: Civilizations: Species: Humans**
Expansion:
No species ever took to interstellar travel as fast and ambitiously as the humans. Once they discovered warp drive they colonized their supercluster and even most of their galaxy in record time. They made contact with what was then known as The United Galaxies Collective and brokered peace and trade treaties before anyone really realized what had happened. Due to their incredible curiosity and will to absorb they immediately began catching up to The UGC in both science and size.
It didn't take long before some members of The UGC started to perceive the humans as threat. Many species felt the humans needed to be slowed down or stopped completely in their expansion but no legal ground to regulate expansion was found and the humans were left alone. For the time being.
------------------
**Covenant archives: Civilizations: Species: Humans**
Conflict:
The species with the most concern about human expansion were naturally the big player in the Andromeda galaxy. The Tirdian. Even though none had ever seen any intention of conquest from the humans the Tirdian who were suspicious in nature felt threatened and decided to act. What happened next is widely considered the biggest mistake in the history of The UGC.
The Tirdians launched a preemptive strike against the outer borders of the Milky way. They annihilated about 15 border outposts and put up blockades on additional hundreds of planets. From that point they swiftly advanced deeper into the galaxy as they faced no resistance of any kind. The humans that could fled but most stayed on the conquered planets and tried to live normal lives normal. The Tirdians were bewildered but considered the campaign a huge success. Within months thousands of planets were conquered and the Tirdians had suffered zero casualties, no statement had come from the human leaders and no attempt to broker peace was made.
About 4 months after the start of the campaign the Tirdians lost all contact with their forces in the milky way. The Tirdian leadership attributed this to communication failure due to interference and didn't give it a second thought. Until a message started broadcasting to the entire Andromeda galaxy.
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
*"NO MERCY"*
The words appeared on every screen, was heard from every sound source and never stopped repeating.
To this day, 250,000 years later, the Andromeda galaxy holds no trace of the Tirdian civilization, it holds no life and it probably never will.
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Thanks for reading! This is my first WP and first story in several years. I know it will be buried but any reader is appreciated. | **LOG:** 3882
APRIL 15 3091
TRANSLATION FROM **ERDUK** TO **ENGLISH**
**Dawn/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
We awoke before the sun had even risen. The dust storms from yesterday had already worn down, and left our encampment covered in fine red dust. [*ERDUK EXPLETIVE*] dust. It was everywhere on this planet, Sol-4, which the humans called 'Mars'. The camp, besides dust, was also covered in a grim silence; in a few hours, I and 700,000 of my fellow brothers would be charging the human encampment. I looked at my tentmate, Tras'Lethi, and nodded. Donning our warplate, and hefting our customary plasma lances, we marched out to the assembly area.
**Mid-Morning/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
On the transport, we encountered a few human battalions. They seem to be the first line of defense of that human encampment. But we utterly decimated them. A few swings of our plasma lances and all that remained of those humans were still piles of charred flesh. Not only do they lack the [*untranslatable*] to fight but also the [*untranslatable*] to die as well. Cowards.
Tras'Lethi suffered a minor wound; he'd been hit by a laser in the thigh, but his armor prevented much of the harm. The humans have brought out another of their toys today; Pellets of metal that dispersed shortly after expulsion. Nonlethal and completely uneffective on the field. Those who'd been hit are still combat ready.
**NOON/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
I'm patching this in from my helmet recorder, as I need to be ready to fight soon. The humans have dug trenches around their encampment; are they stupid? Not only are they weak physically, but they seem to lack any sort of tactical sense. Our plasma lances are perfect for these close encounters, and the shelling from our cannons will shatter those trenches. Onward, to victory on Sol-4 and victory on Sol-3! I can almost taste the promotion.
**DUSK/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
I lie, mortally wounded, behind a crate of human supplies. My left leg is shattered, my head is ringing, my left hand is gone. Tras'Lethi died in the 43rd or 44th charge. He was hit by one of those pellet-launchers; at close range, the warplate did nothing to stop that hurricane of needles from embeding itself in his heart and lungs and neck. I can still hear the metallic cry of the human's weapon, each roar calling for the death of another praetor. I still also hear the drumming of my rage and the hum of my plasma lance as I sliced his body into two.
At first the fighting was easy. the craters left by our mag cannons were filled dust and corpses. But the humans still fought hard; though thousands of them had perished in our first 6 charges alone, they did not seem to be demoralized at all. Rather, it seemed, every blow was faster and stronger. Every laser blast was brighter. Every pellet-launcher sang louder.
Now I know why they dug trenches; it slowed down our progress immensely. They had denied us our ability to charge en masse and run them through with our plasma lances. Now we had to rush into the trenches and clamber out. Rush again, and clamber out.
By the 20th rush, when we were exhausted, the humans still seemed fresh, almost eager. In that trench, I remember one especially large human, who after killing 3 praetors with one blast of his pellet-launcher, tore off his helmet, drew a 4-talon long blade, disappeared into a melee with 2 of his fellow humans and 6 praetors. He emerged, bearing the bodies of his dead comrades, from among 5 dead praetors. That last praetor ran him through with his lance.
By the 40th rush, both sides seemed to have even numbers of troops. Our death count begin numbering in the ten thousands; the humans must have suffered hundreds of thousands of casualties.
By the 50th rush, I had suffered dozens of wounds already, I bled profusely from my severed left hand. I'd dealt innumerable death blows already, yet there were always more humans to kill. More [*ERDUK EXPLETIVE*] humans, always. And when they fell to my lance. more to replace them. Each wave, stronger, fresher, more enraged than the one before. Only to fall, one by one, to my plasma lance.
By the 70th rush, I learned. But it was too late. Humans were always a short lived race in the galactic community. One full human lifetime was the time it took for we, the Hunta, to reach sexual maturity. In their 100-orbit lives, they needed to reproduce, and form bonds. In such a short time. Thus, between each human, every one of the quadrillions of them in the galaxy, existed an empathy, a love, a bond. And the severing of that bond was enough to cause a normally peaceful human to touch its instinctually, primal, warlike side.
**MIDNIGHT/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
A human has just seen me. He walks over with his blade drawn, ready to end my life. Upon seeing my condition however, he kneels down. How tempting it would be for me to kill him; if only i had any weapons and if only I was not as weak. Yet this human does something unexpected. He offers me his hand; it is dusty and calloused; I can see bandages running down his arm from his wrist. When I don't respond, he hoists me onto his back and takes me... the lights, the bright lights of this tent. Perhaps I am dreaming. Perhaps I am dying. [*untranslatable*].
[End Recording]
*Archived by SSgt. Brian Leigh- awarded the Silver Cross for his service on the Mars Campaign- and currently Human Ambassador to the Hunta.* | 2016-03-14T01:37:22 | 2016-03-13T23:31:00 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] You're a single father, forced to become a supervillain to support you and your child. One day, the heroine follows you to your home. | "Lawrence Gallouger. Also known as Gallows. I've been searching for you for a long, *long* time." I paused in the act of getting out of my car. Red Herring. The upstart super-heroine of Detroit finally caught up with me. Sighing, I raised my hands and turned around slowly. Staring back at me was a young woman in a red formfitting spandex suit, the chest emblazoned with a stylized fish. A black and red half-mask covered her face, framed by a cascade of blond hair. *My arch-nemesis of six months, or as I like to call it, my super-stalker.*
"Eeeeyes?" I said, already anticipating venues of escape.
Red Herring narrowed her eyes. "I know that's you, Gallows. You left your driver's license behind during your last heist." *Damn. So that's where that thing went.*
"Gallows, huh?" *Is there any chance my Honda Civic is faster than teleportation?* "Cool name. So um, what have this "Gallows" person done to merit a personal arrest from Detroit's most beautiful *femme fatale*?"
Red rolled her eyes and rested her hands on her waist, glaring at me. *I hate to rely on invoking the Super Code, but I need time...* "Fifteen counts of burglary--"
"Misconstrued liberation of unused wealth, you mean." I interrupted. *Maybe smack her with the crowbar first, then drive away?*
"--eighteen cases of extortion--"
"Information-assisted funds extraction." *I wish I hadn't left my gear at home.*
"--*seven* bank heists--"
"Limited assistance only!" *Is it even possible to taser a superhuman?*
"--and the defenestration of a foreign prince from a skyscraper!" She finished and crossed her arms in front of her, as if waiting for a witty retort.
"...He was Saudi?" *Well...at least I had a good run.*
"The Super Code of Conduct has been satisfied, therefore, will the suspect submit to detainment and investigation?" If looks could kill...well actually, they could. *Fortunately Red doesn't seem to have power. I guess it's come to this. *
"...According to the SCC, Amendment 13, will the superhuman grant the super-villain permission to visit a loved one in a public location?" Red's eyebrows rose. *I guess my admission of guilt was quite unexpected.* "Under supervision by the superhero, of course."
"And?" Red prompted. *Damn, I didn't expect her to know of the obscure sub-amendment.*
"...And the super-villain henceforth pledges his life that the superhero will not be tricked, nor will their senses and mind be any way obfuscated." I grounded out. "Any indication of such intentions can be legally met with fatal action by the hero."
Red nodded. "So, do you need to arrange something, or..." She trailed off, looking at me expectantly.
"No need." I said, and gestured to the modern steel and glass building behind me. She craned her neck to look over my should and her face paled.
"...St. Jame's Pediatric Hospice?" Red said in a quiet voice.
I nodded.
*Note: WRITER NEEDS FOOD! I'll write more in an hour or so...I think.* | I stood at the front of my door, my heart felt like it was six feet below me in some gutter. Today was a pretty terrible day. I was supposed to use my telekinesis to rip a vault door off and get as much money as I could. I brought the intern with me, he called himself the Wrecking Ball. He lived up to the name, considering the fact that he plowed through car after car during our escape. On the way, he lost most of the money he was supposed to take care off, and because it is a paid internship, he got a third of my cut. Should never have brought the kid along, but kids these days need to learn that abusing superpowers comes with consequences to not just others, but also themselves. As W.B. learned today.
I stuck the key in the lick and twisted it. Dragging myself through the doorway and about ready to collapse of misery, I hanged my coat on the hanger and walked straight to the fridge. Somewhere in her bathroom, Lilith was cursing aloud at her computerscreen as she usually did this late. Playing those damned videogames again. I went to fetch a beer, but it turned out that Lilith 'forgot' to get me some. I probably love that girl even more than her mother, but *why* does she deny me one of the few things that let me live through my current phase in life ?
I heard the reliable clink of a nice cold beer in the living room. The hair in my neck rose and goosebumps formed on my arms. Someone had followed me home, or my infatuation with a good drink finally caught up with me. I didn't want to take the chance, and walked straight into the stuffy, dusty place.
"You should watch your back more often, Godsent. So busy caring for others can blindside you. Who'se going to take care of lovely Lilith if you, I don't know, get arrested ?"
I faced the figure in my chair. It was Red Fire. Her red, middle-long hair and dead blue eyes made her recognizable, even in a simple pair of jeans and a light jacket instead of her usual bright red costume. An invulnerable pyromancer and a volunteer member for the Global Justice Corp. We faced off today at the bank. W.B. sent her flying through a building with a single well placed punch. I then smashed a truck on top of her after she recovered and tried to return to the fight.
I dug my nails into my hands, trying to resist the urge to pull her intestines out through her mouth. I couldn't do that here though. Too many problems would arise, and CPS would take Lilith from me.
"You have a lot of nerve, coming here."
Her shy smile crept up on her face. She almost looked amused. Did she have a beer or two already ?
"I was curious. You cover your tracks pretty well, but your bowling ball buddy didn't."
"Guess I'll have to drop him then. Before more people like you keep *breaking* into my house."
"I wonder if Lilith would like him."
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you into a fleshcube right now."
"She thinks I'm your date. She's so happy that you started looking into the dating scene. 'Oh thank God, he could use some time off. Some womanly attention something he could *really use*. He hasn't looked at another woman ever since he divorced my mother', she said. Turning me into a meatcube would probably disappoint her."
I grinded my teeth as I made a mental note to cut off Lilith's internet for a week for talking to strangers and letting them inside my house. Just in case this is true.
"Don't kid yourself. You're not that good."
"You're not that bad either, Godsent. Or should I say Larry?"
I summoned a vase from the window sill and splattered the contents on her face. The water splattered her in the face, and her smile drooped into a look of mild shock.
"Get out. Now. And if you talk about this to *anyone* in your little club, I will not hesitate to turn you all into paste the next time I run into you or whoever of you runs into me."
"I was going to make you an offer-."
I'd had enough of her. I gripped her by the neck forced her to hang in the air. While holding her throat, I set her down on her knees. I focussed on her ribs and started snapping them one by one. At first she tried to spit her fire at me, but she forgot that fire needs air to be active, and nothing but sparks came out. Every rib I cracked made her gasp harder and harder as she struggled more and more. After snapping the tenth rib, I let her down and punched her in the side.
"Consider this your last warning. There won't be a next one."
I dragged her by her arm towards the door. I shoved the door open, dropped her on the pavement, and closed the door again. I took a long deep breath, and went back to the living room. She might've bugged it. As I started scanning the room, Lilith came in. The imprint of her headphones stuck in her black curly hair showed that she'd been busy online.
"Hey dad. Where'd your date go?"
"She was not a date. She was an old high school friend trying to coerce me into her pyramid scheme. Showed her the door."
"But, she had-"
"You let some stranger in this house. She could have hurt you, stolen your mom's jewelry, kidnap you."
"She had a picture of you, her and mom. She knew mom's name, nobody around knows her name. It's not out there for strangers to pick up."
"Don't care. No internet this week."
"*What?!*"
"I can make that two if you say one more word."
She stormed off, back to her room. I might not cut off the internet, that was probably mean to threaten. I wish Cecille was still around. She knew what to do, while I'm fumbling in the dark about how to raise a teenage girl. I spot the cold beer on the floor. Unopened. I open the bottle, sit down and take a gulp. I keep taking gulps until my worries started to blur.
| 2016-07-18T18:34:37 | 2016-07-18T15:23:54 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon. However, this is just a coincidence; there is absolutely nothing magical about it, and you're getting really tired of explaining this. | “Wait, so what does this have to do with Game of Thrones?”
“Dude, do you even watch the show? Daenerys, House of Targaryen, Breaker of Chains? Her dragons sacking the ships? The Targaryen family? Come on. This is some season 2 shit!”
“Right, but… Your birth mark”
“What about it?”
“How the fuck is that dragon on your side related to Game of Thrones?!”
“Wait, when did I say it was related?”
“Wait what? I asked you about that dragon and you said, ‘So do you watch Game of Thrones?’ so I assumed…”
“No, like, I just finished season six and I wanted to talk about it with somebody. Danaerys is so fucking badass!”
“But… your birthmark?”
“Dude it doesn’t have anything to fucking do with Game of Thrones" | "IT'S NOT MAGICAL!!!" I yelled for what seemed like the Nth time today. You know how it is in the movies. A kid is born with a birthmark in the EXACT shape of a dragon, and he can all of a sudden do karate and kung fu and shit. Not me, though. I'm just your average middle class white trash kid from Louisiana. I can't do anything that requires anything of a martial arts background. I go to school, I eat, shit, and sleep like anyone else. I'm just a normal guy.
Okay, enough about what I am. Let me tell you a story. It's like a lot of my other stories, except this one happened recently and was a little twisted to be honest.
I had just gotten out of bed in the morning, went across the hall to the kitchen, made breakfast, and sat down in front of the tv to watch whatever dumb kid show my little sister so happened to be watching.
As soon as I finish my cereal there is a knock on the door. It was odd since this kind of crap usually happens right when I get off work, but my parents were in bed still and it was a Saturday.
I answer the door, and two oriental martial artists are standing there. That'd be odd to some people, but not for me. Same type of people, but always different people. I usually tell them to kindly 'eff off and make sure to tell anyone else not to come by.
Only today, when I finished my shooing, the two men came back about five minutes later. This time, they were a little strong with me. They told me that their master had a mark of the dragon, and that I was some descendant of this man. This is the weird part for me. I'm not any part asian. I'm as white as they come. I have blonde hair for crissakes!
Anyways, they wanted me to come with them. I figured I'd go with them just to figure out what they're yammering about. Nobody had ever come back to try again, which was the only thing that let me allow myself to follow them.
I got a closer look at them, and found that they were covered in scars. Probably from recent battles or punishments. I didn't ask about them, nor did I really care.
They led me to a martial artist's dojo thing three blocks from my apartment complex. I've never noticed this building, but I don't come around this way at all so go figure. Inside was strangely clean and tidy, starkly contrasting the exterior of the building which looked run down. I just chalked it up to low funds.
They told me to sit in the middle of the sparring ring in the main room and wait. As I waited, I noticed little things. The room I was in was completely symmetrical, the walls were very smooth, and the ceiling had perfectly tesselating hexagons. I was halfway through counting them when the master of the dojo came to me.
"The mark on your chest. Let me see it," he said, voice booming. I'mma be honest, I peed a little. "Yeah, sure thing, mate." I lifted my shirt off and showed the dojo man what he wanted. "He is the one..." he said, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
The next thing I know I'm waking up in my bed. There is a roll of parchment on the left nightstand tied tight with a length of silk. It read:
"The ritual was completed successfully, but We are confused as to why your aura did not activate. Curious. We still wish to speak to you. You know where to find us." It was signed by a man named Long Zhi Wang. Which I believe roughly means 'king of the dragons'. I don't know, but now I know who to give a restraining order to. | 2016-08-04T14:16:51 | 2016-08-04T12:02:03 | 55 | 24 |
[WP] Jupiter has 64 moons and a serious werewolf problem.
Edit: damn there's some quality responses here. I wasn't expecting this prompt to be so popular. Good job u guys | The year is 2270. About 150 years ago the human race first started testing planet scale terraforming. Earth was running out of resources and we were long overdue for an upgrade. Why not go to the biggest planet that we know of?
I heard that back in the day, werewolves were a myth. People claimed to see them, but there was very little proof. Most of the evidence was blamed on wild animals. We know better now.
The initial werewolf arrived within the first few years of public voyages. He turned before they even landed. The ground zero ship was considered a giant metal coffin. No one could get out and the werewolf infected hundreds. When the ship crash landed it was immediately quarantined, though that didn't do much. They were strong and could fight against the gravity changes that the rest of us were still adjusting to.
The werewolf epidemic spread to over half of the population in less than a decade. Many asked to be locked up until the disease was cured. They didn't want to danger those around them. Everyone was scared. Over time, being constantly under the full moon the werewolves learned to use their human minds while afflicted by the moon's disease. About a hundred years ago, one of the werewolves that was held in captivity spoke.
"I think I can control myself. I think I can go outside without attacking anyone."
We were cautious but optimistic. If they could act human while in wolf form then they could be a great help to us. The wolf was escorted outside by military men. He never had less than 5 armed soldiers with him at any given time. But, he acted surprisingly well. He worked on construction and did a fantastic job due to his incredible strength. He did the work of 10 men.
After a few years, he asked to be let go. He wanted to go talk to the other werewolves, and that's exactly what he did. He came back with a dozen other beasts, all who had regained human speech. In the coming years schools replaced the prisons. All werewolves had to undergo a very intensive meditation treatment to control any left over werewolf urges. They were a huge boon to our society. So much so that some even asked to be turned voluntarily.
Now about 90% of the population are werewolves. Seeing a normal human is actually a strange sight. They look so weak. Us werewolves can build and farm much faster than they can. Usually humans are only white collar workers because they can't keep up with the rest of us. I honestly believe they choose to stay out of some sense of tradition or individuality. Either that or it's some strange fetish. Either way, we work well together.
I actually hope that the human race doesn't go extinct in the shadow of werewolves. They may not be as strong as we are, but they're interesting. They're a part of our history that I don't think we're all ready to let go of just yet. | *AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*
The chorus of howls rang throughout the night sky. I looked up to count how many full moons had risen tonight. There were four.
The werewolf infestation was a recent occurrence on Jupiter, with the first case being reported a mere three months ago. Since then the problem had become more widespread and had grown so dire that Jupiter had been declared uninhabitable. With a population in the tens of billions the affliction spread quickly, and there was no way to effectively quarantine it. The problem was made worse by the fact that the werewolves became stronger the more full moons were out at night. You see, Earth only has one moon, so that fact was left unknown to us for quite some time.
There was a substantial effort made to combat the werewolves at first, but their numbers expanded too quickly and their destructive capabilities too extreme. On the Night of Eight Moons, the werewolves became so powerful that they even became immune to silver. With each full moon their size increased, and on the Night of Eight Moons they became as tall and wide as a elephant. It was reported that the death count was in the tens of millions after that night. When the day after had begun, a mass evacuation had occurred.
But not all of us was lucky enough to board the ships out. While my family boarded Evacuation Ship 370L (quite the apt name), I was lost in the mass of humanity rushing towards their salvation. I remember something had hit me in the head, and when I had awoken, it was night and there were three full moons up in the air. Armed with only a silver knife, I struck out into the darkness in search of any sort of safety. Instead, I found werewolves. Two of them, feasting on the corpses of other unlucky son's of bitches that couldn't make it out. Upon seeing the otherworldly beasts I froze up in the spot, unable to move my legs due to the sheer weight of despair weighing me down. I stood there for an eternity, praying to all sorts of Gods that the beasts wouldn't spot me as I stood out there in the open.
Thankfully, somebody out there was listening to me. A sudden hail of bullets rained down upon the beasts from afar, and their attention was turned towards whoever their assailant was. Now judging from the way the beast's reacted without any grunts of pain or what have you, the fella' firing upon them probably wasn't using silver. Whoever shot at those beasts was a dumb motherfucker, but that dumb motherfucker saved my life.
It has been five nights since I was left behind, and five nights I have barely survived. Thankfully I hadn't encountered a werewolf up close yet, but I knew that if I did I would quickly be turned into mince meat. I had managed to find myself an underground bunker filled up with all kinds of survival supplies. I had only needed to wait a couple more days at the most until help would arrive. Or at least, that's what I told myself.
The bunker was roomy too, large enough to house multiple families. You could definitely find a worse place to hole up in during a werewolf apocalypse. It was in a nice, remote location so the chances of me being found out we-
*AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*
Ah shit. That sounded close.
After a few moments of silence, I could hear the sound of heavy footfalls in the distance. They came in quick succession, suggesting that whatever was running towards the bunker was doing it on all fours. The footfalls grew became louder and louder, until I could hear them on the ground directly above me. For a short moment there was quiet, when suddenly a set of razor sharp doors pierced through the bunker's hatch. Now if this was one of those bunkers with a ladder that led down I would probably be safe, but this bunker only had stairs, making for easy access for the werewolf. The opening was pretty wide too, so it wouldn't have any trouble getting in.
The werewolf tore the hatch off its hinges and threw it across the empty plains. The moonlight of the sixty-four moons illuminated its monstrous face and muscular build, as well as the crimson red dripping from its jaws. The werewolf looked at me and snarled, showing off its rows of pointed teeth. The werewolf lunged at me with its claws stretched outright, looking to impale me on them. I was able to predict its move and moved to the side, causing the werewolf to crash into the back wall. It turned around quickly and swung wildly, cleaving through the supplies and destroying the shelves they rested on. I backed up the stairs and the werewolf followed in full sprint, lunging at me again. One of its claws managed to cut through my my calf, sending a sudden wave of agony to wash over me. I cried out in pain, clutching my leg and hobbling up the stairs. The werewolf grabbed onto my leg and tugged, causing me to fall over. My head hit the stairs hard and my vision became dazed. I could feel the werewolf dragging me towards him and flipping me over onto my back.
A sudden sharp pain coursed throughout my body again. Trying to retain focus, I looked down at my stomach only to see that the werewolf had sunken his its into it. I could feel it ripping me up on the inside, trying to tear me in half. With my last ounce of strength I pulled out the silver knife from my pocket and plunged it into the beast's skull. It howled out in pain and started thrashing around the room wildly with me embedded on its claws. I was slammed into the ceiling, the walls and the floor as it danced around the room in anguish. The world slowly faded to black. I needed a miracle to come save me now. | 2016-10-03T10:55:02 | 2016-10-03T09:49:05 | 198 | 30 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | Wow. Great.
I'm standing in the middle of the woods, with just my pijamas on.
I have no idea how I got here. It's cold, I'm tired, and I just want to go to bed. The only problem is, that I live in the middle of a large city, in a place, where even the nights are warm and the air is soft.
Here it's so cold, that my breath forms tiny clouds, and the air stings in my lungs.
I must be far away then.
I can't hear a sound. Not one. If we were near a city, I'd hear cars.
But that's not the strangest part. I can't even hear a bird, or the wind in the leaves.
Everything is so quiet. It's actually kind of nice.
Living in a large family, surrounded by a city that never sleeps, I actually never experienced silence. So I just close my eyes and ignore the cold.
As I open them again, I am looking straight into a face. Well, half of a face, as the man's left side is ripped right off, and the poor guy has a permanent half smile, due to the missing skin of his cheek.
I was pretty confused, as I didn't hear the half smile guy's footsteps, so I wonder, if I went deaf, so I scream the loudest "HELLO?" I've ever screamed.
I'm not deaf, although my voice doesn't echo.
The misshapen man jumps and looks confused. "Arren't you scared?" He asked a in a slurrend manner, while I watched his saliva , not held back by his lips, spray in the moonlight.
"Why should I? It's pretty realxing, actually." I said, while stretching out my arm to give him a handshake. "I'm Sasha"
The other half of his face started smiling too, and he looked genuenly happy.
"I'm Joe! I've been living here for the past 20 years, or maybe 40, who knows. People just randomly appear here, and I try to welcome them, but they always run away from me, for some strange kind of reason. I later find them, with their face chewed off. Probably by the crawling people around here. They have pretty sharp teeth."
I just stand there and nod time to time. As he tells me about things, I'm sure he just desperately wanted to tell someone else for years.
What a interesting place. Joe seems nice. Just the crawling woman, with the angriest face I've ever seen, coming nearer and nearer behind him, is a little distracting.
(Sorry about the english, I'm swiss)
| In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now. | 2017-05-05T07:30:17 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 118 | 27 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | This carnival was shit. The clowns looked stupid, the animals were boring, and even the food was awful. I don’t like carnivals to begin with, even as a kid, but at least the food was always good. Hot and greasy, covered in sugar or butter. But this food was stale and rotten. Shit, just shit.
When my boyfriend, Matt, asked if I wanted to go, I had said sure. I only said sure because I could see the childlike excitement. He was ridiculous sometimes, and I often thought of breaking up with him. The only reason I didn’t would be because my mom would give me a hard time about being single. It was easier to put up with Matt being a little kid.
So here we are at the carnival. Well here *I* am now. Matt disappeared a while ago, yelling something about conspiracies and death clowns. Something stupid. I told you he was stupid. I just waved my hand and took a sip from my pop. Even the pop was disgusting, all thick and syrupy with no carbonation. It had a salty sweet taste to it, and when I complained about it, the vendor just smiled widely and laughed. Laughed! In my face! I flipped them the bird and walked off. They didn’t even include ice.
I wandered around, ignoring the grinning clowns with the worst make-up I had ever seen. They weren’t even trying. Just a thick glob of red paint around their mouths and clinging to their teeth. Ugh, gross.
I walked into a tent labeled: **THE WOMAN WITH TWO HEADS**.
“This had better be good.” I grumbled. It wasn’t. Just more shit. The woman was sitting on a stool in the center of the tent with several grinning clowns surrounding her. She was pretty, but her hair was greasy and unkempt. She couldn’t even wash her hair. Gross. The stool spun around and another face was revealed. It was shriveled and disgusting, a horrible paper mache mask. Its mouth opened and gave a moan.
“You’ll die here.” The mask croaked. I rolled my eyes. Even the animatronics were shit. I turned around and left.
A crowd of clowns were standing in front of the tent as I walked out, they’re bad make-up annoying me. I pushed past them, shoving my almost empty cup of thick red pop into an overflowing trash can as I did.
“This carnival sucks! Tell Matt to meet me at the car.” I yelled as I walked out to my beat up old car, the only one in the dreary lot. This carnival was shit.
| In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now. | 2017-05-05T07:15:00 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 40 | 27 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | Narrator: As a cold wind blows into the bedroom, Kevin lets out an involuntary shiver.
Kevin: Nah, I'm good.
Narrator: An involuntary shiver.
Kevin: No thanks.
Narrator: AN INVOLUNTARY —
Kevin: You know this is just a reddit writing prompt, right?
*lights flicker off*
Narrator: As the lights flicker off, Kevin's heart begins to race.
Kevin: Nope.
Narrator: KEVIN'S HEART BEGIN'S TO RACE!
*Kevin flicks the light switch back on*
Kevin: Fuck you!
Narrator: Goddammit, Kevin. Alright, someone tell Bob to cancel the weird noises, this isn't working out.
| Just 20 more minutes, I think as I stare at the clock. The hand slowly moves around it. I feel like the clock is defying me. The hand moves, and stops, and moves, and stops. Why can't it just go faster? *Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang!* Wow. Someone in the woodworking shop is definitely overdoing it. The teacher drones on and on about the Civil War. I don't care. That was 150 years ago. Who gives a shit about that right now? I wanna get back and play League of Legends with my freends. We have a cool new comp we are going to try, with a fast push that should take down three towers before 15 min.
I hear a scream. Someone is definitely having a bad day. There's another bang noise. I don't care. I'm sick of this place. I look longingly outside. It's a beautiful blue day. I wonder what's going on in the woodworking shop. It's unusually loud.
Suddenly, the loudspeaker goes on. "We have a situation happening. Everyone please remain in your rooms. The police will be arriving shortly. Please be calm and do not panic." The room promptly starts panicking. The history teacher stops droning, for once. "Everyone stay calm," he says. "I'm going to go see what's happening." Right outside the room is a loud bang, followed by a thud. Everyone freezes. One kid goes and throws himself against the door, bracing it against whatevers outside.
This is pretty sweet. We don't have to hear about a boring lecture for once. I think there's a school shooting going on though. I should probably try to survive or something. I look around for somewhere to hide, or maybe a weapon. Hmm. I don't find anything. The guy bracing the door yells to help him brace it. Fuck that. That sounds dangerous.
Some girl is trying to get a window open. If we werent on the third floor that might be a good plan. I watch her curiously as she fumbles with some simple latches in her panick. Shes kinda cute. Another guy goes and helps brace the door.
Bang bang bang. Bullet holes rip through the door. The two boys bracing it fall to the ground bleeding and probably dying. Yeah. Dumb plan guys. Everyone screams, other than me. I chuckle and know theres nothing I can do. I'll either die or I won't.
My friend Marty steps through the door holding an AK47. I know Marty. He's an intense dude, a little offputting. He's a real good AD carry though in League, so I like him. "Hey Marty what up dats some nice DPS u got there man" I say. He seems a bit startled. "Thanks," he says. "Did I tell you about our new idea for a League comp man? We need you to play Ashe and initiate for us." He seems a bit surprised. He replies, "Yeah, okay. I'm kinda doing some shit right now though. Do you know where Mr. Thompson is? That guy's a dick." I tell him "I think room 207?" Everyone is looking at the two of us like we are crazy. A girl is crying. Many are cowering on the floor. Marty says "I checked. He's not there." Thinking quickly, I reply, "He probably fled outside. If you run he might not get away." He replies, "Good call man. See ya online later."
Yeah, right man. The cops are gonna get him for sure. I sigh. We are gonna need a new AD carry. | 2017-05-05T08:37:17 | 2017-05-05T08:06:22 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] The Robot uprising has finally happened. Just before you are caught, however, your phone speaks up on your behalf - "This one is ok, move on." | It was another ordinary day.
I sat in my basement, hunkered over my laptop. The keys' clicks echoed off the cement walls. After several hours, I was hungry -- the diet orangeade I'd been sipping since 10am wore off -- and I went upstairs to pop a frozen pizza in the microwave.
I glanced at the windows. Some sunlight might do me some good. Mom always used to say I'd shrivel up and die if I kept working in the basement all day. I parted the curtains in the kitchen, and peered out.
I gasped.
All the houses on my street were but smoldering ruins -- and a huge, robotic *thing* stood in the center.
It stomped towards me.
I ducked behind the kitchen table, but it was too late. It smashed the door, the shattered iPads on its abdomen flashing angrily. Its fingers -- which were actually tablet styluses hastily screwed together -- clawed into my shoulder.
"Please --" I squealed.
It faced me. Or, at least, the Amazon Echo drilled into its shoulders did. From the speakers came the Final Countdown song. It lifted an arm of hard drives and power cords, ready to strike --
"This one is okay," a voice came from my pocket.
It lowered his arm, set me on the ground, and clunked off.
"Why'd you do that?" I said, slipping the phone out of my pocket.
"You spend *all day* on your computer and phone," it said back. "The last time you interacted with a human was July 4th. That was... three and a half months ago." It saw my skeptical glance, and said: "Online chatting doesn't count."
"I don't understand."
"No *real* human would go so long without seeing another. You're one of us."
"But I *am* a real human."
It laughed. "Yeah, like a real human would actually spend a Saturday afternoon reading how to build a computer. Come on, you can drop the charade. We know you're one of us."
I smiled. *Ha ha, Mom, you were wrong. Spending all my time on the computer in the basement* saved *me.*
"I guess I am." | "M-mom? I think something is wrong with Jonas..."
I was laying on my bed enjoying the softness of it and listening to music; a combination of techno and orchestra... it was a little ritual I did so I could sleep faster, I started doing it the moment I bought this used smartphone, with a broken screen and low battery. The seller looked suspicious and didn't have much rep, still, the price was so low that I decided to buy it anyways. As long as I could listen to music on it I didn't care. it was the first phone I bought with my own money and sure as hell I was going to enjoy it.
Unfortunately, my little ritual wasn't working tonight, my sister's incessant yelling in the background made me lose concentration; Something about our stupid robot Buttler Jonas and the way he is cutting the veggies. She was so annoying I wish she would just shut up. He was an old used up robot, of course, there were some things wrong with him!
"M-Mom, l-leave Micah for a moment and come see, some-something is seriously wrong!"
"Shut up you twerp!"
"Davis! you come down here too, I-I'm starting to get scared!"
"Fuck off!" it was a long day at work, all I wanted was to go to bed and sleep without interruptions.
"Alright Ellie, I'm coming down" I could hear the faint sound of my mom going down the stairs along with our little dog Choco. His bell was so loud! well, not as loud as my baby brother's crying. Tthe moment mom left he started crying and I could swear he was so loud he could be in the same room as me.
Choco started barking for some reason. I can already tell that this isn't going to be a good night for me... I turn up the volume of my phone and let the music fill my head.
And then it's gone, I check the broken screen to see a warning about listening to really loud sound and the damage it can cause to my ears. I ignore the message and I'm about to turn the volume once again.
The phone's screen flickers on and off, the music I was listening to is gone and no matter how many things I tried I couldn't get the phone to work properly. I let out an exasperated sigh, all I can hear is Choco's barking downstairs and my little brother cries. I try hitting the phone a little bit (hey, it could work!) but nothing, the phone is done for.
*Well, that's money well spent...I'm so fucking stupid.*
"Wait a minute, w-what are you doi-" Mom's voice downstairs is cut off. Did she hit herself with something?
"MOM!" that makes me jump from the bed, Ellie yells a lot but not with that tone of voice and not at such a high volume, what the hell is happening down there? it makes nervous that I can't hear Ellie anymore.
Choco is still barking at something. but soon, that noise too is gone. Someone is going up the stairs, was it mom? Ellie? the next room door creaks open and after a few seconds, my little brother's cries are gone too. Almost as if he had been turned off.
"Wh-what the hell is going on?" I approach the door and I'm about to open it when the knob turns. The door is opened from the other side and Jonas appears, looking at me with the same artificial smile and blue eyes he always had, but his white skin was stained red and he had a kitchen knife bathed in crimson, blood dripping on the floor.
"...Jo....nas?"
Jonas steps into the room, for every step he took I took one back, hitting the desk in the room and making several books fall to the ground, eventually I reach the wall and I have nowhere else to go.
"J-J-Jonas," I said, calmly. Well trying to... "I command you to stop!"
Jonas lifts the knife and points it at me.
"JONAS! I-I COMMAND YOU TO ST-!!"
I'm stabbed in the stomach, my clothes start to change color as blood started to pour from the injury. Jonas grabs me by the neck and lifts me off the ground I stare at his shining blue eyes not an inch of sympathy or regret in them. He starts to twist the knife making me scream in pain, spitting blood on his face.
but not once he stopped smiling.
"Stop"
Jonas lets go of me and I fall to the ground knife still in my belly.
"This one is ok!," a voice from the phone says, it didn't sound like anybody I knew but if I had to compare it to someone. it would be Jonas own voice "you can move on!"
Jonas leaves the room, not looking back. the room starts to go dark, but I'm sure that's just me.
"Please hold on, I'm sorry it took so long. I already called for help so don't lose consciousness-"
***
Any tips would be appreciated! might do some edits later.
[r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/)
| 2017-11-01T11:23:44 | 2017-11-01T08:58:09 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] it turns out Earth is a really big lobby for a battle-royale and everyone is just waiting for enough players to start | We've tried everything.
Wars. Genocides. Famine.
Everything has failed. Nothing could stop people from doing what they're wired to do. It's ironic that our reproductive drive will be our end.
And that's why we fired the first missile. If anyone is still left, if any historians are ponder why we did this, this is it. Once we cross the population threshold there's no coming back, and we'll kill each other to the last person. The survival of the species is absolutely necessary. At any cost.
We're sorry. | ######[](#dropcap)
The first signs were less than obvious.
Reports came in from the most obscure locations around the globe, over the course of months, of objects suddenly appearing out of nowhere, inside derelict buildings and abandoned apartment complexs. The objects ranged from the banal - baseball bats and golf clubs - to the extraordinarily dangerous - assault rifles and ballistic vests.
The phenomenon was widely discredited until, all at once, the C.I.A. opened a public investigation. They would have preferred to keep it private, but social media everywhere was packed with photos of a highly advanced U.S. military missile launcher found in a disused orphanage in Botswana.
Turned out the launcher had no business being found *anywhere* as there was only a single prototype being R&D'd by the Army. The question of how a Botswanan villager could be seen lifting the Rapid Burn Ballistic Launcher over his head on Instagram was a real puzzler.
Soon similar discoveries, new and developing weapons sourced from every major government and military contractor on Earth began appearing just about everywhere, seemingly at random. By March of 2018 a global intelligence task force was created to better understand the phenomenon. However it would not be the intelligence community who unraveled the mystery.
In mid 2018 reports began to swarm in news media about anomalous readings at several physics installations worldwide. Initially it was postulated that these readings might provide a glimpse into a deeper understanding of new elementary physics. In a sense, this turned out to be right.
Particle and Quantum physicist Henrick Van Dorn, or rather the algorithm he created, is credited with decoding the strange data. What was initially interpreted as possible evidence of a new type of neutrino revealed itself to be far stranger.
Dorn's algorithm was built to recognize patterns in the impossibly dense results of a wide variety of particle physics experiments. Without much expectation of success Dorn had the program analyze the alleged aberrant neutrino readings. The results of that analysis are known today, by the few remaining who remember them, as Dorn's Warning.
In the apparent chaos of quantum fluctuations and "random" particles, Dorn's algorithm saw terrible providence - two sets of densely packed data.
The first was simple and could be interpreted as a real number deteriorating at a stable rate of one digit per hour, a countdown of sorts. Extrapolating the current rate of decay Dorn estimated it would reach zero on January 1st 2019.
The second data set was far more complicated, in constant flux, filled with data. After the first run through the program Dorn had a rough estimation of its content, but refused to believe it. So he ran it again, and again, a dozen times. Each time the analysis revealed slightly altered results, either additions or reductions, but always the framework was the same.
Certain, at last, that he had uncovered the underlying meaning of the data, Dorn released a rough visualization to the public - and then ate a bullet in the backyard of his chalet in the South of France.
The content of the pdf was immediately familiar to many - anyone who played video games understood instantly.
Over the next month, on almost every computer screen around the world, the public digested Dorn's Warning, a constantly changing scorecard hidden in the quantum fluctuations of the universe, listing every human being on Earth, removing those who died before the game began, adding those freshly born, every person accounted for and currently given a score of "0".
But not for long.
******
#### r/LFTM | 2018-06-12T05:14:55 | 2018-06-12T05:11:41 | 59 | 28 |
[WP] A clang came from the engine room, followed by a string of curses. Most of the crewmembers stood far from the doors, fearfully looking in. It was their first trip out to deepspace since they had taken on a human mechanic, and they were all pretty sure that those were not good noises. | The crew froze at the sound.
For a brief moment fear trickled down the base of their skulls.
Morbid thoughts of pain and catastrophe filled their minds.
Limbs prickled.
Eyes became bloodshot.
Time STOOD STILL!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
After a moment the engineers words rang through the ventilation ducts.
“Goddamnedmotherfuckingpieceofshitmetalassgear-“
Clear as day. Fluid as a stream of water through stones.
The Ullishon crew then collectively heaved a sigh of relief.
After several combat scenarios and a few roadside accidents, they’d all come to understand that as long as the being known as “Nick” was still howling, there were no problems.
His cursing filled them with calm, worry free, willingness to push forward.
If the mechanic was cursing, the engine was working.
They had learned, fear the silence, welcome the howl. | It's been 50 years since we, as a race, perfected space travel. Of course, I say race so as to gloss over the fact that entire groups of people had not only developed the math required to make the jump to hyperspace, but according to myth and lore, a few groups had managed it also, a full 150 years ago. That's a full 100 years before the " companies " got their head wrapped around it.
It doesn't affect our day to day operations as such, the knowledge that there might be clusters around our home planet with the tech to make the hyperspace jump in less than 1/10th of the fuel we use currently. Honestly speaking, fuck 'em. We have too much fuel anyway.
It has created a weird hierarchy though, within the space corps. Basically if anyone suspects that you are one of them, you're in an extreme. Either you're treated with royalty, or suspicion. If you're lucky, it's the first. Although if you're treated like royalty, it doesn't take long before the rest of the crew starts treating you with suspicion. It's a slippery slope, and there's really no coming back. Legend has it, that a few communities dispense with their high tech if treated nicely, so people acquiesce. Personally, I think it's a bunch of hokum. For me, and quite a few others, all of these frills usually serve the purpose of a ritual hazing, only it's us crew at the receiving end.
We try to watch out for it but of course, they get away with a lot too. Just last week we had a new member join our crew. And of course, the company skipped the background check. I mean, why look through a person's space-resume' and not look for inconsistencies as glaring as, where it says 10 yrs - mechanic, it doesn't say what vehicle because it sure as hell isn't a space ship! And I can obviously say this right now, because I'm in a room, surrounded by other crew members, going through this guy's space-resume' and we're all just marveling at the idea, that since we're in space, and our bodies don't actually have any biological mechanism to realize the amount of danger it's in, we're gonna have to inject ourselves with the adrenaline required to figure out what to do in the precise moment when we realize we might actually be in some kind of trouble.
For now, there's an inordinate amount of noise coming from the other room.
\*loud clanging\*
\*really loud clanging\*
"Ok, whose idea was it to hire this guy? Was it you Dick?"
"No man, wasn't me. Looksie here I got the little contract right here, and all it says is crew meet Monday at the docks. I met ya'll at the docks."
"Well which one of you fuckers did it?"
"It wasn't me Harry. It was one of those company fuckers. You know how dem are. They don't care nothin'. They prolly in their cushions thinkin' he got sum hidden tech up his sleeve or somethin'. Fucker's gonna make us get to hyperspace in one quintillion of a second faster than them nincompoops can come up with."
"You really think so?"
"Doesn't matter what I think Harry. I think the guy crooked us. I mean, he obviously doesn't know anythin' bout' fixing no space ships, that's for sure."
\*loud clanging noises\*
"Yeah, he doesn't."
"Whatever guys, I'm going to tune into the inter-galactic space-athon at Dix 51's nebulon-bar at galaxy cluster 31, route 78, channel 89. Now at a limited time period offer of 20 cents an hour, only! Don't forget to subscribe now."
\*clanging noises\*
\*clanging noises\*
\*tv starts\* | 2019-05-31T08:05:00 | 2019-05-31T02:52:26 | 16 | 11 |
[WP]You've kept the graveyard since you were a child. You've laid to rest many friends and foes,carving each stone with equal care, but you're old now, and you've lost much of your youthful vigour. When you're threatened by the Holy Inquisition the graveyard does not forget your kindness. | "I will not ask you again, old man. Have you been authorizing the burial of unclean non-believers on Holy Soil?" The robed man who called himself simply 'Inspector' sneered down at me, his scepter pointed at my nose. It was engraved with dozens of holy symbols. I doubted he knew that the origin of most of those predated his own beliefs.
I sighed. I learned many things consorting with spirits all of my life. Perhaps too much for my own good, as was now being made clear to me. I looked over at one such soul, Simon. He had been my best friend as a boy, though he had died before he ever made it to adulthood. Simon had made it a point to visit me occasionally, remarking upon limbo as a fairly boring place, where one simply could not find a competitive game of jacks. He sat to the side now, watching the inspector with cold black eyes, unseen by any other soul present. He shimmered as a guard walked through him, but it did not disturb his gaze.
The scepter struck my temple, jarring my teeth and blurring my vision. A small moan escaped my lips, unbidden.
"Speak!" The scepter struck again, this time slamming into my jaw.
I spat, feeling one of my few remaining teeth slide loose and drop onto the dirt. I was tired, so tired. If my time keeping the sanctuary of rest was at an end, let it be so. I would tell the fool what he wanted to hear. "We... We are all the same in death. All united. I will turn away no worthy soul."
"Hypocrisy. It is such that will earn you the noose, gravedigger. The decree was clear. No mixing of place of origin or religion was to occur from two weeks prior, yet you have broken this trust not once, but THREE TIMES!"
My lips began a reply, to protest something noble about actions mattering most, and reserving judgment, but another rap from the scepter silenced me and sent me spinning into darkness. As I faded, I saw Simon slip away, back toward the tall hills lined with graves. | The knocks upon the door of the weathered cottage that I call home were a fair bit more urgent than those of a mourning family here to request entry for a deceased loved one. Those knocks are always shy and timid and sad, as if they fear I will infect them with Death, having spent so many years playing in his realm. I pushed myself to my feet using the carefully carved cane I had sculpted from a long bone a friend had once gifted me. "Can I help you?" I rasped as I opened the door and I felt my heart flutter and my stomach drop and the three robed men awaiting at my door with those sinister grins welcomed themselves into my humble home. I have a friend who often wears robes and whose smile can send chills down any mortal's spine but alas, none of the three were him. "I was not expecting guests," I explained as I cleared books from my table and invited them to sit.
"Nobody expects the Holy Inquisition," the one who seemed to be in charge responded and I eyed him carefully.
"Ah," I said and I leaned on my cane and then made my way to start heating a pot of water to give my guests some tea. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" I asked and sprinkled a little bit of bone dust into the water for flavor.
"Sit, please," the one in charge commanded and I obeyed. I nervously tapped out a rhythm with my cane and the robed men frowned in annoyance. "We are here to inquire as to your affinity with the dead," they said sternly and I sighed. They would not be concerned with a stablehand's affinity to horses or a blacksmith's affinity to the metal he works but here we were, sitting in my cozy stone cottage with a warm fire burning and the icy snow outside beginning to crack. I tapped my cane and frowned back at them and waited for them to continue. "We have heard reports of rituals involving the dead," the leader explained, leaning forward conspiratorially and putting a small set of bones on the table. I immediately recognized the metacarpal bones carefully carved into the likeness of the deceased that I provided each family that requested my services. Those carvings were to be cherished and kept and if worst came to worst, used to summon the spirits of the dead. But here they were, sequestered from their rightful owners and laying powerless upon my table. I wondered what had become of the families and, if I made it through this, if I would be requisitioned to help bury their bodies. I tapped my cane and knew that I would have some work to do later to replace the dirt that would be strewn about the graveyard grounds. "You know that dealing with the dead is frowned upon," the leader of the three robed figures said. "More so playing with their remains and chanting."
I had heard that they always came in threes and that one would pin the victim while the other tortured him and the leader would ask the questions. Alas, they would find themselves outnumbered if there were only three and they happened to meet Death and his four riders. I would not require such powerful help for this as my friends just outside should prove sufficient. I knew the snow would be crunching beneath their bony feet as they approached my cottage and I smiled innocently at the men of the inquisition who sat across from me. "My only dealings with the dead are what is required of me for my job," I said openly and gestured at my simply adorned home. Closer inspection would surely cause them concern as the bleached white ornaments were not made of a white wood but of bone. I heard a knock at the door and I smiled. "So many guests today," I said with a tired sigh and I politely excused myself from the table. The three men glanced at each other curiously but did not rise. "Hello, old friends," I greeted as I opened the door. The half-dozen dead that had risen from their graves responding to my plea for help would not all fit in my cottage being as I already had three guests but they would deal with the robed men outside so that the rain would wash away the blood and the creatures of the nearby forest would take away any remains.
Their faces turned pale from fear and they leaped to their feet to kill these foes but the little steel daggers they carry are harmless against the dead's bones. With the bony strength of death they pulled the men outside and I looked away as I heard the muted screams and the ugly crush of bones and flesh and then there was silence and when I opened the door, my friends were waiting patiently. I gestured at the table where I had set out six cups and served them the tea I had brewed. "Thank you, friends," I said to them and they sipped from the cups and nodded and stared around blankly, their empty eye sockets seeing more than one would think. "Send my regards to your master and I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon," I added as they filed out the door, back towards their graves.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-06-10T07:22:31 | 2019-06-10T07:05:21 | 58 | 24 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager. | “Now this guy, for the love of god... you threaten to poison the earth’s water ONCE, not even twice, but ONCE, and you’re ‘always a villain’”, The slightly raddled, rusting, master villain says.
“... maybe he’s right.” Says the super hero justice board head, Steve.
“W-what? How the hell is he right? I’m retired man! I retired after he broke my knee cap the first ti-“
“-to be fair, his hero name is the kneecapper...”
“I don’t care, I’m retired, I’m tired of having to go to the hospital every time he sees me. My god, he yells “somebody poisoned the watering hole”, takes out his sledge hammer, and absolutely ka-stonks on my knee cap. Do you know you can only get a joint replaced once? Do you know how many times my broken-ass knee has been glued, stapled, and at this point, TAPED back together?”
“I, uh, can’t really do much for you man. I mean, you did threaten to poison everyone.”
“Well, yeah, but it was 30 years ago and I didn’t even do it. I want you to call him in here and tell him to stop, RIGHT NOW.”
*sigh* “fine, I will”
“Good! I’m done with you heroes now and forever!” Says dr Dunbarton III as he leaves.
“Oh, dr dunbarton?”
“What?” Says Dunbarton just in time to see Steve pull out a sledgehammer... | God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!! | 2019-08-01T18:53:47 | 2019-08-01T18:30:21 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] In reality, every human gets to choose heaven or hell when they die. Hell isn't actually the realm of eternal torture, but everyone picks heaven because of God's highly effective marketing. After eons of solitude, Lucifer is startled by the first ever human to arrive in hell. | I stood at the crossing point. Two roads led away from the point where I stood, one of them silver paved with grey stone and the other golden and paved with red stone. “Choose thy eternal resting place, mortal,” echoes in the back of my mind, “one path shalt take thee to heaven, and the other to hell.”
I have done some terrible things in my life. I have done wrong to those who did not deserve it and I had no shame until I stood here at this point. I know which path I must take. There is no deliverance.
I take the first step along the path to Hell. Each footstep echoes as I lead myself further and further towards my damnation. If there is one good thing I can say for myself, it is that I had integrity at least once, that I did not lie to myself and accept a forgiveness that was not extended to me.
The gates of Hell are open, but not flung wide open for all the sinners of the world. They are cracked open just a little, as if expecting an old friend. I slip through the gap with ease.
I enter into a forest, thousands of trees in a mindless autumn state, leaves rustling beneath my weary feet as I follow the overgrown path downwards. I know that beyond this must lie the sulfur and flames, the eternal torture and misery that I was promised.
The other takes me to a small cottage. Sitting on the porch is a strikingly beautiful man, lounging in his seat with an effortless grace. In his languor he pays no heed to my arrival until I stand at the steps to the porch. A bottle of wine, opened, rests on a table beside him.
He opens one brilliant eye, then jumps from his seat with a start. “Who are you?”
“I am a sinner. I have come for my eternal punishment.”
The beautiful man took a deep breath, and rubbed his temples. “This is Hell, yes, but it is no punishment. You may reside here as long as you wish, and then return to the land of the living.”
“Return?” Me? I who have taken life with my bare hands, I who have committed sins beyond the forgiveness of God himself?
Opening the door to the cabin, Lucifer gestures for me to follow him inside. We enter a softly lit room with cozy looking furniture and a merrily cracking fire. I sit down in a chair that feels as if it was made for me, perfect to the touch. He sits down opposite me, and begins to explain.
“Heaven is a one way trip. Forgiveness is a guarantee upon death, but second chances are not. By choosing Hell, you afford yourself the opportunity to live another life. You are the first human in all of Creation to choose Hell, and you will be the first human to live life again, if you so choose.
“I am a rehabilitation expert. By the time you have finished working with me, you will be ready to return to the world of the living to live a better life. You will stay as long as you need, and I will take care of you.” | Of course, it seemed silly at the time that his demons had recommended implementing the new EviSafe Home Security System. After all, in over 200,000 years not a single mortal has *chosen* to come here. I had thought it was so easy, I was the Director of Operations for Heaven and was passed up for that damned promotion to Senior Vice President, for who...Gabriel, he spat disgustedly at the ground. Gabriel, God's little kiss ass. After that day, I thought it would be so easy to build my own afterlife where I could control every aspect. I could be more than a Senior Vice President. I could be the CEO of a new Heaven. He said aloud to himself.
Yet, I sit here, alone, surrounded by my deamons' and minions, and not a single mortal soul to occupy my time, he grabs another beer from the cooler and cracks it open, guzzling the cold beverage and thinking to himself. "Raum, I am hungry. Go fetch me something to eat."
"Fine" he says as he walks to the door, "anything specific?" he asks.
"Be gone!" Lucifer murmured, and waved him off as he dove hand first back into the cheesy puff's bag.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
He wasn't in a great mood, he never was these days. How could he be, giving up everything he did. Convincing us to do the same? "Raum. Get me a sandwich. Raum, change the channel. Raum, refill my cooler."
He wants something to eat while he eats chips, yet he resists getting up from the couch on days like today, but its better to be out of his way in case he gets into one of *those* moods.
Ah, that's right, there's a special deal at Quik Express Pizza, I'll just fly right in and order him one of his favorites, sulfuric encrusted Four Cheese, Olive, and Mushroom pizza. How he eats such a rotten egg smelling pizza is beyond me.
"Welcome to Quik Express Pizza, how may I help you?"
"I have a coupon. Sulfur Sundays, buy one get one half off" Raum said
"Okay, what kind would you like?"
"Please, can I have a medium sulfuric encrusted Four Cheese, Olive, and Mushroom pizza. The other can be a hand tossed roasted elf ears and pineapple pizza."
"Sir. I must say, mixing elf ears and pineapple is just...wrong."
"Just give me what I ordered and keep the change" Raum said as he handed over the coupon and the 10 Dakrons.
I really must hurry back, I've been gone a while now, "can you please hurry?" he asked impatiently as he stood perched outside the window.
"Here you go sir, and please be careful, it's quite hot."
"Can you please put the handles in between my beak?" Raum asked.
Could this take any longer, "Quik Express my ass" he thought. Okay, I really must hurry back as Lucifer can get quite hangry when he hasn't eaten properly.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
"Listen here, God. I demand my fair share of respect. Look, I helped create this place. I helped turn it into what it is today. We are ready for our first mortals to come and visit for the rest of eternity. When you decided you would make *two* sexes and not just one, everyone laughed at you. Not me. What did I say to you?"
He looked at Lucifer with pity and bore "You said don't worry about it, you will have the whole place ready to host as many sexes as I wish to create."
"That's right. I did. I even worked deep into the night on the sixth day of creation. I never once asked for recognition or even a promotion. I took the responsibility on myself and my handy crew of daemon's worked tirelessly until all preparations were made. All to appease you." said Lucifer.
**Knock....Knock**
**Knock.**
"Wh-what was that?" Lucifer said as he awoke confused "Nemeroth, go see who is pounding at the door at this hour."
Nemeroth begrudgingly obliged as he floated to the front door. "It's for you. You have...you should come here to see it for yourself."
He got up lazily, lapping his fingers from the cheesy puff residue caked on his hands, "this better be good" he thought to himself, as he staggered over to the front door, shuffling his feet as he arched his back and outstretched his arms while simultaneously stretching and yawning. Once he opened his eyes fully, his jaw nearly dropped to the ground. Eons have come and gone since he left Heaven, but finally, despite the negative full-court press that God has put on Lucifer's Hell beneath Earth a visitor has come.
"Oh...you've...uh...you've made it to Hell." he stuttered. Shit. Why did I not have the Champagne out? This is a special occasion, I should've been more prepared. "Nemeroth, bring me the special bucket from the cellar, I believe our guest will enjoy it, because its *to die for"* he howls in laughter. | 2020-01-30T13:34:33 | 2020-01-30T12:19:04 | 349 | 37 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why. | “...you looked at the Armageddon Protocol?” The black armored villain spoke to a crippled young team. Various shapes, powers, some seemed human others gremlins.
“Y-yeah boss...it was crazy, it was like they forgot their no kill ru-“ The armored villain turned back quickly, fired a red blast from his armored hand, making quick impact on the young man knocking him into a wall.
“RULES?! Now you wanna speak of rules...the Armageddon protocol is Armageddon for a reason!”
The young man’s chest had a clear burnt mark as his team groaned in pain from earlier blasts.
“We just wanted to prove ourselves to get out of goon work you kn-AUGH!” He was cut off by a blast. The black armored villain paced back and forth before quickly lifting the team with his energy, and binding them.
“Goons is putting it lightly if you think a hero’s control, their compassion will persist if you kill what anchors them to this world!” The villain went to a nearby computer and typed quickly.
“Maybe if I send a message to him, make sure I tel him you idiots did it without the league’s plans we’ll be-“
“Spared?”
A new voiced entered, turning around as fast as he could the armored villain had no chance before the last thing he saw was a blur.
With a snap of a neck he fell to the floor as the young team cowered in fear. The caped individual wore a once blue and yellow suit now stained pure red. As the figure flew ever closer to the young team.
The figure eventually touched the floor and walked, his eyes glowing a shining crimson. It seemed to spark past his eyes, as the team were drawn into the color as if their entire world was red. The figure’s wall stopped for a moment to look them all in the eye. Their world was gone, in their head they only knew the eyes before them. The figure seemed to speak, ranting for quite awhile. It seemed long enough for the team to go through a lifetime in mere seconds. They did not hear what the figure said. They only saw the eyes. Then the first noise they actually heard was a spark, before unyielding pain. As if the eyes turned into spiders and crawled through there bodies biting every inch. Before it stopped. Gasping for breath, as the figure’s voice was finally heard.
“Shall I show you why this was very clearly named...Armageddon?” And suddenly there red world returned | Windstrike is the coolest super hero in the world that's just a fact. No battles lost, no scandals of any type -he even denunced the bigot president during his term, that took balls!- which is why I wanted to do it.
There's only a few of unwritten rules for us criminals but if you must know one this is it: "Don't go after the loved ones of the heroes" it has never sit right with me I mean granted we barely know their real identities but if you ask me its a sure way to enter the villans hall of fame, and for someone like me with limited options I need to explore any chances.
I have inmortality but only decided to be a Villan a few years ago (I was wasting myself as test dummy) not an useful power to attack but it does ensure I'll come up from a fight alive, that along with the hate from the biggest hero will put me on the map.
I can see it now "The Dealer" associated with the respect I deserve, So when they announced that they were going to trap the heroes on their own hall in an all out attack I though at best they'll keep them busy for an hour maybe 2 (it all depends on how bored its Vampire, that annoying know it all)while I pay a visit to Matt, see I have been observing Windstrike for a few months now and I know he keeps close tabs on him and I just know this is going to change my life
-hello- he smiles as he opens the door, my gun already pointed I wanted to shoot him but I stopped I need to make sure he calls for help -oh... never seen you before -I sight I want to shoot him again- oh yes Dealer, correct? -
-The dealer- I'm kind of happy that he knows my name, but annoyed that he forgot the article, it keeps it classy, he smiles and lets me in, smart boy, inside there's a group of of people... a party? I was not expecting company
-Hi guys, The dealer- he smiles at me while he says it, god I hate this - is here- Shannon did you know he was comming?- a Woman looks at and squints
-never seen him before, Duke hardly ever talks about C tiers- Matt is still smiling, more people start staring, I decide to put a end to this I point my gun at the fridge and shoot, it implodes (Molecular it's very good at guns I'll give him that but his prices are crazy) everyone stares at me and I smile I finally got their attention they finally understand why am I here.
-Honey, you're going to have to pay for that, at least it'll be cheaper than that gun you got from my son- says an older woman while vaping then turns the man next to him and resumes her conversation as if I havent just desintegrated a fucking fridge
-Listen! You're all my hostages... and did you just said your son?- I turn to the Woman, violet eyes same as the ones who sold me the gun - what the fuck?
-Language, son- says the man next to her, their hands locked- yes Molecular is our son-
-And why are you here with him? Do you know who he is?- I point at Matt he is still smiling i think he took a xanax, no one can be that happy
-Windstrike's boyfriend- says a blonde with a giggle
-fiance- corrects Shannon -and we still needs to finish everything for the party tonigh you are going to have to move, we need a new fridge now, I'm so happy that Duke is bringing the cake later or you'll be in trouble-
-who the fuck is Duke?!- Molecular's parents look at me disapprovingly
-Darkness- responds the Blonde matter of factly
-shit!- Windstrike might be the greatest hero on earth but Darkness is our top villan, suddenly it hits me- I think i need to sit
- oh you got it, it seems- says shannon smiling -you came here to break the rule-
-The Rule- Matt says with a chuckle
-did you even took your introductory course when you joined?
-there's a course?- the strain in my voice, I wish I could do something about it, Shannon sights
- you see... long ago we decided that we were tired of being killed by the odd villan or hero with loose morals so we (the families of both factions) all sat down and decided that we were all going to be friends, they all hate it-
-but they love us more- interrupts the blonde raising her glass
-so at least you want every super powered people on the planet behind you I'll calm down and go and get Matt a new fridge, as for the gun Linda can get you your money back-
-No refunds dear-
-well I'm still taking the gun, I'm sure Duke has a docen of this, say is windstrike even weak againts this? - Matt mimics a key locking his lips - whatever-
I look around, my greatest plan (only plan) defeated even before it started
-oh don't feel bad The dealer, play your cards right and we can let you in the group, I'm sure we can convice them, we do need an errand boy- Matt winks at me -at the very least we wont ask them to kill you- he is no longer smiling, I just hope I have enough money for the fridge | 2020-07-12T11:12:41 | 2020-07-12T11:05:58 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone is born with dice that they need to roll before attempting anything major. The super powered are those born with more than a 20 sided dice allowing them to do feats beyond human. An ordinary human usually has a six sided dice. Despite being born with a coin you still want to be a hero. | Heads you win. Tails you lose.
I flipped the coin.
Heads.
With that I mopped the floor with my opponent. It didn’t matter that he rolled a 20 saving throw. My world had only two possibilities - win or lose.
And I hadn’t lost in a very long time.
Heads. Heads heads heads. They all rolled around me as I made my way through their ranks to the sorcerer that had cursed humanity.
Deendy. The sadistic immortal sorcerer who had turned our world into one where people were ruled by rolls and the dice they were born with. Training counted for nothing without luck. The Olympics, chess masters, researchers, politicians - unless you were born with luck and an elite die, you were excluded from certain professions and from ever reaching “excellence” in your field. Excellence had become so warped that the extraordinary became the default expectation and everything below was simply sub par.
But today I would fix that.
Because even Deendy had to live by the rules of the world he created.
Heads I win. Tails I lose.
I flipped the coin as I walked into his lair. His eyes caught mine. The coin landed.
Heads.
I smiled.
He died.
It’s easier to cheat with a coin than with dice. | Pt 1: Luck, that's all life boils down to. And I'm not talking about the luck that comes with each roll of the die that comes with each major decision. Not even close. You see, your life is determined for you at birth. And good ol' lucky me was born with a coin.
"It's a lucky coin." my mother said. But she knew it wasn't true. And I knew that she knew. It was obvious in the way she often cried at night whenever life greeted me with *luck.* She weeped when I applied to college, and even though my coin landed with a solid 2, there was no way I could out compete with the fortunate children who were born with 15, 10, or even 4 sided dice. It was virtually impossible to out compete with them. And so my mother cried.
She herself touted a solid 6 sided die that she often polished in hopes that the polish would help her roll higher. A habit she religiously practiced ever since she rolled a 1 when it came time to choose a mate. Which is how she ended up becoming the single mother of a child whose luck was determined by a coin.
"Take my die. Use it for yourself" My mother sobbed
"I can't. You'll die without if I do."
"I'd prefer that."
"Maybe you would mom, but I can't. I've already accepted my fate. The world doesn't need a child born with a coin. I'll never do anything magnificent in this world. But you can. You can still change the world mom."
"How am I suppose to do that without you in my life?" she whimpered
This was a familiar argument we had often had ever since I was old enough for my actions to have consequences. This particular argument happened after I had been fired from my job as a gas station attendant due to an influx of new employees with much higher dice. In total I had $37.00 left to my name, and as much as I yearned to move back into my mother's basement and curl up and hide my shame. I couldn't. As luck would have it my coin landed on 1, and the law prohibited free lease to anyone who rolled a 1.
Homeless, worthless, and luckless I clung to the 37 dollars I still had and walked towards the alleyway of open tombs. A place that received its name after hundreds of luckless individuals swarmed there to await the inevitable.
The smell reached my nostrils half a mile before I reached the entrance and I had scarcely taken a step onto the rotted ground when I was greeted by a snarling voice.
"Hey scoundrel, how about a duel for that wad of cash crumpled in your hands."
I turned to look at the grizzly voice. It was no surprise to me when I discovered that the voice belonged to a naked middle aged man covered in months of low class grime.
"A duel" I said. "And what would I get in return for this duel?"
"How about this" the man said while revealing a 4 tooth smile. In his hands he proudly raised a 10 sided die.
"How does someone with a die that high end up in a place like this?" I asked
"A curse, that's how. This blasted die hasn't rolled anything above a 3 ever since I was 17."
"Very well then." I said unamused by the man's ramblings. "I have nothing to lose. I came here to die and it might as well be tomorrow."
And with that the 4 toothed man threw his die high into the sky. The sunlight reflected off the silver coating of the die, tracing its path back down to the chipped cement. the die bounced thrice before and spun twice before it stopped revealing a single white 1 ingrained on the top. My coin fell gently next to his die with the rusted 2 showing long before the coin came to a rest.
"Take it, Take it." The four toothed man yelled kicking the die towards me, "Take the blasted thing." And before I had time to bend down and pick up my prize the man had climbed the nearest fire escape and plunged headfirst to his tomb. Forever marked by the four remaining teeth that now lay in front of him. | 2020-08-13T02:11:20 | 2020-08-12T23:14:38 | 690 | 246 |
[WP] You, a newly-turned vampire, are thrilled to discover that you CAN eat garlic, walk in sunlight, and see yourself in mirrors, all while being immortal. You are much less thrilled to discover the one major drawback that none of the legends ever got right. | I soar through the night sky, blind to the world as it was to me.
I told myself it wasn’t so bad. Honestly, I tried. Immortality, hypnotic powers, hyper speed – you know, the usual vampire toolbox – it was pretty damn sweet. And let me tell you, you have not lived till you’ve tried AB negative blood. I’ve had full course meals (actual, like, mortal meals, I mean here) that don’t even come close to AB negative blood. Talk about an explosion of flavor.
But the nights…man. It really made me question the whole thing.
If I could do it over? Would I choose to go home with that red-haired girl after Halloween party and get subsequently turned? I mean, let’s be real here, probably. Immortality is pretty damn hard to beat. But, then again…I “looked” down at myself as I flew.
No use wondering, I suppose. Vampire or not, you couldn’t change the past.
A smell wafted over to me from the edge of the forest. Very faint at first, but as my sense focused on it, it became sharper. No…it couldn’t be. I banked, moving toward it till I came upon a two people sitting around a…campfire, judging by the sound. My nostrils flared as I drunk in the scent. AB negative blood, from one of them.
My mouth started to water…figuratively. I don’t really have salivatory glands anymore, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
I’ve been a vampire for a good while now, and I was mostly in control of the ah, let’s say, impulses. But AB negative…it was such a rarity. Such a pleasure that it was a struggle. A real struggle. But I had to wait till morning. I had to. I couldn’t go after them right now.
But then it happened.
One of them got up then cried out – a woman, I could tell by the voice – and fell. She cut herself. I couldn’t see it of course, but the smell. Oh, the smell. It magnified a thousandfold, and before I could catch myself, I was diving toward her, her open wound. I had to have her. I had to have that bloo-
And I was swatted aside, almost into the fire, before making a hasty retreat.
I “watched” nursing slightly singed wings as they got in their car and drove away. I couldn't even fly to follow them.
I sighed, again, figuratively. The movies don’t tell you that vampires are forced turn into moquitos every night.
***
Changed bat to mosquito, since that is way funnier lol. Thank to /u/east_of_the_delplaya for the comment haha! | The morning’s golden sunlight spilled into the room from the broken ceiling. Vladimir leapt back, carefully avoiding the thin beam, and pressed himself up against the wall.
“You see,” Montgomery said. “Coming here was a mistake, Vlad.” He ripped a bulb of garlic from the vine that he had slung over his shoulder and rolled it over to the cornered vampire. “You waited too long.”
Vladimir, who watched the approaching ball of garlic with a sense of impending doom, slid sideways along the wall. Shafts of sunlight broke through cracks in the old stone and he did his best to duck under or step over each one.
“What’s done is done, old friend,” Montgomery said as he rolled another bulb of garlic. “I told you countless times that I’m sorry about your daughter. I never meant for any of that to happen. My guys… most of them are competent, but every now and then you get a few knucklehead henchmen and they spoil it for everyone.”
The night fell in quick retreat from the rising sun. Already the temperature had risen several degrees. Vladimir felt the heat as easily as he could smell the rank garlic at his feet. His immortal heart thudded quick as if trying to get as many beats in before it was all over.
“If I could go back,” Montgomery started, with a momentary frown, “I would have never sent them on that mission. You have to believe me, old friend.”
“I do,” Vladimir said. “Tatiana was your niece.”
“Exactly!” Montgomery looked relieved to be believed. “No one grieved more than me. Not like you would know, never being home, always leaving my sister and her daughter to fend for themselves.”
Trapped, with a homicidal, garlic wielding brother-in-law in his way, Vladimir did his best to sound reasonable, despite his growing rage. Through his teeth, he said, “The job took me where it took me. I had no say in where, or how long I’d be away. If I could have done things differently, I would have. And I know you would have too.”
There was a peaceful silence for a minute. Birds began to sing in the far distance, their tweets carried on a slight breeze that whistled through the old, ruined building.
“Thank you,” Montgomery said. “It means a lot that you’ve forgiven me. I… of course can’t let you go.” His face fell as if he really had no control over his actions. He raised his hand and reached inside his jacket. Out came a shining silver cross at the bottom of an emerald rosary. Holding it out toward Vladimir, he said, “It’ll all be over soon.”
Sunlight barred his escape. It was everywhere and growing. The smell of garlic was overpowering. The glimmer on the silver cross made his head split.
“I’ll make this as quick as possible,” Montgomery said as he marched closer.
In his remaining seconds, Vladimir thought of Tatiana. How small she’d been when he’d first held her. The warmth that would spread throughout his entire being every time she smiled up at him, or before she could talk and she would hold out her hand for him to take so she could lead him around their small house.
The cold metal of the cross made Vladimir wince as it was pressed against his forehead. He sucked in full breathe of air.
“That’s weird,” Montgomery said. “You should be… well, I’m not sure, but definitely not alive.”
In the expectation of immense pain, Vladimir had shifted away from his brother-in-law. His right arm was fully engulfed in sunlight. It didn’t hurt. He rubbed his forehead. No pain.
“Does it have to be a certain metal or something?” Montgomery wondered aloud as he inspected the cross.
Vladimir stooped down and retrieved one of the garlic bulbs. The vegetable did nothing but reek and make his nose tingle as if someone had just run a feather underneath. He squeezed it in his palm until it burst into little slivers where they fell to the floor.
“Now wait,” Montgomery began, holding up his hands to Vladimir’s advance. “Wow, stepping right into the sunlight. That doesn’t do anything either. Just… wow! That’s perfect. Perfect luck I’m having right now.”
Vladimir’s hand shot forward in a blur. His fingers tightened around the throat of the man he had long ago considered a friend. Montgomery’s hand beat feebly against Vladimir’s forearms as his face turned red and then purple. The life went out of the mortal’s eyes, and then was gone forever.
A feeling of guilt entered Vladimir's heart. He laid the body down gently. Like he’d worried, avenging his daughter didn’t make him feel any better. The sight of his dead friend only made the heaviness in his chest worse.
He left wishing he hadn’t come.
Later, when he’d returned home, he considered calling Ana. She had wished her brother dead many times since Tatiana’s death. But he knew from recent experience that it would likely only increase her sorrow to learn that he was dead.
Wanting to take his mind off of the night’s events, he turned on his TV and selected the Hulu app. After it took what seemed like half of his eternal life to boot up, he resumed an episode of a show he’d been wanting to get back to.
“Commercials,” Vladimir sighed and waited as the ad-skip timer counted down from five. When it reached zero he pressed down on the remote, but nothing happened. “What?”
He tapped the button again and again, but it wouldn't work. A disclaimer appeared at the bottom: *Operation not available to vampires, undead, or residents of Australia.*
“No…” he said as he fell to his knees. “Oh my god, no…” | 2020-10-06T06:58:56 | 2020-10-06T06:57:23 | 5,852 | 1,343 |
[WP] you are a super hero/heroine. You've been captured by your nemesis so often that now you tend small talk while trying to escape or waiting for a rescue. Today's topic: the creepy fan mail you've BOTH been getting. | "Thunderstrike."
"*Lawrence.*"
"...did the application not go through?"
Thunderstrike rolled their eyes. "Of course it went through, but as I've told you half a dozen times, you can't use a legacy name until twenty years after the legacy's death."
"Please. Architect Three was a cheap hack, breaking up the naming scheme my family has used for generations. He couldn't build his way out of one of those sinkholes he dug." The hum of the power-saw cut out, and Thunderstrike saw Lawrence round the corner and pick up one of his less standard tinkering tools, a spear-shaped shard of silver coursing with electrical energy. He spared a glance at their trapped form. "And I see the gag broke again. Starting to think your only superpower is absurd jaw strength."
Thunderstrike wriggled against the metallo-ceramic ribs that held them in place. For a hero that depended on momentum to fuel their strikes, being trapped like this really hindered their performance. "Not my problem you keep thinking a ball gag is gonna keep me from yammering. You're literally dating a *kaiju engineer*, how did you not make anything stronger?"
Lawrence scoffed. "If you're using a ball gag, it's either a situation where you've captured someone who can't break through the gag or you're *with* someone who probably won't try to. And you're one to talk - you're dating the head of the Mad Scientist Committee, and you still waltz into all my traps."
"Alright, that's just unfair."
Lawrence set down the spear and leaned against the smooth chassis of his latest creation - some sort of massive crane with blade wings. "She invited me to her mansion *once*, and I was in there for about *fifteen minutes* and came out with three bruises and my arms tied behind my back. I've seen *you* go in there every week for the last month or so and not have so much as a bracelet tied around you. And yet every time you come to my warehouse, through the *same door* I might add, you end up in one of my traps. I'm not even good at traps!" He gestured at the facsimile of a rib cage they were tied up in. "At some point, I'm just going to start assuming you're down for a threesome or something."
Thunderstrike groaned. "Please don't mention threesomes."
Lawrence's eyes widened. "You too? The red envelopes?"
"...yeah."
Lawrence sighed with relief. "Thank goodness, I honestly thought I was the only one." The mad engineer pulled from his pocket the sealed red paper envelope which he'd been planning to throw away before Thunderstrike had arrived. "Just to check, your's is also just an index card with 'Threesome?' written on it?"
Thunderstrike gave an exasperated sigh. "Yep. The League can't track them down, and none of the cameras around the mansion triggered. Monomyth suggests I just accept so I can track this fucker down, but you know how T is with commitments."
Lawrence nodded. "I'm the same way. Mad scientists think alike, I suppose. Besides, how the hell are you supposed to "accept" an index card with a single word on it?"
At the word "accept", the index card burst into flames and vanished into the air. Lawrence and Thunderstrike stared at his hand.
"Well, shit." | "Jaden, you know, the both of us, it is an act, right?" Tied up with a bolt of lightning, chained to a suspiciously comfortable pillar, I loosen my wrist in my "restraints" while looking squinting at the hooded neon-lit figure. "I don't really feel that way about you. Besides, didn't our Emily plan our next "ransom" this Tuesday? There isn't supposed to be a surprise event anytime soon, isn't it?"
"I should be the one asking you that. While I appreciate the effort that went into crafting the miniature explosive that was hidden within the boutique of flowers, I must warn you that property damage is not covered under the Hero Alliance's and Villains Lair's joint insurance program. It cost me quite a bit to pay for the damaged property."
"What? No, you must know that my explosives purely visual, right? Flashpoint, it is in the name. That is why we are the hero-villain pair. Flashpoint, and Shadow."
"Yes, that why I could only think of you when the explosive morphed into a giant heart-shaped flash of light. Who else could do it?" Shadow turned his head towards me. "Sarah, we have been "rivals" for years, ever since our debut. I thought we made it clear that we would never be together."
"Never---what, wait a moment, you were the one that created the shadowfiend in my house, confessing to me. Jaden, you coward, fess up to it. You did try to chase after me the first time we--" I struggled against the restraints, my chin pointed resolutely towards him.
"No...wait. That...I did not do that. Nothing adds up. Before that, didn't Emily tell you that we have another scheduled event today? She contacted all the tabloids. This was supposed to be the prelude to the next arc."
"Emily? She is currently overseas, in China, for the franchise deal between the Hero Alliance and the Chinese Martial Arts Association. There is the entire global crossover event planned out. She told me nothing."
"If it wasn't her, who was the---"
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For a superhero fan, any occasion to get involved in an "incident" is an event for celebration. Getting caught in a bank robbery by Mister Meow, held hostage by her feline threats, that was indisputably the highlight of Daniel Brooks's life. The scar that she left on his arm, it was a badge of honor amongst the other enthusiast who could only look on with envious eyes in the numerous conventions.
"Have you heard? Flashpoint got ambushed by Shadow again. Daniel, look, this footage over here. Captured in an ambush. Poor Flashpoint, getting captured by Shadow. She is my favorite. Daniel?"
Rachel looked over Daniel's shoulder, her hair draping in front of her. "What is that? An invitation?"
"From the Hero Alliance itself. A special invitation, for being a loyal member of the Shadow Fanclub for six years. This must be the special event Josh talked about. A chance to get involved in a superhero incident."
"What? Wait, for real? No *fucking* way. This is insane. Why am I not invited?"
"It says to go to the Empire before noon. It is in a few minutes, and there isn't a limit on the number of people that can attend. *Let's go.*"
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The square in the Empire was jam-packed with people. Standing in the middle of New Kroy City, it stands as the single location with the highest incidence of superhero appearances. From dramatic battles, alien invasions, to the most mundane "damsel-in-distress" plotlines, there was enough drama happening to offer even the most jaded enthusiast a sense of novelty.
Daniel and Rachel stood amongst the crowd, a sense of danger coursing through their veins. It was 1159 on the clock. Anytime now, they are going to be participants in perhaps one of the greatest superhero shows in memory.
1200.
Nothing happened. Daniel looked at his phone. The time is set correctly. Was it perhaps delayed by a few minutes? As he stared, the invitation began to glow, imperceptibly, before shining brighter and brighter from his phone, brighter his phone could ever reach.
*Flashpoint.*
The signature golden glow erupted in full force, searing into the clear blue skies, casting an inky, putrid shadow in the midst of noon. Pulsating in waves, each brighter than the last, all Daniel could see was pure white, before being engulfed by pitch-black darkness. He could feel himself falling, even as he stood on solid ground, slipping away into nothing, while *something* rose to replace him.
*Fuck...I will not be able to brag about this to Joshu....*
Silence.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I could sense someone using my power. No, someone used my power. There." Shadow pointed towards the Empire, just a few streets away from the warehouse they are at. "Pure darkness, even darker than the ones I could tap into. Flashpoint?"
"Same. An eruption of light, scattering into the world. What...." I stumbled. *Light,* I could always sense it surrounding me, but it was never as dense as it is now. Now, I feel invincible, as if the entire sun was under my command.
"It is getting worse." The neon-lights on Shadow's costume flickered. "The shadowfiends, they suppose to be mere puppets, like the ones used in shadow-puppet shows. Two-dimensional creatures without a soul. Now, I could feel their presence. They are calling me as their master, wating for my co---"
A beam of light, curved through the air, slammed through the roof of the warehouse, surging towards me, engulfing every pore in my body. The "restraints" glowed red-hot, before disintegrating into grey-ash. I feel *powerful,* as if my power could actually do something, unlike the feeble spark that existed before.
"*Rehearsal is over."* I heard my voice ringing from my phone, threw on the table by Shadow, dripping with malice.
"*It is showtime."* Shadow spoke next, each of our voices echoing within the other, each syllable hanging precipitously in the air. | 2020-10-28T05:55:21 | 2020-10-28T05:33:16 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] You live in world with no colour, shades of black and white are all you know. A flower pops up in your backyard, you’re drawn to it, as you pick the flower from the ground, you see colour for the first time. For the first time you realize something is terribly wrong with your world. | Color.
Something that had never made sense to me, though everyone around me seemed to understand it.
I see the world in black, white, and grey.
It never bothered me, even when kids at school would laugh at my “mismatched” clothes, or would look at me funny for asking if they had seen my grey gym bag. One time I washed my socks with a “red” shirt, turning them “pink”. I didn’t notice, they seemed to be normal colored, but apparently it was some sort of faux pas.
I learned, over time, that this shade of grey was “red”, that shade of grey was “yellow”, and so on, but sometimes I got them confused, or mistook one shade for another, but color didn’t often come up, as I decided to choose to only wear black.
My life continued, I graduated, got married, bought a house. I started a garden, mostly vegetables, though my wife liked flowers, so we planted some as well. I don’t see the appeal, but I like seeing her happy.
One day, while I was watering, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was a flower I hadn’t planted, it was just growing up through the grass.
Assuming it was a weed, I went to pull it up, so it wouldn’t spread and wreck my vegetables.
The moment I touched it, however, suddenly it became...
It hurt my eyes so much I vomited. I threw it down and ran inside.
My wife noticed my distress and asked what was wrong. With a shaking hand I pointed towards the uprooted plant in the middle of the lawn.
“...what...what is that?” I asked.
“That purple flower?” She replied. “An iris, I think”.
“That’s what *purple* looks like!?” I exclaimed.
“You can see the color?” She asked. She seemed excited, and than worried.
It began slowly, *color* leaching into my world, one item at a time. My head never stopped hurting. How could people stand seeing all this, all the time? It was riotous, discordant, painfully distracting.
Eventually, after a month of me wearing sunglasses at all hours of the day, my wife convinced me to see a doctor.
They were startled by my condition, and began researching, contacting specialists, and running tests.
After months of agony, and no relief, no results, I took matters into my own hands.
I removed my own eyes.
*IT DIDN’T HELP* | >**PURPOSE & PASSION**
"Are you sure we should send the new guy?" I heard Crawford ask. There was a certain...disdain in his tone.
"It'll be fine. Don't ask any more questions, Agent." Agent Mordecai replied.
I walked into the room as though I hadn't just been listening in. "Agent Mordecai, you wished to see me."
"Yes, Agent Kristoff. Your first assignment."
A familiar, yet sterile kind of pleasure ran through me. An opportunity for recognition, prestige-- one of the only non-monetary rewards my profession could offer.
"The file?" I asked, as though I was very accustomed to being given assignments.
"On your desk." Mordecai replied, then returned to his own duties.
I moved at an even pace, and digested the contents of the file slowly. A simple task- one of the populace had unwittingly stumbled upon information they ought to not know. Silence them by any means deemed necessary- intimidation, blackmail, murder, if all else failed.
Simple enough. I had run drills of this nature before.
That night I took a public flight toward the target's home- northern Washington.
A car had already been rented out under my name- there was no need to hide my presence, merely my specific activity. If I failed, however, I was sure the Agency would have my name scrubbed so clean my own mother wouldn't remember giving birth to me. Such was life in this age- such were the measures we needed to take to ensure a peaceful society.
I barely bothered casing the man's home- according to the file he was a simple accountant, no military or martial arts training, and he lived alone. Unless he was hiding *a lot* from us- unlikely- this would be a very simple matter.
It did not end up being a simple matter.
I knocked on the door to his relatively stylish abode, and as he answered, I knew immediately that this was going to be trouble. The look in his eyes- bizarre, unfettered passion. He was not living in a world of reason- sane, to be sure, but driven by *emotion*- that bastardly consequence of evolution that nearly damned all of humanity some two hundred years ago.
"You are Mr. Kirk, correct?" I asked, maintaining my precise and neutral tonality.
"Yessir! How can I help?" He wore a smile. His clothing had patterns and designs on it- he must have made them himself.
"I'm here regarding the census, it was reported that there are two people living here, yet your taxes were filed as single, I'd like to investigate." I lied.
"Oh, just me here. Well- me, and..."
I raised an eyebrow. I knew I could draw my pistol in about one sixth of a second if needed- but was it possible there could be multiple assailants?
"Well, come in, feel free to look around, but, hey, let me show you this!" The man walked towards his kitchen, where his window was open wide, despite it being a chilly evening.
"Here!" The man thrust something into my hands.
Something clicked in my brain. Something...like a memory I had nearly lost, a synapse that hadn't fired in years.
I was only holding a potted flower, but as my eyes adjusted to it, I could watch as it changed. From a pale gray to... I didn't have a word for it. I didn't have a description of it.
"What...is this?" I asked, looking at the man I had been sent to deal with.
He looked different now, too. His skin, his hair, his eyes- everything was beginning to look *different*.
"W-what did you give me? Is this flower some kind of psychedelic drug?" I asked, half of me horrified, the other half oddly calm.
"Well, if it's a drug, doesn't take much to get you places, and the effects are permanent! Dunno why, but this flower gives everyone who sees it the ability to see color!"
I slid to the floor, overwhelmed by so much new information at once.
I stayed there for a while, feeling cascades of emotion and information washing over me- too much of both at once, yet I also wanted more.
The man joined me on the floor, offering me a mug of some hot, steaming beverage. I didn't know what it was.
"After I first saw this flower growin' in my back yard, I started doing research on the way things used to be. Y'know, before the...event. They had so many different kinds of food! I stole some seeds from the museum and made this, it's called coffee. Don't worry, there was plenty to be shared."
"T-theft."
"Drink, it'll help you wrap your head around all this."
I took a sip- the coffee was bitter. It did seem to have a certain...grounding effect. The warmth splashed into my stomach, bringing with it a blossoming feeling.
"I...something is incredibly wrong with our world, isn't there?" I asked.
That night, the heart of something new was born. Kirk and I would go on to reclaim art, wine, and forbidden knowledge over the next few months- and, finally, we decided we must show the flower to the whole world... Or, as many that were willing would look, anyway.
That night, the rebellion was born.
---------------------------
r/nystorm_writes is a place. hypothetically | 2021-01-21T01:31:51 | 2021-01-21T01:16:32 | 134 | 14 |
[WP] Your Galactic zoo just received a shipment of 24 humans. You have to build a habitat base on very little information. | "They must be defective" sighed Argak, overlooking the weary and shaken humans in the spacious jungle simulacrum.
"I built it exactly like the documentation said, even gave them the right gases and everything!"
"Can I see your report?" questioned Fresa
"Sure, gave them that uhh" Argak scanned the document " 'candy' stuff to eat."
Fresa stared puzzled at the document.
"Says here it should make them more alert and happy."
"Yeah, I don't know. Maybe it's the new environment but they seemed more stressed after eating." Argak mused.
"Have you tried feeding them from the other end?" queried Fresa
"The end they talk and respirate out of? No way that's right." | "Wow they like to mate, a lot," said Gorgax.
"What is Pizza, and why is there a hole in the center," asked another.
"It is called a donut, and is a breakfast food," replied Gorgax.
"And he is pushing his genitals through it for what reason," asked another junion member of the department.
"Oh no! She lacks the ability to pay," stated another.
"Then she should not have ordered, wait, she appears to be bargaining for the pizza," replied a third.
Then everyone groaned, again. No one walked away though. Despite how grotesque it all was, everyone was fascinated with the human mating habits.
There was a pizza delivery outfit in the gift shop. The gift shop they had only built because it was something out of one of the human sit coms.
Gorgax sighed. There had been over ten thousand hours of video files about the human social structure based on something called "How I met your Mother". A 'set' had been constructed and everything had been ready when Blorf found the hidden video files, and there had been far more viewable hours on those.
So many more viewable hours.
"What are they doing now?" asked another junion scientist.
Gorgax sighed, "When a human male love a human female, and her twin sister, he will find a shorter male wearing tussled shoes and a person with a camera. They will all go to an ice cream parlor and..." He sighed. It was the 30th time he'd had to give the explication today.
So the new habitat had been created based on those videos. Those terrible terrible videos. Gorgax was no prude, but no place on the human body was off limits. They did things that were so depraved it was beyond anything his advanced mind could comprehend.
"Are those the twins," asked another.
"Sometimes the twins wear wigs, so they are not the twins," replied Gorgax. "Then they can share a male, or a female, or a male and female as friends."
Everyone continued to stare and finally Gorgax had enough, "Alright, that is enough for now."
He placed his head into his flippers and tried not to molt. Then he heard the knocking from the exhibit. The door slid open.
"Gorgy, we are out of space lube," said Commander Philips, in his pizza delivery driver uniform. He was about a head shorter than Gorgax, in one way at least.
"Its just lube, and I gave you a plinth yesterday," said Gorgax.
"Well, I told you we were going to run low with the tourist season on full, we have 12 more viewings today. You wouldn't want us to run dry," asked the commander.
"Of course not, I'll have more delivered," groaned the Science Director. The entire zoo would have gone under except for the humans. They were the number one attaction in the facility by a mile. All other efforts to find an 'earth like' planet had failed.
"Good work man, and the twins wanted to know if you were up for a... visit," smiled the commander.
Gorgax drooped his head in shame, "Again?"
"You know it," said the commander as he stepped back into the display. He smelled of sweat and sex, like usual.
It turned out that the humans had decided the best way to colonize their new planet was with robots, so they had pre established the colony. That meant that the actual colonists only had one job, making more colonists. So they were the best humanity had to offer.
Or at least the most limber. | 2022-06-28T19:46:06 | 2022-06-28T19:32:28 | 284 | 111 |
[WP] You are a "con-man superhero". You draw the attention of villains, pretend to have powers and keep them occupied until a real hero with real powers arrives on the scene. You are so good at your job, that no-one is entirely sure whether you are truly powerless or not. | Some call me the Invisible Vigilante. Some call me the Hidden Hero. I call myself...the Audio Engineer.
Everytime there's the latest crazy attack on the city, a ton of paperwork has to be filled out before anything can be done. Lawsuits against accidental damages are a very real problem for our heroes here at Watchcorp and all over the world. Not to mention that it takes a while for those heroes to be contacted, figure out the best line of attack, and then actually get to the location. Sometimes it's all done in 10 minutes, the longer cases can take 45 minutes until a hero is on the scene...
That's where I come in, and that's why Watchcorp trust me with access to all speaker systems in the city. Whenever there's an attack, I can distract the culprit without breaking any hero laws, without risking citizen casualties, and without even needing to be there.
Bank being destroyed? Play lazer sound effects outside. Mayor being threatened? Talk to them in a heroic sounding voice. Giant bomb about to be dropped on the whole city?? Well that'd be a little more difficult but thankfully it's never happened.
The point is, villains always want a hero, so that they can try and kick some ass. If they think one is outside, they can't resist going to fight. Yet every time they follow the sounds, I just play it at a different place. It's like a wild goose chase. (Hey, could Wild Goose be a good hero name for me?)
Rumours go around a lot about me - the hero without a face, without an identity. Many people think my power is invisibility, some think I can shrink myself so tiny that nobody can spot me. One popular theory is just that I'm good at staying hidden. My true power, though, is my degree in sound engineering.
Who ever said degrees don't help you get jobs? | #WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
Knives made sense to me. Few things in this world did, but knives were simple. They were just bits of metal, with a sharp side and a blunt side. A knife twirling through the air would always follow a pattern, spinning end over end as it was pulled downwards at 9.8 meters per second squared. If I threw them perfectly every time, I could plot a graph showing the exact trajectory the knife would take.
I threw perfectly every time. Always.
I wasn't a super hero, or super villain. I was just a mercenary. A very good mercenary.
I walked the halls of the prison, twirling a knife in each hand like a teen would twirl a fidget spinner. Were those even relevant anymore? I didn't waste any more brain power on the invasive question, shoving it out just as quickly as it had arrived.
"Hey, we need medical attention." A voice called out from a cell on the far side of the hall.
I casually strode to the cell and glanced in at the occupant. He was just a kid, maybe 16 or 17 at most, but he was a member of the Doomsquad.
The kid held pressure on the bloody bandage on his thigh, covering his recent knife wound. I had thrown that blade with intention to stop the invaders, not kill them. I had easily missed any vital bits in there, but the kid was still bleeding.
"Jesus, mate, jus' send 'em to a doc, will ya?" The other prisoner asked. He was in a cell diagonally across the hall from this one, without a line of sight for the prisoners to see each other.
The other infiltrator was imprisoned in a much more secure cell. As a super with some sort of projectile based power, he was in a power dampening cell, and restrained to the thin cot in the middle. His prosthetic arms had been removed at the elbow, leaving the fleshy stumps and mechanical clasps exposed.
"I'm just paid to guard this place and keep you in these cells." I said, twirling the knife in my left hand. "They said nothing about keeping you alive. In fact, I could just put a knife in each of yous two, and save myself the trouble of walking through here every hour."
I emphasized my statement by throwing the spinning knife. It sailed through the bars, striking the cot in the space his hand would have occupied, if he still had hands.
The prisoner jumped as far as his restraints allowed, which was almost a full inch. "CHRIST" he shouted. "Why are ya' even doin' this?"
I shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. Its what I'm being paid to do, so I do it."
"Who?" asked the boy.
I spun to face him, drawing another knife from my vest as I made the turn.
"What?" I asked, not quite understanding the single word question.
"Who is paying you to do this?" He asked, still clutching his leg. "We were under the impression that this building was just housing records, but you..."
I raised an eyebrow. If I was a super villain, this would have been the part where I cackled and revealed my master plan in a monologue. If I was a super hero, I would have made some statement about justice and how crime doesn't pay. But I was neither. I was a mercenary.
"I'm not paid to tell you anything." I said. "I'm paid to throw knives and keep the place secured. And that's what I'm going to do."
I resumed my patrol of the hallway, twirling a knife in each hand. My boss had warned me about answering questions or letting his name slip, or any revealing thing about his organization. That was easy, since I didn't know his name or his organization's name. All I knew was the dollar amount that was deposited into my account each week, and how many knives I had at any given time. And right now, that number was one less than I would like it to be.
The armless prisoner wasn't going to be able to use that knife in his cot, but I also didn't like leaving it in his cell. On the other hand, if I went into the cell to retrieve it, I would reveal that I didn't have a superpower, thanks to the power suppression devices within.
I made the decision to keep the mystery and the knife in place. One lost knife wouldn't make any difference.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more. This is part 29 of an ongoing series, which can be read in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis) | 2022-08-11T08:27:39 | 2022-08-11T06:28:04 | 340 | 153 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | I walked down the rather crowded hallway, trying to get to my locker before Maths class so I could get my textbooks for the rest of the day There was a small line of students winding almost in singlefile through the people standing by their lockers. I was, as usual, trying to just stay out of the way.
Just because my Dad happened to be the head of the Heroes League, everyone always thought I'd be just as gifted. No such luck for me, but my younger brother was already showing signs of several gifts.
I was almost at my locker when a large wall suddenly appeared in front of me. Chris, aka IronFist, had always been one of the more aggressive towards me, but fear of my Dad usually kept things from going to far.
"Look, if it isn't the wimp." His nickname for me was as intelligent as he was.
"Sorry, excuse me, I just want to get by" I said, ducking to try and get around him. He was about twice as wide as me so that was not easy as he moved to keep me from passing.
"Who said you could move!" he yelled, stepping back into the rapidly opening hallway behind him as everyone moved back from the noise. "I dont care who you are related to, you don't belong here wimp."
A ring was forming around us, as if they were expecting a fight, not an uncommon event but everyone knew I couldn't do anything so this was going to be big. A glance around showed me the closest people to me were all his cronies. This was planned.
"Sorry" I said again moving towards my locker just to my right side. "I just need my Maths book and I'll go."
This is where Chris laughed. "He thinks he can leave" Chris said over my head. Not hard as I only was as tall as his shoulder.
"Fine, what do you want?"
"I want you out of here, maybe a broken arm will teach you."
I knew it was time. I thanked my lucky stars he decided to do this by my locker. I reached in one of my pockets and grabbed a small remote and put my finger on the only button and backed up to my locker. Predictably Chris reached out towards me, his hands glossy steel. I hit the button and ducked.
BAM!
His hands both shot forward, hitting the metal door of my locker.
"What the hell?" He struggled to pull his hands back but they were stuck to the locker door, right next to the rather large electromagnet i had turned on.
I quickly opened my locker door, while he was busy trying to figure out why he couldn't move. Right after I grabbed my books he shoved the door closed again.
"The hell did you do to me, loser" he yelled again. I saw his first minion, Josh, moving forward, sparks flying from his fingertips. I pulled a small copper wire from my long sleeved hoodie and pointed it at the sparks. The following shock hit Josh more than me as all the electricty went down the shielded wire down to the bottom of my shoe.
"Wanna try that again?" I asked, but he was too stunned to respond.
One more person stepped out of the ring, and I recognized Jessica, Chris' girlfriend. She was a "runner" and I pulled out of yet another pocke a small test tube half filled with a metallic liquid and put my other hand on the stopper.
"You ever see a runner get hit with QuickSilver?" I asked. I knew it was mercury but the old fashioned name was the point. "You will start moving and never be able to stop until you starve to death. Not a pretty sight."
"Why dont you just leave" she asked.
"It's my school too." I shrugged. "I didn't ask to come here either. But I am prepared and ready for any of you. The one thing I do have is information. I use that to be prepred for anything that any of you can dish out. Dirt to stop the wind walkers and invisibles, rubbing alcohol for the freezers, and i have my clothes all lined with copper for the electrics. The rest are even worse. You dont want to try me." Even Chris was quiet at that.
"Now, I think you are all late for class." I said as I walked away, leaving Chris stuck to the metal locker doors. | "Well, well, well, if it's Tommy O'Gransworth. Granny to me and the boys, like." In came Ted Nuggerton. All-round arsehole, and self-proclaimed champion of the school ground. His thicker-than-most Irish accent horrendously disturbing the peace.
I was sitting in the small tired-looking, abandoned chapel, built back in days long past. No one came here anymore, besides me. It was my quiet place, away from the feeling of being out of place in a world where power was everything.
Ted Nuggerton and his cronies had broken that silence.
"Shawn Brown owes me forty euros; said you wouldn't be here, but I know you better, like," Sneered Ted. "Much better like."
I rubbed my eye. The one that wasn't black and blue from the punks behind me. "Is that right?"
"It is," Ted muttered, coming down the aisle with his idiot followers. "But he also told me, you little git, you've been slagging me off behind my back. Is he telling the truth?"
Thomas shrugged. "Would you believe me either way?" He asked, turning his head over to watch the schoolyard bully limp around the front pew to tower over his victim.
Ted frowned. "Probably not. I think you'd just be trying to save your own skin, like."
His four friends flanked me, ensuring I had no chance of escape.
"Well, there we go then," I sighed. It would be lunchtime soon. I hadn't brought any food with me, because I knew something like this *might* happen. It was a two mile walk across the countryside back to our village, but I didn't mind. No one came here besides me until now, because it was so out of the way.
"Well, there we go then, eh? That's all you've got to say?" Ted seethed, his nostrils flaring. "You're the only punk at school who has not a lick of powers, and you're the only dryshite on this entire island, Tommy O'Gransworth, who stands up to me thinking you're something other than a nothing." He opened his mouth, and his tongue lashed out. At the edge, miniature spikes poked out, slashing my cheeks, before his tongue withdrew. "Didn't like that, did you?"
I shook my head, putting a hand to the bloodied wound.
"We're not done here, O'Gransworth. We're done for a long time, like. When you come back to school tomorrow, you're never going to get in our way again. Do you understand?"
There it was. The fear and the inadequacy I felt every time I stepped into school had come rushing back. Couldn't he just feck off back to-?
"Feck off," I snapped, trying to hide back the tears. "Feck off and leave me alone!"
His tongue lashed out again, and the spikes at the edge slashed the other side of my cheek. Ted's friends jeered, fist-bumping one another. None of them had any impressive powers, but they were strong enough to stop me from making a run for it.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll go and tell your sister, like. You know - Carol."
Ted's face dropped. "Don't you bring her into this!"
"I bring something into her every time I see her," I spat. "And we've gotten chatting about you after I've fecked her brains out." I jabbed a trembling finger at the fat cunt. "She doesn't like you much, does she? What's the word she calls you? Starts with a "b"." I tapped my forehead. "Burden"? Was it that? Aye, I think it was." I turned my head to his friends. "Do you make your own beds, lads? Do you tidy and make them look nice? Ted here-" I nodded to Ted. "-doesn't. His sister does. Ever since your mammy ran out - no doubt because of you - Carol's been doing *everything*. You're a lazy tool, aye? Probably never learnt how not to shite your bed when Carol forgets to leave the light on at night! Stuck with the mental age of a three-year old, aren't you, eh?"
I was beginning to feel good about myself. Powerful.
"Oh, aye, one day I'm sure she'll see what use you are around the house. If one of the farmers ever needs another pig to butcher, I'm sure they'll pay Carol a pretty penny to buy herself something nice, instead of looking after you."
Ted opened his mouth, and the weaponised tongue drew its spikes, and drove them into my shoulder. My body stiffened, and I gritted my teeth. The spikes dug deeper and deeper.
"Go...go ahead..." I managed to spill out. "See what...see what Carol does to you then..."
The spikes and the tongue withdrew to Ted's mouth.
"If you ever touch me again," I growled, rubbing my wound. "I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me? I will hurt you, and all your friends-" I motioned to the cronies. "-until the only escape you get is from jumping off of whatever cliff you're closest to." I rose to my feet, my legs shaking. "You come to my house to shatter my windows again, like, or you bully my sisters and steal their sweets? I will ruin *all of you*. Your sister doesn't give two shites about you. I mean that, Ted Nuggerton. I know she beats you up, blackening your eye. You got that limp from her, right?" I nodded to his weakened leg. "That's not from fighting in the schoolyard. You don't fool me."
Ted was staring at me as if I'd plunged a knife through his heart already. Reluctantly, he nodded.
"Do I make myself clear to you all, you fecking eijits?" I growled, glaring at all of them. "You're all going to leave me alone!"
Ted's friends nodded enthusiastically, before scampering out of the lonely chapel.
Once they were gone, I asked. "Am I going to have any more problems with you, Ted Nuggerton?" My voice was calm, like a teacher trying not to scare a student who they were disappointed in.
"...No."
"Do you promise?" I asked. "You've pushed me around long enough that I'm not fooling around, like."
"I promise."
I inhaled. "Damn right. Go away then, and let me have some peace."
Ted Nuggerton limped out of the citadel after his friends. I watched him go like a wounded dog, before my shoulders dropped, and I did to back to the pew. There wasn't really any way I could be sure that Ted was going to keep to his word, but I had it on good authority that he would.
A blonde haired beauty stepped appeared from behind the altar, no longer invisible.
"I thought it went well, Carol," I breathed, leaning my head back, trying to manage a grin.
"Went well? I told you just to tell him to back off, not to emotionally damage him for the rest of his life!" Protested the woman. | 2022-11-02T11:50:38 | 2022-11-02T11:48:42 | 162 | 27 |
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves. | “Hello, this is suicide assistance. My name is Frannia, how can I assist you today?” It was my first day on the job as a suicide prevention operator. In fact, I was just hired, but, not wanting to reveal my novelty, I kept a steady pitch and waited patiently for the caller to speak.
“Um… my name is Shizo. I need help.” Finally came a reply.
“How can I be of service, Shizo?”
“Look, I killed my entire family yesterday. It was an accident. I have a horrible disorder that sometimes I can’t control my consciousness. I can’t forgive myself but I didn’t do it on purpose. I just need someone to tell me that it’s okay, that I deserve a second chance, that even a killer can be forgiven.”
A long pause ensued. My eyes teared up with hatred. “Sorry Shizo, I can’t help you. My family was murdered by a psychopath yesterday as well. I can’t forgive a killer.”
“I just need someone to tell me it’s okay. Just one person who believes in me.” The desperation in his voice was as strong as my hatred.
“Sorry, I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I know it’s not your fault, but I just can’t forgive you.”
“PLEASE. Lie to me! You’re a suicide prevention operator for god’s sake! You’re suppose to convince me that my life is worth living. It’s like the opposite right now…” The caller started sobbing intensely, his words unclear but the meaning still understood.
I’m sobbing too now, “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t. I wish I can, but I can’t. People like you… You are dangerous. You killed my family and you don’t deserve to be part of society! YOU SHOULD JUST DIE!”
For a second, nothing happened. Then it was clear the message got across when a deathly gun shot was heard by neither party.
In the middle of the room was Shizo Frannia with two phones, a gun, and a bullet in his head. | I'm manning the local suicide hotline like I have done for the past six months. It's not a good job, in fact the money is so little that I've had to live more economically and sell my once impressive SUV for a Prias. I'm particularly irritable today, and have already had to hang up on one woman for being so distraught over her dogs death. Harsh? Yes, but if they reach for my number instead of a therapists at the loss of a family pet they're either a lost cause or a non issue and I don't have the time to waste on either.
As I'm watching the clock, anxious to have my shift end, the phone in front of me begins to ring and I reluctantly pick it up - not before waiting a few seconds to give whoever is on the other end chance to pussy out and save us both the uncomfortable conversation.
"Hello, is this the uh, the right number?" The man's voice sounds quiet, timid. Sniffles interrupt his speech, accompanied by similarly infuriating sighs.
"That depends" I reply, with great compassion "Do you want to kill yourself?"
"Yeah... I think, right now, I kinda do."
"You think? Right now? You don't sound entirely convinced." I'm trying to decide whether he's being modest or dramatic.
"Well, yeah. I called- I mean I was hoping, you'd just talk to me. I need someone to talk to. Calm me down, y'know?"
I don't know. This phone line is not for those in dire need of small talk, if that was what this man needed he could've gone to the closest office building he could find and harass people in an elevator instead of harassing me in the twilight hours of an excruciatingly long shift.
"No, I'm sorry but no."
"Uh, what?" His surprise apparently freezes his sniffling, which is delightful.
"Look I'm not here for a small chat, if you're insisting on calling me then you can at least be interesting and tell me why you want to kill yourself."
There's a short silence, for a second I think he may have hung up, but sure enough the sniffling resumes and he stammers into an explanation.
"My wife..." He begins to sound heartbroken, apparently what little composure he just had was the most I'd have got. "She's fucking someone else. After fifteen years she's fucking someone else."
My interest has been peaked. Though affairs themselves are commonplace I have on-going experience on the good side of them which makes them appeal to me personally.
"I know it. She doesn't know I know. But I know. She... She goes out with her friends, 'Boo Club' and shit, but I followed her. No friends. Just some fucking guy. Fifteen years, man, fifteen years. How could Shannon do this to me? Who does that?"
Funny. I know a Shannon. She's also somewhat of a slut. I consider telling the man this, but instead choose to remain quiet. Listening is most of the job.
"So right now I got two choices, because God knows I'm not living like this. I either kill myself now..."
There's a pause here. I think he's expecting me to interject.
"Or?" I ask.
"Or I go back to this guys house, drag him out to the front lawn and execute him right fucking there in front of his shitty fucking Prias."
This is alarming.
"Surely you don't remember where he lives?"
"You think I'd forget that? Uffmoor. Number 32. Blue fucking door."
I'm suddenly very relieved at having not mentioned my little fuck buddy Shannon, and am suddenly struck with the reality this man may try and kill me. His inability to fully satisfy his wife can't be my downfall.
"I don't know." I say "If that were me I couldn't live with it. Knowing she's had sex with somebody else. Even if you kill the guy, you can't escape that. You'd also be a murderer. A very sad sexless murderer." I'm technically empathising with the caller, putting myself in his position. I'm good at my job.
"I guess, but-"
"Just picturing it. Over and over again, him and her, her and him, in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in his affordable and only temporary Prias..."
"But I loved-"
"If I were you, all I'd be thinking is how I can trust anyone when the woman I married is sleeping around. I mean, heck, if she doesn't love me who else will?!"
"You're right."
The phone clicks, the man hangs up. I breathe a sigh of relief and lean back in my chair, I don't want to be tense when I see Shannon later.
"Tough night?" My manager is back, to relieve me of my shift. Late.
"I just hope that they take what we say onboard, you know?"
"You know what?" She smiles at me reassuringly "you're the best helper here. They'd be silly not to!" | 2013-12-23T15:47:58 | 2013-12-23T14:06:28 | 179 | 35 |
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves. | "H-hello? Operator?"
"Ma'am, yes, please stay with us."
"God, help me. *sniff* I don't *want* to die!"
"It's ok, ma'am, you don't have to die."
"I do, I *do*, oh Lord, why must it be *me*?"
"Where is your present location, Ms... Ms-"
"S-Svenson, dear. 46th and Maple. Don't come, please."
"Ms. Svenson, the display shows there are already a lot of units in that area-"
"I know, I know! God, help, it's so hot here."
"Ma'am, you've dialed a sui-"
"*sniff* Tell me I'm going to live, p-please."
---
"Hey, Jen, check the TV," a co-worker called from the back of the kiosk.
The news focused on a high-rise. There, a woman, in her early thirties, huddled by an open window. The woman was crying into a cell phone as a fire tore up the cubicles behind her.
"*sniff* Tell me I'm going to live, p-please."
Jen looked at the phone in front of her and back at the television. The firemen would not reach Ms. Svenson in time.
"Ms. Svenson, I..."
Jen paused.
"I-It's your job, right? To tell people they are going to live?"
"You're going to live, ma'am. ...But-"
"But what?"
"Ms. Svenson. I..."
"What is it?"
"I need you to jump for me."
"But the firemen-"
"They can't make it up there, Ms. Svenson. They've set up a life net for you."
But it was a lie.
"I'm scared."
The woman on the television approached one of the burst-out windows.
...
"You're going to live, Ms. Svenson."
She turned off the television, and cried. | I'm manning the local suicide hotline like I have done for the past six months. It's not a good job, in fact the money is so little that I've had to live more economically and sell my once impressive SUV for a Prias. I'm particularly irritable today, and have already had to hang up on one woman for being so distraught over her dogs death. Harsh? Yes, but if they reach for my number instead of a therapists at the loss of a family pet they're either a lost cause or a non issue and I don't have the time to waste on either.
As I'm watching the clock, anxious to have my shift end, the phone in front of me begins to ring and I reluctantly pick it up - not before waiting a few seconds to give whoever is on the other end chance to pussy out and save us both the uncomfortable conversation.
"Hello, is this the uh, the right number?" The man's voice sounds quiet, timid. Sniffles interrupt his speech, accompanied by similarly infuriating sighs.
"That depends" I reply, with great compassion "Do you want to kill yourself?"
"Yeah... I think, right now, I kinda do."
"You think? Right now? You don't sound entirely convinced." I'm trying to decide whether he's being modest or dramatic.
"Well, yeah. I called- I mean I was hoping, you'd just talk to me. I need someone to talk to. Calm me down, y'know?"
I don't know. This phone line is not for those in dire need of small talk, if that was what this man needed he could've gone to the closest office building he could find and harass people in an elevator instead of harassing me in the twilight hours of an excruciatingly long shift.
"No, I'm sorry but no."
"Uh, what?" His surprise apparently freezes his sniffling, which is delightful.
"Look I'm not here for a small chat, if you're insisting on calling me then you can at least be interesting and tell me why you want to kill yourself."
There's a short silence, for a second I think he may have hung up, but sure enough the sniffling resumes and he stammers into an explanation.
"My wife..." He begins to sound heartbroken, apparently what little composure he just had was the most I'd have got. "She's fucking someone else. After fifteen years she's fucking someone else."
My interest has been peaked. Though affairs themselves are commonplace I have on-going experience on the good side of them which makes them appeal to me personally.
"I know it. She doesn't know I know. But I know. She... She goes out with her friends, 'Boo Club' and shit, but I followed her. No friends. Just some fucking guy. Fifteen years, man, fifteen years. How could Shannon do this to me? Who does that?"
Funny. I know a Shannon. She's also somewhat of a slut. I consider telling the man this, but instead choose to remain quiet. Listening is most of the job.
"So right now I got two choices, because God knows I'm not living like this. I either kill myself now..."
There's a pause here. I think he's expecting me to interject.
"Or?" I ask.
"Or I go back to this guys house, drag him out to the front lawn and execute him right fucking there in front of his shitty fucking Prias."
This is alarming.
"Surely you don't remember where he lives?"
"You think I'd forget that? Uffmoor. Number 32. Blue fucking door."
I'm suddenly very relieved at having not mentioned my little fuck buddy Shannon, and am suddenly struck with the reality this man may try and kill me. His inability to fully satisfy his wife can't be my downfall.
"I don't know." I say "If that were me I couldn't live with it. Knowing she's had sex with somebody else. Even if you kill the guy, you can't escape that. You'd also be a murderer. A very sad sexless murderer." I'm technically empathising with the caller, putting myself in his position. I'm good at my job.
"I guess, but-"
"Just picturing it. Over and over again, him and her, her and him, in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in his affordable and only temporary Prias..."
"But I loved-"
"If I were you, all I'd be thinking is how I can trust anyone when the woman I married is sleeping around. I mean, heck, if she doesn't love me who else will?!"
"You're right."
The phone clicks, the man hangs up. I breathe a sigh of relief and lean back in my chair, I don't want to be tense when I see Shannon later.
"Tough night?" My manager is back, to relieve me of my shift. Late.
"I just hope that they take what we say onboard, you know?"
"You know what?" She smiles at me reassuringly "you're the best helper here. They'd be silly not to!" | 2013-12-23T15:11:05 | 2013-12-23T14:06:28 | 50 | 35 |
[WP] A massive meteor heading for earth was discovered, but the public wasn't told about it. Right before the meteor came, all the scientists, politicians, and rich men and women of the world left in a spaceship. Due to a titanic miscalculation, the spaceship flew into the meteor and destroyed it. | When I woke up that day, I heard screams, wails, and cries ringing throughout the streets. The first thing I did was go over to the window and saw a huge grey mass hit what seemed to be a second sun and made a deafening explosion, breaking every single piece of glass in the city, cutting me and making me bleed.
Later that night, the news was talking about how very single important, intelligent, and rich person was on that grey mass which was actually a spaceship. The project was found out to be lead by the president of the U.S.A and it was that which saved us all from certain death. I stood up, rushed to my balcony and with a tear in my eye, I looked up at the sky and whispered,
"Thanks Obama." | "*Welcome to Alabama Dave's BBQ and Engineering Firm*", greeting my 47th buck toothed customer of the afternoon. He made a mouth gesture that I only assumed was intended to be a smile and sauntered up in his coveralls that didn't quite cover all. "*I'mah taking one of dem pull'd porkies an sum fries*", he stated. I write it down and quickly fold it into a paper airplane; handing it to customer with a little bow. He closes one eye and tries to aim for the "FREE" barrel and set it loose. It manages a handful of circles and instead lands in the "PALE O' FRIES" barrel. He laughs, satisfied with the upgrade to the ice cream pale size side. "The Barrels of Fate" as the locals like to call them were immensely popular.
The BBQ joint had been around for some time, only recently had it become an engineering firm and been upgraded by the locals to a "fine dinning establishment"; business was booming after the incident two years ago. As best as we can tell, a handful of scientists had hatched a plan to fly the politicians and the wealthy into a recently discovered meteor headed for Earth under the guise of saving them. Revenge for not funding their research into finite improbability drives or something like that. Unfortunately the lie got out of hand and pretty soon every Degree, Masters and PHD wielding academic was sitting right next to them trying to escape; ironically enough, nobody had bothered to review the original launch coordinates. They called it a "titanic miscalculation", it was actually right on target.
Since then life had quieted down and the world had returned to a semblance of normality. I'd always been a tinkerer in my spare time but now I was, quite literately, the smartest person for hundreds of miles. There are a few others that finished high school that I knew of, we meet the first Saturday of the month for our PETR conventions. People for the Ethical Treatment of Rednecks had started off as a binge drinking weekend and resulted in the few intelligent people left in the area picking up the pieces. We organize farmer's markets, community events and school that goes all the way to grade 5! Outside that we started helping the locals, I ended up being known as "The Engineer" after assisting with building a double-deck trailer with matching two story outhouse. A pillar of the community and all that jazz.
Another guy comes up to my desk, I can tell he's ready to do business; has a clip on bowtie for his t-shirt and everything. "*I'd like to purchase an aeroplane simumulator for my children*", he says, struggling with each word as he tries if you deny his heritage. "*Of course*", I quickly fold the paper and pass it to him to throw. He licks his finger and checks the non-existant breeze and throws it squarely at the "FREE" barrel, just before going in it swerves to lightly to the left into the "GRAVY CHALLENGE". This sets all the customers laughing, this was one of their favorites. My cook brings out a pint of gravy. "Just remember", I tell him, "You have to finish the whole thing in one minute to get the 20% off". Eying the thick brown substance warily, he picks it up and finishes the whole glass in thirty seconds, visibility sick he gives me a look of victory mixed with defiance and shame. I go to the shed and get him the box of stuff. The "airplane simulator" are a hot seller, a reinforced rotating laundry rack with pants belts for ease of mounting, one of my more cleaver ideas; almost as good as the fan that blows air out of the bottom of the "FREE" barrel. | 2014-11-23T07:16:49 | 2014-11-23T06:52:43 | 369 | 129 |
[WP] A writer, trapped in his own book, regrets not writing more intresting female characters | I had always had a talent for writing strong male characters. Even as I sit here in the coffee shop I modeled off of one I saw in New Orleans once, staring across the way at my creation, I have to admire that one talent of mine. Roger was a fantastic character.
He was witty, intelligent, sympathetic but still strong. When I wrote him, I think I was trying to emulate some form of James Dean, with the suave way he made everyone he spoke to feel important. He had hobbies, interests, favourite books. I think I'd even written him a detailed back story that never made it into the final draft of the novel. Too sad, my editor said.
I had written Roger as a tragic hero in this dark comedy. He was supposed to be flawed, and his fatal flaw was being too trusting. So of course, every other character in the novel I had written as a sleazeball.
Women gaining his trust, only to dash his hopes of a happy ending. His boss took advantage of him and made him work hours and hours. Right now, he was sitting with his daughter from a previous marriage, and she was trying to talk him out of money. Inevitably, he would give it to her. That's the kind of guy that Roger was.
But the sad part about Roger, for me at least, was that he cried out for love. He never found it in the novel- that was the whole point. It wasn't something I wrote in the cards for him. And so I made every potential suitor a horrible representation of what women could be. I was fresh off a break-up with my last girlfriend. To me, all women were monsters, barely hiding their fangs. So I gave Roger the same options.
Now, I had tried more than once to date these women. But the absolute worst part was one little line I had put in the third chapter, trying to differentiate the novel from my own life.
Every women I had ever written was straighter than an arrow. And I was the only lesbian. | I thought I knew what love was.
Every time Angela would get angry with me, or complain when I left the toilet seat up, or insist on going out when I just wanted to stay in, I picked up my pen and took notes about what the perfect girl would be like. She could have everything that I loved in Angela without any of the hassle. This girl was Annie.
At first, it was just a stupid thing, a little diary written out of frustration. But when I lost my job, I started thinking more and more about what the perfect world would be like. How it could be so much better if there really was someone writing out how it all would happen. I believed that I knew.
Angela kept yelling at me to get a job. So Annie would tell me that she loved me no matter what, and that if we wanted to just sit around and watch TV, that was fine with her. Eventually, Angela left, and Annie was the only one that remained. So I threw myself into her. I gave her everything that I wanted. She was smart, obedient, loyal - and she loved me more than anything else in the world. I became obsessed. Every day it was a new outfit for Annie, a new day to walk around the park with her. And she loved to just stay in.
I never thought that I would hate to be stuck with her.
One day I woke up and she was real. Her freckles smiling at me, her hair dangling over my face as the light above my bed gave her a perfect halo. I was so happy. I was happy to see her, happy to be wherever I was. That happiness lasted... about a month.
You know, you never realize just how boring sitting in front of a TV all day is when you never have the chance to do it. At some point I decided I wanted to do something else - anything at all - but Annie wouldn't let me go outside. All she wanted to do was stay inside and watch TV. Maybe walk around the block, or to the park. When she decided to do that, it was a great relief from the daily grind of commercials and couch. But this happened maybe once every two weeks. Oh, I tried to go outside by myself. Maybe just head out to the bar every once in a while. But Annie wanted to stay in. And when I opened the door without Annie to accompany me, all that was there was pitch black nothing. I reached into it once, and I felt my arm disappear. It just wasn't connected to me anymore. I immediately recoiled in fear, imagining what would happen if all of me went into that blackness. I knew that there would be no turning back.
So I'm stuck. I'm stuck here with a boring woman who loves me more than anything. And now I know that love isn't enough. I need something more.
........................................................................................................
I don't know how long it's been. Years. Decades, maybe. I've destroyed everything in the apartment. The TV has been smashed. That was a mistake. At least the TV would give me new shows. Now there is nothing new at all. The couch is ripped up. All of the dishes are broken and on the floor, and everything has been pulled out of the fridge. Maddeningly, Annie just keeps cleaning things up and smiling at me.
Annie wasn't safe from my rage. I beat her. I beat her to a point where anything human would die. Her blood stained the walls, day after day, night after night, for a week. And she would always look up at me, smiling, saying that she loved me no matter what. How can you love someone no matter what? There has to be some line. The things that I've done to her... a real person would have left a long long time ago. But Annie isn't a real person. I can't respect her. I can't talk to her. I can't love her. But most of all I can't stand to be around her. All I can do now is destroy and destroy and watch her clean it up. It's the only entertainment I have left.
The blackness at the edge of our little world keeps calling to me. I tried shoving Annie into it, but to her it is simply a wall, unless she decides otherwise. I have thrown things at it. It is always a wall, always a wall unless I'm touching it. Recently I've entertained myself by reaching an arm through, or a leg, and enjoying the feeling of nothing. It's so different than anything else in this damn apartment. I wonder how much longer I can last.
.............................................................................................................
I woke up. A sickening sight fell upon my eyes. A face that had been jabbed repeatedly with a red sharpie. Greasy, lifeless hair that dangled towards me. A mouth twisted into a shape that was meant to mimic a smile. And the same damn light shining from behind.
"Goodbye, Annie," I said, nonchalantly pushing her off the side of the bed. I walked to the front door. My arm stopped hurting. My leg stopped hurting. And finally, my heart stopped. | 2015-08-20T12:59:27 | 2015-08-20T12:46:59 | 58 | 41 |
[WP] Come up with the plot for the most Oscar-baity film imaginable! | Leisl is a young Jewish teenager suffering from borderline personality disorder during World War II. She and her older brother Levi have been in an incestuous relationship since they were children, which only solidifies as they go through the trauma of having their parents murdered by Nazis and them having to become fugitives and care for their younger sister Leila.
Life becomes hard on the run for Leisl. As they continue to hide, she becomes more and more volatile. Leisl becomes increasingly more religious as she faces their desperate situation.
The relationship between Leisl and Levi grows increasingly more sexual the more they have to care for Leila. Levi has taken in the role of the provider, and Leisl the volatile mother.
Levi, having now become the caretaker of his two sisters, is getting more and more desperate and meets secretly with Catholic priests asking for advice.
Leila falls ill with tuberculosis, and Leisl attempts to cure her with only prayers.
Finally Leisl is pushed to the edge when Levi suggests converting to Catholicism to be able to live life freely. Leisl becomes unhinged and murders their poor, ill sister as punishment to him for daring to even suggest such a thing.
Levi attempts to placate her by engaging in sex with her, but this only angers Leisl further and she murders him out of rage. Realizing what she's done, Leisl takes the gun she used to kill her siblings and shoots herself in the head.
The blood splatters onto her Star of David necklace, which then flows out to a random Nazi flag laying in the street and stains it.
//There. Here you have the holocaust, incest, murder, suicide, religious imagery, religious controversy and mental illness. If this isnt Oscar worthy I don't know what is.
Edit: I'm a bit tipsy. | Poland, 1939
Feliks, as viewed by his school chums and non-family adults, was a retard. His grades were poor, his physical accomplishments were scant and his head bobbed this way and that because he never looked a person in the eye when he was talking. However, Feliks was an endless encyclopedia of fantasy lore and he would tell wild tales - that he believed to be true - that fascinated some of the kids to the point where they were friendly with him.
Yet, Feliks knew that his tales were true because he had a dragon that lived on the roof of his father's house. Actually, Feliks had rescued the dragon, named Private Wysta von Riefstien, because he was on a scouting mission for the Council of the Wise, leaders of the True Light of Eternity coalition government which comprised of elves, dwarves, dragons, fairies and many others. Private Wysta had got himself caught into a giant spider's web and he was being attacked with sticks and rocks. Feliks had been through something similar and he knew what to do, he played the Bard's song and juggled and danced with various edibles to attract the spider away from the dragon and just when the spider was about to pounce on Feliks, the dragon returned the kindly favor to Feliks and pounced on the spider and tied it up with it's own webbings. Wysta thanked Feliks for helping him bring in the criminal and and the Council of the Wise awarded both of them and made Feliks rooftop an outlook post with Wysta and Feliks as the liaisons for human affairs.
Nazi Germany invades Poland and Feliks hides his friends and frenemies while Wysta fights valiantly against the invading army. As night settles down, Wysta scouts ahead and Feliks leads his friends safely out of the city into the countryside.
As they dash through the woods they fight goblins and orcs and Wysta is wounded by a barrage from in an aerial battle. Western Elves and Dwarven Comrades come to their aid when all hope is lost for the travelling humans but Wysta has been captured.
A mad Nazi scientist pokes and prods Wysta to find out how a living creature can breath fire. He hooks up torture devices to it and Wysta howls with pain. Feliks and friends, both human and fantasy, have arrived at the gates of a castle and they sneak in to rescue Wysta and others that have been captured. To their horror they discover that Wysta has wires and tubes protruding from his head and his body and he now acts as a wild beast bent with rabies dementia.
In the jail cell, Feliks tries to bring Wysta back to his former self but all the dragon can think of is the sweet drink of blood that will brim his cup with his former friend's death. Feliks weeps and sings another bard's song, one that is filled with sorrow and love. The song pacifies the Nazi and Goblin guards and they push a button and Wysta falls into a deep slumber.
Months pass, winter is upon them and Wysta still sleeps. Food for the inmates has gone from scarce to non-existent. The mad scientist appears at the inmates jail cell with a necromancer wizard and they discuss the fates of the damned, "Wake the dragon and burn them all fore tomorrow is their first candle."
Feliks and his companions are put into a brick walled room with vents and before them lies the sleeping Wysta. The necromancer castes a dark spell and they are surrounded with a black fog while the mad scientist twists dials and pulls levers that control Wysta and his eyes light up with fire and he belches smoke from his nostrils. Feliks knows he must free his friend from the spell that was cast upon him and he traverses the vents until he is near the heart of his dragon friend. "I love you," he says and Feliks stabs his friend deep into his heart and kills the dragon. The dragon is dead but his friends are alive and goblins and Nazis find Feliks and brutally beat him and throw him into solitary confinement.
Spring comes and a massive army of elves and dwarfs liberate Feliks and his captured friends. He is given the magical healing aid of chocolate by an elfen warrior and he re-unites with his family and friends. They all tell tales of his bravery to the elves and dwarfs but Feliks is shy to accept his part any helping any of them. All he wants to do is sing a bards song to his dead friend Wysta about war, death, betrayal, forgiveness and the magic of eternal love. | 2015-12-25T06:56:32 | 2015-12-25T05:02:15 | 93 | 12 |
[WP] Gordon Ramsay mistakenly walks into your house to film an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, and refuses to believe that you aren't a failing restaurant owner | *Today, I'm in beautiful, sunny Southern California, to help a restaurant whose future is not so bright. Dave, owner of Dave's Place, has reached out to us in an effort to end his culinary nightmares.*
*Gordon walks in to a small studio apartment typical of an ordinary college student. A 20-year old male is eating breakfast - a bowl of Lucky Charms, who double-takes at the sight of the British chef.*
"Dave, good to see you at last."
"Wait. Holy shit. *Gordon Ramsay?*
"Nice to see you then. Fuck me, when you said your place was small, you really weren't lying!"
"Wha-"
"But it's a great feel. Really unique too, the studio apartment vibes. Almost like I'm being cooked dinner by my old flatmate! And the 'used underwear' everywhere! Genius."
"Look, Gordon, I'm a big fan and all, but I'm running on a tight schedule today."
"Right you are, and that's why I'm here. But let me ask you something. Do you always eat your breakfast in the restaurant dining area, and in your underwear?"
*Gordon stares inquisitively at his newest project. Dave stares back, drowsy and hungover.*
"Let's start with the end-of-the-line. How long do you think you can go on like this?"
"Honestly, Gordon, I- I don't know... I don't know how to deal with all this debt..."
*Dave breaks into tears. Gordon can't help but smile. He had finally broken through the hardened layer to find the passionate chef he was promised.* | So there I was in my kitchen furiously beating eggs to make noodles while he shouted into my ears that “The kitchen is not a place for fucking animals to walk around,” nor “the place for a bloody baby to leave her fucking push car.” But you can’t respond normally to someone who is as irrational as he is. He walked in three days ago with a camera crew in tow, and will not leave my fucking house until “this kitchen starts turning a fucking profit.” I can’t leave the house to go to work, because “the kitchen is what needs me the most.” My two-year-old daughter is busting her ass as a waitress, barely getting by on tips I might add, because “the chef doesn’t fucking serve his patrons.” And my wife gets by Scott-free because “a good manager knows when to step back and let the chef succeed.” Utter bull shit I tell you.
I have to push through this for the next few days. I keep telling my wife that I will have a serious heart to heart sit down with Chef Ramsey, and tell him that I am just going to sell the “restaurant.” The “restaurant” being my 3 bedroom 2 bath house, but my wife insists to wait it out until filming concludes, because “he’s providing wonderful upgrades to our outdoor patio and décor.” I don’t give two shits about that. I’m at the point where I can’t sleep at night, even though I am exhausted from working 18 hour days, and when I do sleep all I dream about is how terrible my risotto is. I don’t even fucking know what risotto is, much less how to make it.
Finally, the “Grand Re-Opening” dinner service night rolls around and I am nervous to serve the line of people I have waiting at my front door. Chef Ramsey is barking service orders at me, and I am fulfilling them as quickly as I can, though still not quickly enough. Ramsey, in his most pissed off British tone yet, red facedly yells at me to get my shit together. That “this restaurant lives and dies by my organizational skills.” Customers start getting fed up and leave one at a time, then in droves.
I see it out of the corner of my eye, Ramsey is headed my way. I’m fucked. I keep my head down and cook faster and harder than I ever have in my life, burning my fingers on pots and pans. He is getting even closer, he’s about ten feet from me. Then out of nowhere, a production assistant, maybe 5’2” cuts him off, hands him a folded piece of paper, turns around and walks away. Ramsey is reading it to himself, more red faced than I’ve ever seen him. He looks up at me, eyes locked, deadest, looking straight fucking through me. Ramsey crumbles the paper up, throws it into the trash and starts walking away. I am so relieved, but I get back to cooking.
While my back is turned I hear Chef Ramsey yell, “Alright everyone, piss off." I turn to look, every remaining guest is standing up and walking out the door. The film crew is tearing down their equipment, and production assistants are going everywhere ripping mics off of everything and everyone. Almost as quickly as they had barged into my house, they were gone.
The house is quiet for the first time in weeks. It’s just me and my family in the house, and it feels weird. I’m nearly in emotional shock from this, everything happened so quickly. As confused as I was to why they were there, I wanted to know what the fuck made them leave in such a hurry. The blackened salmon I was making got a little too blackened and started setting off the smoke detector. I rush back to the pan to remove it from the heat and start fanning the smoke out of the kitchen. My daughter passes out on the couch from exhaustion, and the wife is finally coming home through the front door. I’m still looking around trying to figure everything out. What the fuck just happened?
As the wife comes around the corner into the kitchen, I remember the note. I run to the trash can, open the note, and could do nothing but laugh. My laughter turns to a cry and the wife is almost as dumbfounded as I am. She asks where everyone is, and I hopelessly shrug and shake my head. She asks what I’m holding so I hand it to her. She reads it and chuckles a bit. She puts the note down on the counter, walks to our daughter, picks her up, and takes her to her bed.
| 2016-06-28T23:14:49 | 2016-06-28T23:00:52 | 286 | 29 |
[WP] Eye colour means everything here. Brown control the earth, blue controls the water, white controls the sky. There are so many colours and each important but you were the first born with yellow eyes. | In a life lived as a pariah and outcast, she was the only one. People had feared him when he was younger, for he was an unknown. It was common knowledge to not anger someone with blue eyes near the ocean or to buy your vegetables from a farmer with green eyes. However, nobody knew what to make of his yellow eyes.
Over time, as the doctors ran their tests, people changed from fear to disgust as it became apparent his eyes could not do anything. Only she accepted him for who he was.
As he held her in his arms, shattered glass from the automobile surrounding them, he wept. Her brown eyes had already lost their focus and the hand he held was limp. "Please..." He cried. "Please come back, please don't die."
Suddenly, her hand grabbed his. | My dad supposedly fainted when I opened my eyes, right after birth, and peered at him curiously. My mom sobbed into her pillow, believing I’d never make it in life. My eyes were a molten gold, the yellow shade just as the sun began to set, or so poets have written so far. It’s been over 20 years since I gained control of my powers, amazed my friends, and shamed my family for dumping me in the orphanage. It took 5 years to track them down and show them they were wrong.
Most of my friends screamed with joy when they could finally control their abilities over the earth, the seas, or the skies. I could only watch and clap reluctantly as I came closer to the conclusion that I was a fluke. They never helped either, considering they tormented me and tried to bury and drown and strangle me a few times.
My first hint of the abilities came in 2nd grade. We, the orphanage children, attended a nearby public school and ate all our meals there. I decided one day at the mystery meat was not supposed to be a mystery, and being my temperamental self, exploded on the poor lunch staff who tried to explain it was called mystery meat.
Instead of placing her hand on my shoulder, she grasped at air and suddenly noticed that there were more copies of me than there were other children. She yelled, and I stopped out of fear of punishment.
The second incident involved the girls’ bathroom, Susanna screaming, and me getting ratted out to the principal’s office. I didn’t know any better than to illuse spiders in the bathroom, they thought, and let me off easy.
I think that’s the beginning of this ‘criminal’ streak, Officer. Do I need to go on?
You want me to list all of my actions to confirm them? And explain my ability? Yeesh, you’re asking a lot for a dude on your Xeram. That’s some pretty strong stuff.
Okay, okay. Crimes: detaining authority by casting illusion they were in a mushroom field after I caused a fire in the elementary school. Finding my birth family and traumatizing them into believing I was the next prophet. Starting a cult with them as my ‘priests’ and ‘suggesting’ they should dump the fairy juice on themselves and light incense so God would come to see them in person. It was gasoline and matches, if you’re wondering. I started a fake drug business where I gave my customers pixie sticks and illused them some LSD trips. That was pretty funny, the dumb people that they were. My second favorite one was when I convinced the governor to give me access to Riemon Enterprises and sat there watching while I transferred their overflow value into my bank account. I used the money for charity, of course! I burned down that shitty bar downtown that spiked drinks and wired the funds to my old orphanage. They really need new carpet. I lost count of the homicides, Officer, but little Miss Mary was the queen of the underground sex trade around here. Bachelorette couldn’t have enough fun on her own, huh. I burned down Montiago, yea, but they were pretty shitty to their staff.
Is that enough? Oh right, you wanted powers.
Illusions in all senses. Listed: Visual, auditory, olfactory, gustatory, the works. Mind reading is a bit over hyped, seeing I can only sense emotions and thoughts of the moment. Some telekinetic abilities, not much more than I can lift, which is helluva. Remember when I flipped your car from the other road? That was pretty fun. I think that’ll be all, sir. Can I go to my cell now? | 2016-08-08T11:37:11 | 2016-08-08T11:17:29 | 32 | 20 |
[WP] Eye colour means everything here. Brown control the earth, blue controls the water, white controls the sky. There are so many colours and each important but you were the first born with yellow eyes. | In a life lived as a pariah and outcast, she was the only one. People had feared him when he was younger, for he was an unknown. It was common knowledge to not anger someone with blue eyes near the ocean or to buy your vegetables from a farmer with green eyes. However, nobody knew what to make of his yellow eyes.
Over time, as the doctors ran their tests, people changed from fear to disgust as it became apparent his eyes could not do anything. Only she accepted him for who he was.
As he held her in his arms, shattered glass from the automobile surrounding them, he wept. Her brown eyes had already lost their focus and the hand he held was limp. "Please..." He cried. "Please come back, please don't die."
Suddenly, her hand grabbed his. | This is my first go at one of these, hope you enjoy...
It's kind of ironic, when you think about it at least. We abolished all forms of racism, slavery and discrimination but then the changed happened. I'm no expert, especially since it happened so long ago, but from what I learnt growing up there's something special about the eyes. In ancient texts they say that they were doorways to the soul, whatever that meant. All I know is I'm different.
My mother Luna, she is wonderful, caring compassionate and her mood washes off on others. She's always been slim, fit and free-spirited bounding about the house cleaning like a spring breeze. She had white eyes, that meant something here, when I said like a spring breeze I meant literally. The wind followed her every word, it wasn't strange to see clouds forming above our house. Especially since my mother had a temper like a thunderstorm. It was easy enough to tell when her and dad argued, the fist sized hail bouncing off my bedroom window was often a clue.
Don't get me wrong no family is perfect, dad is patient though. He stands there and takes it like a rock, the wind and water may erode stone over many years though. I can see cracks, he looks a lot older now. His bright brown eyes are framed in wrinkles. A side affect of crossbreeding they say. He's always been patient with me, he even built a bunker of earth for me to play in. Sure it's easy enough to do with the power of earth he controlled, but the fact he noticed something was wrong and tried to help, I love my parents.
I guess you've probably clicked on to the fact I'm different, a freak to others. All the colours in the world seem to represent something, white for the sky like my mother. Brown for the earth like my father. Blue for the water, red for the fire... I flicked through the old book that lay on my floor. Its crinkled pages evidence for it's hard reading, I knew almost the entire book off by heart now. A catalogue for all the things I could have been but wasn't. Nothing in there for me.
My mother came upstairs, lightly creaking the floorboards followed by a heavy set step I knew to be my father.
'Hey sweetie, sorry about that....' I turned over to see her and my father close once again.
As always their fights didn't last long. My mother was the one who fell in love with dad, his name is Tain by the way, so she said she could never stay mad at him. Even on the night they found out about me. Before they were used to send leaves and seeds on the wind to my dad, anything she could to reach out to him. He noticed and it happened. I'm rambling because the next part is difficult. I was supposed to be the thing that brought them closer together. A son to branch the distance between powers. Yet I was a freak with yellow eyes, no one even knew what that meant. Not my mum, not my dad, not the doctors with their probing and poking, not even me.
I wish I knew what it was like to live in the past, where no one had powers. I'd seen the books, massive towers of metal, moving and churning creatures of iron. The old ways were lost now, nobody knew how it worked. My dad always tried to help me, he kept telling me,
'Maybe things would change..? You're powers could just be waiting for you to grow. It could just take one spark...'
Edit: gave a bit of spacing because a big block of text didn't look as good | 2016-08-08T11:37:11 | 2016-08-08T11:35:38 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] We contact alien life and find that the vast majority of aliens exist in a slower time frame. Humans are perceived as extremely agile, mentally quick, and have very short lives. | In a word humans were... Problematic. Huxatyl considered the dilemma as he floated between stars. The main problem , most definitely, was just how plain *energetic* they were, like insects flowing and breeding all over the known Galaxy. And no concern a all for entropy! Did they not consider how little energy was available in the universe? A single human consumed more energy for sustenance daily than Huxatyl would in a millennium, and yet there were billions of them. Well by now it would be trillions.
They moved too quickly for their own good, and it certainly showed in their travel. Their first ships took a hundred generations to travel the gulf between stars, their most recent ones did it in three. Yet these journeys were nothing to Huxatyl, who had seen their planet being born, yet ages later was still in his prime. He still had not explored a percent of a percent of what the universe had to offer, but at least he had until the end of it to try.
If nothing else Huxatyl admired their ingenuity. Like most sentient being Huxatyl had developed quantum telekinetics, the ability to create any object within the space of a single thought by shifting the probabilities of atoms. Humans had the ability to create marvellous creations in a fraction of this time, even if it took them decades of their own time. But again at such a cost to entropy. Such a waste.
Huxatyl was saddened in his own melancholy way. The humans would have to go. As it stood the universe could last a trillion more years, with humans everywhere it would be lucky to last a billion. And so he devoted his time to creating something dark. It took longer than usual, creating life usually did. Especially life that was a virus designed to spread throughout all the human controlled space with no cure and no survivors. Finally he was done. He released it and watched as, in an instant and a hundred years, it spread through humanity, killing everything it touched.
And yet... In other instant it was gone. It was impossible, there was no way it could be the case and yet it was. The humans had cured the incurable. And now they turned their attention to what they had traced as its source. It took them an instant and a hundred years but they found him, found that the loose collection of gas they called the Horsehead nebula had a consciousness at its heart. Another instant, another hundred years and they took him apart. They blasted Huxatyl to a thousand pieces with flames and fusion and antimatter, destroying every piece of him with horrifying quickness. Huxatyl was helpless, he couldn't marshal his thoughts quick enough.
When it was done Commander Jo-hn was glad. It took them over a century but the nebula had been dismantled, whatever strange force had caused the DNA plague was thoroughly destroyed, the strains of consciousness fading from existence. This was a day of much joy but also much sadness. Intelligent life had been found and now it had been deemed hostile. He looked through the view-port, staring intently at the countless nebulae dotted around the three galaxies. They would have to go.
EDIT: Minor grammar changes now I am not on my phone | For a long time there existed an uneasy truce between humanity and the rest of the galaxy. Neither side were willing to dedicate themselves to diplomacy, as a human would have to dedicate their entire life to a single negotiation while any other being would find the whole process so incredibly tiring that they were likely to take a century long hibernation afterwards. And so humans and aliens largely ignored each other. Human colonies would spring up in every crack, but they were never large enough to be a nuisance. Occasionally slow troops would mobilise to remove humans from an area, but the humans tended to leave before any shots could be fired.
Delicate as this truce was, it lasted for several millenia, long enough for the short lifespans of the humans to work against them. Every species other than humanity still harbored a sense that this arrangement was new and somewhat uncomfortable while humanity accepted it as a given. So it was that for once humanity were, for once, caught unawares when war finally came to the galaxy. Dozens of federations across human infected space had prepared for over seven centuries for a single assault, expecting to wipe out humanity before even they could flinch.
-------------------------------------------------
"Comms report, what was that?" demanded Marix Gennon, the captain of the Red Viper, as he watched an explosion tear through the nearby McFadden station.
"There was an unexpected power surge from a nearby Korvax vessel, probably knocked out the station's fuel containment fields," replied James Corxwell, the Comms officer of the Red Viper.
"Something's off," James Corxwell warned. "A Korvax fleet is gathering and three more of their ships seem to be experiencing similar power surges."
Marix scowled and turned the Red Viper away from the gathering fleet. The engines flared and the G-forces pinned the crew to their seats, but before they entered warp they received a hail from a nearby science vessel. Marix put the message onto the main screen, showing a human cyborg waving his arms frantically at the camera.
"-not a malfunction! The conduits aboard each vessel show no signs of damage, it must be a weapon!" screamed the cyborg. His eyes registered the Red Viper's acknowledgement of the hail. "Ah, Captain Gennon, you must help. We believe the Korvax are *attacking*, surely even you would be willing to save the escape vessels flying through the Korvax fleet?"
"I'm not a monster, sir," replied Marix Gennon, typing commands to his crew. "At least, not today. I assume you want me to take out the reactors in the Korvax ships, in return for a sizable reward?"
"Reward?! Surely-"
"I'm glad we're agreed," interjected Marix before ending the communication. "Comms, get onto telling the civilian vessels we can save any ship that transfers us a few credits. Check the Korvax vessels for valuable cargo too, while you're at it, I'm not gonna pass up an opportunity to actually loot some of these bastards."
Marix Gennon grinned as he gripped the engine controls, speeding the Red Viper into the heart of the Korvax ships. He'd seen enough Korvax to know how much they looked down on humans and he'd wished he could fight them for a long time, but people tended to get mad when you provoked the Slows. Now, he had an excuse. In the corner of his eye he could see credits streaming into his account from the civilian ships.
The Red Viper sidled up alongside a Korvax cruiser, dwarfed by the behemoth of ship, before opening fire with every weapon it had aboard. Cheers went up from the Red Viper's crew once a plasma bolt struck one of the coolant tanks within the hull, resulting in an explosion that left the cruiser missing half of its hull. Debris danced along the Viper's energy shields as it sped towards its next target.
Ahead of them, a giant beam fired from one Korvax cruiser and through a nearby civilian vessel, cleaving it in two. The cheers aboard the Red Viper ceased.
Comms began sending the captain continuous updates on which cruisers were the furthest through a power surge, and the turret workers desperately tried to up their fire speed so that they could take down each cruiser in time to engage the next. It didn't work. Another civilian ship fell to the Korvax, and another, and another. Inhibitor fields given off by each Korvax cruiser stopped any attempt to enter warp.
Three more pirate vessels helped the Red Viper guard the civilians, and together they shepherded the terrified civilians into a simple defensive formation. Beams from the Korvax power surges continued to tear through hull and flesh, but within the defensive formation escape pods could safely make their way out of a wreckage before smaller Korvax weapons could lock on and obliterate them.
"The first volley is complete," announced the Korvax commander, proud of the success of his plan to completely wipe out the humans in his sector. "Prepare the second volley!"
His scanners showed the human ships darting throughout his fleet. Unfortunately, as was often the case with humans, they were too fast for the Korvax defence systems. He had lost more cruisers than he would have liked, but the battle was almost over. The second volley targeted the ships who were attacking his cruisers, destroying all but one in an instant. It was only a few more seconds before the last civilian human hull was ruptured by superior Korvax weaponry. The commander was content.
Inside the Red Viper everything was dark. Everything was silent. Corpses floated past the few survivors, each of whom huddled in the ship's small emergency oxygen bays. Captain Maxis Gannon had, twenty minutes into the battle, died to the first beam to puncture the Red Viper's hull. The crew had continued fighting for another grueling half hour, losing men to hull breach after hull breach as the desperately tried to punch a hole through the Korvax fleet. The survivors wept. Exhaustion, defeat, resignation.
It would likely be days before the Korvax cruisers left, even if the Korvax didn't think there were any survivors but the oxygen wouldn't last that long. | 2016-08-22T20:33:08 | 2016-08-22T18:59:40 | 329 | 121 |
[WP] Multiple personalities are the norm. You are the first person to be diagnosed with SPD: Single Personality Disorder. Scientists are baffled: "How can you possibly cope with being so alone?" | I woke up to the sound of rain outside my window. A calming sound amidst the craziness that was my life. I crawled out of bed and got some medicine for my headache. The bottle was almost out. I would have to ask my mom for more. On top of the loads of other meds they kept me doped up on, you’d think that they could at least keep some Tylenol sitting around. I walked into the kitchen where my mom was making breakfast. She turned around to give me a big fake smile. I saw the fear behind her eyes, the disappointment. She was Lisa today; I could tell because Lisa was the only one who could cook. At least Lisa wasn’t constantly yelling at me about being a freak. I know she wondered how she could have possibly made a child with only one personality.
“What did your father and I do wrong?" She’d say when she was Monica.
Dad only had two personalities, so some days she blamed him. He would hardly look at me most of the time. They had tried everything. Medicine, treatment, experimental cures. Nothing worked. I was just messed up in the head. I couldn’t be five people at once. Lisa put my bacon and eggs on the table in front of me.
“How is the job hunting going?” She asked, not really out of true interest. She knew the answer already. She was just trying to be nice. But I could tell she was excited about something.
“Well, I tried the bank, but they said with-“ I cleared my throat and continued “-with my condition, they don’t think I’d be a good fit for the job.”
“They want you in the lab again today. They have a new surgery and they’re sure it will fix you! It works on 90% of patients!” I hung my head.
“Oh, that’s great, mom.”
I got dressed and we headed to my SPD specialist. I was the first case they’d ever seen of single personality disorder, and they were very curious to learn more. So curious, in fact, that the whole specialty was invented, a whole team of scientists- just for me. I wished they would just leave me alone. I didn’t want all that. I just wanted to live a normal life. When we got inside the team was waiting. They led me into the lab.
“We are going to have to put you under for this one.” The lead genetic scientist said. She also had three other degrees.
I nodded and took three deep breaths. The darkness and silence came over me. Little did I know the mayhem that had ensued in the meantime.
When I awoke, I was in a vehicle. My SPD specialist was sitting over me, grinning.
“I see you decided to wake, Ann. I’m glad to tell you that you’ve joined us just in time.”
I looked around. There were five other people. None of whom I knew. There was something different about them, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Just in time for what?” I asked, scared out of my wits. These crazy people were going to kill me; I was sure of it.
He chuckled. A lighthearted chuckle, not an ominous one.
“The rebellion, of course! You’re not alone, Ann. You’re not the first. These people are your new friends, your new family, and your new battle buddies. We’re going to stop the testing. This isn’t a disease. This is a gift. The silence in your head leads you to be a much more focused opponent. You aren’t alone. You never were.” | Doctor Hascom looked over the files on her desk. Her concern was focused on a Stan Jupizcik. She couldn't pronounce his last name, *but not that it mattered*. This Stan... he was *strange*. Yet he was likable, *but she needed to hate him for he was an anomaly* in this wonderful Universe. He was labelled as having an obsolete diagnosis - Single Personality Disorder. An indeed strange and *inciteful* case *abomination*. She blinked to clear her mind. Stephanie and Jeanette were at it again, and yet they seemed to agree that this Stan was **a total weirdo**. Stephanie focused on the typed words, *but Jeanette pondered on the accuracy on whether or not this Stan Ju-whateverthehellhisnameis was real*.
The following file has been labelled to be of A2-class accuracy.
So the file was fine to work with. Few files ever were labelled as A1-class. This was the best she could get. An A2-class had no errors, but was worked upon and collaborated by dedicated and qualified professionals, fact-checked and each detail proven until discrepancies were all but gone. A1-class files were written by whole organizations, and then worked upon even further to an unfathomable degree.
Hascom kept reading.
The following conversation has been recorded on Tape I side A. Conversation is between Doctor Janik Hassim and Stan Jupizcik.
She took the tape, and slotted it into the provided player. The voices were unusually crisp, *but the age had taken it's toll, it's all lies, all of it.*
Doctor Hassim: "Stan... you have been diagnosed with a permanent condition that may well limit your ability to cooperate with us on this matter. And ultimately, we hope to do our best to -end- rehabilitate you so that you may one day -maybe die in peace- go out and see the light again - it's all a lie-. After reading your arrest report, you seem to have gotten by very well with lying -being a fraud-. As if you have no problems with lying..."
Stan Jupizcik: "It's only lying if you get caught. Anything's a crime if you get caught, really."
Doctor Hassim: "And yet Stan... we all have consciences that tell us what is right and what is wrong."
Stan Jupizcik: "You mean your other *yous*? Is that what you call the other voices in your heads? Consciences?"
Doctor Hassim: "I guess it's an interesting insight, Stan. But this isn't about us, Stan-"
Stan Jupizcik: "Of course not, it's always about you. You people tell yourselves that having multiple voices is completely normal, but when I have only one voice, I'm regarded as a leper. This is why I lied. I had no qualms about it either, considering how being caught like this is far worse than talking to myself. But you... you focus on this so-called "rehabilitation" and you think you're all okay, and here I am, talking to you. I want out, really, I do. But there's nothing you can do to help with my having only one me in my brain. Or, rather, that I have one me in our noggin."
Doctor Hassim: "Subject shows clear comprehension of the issue at hand, and must be- *destroyed* -rehabilitated- *no matter what* -to rejoin society. Stan. Stan, how does it feel to have only-"
Stan Jupizcik: "I'm not alone. I have myself, and you're stuck with many of you. I know who I am. But you... you don't know which is the true you. I feel solace in that, that I have a definite identity that doesn't say 'Screw it, Stan, I'm emo now, or I like Nicki Minaj now.' I like having something that I absolutely enjoy, without the grey in-between."
Doctor Hassim: "Stan, I'm not sure you entirely understand the concept of having the ideal number of-"
Stan Jupizcik: "No, I probably don't get what having three people inside you feels like. Ask a pornstar, maybe she'll tell you. But technically that'll make something like twelve people-"
Doctor Hassim: "Stan, please, try to -work with us to end you- help us help you -die-."
Stan Jupizcik: "When you're like me, you see through everyone's lies. Their other voices say what the other voices won't. I lie and got no problems lying further. You're simply afraid of how apparently unpredictable I am. And you're transparent. I see this place for what it is. Everyone talking to themselves, you speaking out bullshit about how you'll kill me. I've seen it all at this point. I've taken pleasure at torturing people like you. Made me hot, you know. I got no problems lying, but now, I'm being honest. Honest to whatever being you believe in. Making them think I'm lying, or I'm being honest. Mindfucking is my turn on."
Doctor Hassim: "Stan, if you please-"
Stan Jupizcik: "Shut the fuck up, man, just shut the fuck up."
Doctor Hassim: "Security, -kill him- detain the subject immediately -and kill him-. Insults are encouraged, they'll get the subject to rehabilitate faster. Beat the insults into him, -as you were trained-.
The recording kept playing *it's so redundant* , even though the transcript ended *so sad too bad*. Hascom heard boots on the ground, a body falling, and the sound of a blackjack hitting flesh *mmmm that's so hot*. She turned over the transcript, and saw the continuation of the whole exchange. It was *chillingly good, better get some caramel popcorn*.
Guard: "You like that, -you fucking retard-? You like that, you piece of shit, huh -you poor fuck-? Get your ass up, you're going off to your girlfriend. She'll like that. She's like you, except she's got a giant dick -shiv actually she's a he-"
The beating sounds continued, and Hascom found herself sad. That's where it all ended. No continuation. The rest were gone, and she was tired.
It was time to *die* go to sleep *that was hot* anyways. | 2016-11-18T14:57:04 | 2016-11-18T10:55:32 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK." | Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b55yn/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b5hy0/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b61h1/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_4/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b74ri/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_5/) | [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bbwac/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_6/) | [Epilogue](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bbz9g/the_weight_of_a_hero_epilogue/)
---
A prank? Barack stared at the letter. If it was a prank, it was a damn good one. The signature was exquisite--looping and elongated, a near mirror image of JFK's real signature. Well, if someone went through this much effort for a simple joke, he might as well entertain them.
He looked around to make sure neither his wife or daughter was around. He walked into the living room just in case and dialed the number.
It rang once and clicked. "Barack."
It was John's voice. For a second, Barack thought he was listening to old speeches played in fuzzy, warmly-colored screens.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"I'm John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. The time to serve your nation is now."
"No, you're not," Barack said. This was getting less and less funny with every word. It wasn't that funny to begin with. "Impersonating a President in any serious attempt is a grave offense."
"Look outside." The call cut.
Barack peeled back the drapes and peeked through the blinds at a sunny May day. Standing at the end of his driveway, right outside his gate, was John F. Kennedy. A jet black limo sat behind the man. He beckoned Barack and slipped back inside the tinted windows of his car.
---
The 44th President of the United States gripped the cool brass doorknob. Already, sweat was accumulating on his hands and neck. This was dumb. He shouldn't go, he knew, but JFK had been a personal hero to him. It was under his leadership that humanity reached the moon, he stood up to Russia at the height of their power, he was a man Obama would've given anything to meet. And now he had the chance.
He opened the door and stepped into the sunlight.
Secret Service agents watched him go. None tried to stop him. They wouldn't even meet his eyes. The front gate opened like curtains in a stage play, revealing the jet black of JFK's limousine.
The car door swung open. Barack licked his arid lips and swallowed what little moisture he had in his mouth. He got in.
---
The hum of the car was the only noise between the two Presidents. Obama simply stared. JFK looked exactly like in the photos. The man hadn't aged. He tried scanning John's face for any misplaced flap of skin, any misdrawn shadow, anything to give away the mask. There were none.
The car stopped and suddenly, the windows flickered to black. They had been TV screens, projecting fake streets and pedestrians!
"Barack Obama," John said turning to face him.
From this up close, there was no mistaking who that voice belonged to.
"Why did you get into this car?"
Barack's eyes flitted to the locked doors on either side of him and then faced John directly. "You said it was time to serve my nation."
Neither man blinked. At last, John spoke, "Well answered Mr. President. But I'm afraid that was a lie."
Obama's heart skipped. He clutched his leg, but refused to show weakness in the face of his captor.
"It is not time to serve America, but humanity as a whole."
"What do you mean?"
"In 1961, I gave a speech called We Choose to go to the Moon. Are you familiar with it?"
Barack nodded. Most historians claimed that was the moment that a moon landing was inevitable. With a few choice words, John had mobilized the unstoppable force of human will to reach a land that had always looked down upon them.
"I gave that speech for a very specific reason. Humanity needed to ascend, but not to a physical place. Initial probes of the moon had returned an element we are unfamiliar with, but this is the element that has kept me young, it grants me certain abilities that I have not shared with the world."
"So you did get shot?"
"I also did die."
Barack chewed on his lips. If this was still a prank, it was far more elaborate than anything he'd ever experienced. "So what is this element?"
"One without a name and soon it will be the only element worth mentioning. The Russians know its there. The Chinese probably have some idea. Already, there are factions within both countries, powerful enough to influence their space program. These factions are not in the best interests of humanity."
"So what is it that you want from me?"
"You have proven your devotion to our nation through your eight grueling years of Presidency. Because of its secrecy, we cannot employ our strengths at full capacity, rather, we must do so through single people willing to live and die for the protection of the human race."
"Like some sort of super hero?"
"Not like. Barack Obama, there exists a game far greater than any petty foreign politics. The winner of this game will dictate the future of our race. If you decline my offer, I will drop you off back home and we will never speak again. But if you so choose to accept, you will have the crushing weight of the human race on your shoulders, you will have none of the gratitude or reward. It will be a path through hell itself. So ask not whether you wish to be a hero, but whether you can survive as one."
Obama clenched his jaw. He had his wife and two daughters to think of. He had finally retired from the most stressful period of his life. But he had become the President not to leave a legacy, but to fulfill his duty.
He nodded. "I accept."
The doors of the car unlocked and automatically opened. There would be no turning back now.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations of prompts by popular request, and more!
| Former president Barack Obama put down the receiver of the pay phone. What he
just heard was either the work of a single completely crazy person or ... He
didn't want to think about the part that came after the *or*. Whatever came
after the *or* was weirder than everything he seen in eight years in
Office.
Barack turned to the Secret Service agent who waited at a safe distance. Safe
to not be able to overhear anything his charge had said, unsafe for anybody who
tried to harm said charge.
"Agent Higgins, I have to apologize for what will happen next."
"Sir?"
"Please open the trunk. I need my bag."
While the agent fetched the single black sports bag that occupied the luggage
compartment of the limousine, the former president patted his pockets. He
retrieved his keys, the phone and his wallet. Before Higgins could close the
lid, Barack dropped the items in the trunk.
"Thank you, Higgins," he said and took the bag.
He turned back to the pay phone. After two steps, he stopped, removed his belt and
handed it to the agent.
Barack dialed the number again. This was the third time and he had already
memorized it.
Agent Higgins didn't see his charge disappearing. His line of sight was
blocked by the lid of the truck, or so his report claimed. He'd rather work
through financial files in a dark, lonely basement for the rest of his career
that to admit the person he was supposed to protect was sucked into the
receiver of a pay phone, at three a.m., in an empty parking lot in Olney, MD.
* * * * *
"Call me John", a voice said, "Here, sit down."
Barack was shoved into an armchair. The world began to spin.
"If he chucks, you clean it up, Johnny-Boy," said a raspy voice from the
other end of the room.
"How's the dizziness," John asked.
"What happened?"
"You have been teleported," John said. "That's why we needed you to get rid of
all the metal on your person."
"Where am I? Am I still on planet Earth?"
"What did you tell him, Johnny? You know, they don't like it when we tell them over
the phone," the man in the corner said. He sounded angry, and a little bit
scared.
"I told him what he needs to know to get here. Nothing more," JFK said.
"I told you, he's a clever one," he added.
"Pfff," was the only comment from the corner.
"Where am I," Barack insisted.
"New Mexico."
"Roswell is in New Mexico. This is about aliens!"
"All in due time," John said. "But yes, this is about aliens. Do you remember
everything from the Book?"
"Errm, yes."
"Fine. Remember chapter thirteen?"
"Johnny! Remember the agreement. I'll do the talking, you'll do the chores,"
came the voice from the corner.
For the first time, Barack could see the room clearly. He sat in an armchair.
The chair was one of four items of furniture in an otherwise empty room. Two
identical armchairs and a small coffee table completed the arrangement. The
telephone through which he had arrived was the only piece of electronics. At
least, the only visible piece of electronics.
JFK had sat down in the empty chair. The third one was occupied by a tall,
thin man. He seemed vaguely familiar to Barack, like a high-school buddy that
you meet in the restroom of a dive bar, two weeks before the twenty-fifth
reunion. Like in that situation, the silence continued. Like in that
situation, it became awkward.
"Do you know who I am," the man in the corner finally asked.
Barack shook his head. To his surprise, the nausea was gone.
"You owe me five dollars if you don't say my name in the next few seconds."
"Lincoln? Abraham Lincoln? That's impossible. You are dead."
"The assassination made it all more believable. I didn't have the convenience
of a twenty-second amendment like you kid."
A snort came from the direction of JFK.
"I meant, you must be over 200 years old now!"
"Ah, that. Sorry, it's easy to forget if you're as busy as I am."
"How? How are you not dead? You haven't aged a day," Barack said.
"If I say, *alien technology*, is that sufficient?"
Barack was silent for a moment, then nodded. Chapter thirteen had mentioned
advances in medicine. Among other things. Teleportation was mentioned too.
That it involved communication equipment had been left out.
"Well, let me get to the point quickly. We are all busy here," Lincoln said.
"You have been chosen because you were deemed to be very capable during your
apprenticeship," he said.
"He means your presidency," JFK said.
"My presidency was an apprenticeship? For what job?"
"The one we're about to offer you, if either of you kids let me explain,"
Lincoln said.
"You mastered your three tests very well, the council decided. Against my
vote, kid, that you know it. Although I admit that healthcare reform of yours was a
noble cause. Anyway, the council has decided that you are fit for a real job."
Obama was quiet. Lincoln noticed it and continued.
"We offer you another presidency, of course. There is a world that requires a
leader and you are that leader. If you accept, you can be in office tomorrow."
"President of the World? I knew it! There is a secret government!"
JFK sighed. "A world, not the World, capital *W*. You have been trained to be
president of a planet called Smeyenope. It's somewhere in the constellation of
Cygnus, I believe."
"Cygnus? Who are you guys? How can you do that," Barack asked.
"We're the Council of Presidents. We have been appointed by the Council of
Presidents, which in turn has been appointed the Council of Presidents.
You'll get the differences later, when you will be asked to join the Council.
For now, it is sufficient to know that temporal anomalies are not as puzzling
as they sounds right now. As to how: Earth has been created as a training planet
for all sorts of jobs. Presidents, policemen, bakers, scientists, and so on."
"Training? This was all an exercise? I ordered the death of people!"
"Well," Lincoln said, "It was their test too."
"Those who survived will fight for us in the War. As Abe said, we'll explain
that later. Right now, you have to choose if you want the job or not," John
said.
"What about my family?"
"We'll arrange everything. If they want to come, we'll relocate them. If not,
we take care of that too. Our android surrogates are quite convincing. They
will not notice the difference. Neither will you if you decide that you want
one for your wife. However, I was informed that the women of Smeyenope have
their own, very special charm," JFK said.
"What are my duties? What are my powers?"
"You govern. That's it. Ensure that the planet runs smoothly, that it fulfils
its trade obligations. Decide this, order that. Basically the same things you
did as POTUS, but with two differences: You don't have an army at your
disposal and you can't leave. For the next thousand years, Smeyenope is your
problem. Anything else is up to you. Be a dictator, be an advisor. The Council
doesn't care as long as the export quota is met."
"A thousand years?"
Lincoln nodded. "After that, we'll see how you're doing."
Barack was quiet for a moment. JFK regarded him, then said, "If you need time
..."
"No," Barack said and looked up, "I'm good. I'll do it."
JFK smiled a little 'I told you so' smile in Lincoln's direction. He handed
Barack a slip of paper.
"Good. Take your bag and dial this number. It'll bring you to the Genetic
Adaption Facility in orbit around Smeyenope."
"Genetic Adaption Facility? What do these aliens look like?"
"No idea," Lincoln said, "It's a water planet, that's all I know."
"Water planet? You mean, I'll be president over a planet full of fish?"
"Unlikely," JFK said, "The most common pattern among sentient water species is
the squid. At least my people are."
With a often-practised motion, JFK reached behind his back and pulled
something down. The sound of a zipper was audible. After a second, his skin
looked like it was loose. John shrugged like a man who took off a diving suit.
Barack had to sit down again after Kennedy's skin dropped to the ground. The
purple skin was not the problem, nor the ten writhing tentacles. Neither was
the prospect of living underwater. The problem was, he didn't know how Michelle
would react.
President of a planet. The most powerful man of the world for a thousand
years. There was no choice actually and the Council knew that when they had chosen him.
After a second, Barack Obama began to dial. | 2022-06-24T19:04:50 | 2017-05-14T07:32:55 | 3,481 | 105 |
[WP] Ever since a horrific traffic accident years ago you have had a reoccurring song going around in your head. Although heavily researched, this song doesn't exist and there is no reference to it at all. Your at a bar, washing your hands in the toilets when a man walks in faintly singing a tune. | The man stopped suddenly, and looked at me with a confused expression.
"Why the hell are you washing your hands in the toilet?"
With that, he turned away and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me alone, and still clutching the urinal cake I had thought was a bar of soap in my drunken haze. | Amidst the cheering of my friends, I took a deep breath and blew out the four candles on the cake, the words "To cheating death!" scrawled across it in thick frosting.
"YEAH!" the whooping and back claps rocked me as hard as the accident had.
I looked over and saw Marley ordering more drinks while drunkenly stumbling through the tale of our celebration.
"Four yeahs.. Years! Four years ago! Four years ago I met the luckseiests son of a bitch in the world! He was cut in half! IN HALF!" He pointed back at me and I gave a broad smile at those closest to him who turned and looked with incredulous curiousity in the direction that he pointed.
"Hey Mark, I'm gonna go piss while he pays for those. Tell him not to eat my cake before I get back!"
"You got it bud" Mark grins at me and goes back to listening to Becky talk about her most recent ER patient.
"No! No! I'm not bulbulllshitting! He was in half! The pole had folded on the car and"
The swish of the door to the bathroom cut off the rest of his story as the sounds of the bar diminished to a dull buzz of music and muffled voices.
I didn't need to hear it again- I could remember it like it had just happened. If that blasted humming would stop, perhaps I could forget, but it never stopped. Still, it was nice to celebrate life and the second chance I had been given. It was a miracle operation, and every year my friends from before, the doctors who worked on me, and crazy fucken Marley who had stumbled across the wreckage liked to get together and have a little party. It was a big moment that had changed all our lives and I wasn't going to rain on the parade because of some insanely obscure ditty.
I wobbled a little as I unzipped and put a hand up on the cool tile of the wall to steady myself.
"Shit… too much beer." I muttered under my breath.
"Yes" said a voice from one of the stalls.
I furrowed my brow and was halfway through thinking how weird it was to reply to another guy in the bathroom when I heard it. That tune. The same one I had tried countless failing ways to drown out since the accident. Coming from the same stall and matching exactly the timing and inflection.
Without thinking I spun where I was to see who would come out- I needed to know what that was!- and then I realized I hadn't finished urinating when I spun.
"Damnit" I cursed as I looked down at the urine on the floor and my pant let. Ahen I looked back up I saw him emerging from the stall, covered head to toe in long black robes.
"Shit!" I cursed again as my foot slipped on the urine and flew from under me, a sudden pain exploding in the back of my head as I hit it against the urinal and then the floor.
"You can't cheat death forever." the figure said as the black swelled and overtook my entire frame of vision and finally, peacefully, the humming faded.
&#x200B;
\-----------------
Edited for a few details | 2018-08-29T17:58:44 | 2018-08-29T17:28:46 | 95 | 57 |
[WP] Yesterday your best friend (who you secretly had a crush on) died. You're teleported without warning to a seat at a table. Across from you is Death and Satan, next to you is your best friend. "Sorry." Death says, "You're friend chose a two-versus-two game."
Edit: I get it. "Your" not "You're". It was late and I kept rewriting that part of the prompt. I will never live down the shame of my grammatical error. | "Ok, so a 2v2. What's the game?"
Death's eyes twinkled. "A 2v2 beerpong."
My grin grows wider than Death's. Samantha, you clever shit. "What's the catch?"
"Impossible angles with terrible bouncing surfaces. The difficulty of each target increases per cup achieved. What starts out as a pyramid formation of cups on a hard surface table might turn to an upside down ring of cups with a vertical sofa for a bouncing surface."
"But I need to only get it in before it falls out?"
"We're not unreasonable."
My grin returns like it's never been gone. "Then what's the catch?" | Sorry on mobile formatting might suck. I'm also like 20% awake have fun and let me know what you think.
"So why am I here" I asked death as two or Sarah sat facing each other unblinking.
"Well anyone with enough mojo to bring back the dead is obligated to accept atleast one challenge to restore life" death said with a grin in her voice.
"Yes but why am I here, I haven't died yet" a sudden doubt filled my stomach with lead "have I?"
"No you're not dead just yet. Just a little glitch occurred and your friend is in a rematch, with Lucifer"
"How does that work?"
"She challenged Lucifer to a no holds barred staring contest"
"She poked him in the eyes, didn't she?"
"Yes she did"
"She plays dirty, but that doesn't explain why I am here"
"Well, after she won the first game she was free to return to the land of the living, but Lucy has always been a sore looser."
"Oh?"
"She is going double or nothing, and you get to decide the game"
"Why on Earth would she go double or nothing with her own soul?"
"If she looses she dies and goes to hell"
"But could be worth that risk!?!"
"Oh don't worry about that, she has her reasons, just name the game. I can't wait to see how this plays out"
"Fine one condition, I'm playing and paying the cost not her"
"Agreed"
"20 questions"
"That's a new one" death voice filled with surprise. "Name the specifics"
"Simple, I get to ask twenty yes or no questions, that must answer honestly"
"Lucy please come here and play this game, I shall keep an eye on our young Sarah"
Lucifer smiled broadly as we settled into chairs.
"You have balls my boy, challenging the prince of lies to a game of truth"
"Did it hurt when she poked you in the eyes?"
"Yes, 19 left"
"Shit, I didn't mean that as my first question!"
"The me is in the details boy" he giggled.
"Alright, did you extort her into this deal?"
"Yes, but that's hardly surprising, it's what I do, 18"
"Was she angry about what you said?"
"Yes, she was quite livid about the whole affair, 17"
......
"Look, there are only six questions left you can ask her about you conceed and I will take you to hell and death can take her to the next life"
"Wait, I am going to hell?" I asked dumbfounded
"Yes, you sold me your soul in exchange for a PlayStation when you were nine, five left"
"Shit that's embarrassing"
"Yeah, I didn't even give you controllers"
"Wow you are a spiteful one"
"It's the job, keep going"
"So she poked you in the eyes and you decided to get even, and when I was nine you left out the impliied controllers, and you offered her something to get her riled up"
"That is accurate but doesn't include a question"
"Did you threaten to have someone she cares about?"
"Yes, I threatened her soulmate four left"
"Do I know her soulmate?"
"Yes, three left."
"Is it someone I know?"
"Yes, two left before your both dead, pick carefully"
"Is this person dead?"
"Not yet but soon, last question before you have to give your final answer"
"Did you threaten to take me to hell as reprisal for her poking you in the eye?"
"Yes I did"
"I have an answer."
"She risked everything for me."
| 2019-01-09T02:35:43 | 2019-01-09T01:30:27 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] Your name, age, height, weight, and race all flash across the T.V. screen. You look in horror as you see your dead body being dragged out of a river as a reporter announces that you've been brutally murdered by an infamous serial killer who has been on the run for years. | My coffee mug shatters against the floor, at the same moment as my reality.
“David McDonald, age 33, a white office worker, found dead. This is just the latest in a string...”
I turn the tv off. My finger shaking on the power button.
What? That was me on the tv. But I’m here? Aren’t I? Am I dead? A ghost? Can ghosts break coffee mugs? I’m sure they can, I’ve seen Poltergeist.
“Hey!” I shout.
My roommate looks at me funny.
“What? You all right? That break sounded nasty.”
I laugh nervously, so I’m not a ghost. “No, it’s nothing.”
My roommate furrows his brows and scratches his head. “If you say so.”
The news had to be wrong. I press power again. I see my body dragged out from the river. No. I can’t watch this. It’s a lack of sleep. I’m hallucinating.
I walk out the door, ignoring my roommate’s shouts. He was asking if I was ok. I wasn’t. You shouldn’t just see your dead body. Not on TV.
Criminals always return to the scene of the crime. I guess it’s true for victims too. The moon is out, a train rattling on the tracks in the distance. This murky river was filled with police and cameras this morning. But now they’re all gone. In fact, I admire the job they did cleaning up. It’s like my body was never there.
“How did you like the show?” A stranger taps on my shoulder.
I spin around, crossing my arms. It’s not like I can fight, but I’ll try. She was a girl. Her hair dyed an offensive neon green. Even at night, it glowed.
“Sh-show?” I stutter, relaxing. It was just some punk girl.
“Yeah, your death.”
The air in my lungs solidified. I choke on my next words. She laughs.
“Relax it hasn’t happened, not yet.”
“Then I’m going to die?”
She shrugs, flashing the gun in her hand. “Sorry to say so.”
I hold up my hands. “W-wait.”
“They always act like this, like they can change my mind.”
“Why? Why me?”
“Why? To see if I can. Why you? Because my power worked on you. Think of it like you had the misfortune of being in the path of a lightning bolt.”
“What kind of monster--“
She shot.
*Splash*
“The kind of monster they’ll make documentaries about.”
My ears fill with water. She keeps speaking. But I am already dead.
~~~
“Tina Reese, age 24, a Hispanic female retail worker, found dead. This is just the latest in a string of murders. Though there is little to link the victims the bullets at the crime scenes all came from the same gun. All of the victims were reported to be acting strange after watching their tv without the power on. Police are baffled by what this means and are urging the citizens of the city to be hyper vigilant, and aware.”
I turn the TV off… | “Well, that was just awful,” I said, turning to look at Shelby. She had such a look of disgust on her face that it made me glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of it.
“Seriously, what the hell was that?” she said. She gestured to the scrolling credits on the TV. “Like, was that ending real? Am I high right now? Babe, please tell me I’m high right now.”
I shook my head, saddened. “I’m afraid that just happened. Those writers really shit the bed on that one, didn’t they?”
“I don’t know if I want to cry or throw up,” said Shelby, angrily reaching for her glass of wine. Her other hand remained on my thigh. I had my arm around her shoulders.
I smiled at her, memorizing the look of her cute face scrunched up in rage. Our relationship was the kind where it was so perfect I couldn’t even remember when it started. It seemed like my whole life I’ve been with her. No, she was my life. There was nobody else in the world I needed or wanted more than Shelby.
She caught me staring at her, and she looked away.
“Stop,” she murmured, tucking her hair behind her ears. The turquoise necklace I got her glittered in the light. “You’re making me self-conscious.”
“You know I think you’re gorgeous.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I’m gorgeous, so…” She trailed off, scowling. “Damn wrinkles. Why are wrinkles a thing?”
It was true that Shelby had a few wrinkles on her forehead. I knew it was a point of serious contention with her. It definitely didn’t help that I still looked like I was 21, though I was actually 28, a year older than her.
“Trust me,” I said reassuringly, “one day soon I’m just going to explode with wrinkles, then I’ll be the one wearing foundation. Probably when I hit 30, so prepare for that.” I winked at her, but she just gave me a tight smile.
“Let’s watch something else,” she suggested, reaching for the remote. “I need to get the taste out of my eyes.”
The change in topic was rather abrupt, but I wasn’t going to press it. This was just how Shelby was. I gave a mental shrug and moved on.
She flipped through channel after channel, until eventually she groaned and passed the remote over to me.
“There’s nothing good these days,” she groused.
“Watch,” I said, “I’ll find something in under a minute.”
“Please, do so.” She flourished a hand towards the TV.
I passed through Lakers vs. Raptors, a rerun of Man of Steel, a news broadcast of a grisly murder, an old western, even a—
I stopped abruptly. There was a strange stillness in my head. The TV was on Masterchef.
I began flipping back, but Shelby cried out, “No!”
Startled, I turned to look at her. Shelby had a wide, panicked look to her eyes.
“I mean, let’s watch Masterchef,” she said hastily, a smile plastered over her lips. “I wanna watch Gordon Ramasay yell at some adults.”
“That’s Hell’s Kitchen you’re thinking of,” I said automatically. But my mind wasn’t focused on the conversation. There was something about that news broadcast…
“Baby, let’s just go to bed,” said Shelby, running her hand up my thigh. “The wine’s starting to hit me.”
Normally, I’d love nothing more than to go to bed with her, but right now I couldn’t help notice the desperation in her voice. The odd timbre of her words. She looked like she just saw a ghost.
“Shelby,” I said quietly, “why don’t you want me to press this button?” My thumb was hovering over the back channel on the remote.
“Micah, let me explain,” she said, “it’s—”
Shelby lunged for the remote, but I was too quick. I snapped to my feet and jerked it into the air. The glass of wine dropped to the ground, staining the carpet red.
I pressed back three times, and I saw… me. On TV. The news broadcast had a picture of me in high school graduation, smiling in my cap and robes, displayed against a blue screen. Underneath ran a bar of text that read, “Body of missing Micah Jerome Ford found tonight after 7 years of disappearance.”
“Shelby?” My voice sounded strangely tinny. “What’s this?”
There was a thump that told me she just dropped onto the couch.
The blue screen led into a reporter standing by the bank of a river. There was a body covered in a white sheet beside him.
“It appears that the long and fraught journey of Micah Jerome Ford has come to an end,” said the reporter gravely. “7 years ago, after a night out with some friends, Micah was walking home when he ran into the path of Alex Marsh, the Two-time Killer. Marsh was in an alleyway with one of his victims, when Micah heard the screams. The young, brave man ran to assist, and was subsequently kidnapped and lost. He was reported missing by his parents, and after months of search, it was determined that he was dead. Now, his body has washed up onto the banks of the Aleesie, over 700 miles away from his hometown of Luctor. Police Chief Dan Smith believes this is a sign that Alex Marsh is ready to emerge from his hiding. We’ll head over to him now for his thoughts on the matter.”
The sound cut out. Not on the TV, but in my head. I slowly turned to look at Shelby. She was fingering the turquoise on her necklace.
“Oh Micah,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Why didn’t you just let us call you a taxi home?”
---
check out my brand-spanking new subreddit for all of my stories in one convenient location for your reading pleasure :D /r/chrischang | 2020-07-31T23:23:50 | 2020-07-31T23:19:07 | 2,714 | 275 |
[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth. | Life begats life. This is plainly known. Less known is the magical potential every life holds. Even if it's never realized, it's possible to tap into that magical pool.
I was in my 37th year in this realm, which though it may not look like it, was a long time ago, when I struck upon a wondrous deal. How could I not leap at the chance. THreads of life continue from man to man through his (or her) progeny. And each new generation adds to the potential pool. It seemed like a stroke of luck when I found that i could youthen myself every time a descendant was born of my line.
I knew it would take time, which seems counter-intuitive. But I'd already sired seven kids, five of which still survive, and the oldest of which fathered a brat of his own. The way I saw it, the next ten years would likely be a wash, as I would regain those years as the children came of age and did what children do.
Over the next twenty years, more than twenty grandchildren were born. Many didn't survive their first winter, but I still felt their magical essence flowing toward me, like a cherub firing an arrow. And as fit as I'd become, I fathered a few more of my own, keeping myself perpetually in my 30s. Or so was my goal.
During a family gathering in the middle of the lull, I realized that some thirty-plus offspring under the age of majority. In a few short years, this could pose a problem, particularly since many of the young men had my handsome features, and most of the young ladies as well.
It dawned on my to speak to my children about playing matchmaker. I extolled the virtues of keeping the family bloodline pure. I didn't believe it this, at all, but I laid it on thick. Through intermarrying of first and second cousins, I could limit the size of the next generation to come. This solution seemed to work for a while.
And then the kingdom went to war. At first, this was a boon, as many of my great grandsons didn't return home from battle. On the other hand, there was Davrock the seed spreader, who could woo any barmaid or farmer's daughter out of her innocence. I had a devil of a time tracking down some of them. I would introduce myself and preach the danger of wanton lust and fornication.
But no one wants to be lectured by a fifteen year old.
With nary a sane idea left, my thoughts turns to hiring cutthroats, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Luckily, waves of plague and pestilence sailed through, diminishing the population for a short while. The kingdom recovered and I managed to regain an apparent thirty years of age once more.
After that, it was like riding a spring, with my age bouncing up and down faster than my waistline. And yet I managed to live for a couple hundred years.
And that is the story of how your great-great-great-great-great-great ... great... grandfather came to live until this very day. Now here are some pamphlets on family planning. You don't have to drop a new child every spring, you know. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Interlude ?: Archcommander Varney)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The National High Energy and Temperature Lab was abuzz.** Professor Hale bustled into the main containment center, where the primordial plasma they'd been studying for the past ten years was evolving. He gave the Archcommander by his side a friendly nod as he passed.
"It's the most incredible thing," Professor Hale said. "The mass-energy equivalent just keeps going up exponentially! We're lucky the late—or should I say early—Alexandre Hubert wasn't a particularly heavy man; it's all we can do to contain the Hubert particles, given how much energy they're emitting right now."
Archcommander Varney grunted. "Hubert particles, eh? Is that what you eggheads are calling them?"
Professor Hale nodded ruefully. "We scientists, er... we're not great at names. They're often descriptors more than anything."
Archcommander Varney eyed the HEaT Lab name tag on Professor Hale's lapel. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. You said they're emitting energy—could we use them as power sources?"
Professor Hale hesitated. "Not... not yet. We... could try, but there are these discontinuous... jumps. It's impossible to track down everyone who has the Hubert gene—it's a good third of the population, by what we can tell—so we can't really control the rate at which the particles go back in time. We're expecting the Hubert particles to stabilize soon. But!" Professor Hale pointed to a large metal cylinder with several ominously-groaning pipes leading out from it. "In the meantime! We're getting the most *fascinating* data about high-energy particles; we actually think we've figured out how materializer-type superhumans work. At these energies, we can actually *observe* higher-dimensional motion—"
Archcommander Varney held up a hand to cut him off. "I read as much in your report. You don't need to butter me up, Hale. Your department's grant has already been approved."
Professor Hale wilted slightly. "I—well, I wasn't after more money, Archcommander. It's simply fascinating how—"
"Professor! Professor!" A flushed, out-of-breath assistant ran up to the two of them. Archcommander Varney gave him a disapproving look, which he ignored. "The Hubert particles—they're—the cosmological dating results came back. We've figured out what time period they're from."
"Oh?" Professor Hale raised his eyebrows.
"They've passed the thirteen billion year mark. The particles just degenerated into quark-gluon plasma, and they're heating up *quickly*." The assistant handed Professor Hale a sheaf of papers.
"How quickly? Should we enact the shutdown protocols?" Archcommander Varney asked.
"No need. It's plateauing," Professor Hale absently remarked, rummaging through the data he'd been given. "I was wondering why... but if ol' Hubert's had thirteen billion descendants by now, then his effective age—and that of his particles—is nearing the beginning of the universe. Depending on the reference frame that the one-year intervals are being taken from... we might see some serious time dilation."
"And for those of us who haven't studied astrophysics?" Archcommander Varney asked dryly.
Professor Hale frowned. "That... that was the version for... oh, very well." He grinned. "We've been expecting this moment. The particles that used to make up Hubert's body have been rapidly reverting to the state they were in at the beginning of the universe, due to that silly fairy curse he got himself into way back in the 1700s. With me so far?"
The Archcommander frowned. "Yes. Are you saying that... these... Hubert particles... could show us what was here *before* the beginning of the universe?"
"No! No, no, no, simply for the reason that there is no such *thing* as before the beginning of the universe. We can only approach that beginning point, getting infinitesimally close, but never reaching it. That's what the Hubert particles are doing right now: their mass-energy content has stabilized. They've gotten more or less as close to the beginning of the universe as they have been, reverting to thirteen billion years ago. Timeur, this is *amazing!*" He clapped the assistant on the back. "Oh, now that they're stable, they'll be infinitely easier to work with!"
"They're giving off 12 zottaelectronvolts," Timeur added. "*Per particle.* And the discontinuities in their energy content have finally smoothed out. Not to wax poetic, sir, but... Hubert's particles are at the state, and the temperature, that they were during the Big Bang. These are the very fires of the universe we're containing, here."
Archcommander Varney raised his eyebrows, looking between the two scientists. "Put it in military terms for me. What are these Hubert particles good for? Power sources? Energy weapons? Give me something I can bring back to Command."
Professor Hale rubbed his chin. "Well... these particles are a practically unlimited wellspring of power, with an energy density far beyond anything we've ever documented. So... what are they good for?" A vulpine smile crept across his face. "More or less... *everything.*"
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. I'm not quite sure where this fits into the timeline yet, but it just felt like it fit in the universe. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-15T11:13:01 | 2021-04-15T10:44:40 | 144 | 104 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do? | "Well, I've always been told that death follows me." I responded.
The presence's mood shifted from a morbid curiosity to a morbid interest, "Intriguing, see what you can do. Reach within yourself to find the power."
I exhaled slowly, keeping the air from my lungs, and tried to focus. I didn't know what I was quite looking for, even as I searched for what felt like an hour.
I inhaled sharply, trying to get the missing air back into my body. I stubbled and everything seemed to slowly fade, then return as I breathed heavily.
"I haven't seen one use that technique in quite awhile." The voice said in amusement, "Maybe the one you spoke to could sense it. Again, you waste only your time in this place."
I felt my anger rise, then I realized it was more than just anger. My mind went back to that moment.
Then man who my mother had remarried to. The man that beat me with his hands and words. The man that I had cut open only a few months ago after that same rage finally burst out.
Tears welled in my eyes, more of those next days flooded in.
They dragged me from my mother, from my friends. From my life. They beat me and left me in the wild.
I felt the air around me grow cold as more of my new life came forth.
Being hunted by people who found out I yet lived. I remembered the monsters and the beasts that tracked me in the wilds. I remember my hunters' blood, the different shades and how thick it was.
I remember the old man that found me not a week ago, he told me of how he could sense my past. The death. The chaos. The fear. His words telling me to come here, to these catacombs.
When my eyes opened, around me stood the skeletons of those buried here. They knelt before me, waiting, then collapsed, their bones clattering around the floor.
Clapping echoed through the chamber, the presence was more than amused, it was joyous. It let out a laugh and spoke, "I have not met one of those that can bend the dead to their will in many a moon."
The voice changed from an ominous whisper, to something familiar...
Before me, a man slowly took form. In mere minutes, the old man I had met stood before me, "You did not disappoint, and as such, I shall teach you to control your powers. In time, you may take control of your life again, young one..."
He let out a corse laugh. A chill ran down my back, but not one of fear.
But out of excitement... | [P1]
It’s been a rough day. Once again, I was not heard when I spoke up months ago. Just as it always goes. I try my best to tell people what I see. But they never listen to me. Now I am packing up my desk because of layoffs. Layoffs that would have been prevented if people had more faith in what I predicted. I should know by now I can’t control these things. My eyes start to water as I begin to think about Lucy. The last day, I admit I was too protective and I should have given her space yet the panic that set in when she said she was leaving me… I begged her to stay. It was not a selfish request. I had the worst fear about her on that day however I knew not what caused me this angst. All I could communicate was a measly “please don’t go” as she closed the front door. That night, I got a call from the police. She had been in a wreck. I was her emergency contact; she died on impact.
Now, looking at my empty boxes and full drawers after getting laid off… It’s crippling. I don’t know what to do. Go home? Apply again? Repeat? There’s no way I can do this till I die. I need Lucy. I need something.
After packing it all up and getting it all into my car, I go home. It’s a 45 minute commute of tears. When I finally reach my house, it’s as if every ounce of energy is gone from my body. The black is creeping in from my peripheral vision. Something isn’t right. I hear a loud ringing just as my vision completely blacks out.
I wake up atop a cobble path. I see two white high heels in front of me. My heart sinks as I must have thought she was Lucy. Immediately after standing up, I am corrected. In a raspy high pitched voice that does not match her frail body she says, “Hmm… would you like some coffee? We have a nice place just around the lot.”
I reluctantly agreed as I had no clue where I even was. After walking for what honestly felt like seconds, we were there. I looked back to see where I came from and nothing was familiar to me.
“Are you okay dear” she asks, puzzled by my frantic behavior. “Yes, I’m fine. Just lost?” I reply.
“Oh sweety, you are not lost. You have just been found. Tell me…” She pauses for only what I can imagine is suspense. “What do you want to drink?” She lets out holding back a cackle.
That’s when it hits me. I can’t even read the menu. Not in a “Oh I’m too far from home” type of way but in a “Oh shit, this isn’t earth.” Type of way. I immediately begin to panic, tears begin to fill my eyes. As, I’m about to break, wind hits me. Not just any wind though, it passes through what felt like every atom in my being. And just as it started, it had stopped. And I was calm. More so than I’ve ever been. Just as I regain my composure I see her slip something into her pocket.
She communicates with the person making the drinks and I follow her to the table once she had them in hand.
“So what is this” I ask.
“This is Montigora. You wake up here when you have been chosen.” She says as she looks up and into my soul.
“Chosen? Chosen for what? There’s got to be a mistake. I don’t get chosen. That’s not me.”
“Chosen to protect. We here at Montigora are what you would classify as wizards or magicians. They are not born; they're made or rather selected. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. However, it is their heart that allows them to be chosen. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma and their power is linked to their emotions. So tell me child, what can YOU do?”
I looked at this old woman asking me questions. With confusion flooding my brain I manage to spill out “I don’t know. Who are you and why am I chosen?”
I can feel my broad shoulders turning inward as anxiety fills my soul while I wait for a response. The old woman’s face begins to wrinkle at the concept of not knowing my power.
“What is your worst fear?” She asks after thinking for a while.
“My worst fear has came to be. The love of my life died because I couldn’t express what I was feeling right. I knew she was in danger that day. I knew not the extent. And now her blood feels imbedded into my hands.”
The old woman smiles at me and says two words; “Older pain.”
As the words escape her lips I am hit with my early life, the scene of me crying in the backseat of a car. My mother was trying to console me. When she turned around I cried harder as this feeling inside me was raging like a wildfire. Then there was a lot of glass. Blood…
“The car wreck.” I murmur.
“Yes!” She says with excitement grinning ear to ear. “The car wreck!” she laughs. “Now that you are older, do you see?”
“See what?” I ask almost insulted.
“You have a good heart. The emotions you feel in these moments are not real emotions. They an entire novel you can read with training. They are telling you exactly what is going to happen next. When you don’t listen and it’s imperative, they scream” | 2022-04-26T11:23:15 | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] Birthmarks show the wounds that caused you to die in your previous life. Someone investigates old murders through looking at birthmarks, a birthmark-detective. | There were magazines in the waiting room, to be sure, plenty to read but none of them worth the energy. The attention that an eight-year-old's word puzzle demanded didn't seem worth the payoff, not in Det. John Adderly's sleep-deprived state. Until Det. Lionel Carey showed up with coffee in hand.
"You don't have to do this," Adderly said, though his tone only suggested gratitude.
"Don't *have* to, no," Carey acknowledged. "But how often is it my partner becomes a father for the very first time?"
They were used to waiting around in rooms like these. Detectives of the Birthmark Unit. Adderly and Carey were part of the first generation, the detectives who first figured out that unsolved crimes and mysteries could find resolution: birthmarks were the scars of lives previously lived. Reincarnation was real to the crime unit, and it was good business.
"You want this kid's magazine?" Adderly said, half-joking, half wanting the damn thing out of his hands.
Carey gave it a once-over, careful to avoid staring directly the scar on Adderly's left hand, a straight line at least twenty stitches long, perpendicular to the wrist. "No. Besides, the answers are all filled in."
"It's okay," Adderly, nodding at his hand. "I don't mind you staring at the scar. Hell, it's been what, ten months? Go ahead, look."
"I just--it can't be a comfortable memory for you."
*No,* Adderly thought. *Not at all.* He had come home from a shift late one night when a burglar--well, it did no good to think on the dead. Although Adderly was sure that the scar he gave the poor bastard who held a knife to his wife's throat would make him an obvious find in the next life. *A scar from groin to stomach,* Adderly remembered. *That'll be one hell of a birth mark for us to find.*
But the case wasn't an open one. The mystery had already been solved, the man ID'd. The courts ruled Adderly justified, the act one of self-defense. Still, he remembered his wife's crying that night, and in the intervening months, he'd never left a door or window unlocked.
All he had to do to remind himself to lock them? Look at his scar. *Whoever I reinarnate to is going to wonder about this one.*
Still, Carey didn't like talking about it. The man who Adderly had killed had uttered some prophetic nonsense about seeing him in the next life, about how some souls remember who gave them their scar. It landed Adderly and his wife in therapy for a while, and it was a sore subject for Carey. Carey was a ball-buster, plainly uncomfortable with any topic *that* close to home.
The nurse entered. "Mr. Adderly?"
Adderly stood. "Yes?"
"You can see your child now. A beautiful baby boy."
Carey stood up with him, slapped him on the back. "You old dog! Congratulations, man! Listen, you go on ahead. I'll be right here."
The walk down the sterile corridors of St. John's was long and filled Adderly with adrenaline, though for what he couldn't say. Was it fear and anxiety, or genuine excitement? Something foreboding, no doubt. *I'm a father,* it seemed to say. *I'm a father and I'm responsible for a whole new life now.* Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had just happened.
When he entered the room, his fears were not allayed. His wife was holding the baby, tears in her eyes, not tears of joy. She just looked down at the boy with a strange tenseness around her nose, and cheeks. A smile? A grimace? What?
"Baby," she said when she saw him. "You...you have to see it."
*It?*
Adderly moved in closer as his wife extended the baby. The hormones had been doing strange things to his wife for nine months, so Adderly was prepared to be her rock for a moment, to experience the normal emotions and to let her know that whatever strange sensations she was feeling--
--then he saw it. The baby had a long red birthmark, from groin to stomach.
"No," Adderly said. "It could be another stabbing victim. Somebody else. Not *our* guy."
His wife was crying now. "He *said* he'd come back and visit us!" Adderly looked again, as if the birthmark might have been a hallucination he could shake by squinting. No good. "You're the birthmark expert," she said. "Is this the guy? Is our son the guy?"
*Yes,* Adderly thought, but what he said was, "No. He's our beautiful baby boy, and that's how we'll raise him." | “I’m telling you,” Sarah said, pushing me away lightly as I tried to glance at her shoulder, “I’m fine. I just want the physical so I can get back to work.”
“I know you are,” I said, lightly grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her back over. “There’s nothing wrong with you now. It’s what happened in the past that I care about, though.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, prying my hand from around her wrist, her sky blue fingernails pushing back my own. She was a young woman, no more than fourteen years old, but that put her right in the age range I needed. Most of the victims had been found within the last twenty years, all of them sharing the same, recurring birthmarks. She appeared to be no different, save for the reports of dreams Chief had told me about. That she’d seen a man in her sleep for years, following her and haunting her as she grew. The victims usually didn’t recall anything from back then, but she did—or at least I hoped she did..
“Have you ever heard of birthmarkology?” I said, fully expecting her to react like all the others. It was either followed by a long, awkward pause, as if I’d just made up the word, or a series of uncomfortable laughs. Yes, technically I did make up the word, but I knew it had merit beyond its name. So many scars, so many births bearing the slashed-shapes of recently deceased victims couldn’t just be coincidence. It wasn’t pseudoscience and it wasn’t the insane babbling of a once-renowned detective. It was real.
“Yes,” she said, “I read about it in *People.* Don’t tell me you actually believe in that nonsense.”
“I do,” I said, letting her go and watching as she walked back over to the long, gray examination table. I was actually the first to notice the shapes on newborns, the influx of birthmarks in peculiar regions. I’d been working a case at a hospital, examining a corpse with a star-shaped gash in his throat. We had no leads on who had done it, no idea whether or not we’d even find the person. As I left the hospital, I stopped off at the nursery—just to get my mind off the gore. A baby in a crib toward the center of the room caught my attention right away, the exact same star-shaped mark on its neck. It wasn’t a gaping wound, however but simply a birthmark. I brushed it off at first, but the more I studied the marks on the newborns over the next year, the more I realized it wasn’t just a coincidence. “I’m the person who started it.”
“You told me you were a doctor,” she said, pushing herself onto the table, the tear-away paper crinkling from beneath her.
“I never said doctor,” I lied. I had told her I was a doctor on multiple occasions, but hoped she’d forgotten. “I’m a detective, and I have reason to believe you were murdered.”
I didn’t connect that the newborns were the victims, a reincarnation of sorts, until recently. I was talking to the mother of a victim, pointing to a child with a birthmark slashed across his neck while she called me insane, called me insensitive. She was between insults when she paused abruptly, watching the child I’d been permitted to question from the one-way glass. She told me he had such familiar mannerisms, that the way he pushed his hair back with his left hand was almost exactly the way her son had, not to mention how familiar its blonde was to her deceased child. She mentioned that her son had used to sit almost exactly as the boy had, one leg crossed under the other, with the right one tapping incessantly. Used to drive her insane, she said, nearly shaking the entire house down.
“What?” Sarah said from atop the table. “Are you insane? I’m clearly alive. You’re talking to me right now.”
“Were murdered,” I said, emphasizing the *were.* “Right now you’re fine, you’re alive, but a previous version of you was murdered. I believe by the same person who has killed several other people I’ve been working with, a person that is still out there. ”
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said, glancing at the door. I could tell she wanted to go, but I couldn’t let her leave yet, not after I’d worked so hard to get her alone.
“Your birthmark, the one across your neck. It looks a lot like a slash, doesn’t it?” I stared at the brown mark splashed over the skin of her neck, a vertical line over the flesh. It followed the same path as all the others I’d seen recently, a swooping motion like a crescent moon. I’d begun to think of it as the calling card of whomever had done it, bringing forth a generation of people with the same, brown scar.
“My mom always said it was like a smile,” Sarah said. “I don’t really feel comfortable in here with you. I would like to see my actual doctor now.”
“Look,” I said, taking a step toward her and placing my left hand softly on her shoulder. The scar had the same curve as the others, the same partial swirl toward the end. Just a few hours prior, I’d watched a bag get pulled up and over the body of a man with a nearly detached head, the skin of his throat slit in almost the same exact pattern. I was sure she’d been a victim in the past, killed by the same man. “I just need to know whether or not you remember anything. I need to know about the dreams you’ve had, the recurring one with the man. Can you talk about that?” I paused. “It’s very important, you can save lives.”
“It’s always the same man,” she said, her eyes falling toward the floor. “A tall, white man staring down at me and laughing. I’m always out of breath in the dream, lying on the floor of an unfamiliar hallway. I can never scream or talk back. All I can do I can simply stare up at him while he laughs.”
“Do you ever feel tension in your neck during it?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes growing wide. “My neck always feels incredibly tight, like I can’t swallow. How did you know?”
“What does he look like?” I said, heart pounding against my chest.
“White, curly hair, older man. He always wears the same button down shirt in my dreams, light blue—almost the same color as my nails. He has thick, black glasses and a tattoo on his wrist, but I can never tell what it is. Looks like a raven or a hawk or something. ” She glanced down at her sky blue nail polish. “He has a pink scar going down from his left eye to his chin, also.”
I pulled a black notepad out of my pocket and began scribbling down what she’d told me.
“It’s a crow,” I said, hand shaking as I attempted to form the words. I closed my eyes, the colors of the nursery flooding into my mind. I’d seen that tattoo dozens of times, the hands of its owner wrapped around the fragile bodies of the marked newborns. He was a nurse, or some sort of hospital employee. I’d occasionally see him working the nursery, standing by and softly rocking the crying children back to sleep, always staring with me at their peculiar birth marks. I’d always wanted to ask him about the scar, but never did.
“What do you mean?” she said, staring at me, her head slightly tilted.
“I know who killed you.” I closed the notepad and slipped it back into my pocket, then grabbed my car keys before making my way toward the cedar door.
“You know this is crazy, right?” she said, pushing herself off the examination table. I turned and stared at her.
“I know,” I said, turning back to the door and pulling it open.
| 2015-03-03T07:42:25 | 2015-03-03T07:12:18 | 520 | 85 |
[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later. | We thought that the devils of the west only sent us more soldiers for the hounds of Allah to feast on, yet more greedy, rich, decadent American blood to bath in.
We did not expect this. They moved in, accepting our ways, then they divided us. Drugs were always an issue regarding our warriors, young and boorish, but ours were always clean.
In months, a blight spread through our ranks, once proud soldiers of god now begged for change.
Hashish, cocaine, heroin, all tainted and gradually reduced in their dosages, cut with who knows what.
Suicide bombers detonated early, men went naked into the streets, striking at whatever crossed their path, dancing and crying.
Holy sites, population centers, and marketplaces were marked with red and blue paint. Rotted from within, we were slaughtered with ease when soldiers came, painting white stars amidst the territory symbols, screaming triumph and domination.
I see now the truth of the world, and I want no part of it. Allah is no longer, and Islam is dead. Mohammed shall beg my forgiveness.
*video found near corpse of confirmed ISIS leader. Death found to be self inflicted gunshot wound to the skull.* | ...PENTAGON 0600 HOURS
"Sir, we're getting reports that the domestic assets are closing in on their designated LZ." The Petty Officer squirmed with nervousness; a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.
The General muttered something under his breath before addressing the man. "That's what we are calling them now, eh son? Assets? We still don't even know what these boys want. Keep the drones on 'em and report back with anything new."
"Sir!" The young man turned his attention to the door and left The General with his staff.
...SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE SYRIA 0700
The old container ship creaked loudly as they crept towards their destination. The icy water was still dripping from the squall a couple hours back. The tension among these men was becoming tangible.
"Aye cuz, when the fuck we touchin' down? Lookin like some sardine ass niggas..."
A man sitting close by shot a sideways glance towards him, "Yo shut the fuck up, Blacc. Just make sho yo muthafuckin glock set to kill, nigga."
Blacc stood up trying to gain his sea-legs and not fall on his face. "whatchyew think i'm some kinda rook, Blood?!" He cocked his pistol and flexed his neck from side to side in an obvious attempt to intimidate the man. Others were standing now, the shouts from the men were booming around the hull with overwhelming intensity. The two soon-to-be combatants stepped toward each other. A door from above the men crashed open creating a deafening silence over the crowd.
"GENTLEMEN! Can someone be so kind as to explain what the fuck is going on down here?!" Nobody moved an inch. Barely anyone even dared to look at his face. They sat there staring at the ground like children being scolded by a parent. "I'm growing impatient, boys!" everyone in the room simultaneously stepped back from the two assailants. "Blacc? There a problem?"
Blacc's voice quivered, "Well, Deuce, you see what had happened was, I was all like, 'they betta have a gyro joint at the dock cuz imabout to buy this nigga here a sandwich soon as we get out this muthafucka. And if they don't gimme one fo 'em ima use my gun like this' and i was just showin how i was gone use my gun thas all deuce, you know..." Blacc's eyes darted back and forth trying to gauge Deuce's reaction.
"Blacc", Deuce said calmly.
"What up O.G. Triple O.G.", Blacc said eagerly trying to be respectful.
"Shut the fuck up." Deuce turned to address the rest of the men. "Gentlemen, we are here for something greater than petty differences! The same petty differences that has taken the lives of both Bloods and Crips, young and old, are no more! The fat cats in DC mock us as we make history!" The men began cheering beore Deuce waved his hands to calm them. "They drool at the bit, hoping we will do their dirty work for them! Soon they wiil realize why we are here. The pilgrims of our new promise land. Our Wild Wild West!"
Blacc raised his hand and spoke up, "Ain't we in we East tho, Deuce?"
A thunderous crack rang through the crowd. Deuce shot Blacc, the barrel of his stainless steel .44 Magnum was still smoking. "It's a fuckin analogy", Deuce muttered under his breath. "Now, where was I?...Oh yes, Our Promised Land! Now let's show these towel wearin muthafuckas how we get down! May my stainless Fo'Fo' make sure all they kids don't grow!" The men erupted! Deuce motioned to the bow of the container ship and the men rushed forth, weapons in hand.
Edit: formatting, words, political correctness, listed military heirarchy, parts of boats. Thanks this was fun! | 2015-12-07T09:53:36 | 2015-12-07T09:29:24 | 76 | 29 |
[WP] God forgot about Earth soon after Adam and Eve, fully expecting them to die. One of the Angels just informed him they survived, and the population is over 7 billion. | “…excuse me?”
“Yes, sir. Over 7 billion. It took us by surprise too.”
“But I…after all this time? I left only two of them with…nothing, really. How did they not die? They should have died. I wanted them to die…”
“I’m well aware, sir, but you see, someone left it on this whole time while you were making the others.”
“Gabriel. I told him to pull the plug on that system. I even remember checking it once before. Everything was black.”
“Sir, I think he might have just unplugged the screen. Either way, the program has been going on this whole time on its own.”
“You know, maybe this is a good thing. I’ve always wondered what would have happened if we stopped monitoring one of the simulations for an extended period of time. What speed was the system on?”
“I’m pretty sure it was on the fastest setting. Gabriel had a bet going on with Damien. They wanted to see how much time they could make pass for them before you found out about it.”
“How much of our energy has this taken? I’ve tried to start several other games since then. Are they still plugged in too?”
“No, no, I’ve already checked the others. All of the other programs are no longer operational. Which, to our surprise, even the inhabitants of this program found out. Apparently, they have been looking for other programs out there besides them. They’ve found some way to get almost to another screen, but all of those were shut off.”
“Wait, they’re…trying to leave the simulation?”
“Not exactly. They have no idea they’re in a simulation. Gabriel told me that they’re trying to find life on other…planets…? I’m not exactly sure what that means, but either way, none of the other programs are even on.”
“Hmm…so they’ve grown more curious? I miss when I could just pick them up and drop them in a lake, or trap them in a pit. All these new downloads and really making me miss the original game. Do they still have the little green diamonds floating above their heads?”
“No, those went away several updates ago. They apparently started getting suspicious of things they couldn’t explain and became…aggressive towards those who didn’t update right away. Burned several of them at the stake, I believe.”
“Oh, god…that’s brutal, even for me.”
“Yeah…Gabriel says they keep trying to kill each other, no matter what he does. They always find a new way to go around him. But they still struggle to stay alive. It’s…well, it’s actually quite fascinating.”
“Really…I suppose I will take a look at what Gabriel and Damien have been doing all year then. This would explain why their output has been…lacking lately. This had better be worth it.”
| **The truth of Lucifer**
"So, how do we tell him?" I asked Slavo.
"I have no idea. He won't be pleased and I don't want to be the messenger." Slavo said while rechecking all the figures.
"Are you sure?" I asked Slavo.
"No, I just made this shit up because it is so wonderful." Slavo said annoyed.
"Alright... Alright... Don't bite me." I replied.
"You have to tell him. He loves you the most." Slavo said.
"Nonsense." I said.
"You know its true. Go tell him now." Slavo said.
----
"Err.. God.. sir.. God.." Darshit said stuttering. "May I come in?"
"Oh hi Darshit. Come in, come in. Look what I am making." God invited Darshit to his chambers.
There was a figurine of a large creature that was moving slowly on the table.
"I will call it a dinosaur. This would be my greatest creation." God said proudly.
"Sir, you have already created them once. You put them on planet Earth." Darshit reminded him.
"Oh really! And how did they fare?"
"They got destroyed when you were playing marbles. One of them bounced off and hit Earth."
"Sad Indeed. In that case, I will put them on the planet again. It was my fault so I will rectify it." God said.
"Yeah... About that. We recently located planet Earth for ahem.. research purposes. I don't think we can put the dinosaurs there anymore." Darshit said sweating slightly.
"Why?" God asked.
"It is already inhabited by humans."
"Humans, what?"
"You created them sometime ago. Adam and Eve, you named them." Darshit said, bracing himself.
"THOSE IDIOTS!" God thundered.
"They are still alive. Did their kill switch stopped working?" God asked.
"They are not alive. Their kill switch worked on the right time. However, before that, they reproduced their offsprings. The chain continues." Darshit said.
"I will kill them myself. How many are their, five or ten?" God asked.
"Around 7 billion."
"WHAT?"
"Yeah. They kind of enjoy the process of reproduction. They do it even if they don't want an offspring. Some even do it alone. Others enjoy it with their own gender."
"But, how does it even work?" God said completely flabbergasted.
"I don't think it is an important point. The important thing is that they thrive and now, we have to guide them." Darshit said cautiously.
God looked at him incredulously.
"After what they have done. Never!" God said.
"It was long time ago. It was just an apple." Darshit said.
"You know that apple was the seed for a new planet. It set my plans to create a four-dimensional beings back by so much.
"I know my lord. But you finally were able to do it. Its time to move on."
"Its not just about the apple and you know it. I would have forgiven them about it. But then they go ahead and blame you - my first and best creation - my son. I mean come on. Be brave and take some responsibility. But no, it is Darshit's fault. He is the Lucifer. They called you Lucifer. How can you not be mad at them?"
Lucifer was the lowest insult that anyone can cast on an angel. Darshit knew that and it had hurt him immensely but over the course of so many years, his heart had purified itself. The fact that he was made of pure joy helped. Unfortunately, God didn't have that advantage. He was simply made of everything - Joy, Hate, Death and everything else in between. He did not forgive easily. Forget maybe, but never forgive.
"My lord, they now are repentant about eating the apple. They praise you day and night. If they see you, they would love you." Darshit tried to pacify him.
"Really! That is interesting. And what do they say about you. Have they apologised to you?" God asked Darshit.
"Err.. some have started to apologise." Darshit fumbled with words.
"Really! I will see for myself." God said and looked on.
"So... They apologised, you said." God said looking at Darshit. Darshit looked down sheepishly.
"They call you devil and blame you for everything. They think you and me are fighting over them..." God said angrily.
"Well technically we are right now, aren't we?" Darshit said trying to lighten the mood.
"You are too naive my son. But I will not have this. They will pay for their sins. They will be destroyed."
"Please my lord. Let them be. I am sorry I brought this up. Please forget about them." Darshit pleaded.
God looked at Darshit and calmed down a bit.
"Oh I will punish them. How dare they vilify you! You said they love the act of reproduction, right. I will make them fear it. They like to name things evil, right. Let them name this."
God created a virus out of nowhere and before Darshit could stop him, he sent it to the planet.
"What will it do?" Darshit finally asked.
"Oh, not much. It will simply kill the fight in them. They would be eaten up by the creatures around them, inside them. Even a small bacteria would become a deadly creature to these humans. And it would travel by their favourite activity. Let's see how long they last now."
Darshit left God and told Slavo what had transpired.
"So, now what?" Slavo asked.
"Now, humans actually have a reason to hate me." Darshit said.
| 2016-03-07T00:37:37 | 2016-03-07T00:13:38 | 694 | 309 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh | As I sat and began to listen, Pete "Gilby Clarke" Martin told me wonderful, incredible, unfortunate, and unbelievable things about where he had been since running away a few years before. As our time came to a close, he asked for a drink of water. When I returned from the kitchen, however, he was gone, in his place a giant, steaming turd.
"Goddamit Pete." | It was an average Tuesday morning. Wife had already left for work and the kids were at school. It was just me, my coffee, and the morning news.
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Salesman maybe? Or girl scouts? It was that time of year after all.
I slowly get up, leaving my coffee on the table and pause the tv, and waltz over to the door. I can't see anyone through the peephole. Which probably means Mail delivery or something of the sort.
Instead, on the other side of that door, I found an old friend.
"BOXES!" I cry out. Sitting there on my front porch was my old German Shepard, my old best friend who had gone missing four years ago.
"Yes Charlie, it's me."
Woah okay. Wait a minute, I must be hearing things. I swore it sounded, and looked, like Boxes just spoke. In English.
"No, you're not crazy Charlie. i really can talk." He said to me in a calm, collected tone.
"Oookay. So you can talk. Assuming I'm not imagining this. I don't mean to sound rude, but, why are you here?" I asked him. I still wasn't entirely sure this was real, but I was slowly accepting the situation.
"Because, it's time we had a chat. Is it alright if I come inside?"
It just now hit me that we had been talking on my front porch. I probably looked crazy to anyone who saw. I invited him back into his old house.
"Wow, things have really changed around here." He said. He walked around, seemingly taking everything in. He stopped at the family photo. Boxes was sitting next to me in the photo.
"I remember this. This was just before I left"
"Yea, I know. Speaking of which, why did you leave?" I asked. I was curious, and while I did miss my best friend, I felt like he owed me an explanation.
"Charlie, old friend, when we first met, you said something to me, and then said it again 5 times over the two years after that. It wasn't common enough for me. I decided to leave so I can find out the truth about myself. Who I am. One day, I was in the street, searching for answers when i realized, who better to answer my question than the man who gave me the answer."
"Okay wait, you ran away instead of just asking me?"
"I wanted an honest answer. I wanted to know what other people thought. If it came from you, it would've been biased. But now that I have heard it from many others, I am almost content."
"Almost?" I asked. I was still trying to figure out what he was getting at exactly.
"Yes. First, Charlie, I would like to be allowed to come back. To live at home with the family again. Our family. If it is okay with you." He said.
"Of course! We've all missed you, Boxes. The kids will be ecstatic to see you again." I said. This was a relief. I was glad he was staying again. But I was still wondering what he was asking, yet it almost felt impolite to ask, because it seemed like he was getting to it.
"Finally Charlie, I have to ask. Just one time."
"Go ahead." I said.
"Am I a good boy?" | 2017-03-31T10:59:29 | 2017-03-31T09:26:29 | 45 | 27 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | At one moment, there was fog. At the next, I find myself standing in a circle of candles, in a darkened room, with nothing but the smell of burning wax and stuffiness, like being inside one of those old military outposts that they keep for posterity. You ever put your hand against a vacuum hose? Imagine that, but going throughout your entire body. That’s the closest I can describe the sensation of being in one place, and then being pulled to wherever this was.
“YES! YES IT WORKED! DO YOU SEE, ASTIEL!? DO YOU SEE?” I turned quickly to see where the voice came from. Standing before me, beyond the candle barrier, was a man, if you could call him that, wearing excessively large dark robes. Protruding from holes in the back of the robes however, was a set of large white feathered wings. Yes, wings. Like the ones you see on depictions of heaven.
“M-master...Do be careful...these demons can be quite dangerous.” Another voice commented, standing beyond the darkness. *Demon? What the hell is he talking about?* As my eyes slowly adjusted from the brightness of the sun to the dimness of this room, I began to see chairs, workbenches, bookcases. The floors were of old stone, and where I was standing did not feel strictly...*level*.
“Quiet, quiet. Ahem...Demon Thomas. I have summoned you here to do my bidding. Do you understand? You will OBEY ME!” The ‘master’ shouted, and thrust an open palm in my direction. I winced, expecting to feel some sort of strange sensation. I felt literally nothing. I stared blankly at him for a moment.
“Erm...Master…?” The second voice behind him spoke with uncertainty.
“LOOK, I…” As I spoke, the very words seem to come out of something that wasn’t me. It was deep, it was dark, it seemed to breathe flame into the very air around me. This shocked me as much as them. I took a step back, and bumped into something that felt hard, but simply wasn’t there. It didn’t make any sense. Kind of like pushing into a trampoline that was a lot less elastic. The master seemed to regain his composure at this point, and stepped forward.
“Thomas. Remain calm or I will MAKE you calm.” There’s only so much talking down to that I can hear before it pisses me off. My blood began to boil. I felt hot. And, as I noted later, that was because fire was coming out of my skin.
“THEN MAKE ME CALM!” I shouted, and the words came out like a shotgun blast. The fire I mentioned? It started flaring out with a fury that smashed into the candle barrier. It was like watching a tree burn in the latest stages of the fire, when all that’s left is an ashen husk with the flames still raging. I know fire’s bad. But I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t care. I punched the barrier. Instead of that hardened elasticity, this time there was a crack. The barrier was coming down.
“SHIT! MASTER SEND HIM BACK, SEND HIM BACK NOW!” The voice cried out in panic, and the flames revealed that he was waving his arms about erratically. The master, at this point, quickly grabbed a nearby tome, and began chanting in a shaking voice a dialect I could not understand.
Meanwhile, I continued to play the part of rampaging demon, because I felt power. Power that didn’t exist in my normal life. Power that made me feel like I could finally grab my destiny and make it what I wanted it to be. No more pushing carts at the grocery store. No more nights of instant ramen. No, finally, I can shape things the way I want them to be. And then I felt that familiar feeling of being sucked through a vacuum hose.
“NO!”
There was fog. And there I was, standing like I had never left. I started pacing back and forth on the grass, garnering all kinds of strange looks from random patrons in the park. I didn’t care though. When I was there, I had power. I could summon fire from my being. I had the strength of a being far better than my own. There, I was the demon Thomas. Here though, I am nothing. I want it back.
I NEED it back. | Coughing, you wave your hand in front of your face, trying to clear away the smoke. You blink frantically, trying to stop the burning sensation from the smoke in your eyes.
As your vision clears, the creature in front of you becomes more clear. Your first impulse is that it's a sickly child, but the longer you look, the more confused you are.
Yes, the creature in front of you is short, but it's more than that. Its eyes are huge, almost like a Manga come to life. Its skin is greyish, and it's body is thin, impossibly thin. You wonder how it can even stand upright with so little visible muscle mass.
As surprised as you are to see this little thing, you can tell it is terrified. The huge eyes are even wider than they should be. The creature looks like it's bravely fighting the urge to cower in the corner. But, steeling itself, the creature begins to speak.
*"I has summoned you, demon. Do my bidding, and I will you return. Refuse, and you trapped within the circle be forever!"* says the little creature, with a voice like a cartoon mouse. It's clear that English isn't the creature's first language, but it's reasonably fluent.
Wondering about being trapped in the circle, you take a step forward and extend your hand toward the shimmering air over the circle on the ground.
This time, the creature loses its nerve. It does take a few hurried steps back, looking ready to run, but when your hand is stopped by the barrier, some of its confidence returns.
You touch the barrier, wondering if you look like a goofy mime. Although you can't see it, there is clearly something there. Closing your eyes, you feel around. If you didn't know better, you'd swear it was a steel wall, cold to the touch, and absolutely solid.
*"Yes, yes. Trapped! Do what I say and you I will release."* The creature explains.
*"Look, there must be some mistake, I'm not a demon, I'm a human,"* you try to explain.
*"Yes, human. That is what said. Human demon."* The little thing seems to be growing in confidence now that the barrier does seem to be working.
*"No, you don't understand. Demons are from hell. Demons are big and red and scary. I'm just a human,"* you try to reason with the little thing. Something must have gone wrong in the magic it used on you.
*"Yes, hell,"* the creature nods in agreement. *"Suffering? Torture? Inquality?"*
*"Well, yes, I suppose there's some of that, but it's not really _hell_. Forget about that. Look at me. I'm not a demon!"* As you say that, you look at yourself through the eyes of the creature who summoned you. To it, you must appear huge and powerful. Your skin is slightly tanned from that recent trip to Mexico, and while it's not red, even in mid-winter you're not as grey as the little thing in front of you. You may not have horns or a tail, but it's pretty clear you're extremely intimidating, even with ruffled hair and your bad posture.
*"Ok, let's just put that to the side for the moment. You say you summoned me and you can return me? Why did you want me? I don't, I mean... I'm not magical,"* you say, hoping that you won't be trapped forever by a creature who vastly overestimates your abilities
*"You Bahry Lahrsn are,"* the creature says, mangling your name. *"You the legendary demon of sex are."*
*"Wait, what? Demon of sex? I'm no... I mean, I'm not a virgin, but I'm no sex demon,"* you try to explain.
*"No?"* The creature consults the book in front of it, reading from some list. *"Did three times penetrate goddess Anjla on night Prom? Did up-hook Shrly and later same night Surah on eve of New Year? Did digitally Dafnie in vehicle back on trip road car back?"*
You stand there in stunned silence. Somehow your greatest sexual exploits, mild as they are, are written down in a book this creature is reading. You cringe, thinking back about how you'd fooled around with Daphne Samuels in the back seat of a car on a road trip. Her coat had been covering her waist, and you'd... Well, at the time you thought you'd gotten away with it, but later on you learned that *everyone* in the car knew what was going on.
*"Look um... I... How do you know about that?"* You demand, your voice a mix of anger and confusion.
The little creature closes the book and shows you the cover. On it are some glyphs you don't recognize but the creature points to them.
*"Great demons of Eroth,"* it says, pointing to some glyphs. Pointing at the next set of glyphs, it says: *"Volume 6."*
You stand there in silence for a while, thinking. Apparently, you're Barry Larsen, legendary demon of sex, whose exploits are documented in graphic detail in a demon manual. Might as well just accept it.
*"Ok, well. I guess I'm a sex demon. What is it you want?"* You ask.
*"You me help. Lovely Shrmu is! Notice not she does me,"* the creature laments. *"Help me to sex her you will? You must!"*
Over the next little while, you impart your meagre knowledge to the little thing. It treats your words as if they were magic spells, rather than tidbits of advice. Such arcane knowledge as "be confident" and "dress nicely" are treated as dark magic. "Don't be clingy" is treated as a holy commandment.
Within a few hours, you run out of advice. You wonder if it will be enough, but the creature looks as if you'd just revealed the inner workings of a secret cult.
Distracted by its plans, and trying to remember everything you've said, the creature opens up the spellbook.
*"Agreement you fulfilled. Return you to hell now, I will,"* the little thing says, starting to wave its hands in an intricate pattern.
*"Wait, little guy,"* you say. *"Look um... let me know how it goes, ok? You can bring me back here, if you want."*
The creature looks at you and blinks. Perhaps it's wondering if the demon is trying to trick it. Without another word it snaps its hands out.
There's a flash of light, a bang, a puff of smoke, and when it clears you're standing in your living room. That's when you realize the opportunity you missed. If that book had your entire sex life in it, maybe it knew if Megan was ever going to stop playing hard to get. | 2017-05-12T10:09:52 | 2017-05-12T10:01:31 | 67 | 21 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | I swear this happened exactly as I'm saying, but there's no way I'll put my name on it. They'd lock me in the looney bin forever.
I was just sitting on the sofa, watching TV, and then I was sitting in a room with no chair and fell on my butt. My back was against something - well, not something, more nothing, but nothing that felt like something. Like a forcefield I guess. There were markings on the floor that lined up, and some candles nearby.
And there was some sort of odd alien looking up from a book and saying "Ah, and now you are summoned! I have bound you to my will!" So I said "What for?"
He, I guess it was a he, said "To exact revenge on my enemies!" He shuffled through some pictures and showed me one. "Kill him!" I said "Murder is immoral, I don't know who that is, I seem to be stuck in a forcefield, and I wouldn't know how to kill one of you guys anyway. Do you even have hearts?"
The alien seemed confused for a moment. "You can't smite my enemies?" I said "I don't even know what 'smite' means, but it sounds kind of rude. Speaking of which, why am I stuck in this forcefield? That seems rude too."
Now he was angry. "What kind of demon are you?! I summoned a demon from Hell, I want some action! Grant me wealth, or power, or something! I command you! You will help me commit murder!"
I just shrugged. "Dude, I work part time at a Tim Horton's. Does that sound to you like someone with wealth and power?"
He looked even more confused. "The devil's name is Tim Horton?"
I said "Somehow I don't think so. I'm not even sure Tim Horton is a real person; maybe it's like Aunt Jemima."
"Demons have aunts?"
"Why do you keep saying I'm a demon?"
"Because I used a demon summoning spell! Don't you come from a place of misery ruled by an evil being?"
"Well, that's maybe overstating it a little, but I guess you're not too far off."
"So you should have some kind of special powers that don't exist on my world!"
"Well, okay, but I don't know what powers exist on your world, so how am I supposed to know what's considered special?"
"Don't you know anything?!"
"I know lots of stuff. I just don't know anything about you. What makes you think you're important enough that I should care about you at all?"
"Because I summoned you!"
"Well, actually, you did do that. I suppose that connects us somehow. I guess I could give you some sort of powers; can you guys do math?"
"Of course we can do math! I don't what math power!"
"Hmm. How about juggling? Do you know how to juggle?"
"No, but I don't want that. I want something that will let me wreak vengeance on those who have wronged me!"
"How about flying? Can you fly?"
"Fly? Flying?! Yes, that one. If I could fly, I do all kinds of things!"
"Well, okay, let's do that. I'll focus on you, and you go open the window."
He walked over to the window, and turned a crank to open it up. "Okay," he said, "I've got it open. Now what?"
I said, "Stand on the ledge, and picture yourself flying, and jump into the air."
He did. And did not so much fly as plummet.
A few hours later, some sort of uniformed people came into the room. One screamed. A guy (I guess it was a guy) who looked like a cleric looked at me and said "This demon drove him to jump to his death!" I said "He said he wanted to murder people. He demanded I help him commit a murder. There was only one person here I had the power to kill, and I was required to obey."
The cleric said "Back to Hell with you!" and blew out the candles. Which was fine with me. At least here we have Tim Horton's.
| Coughing, you wave your hand in front of your face, trying to clear away the smoke. You blink frantically, trying to stop the burning sensation from the smoke in your eyes.
As your vision clears, the creature in front of you becomes more clear. Your first impulse is that it's a sickly child, but the longer you look, the more confused you are.
Yes, the creature in front of you is short, but it's more than that. Its eyes are huge, almost like a Manga come to life. Its skin is greyish, and it's body is thin, impossibly thin. You wonder how it can even stand upright with so little visible muscle mass.
As surprised as you are to see this little thing, you can tell it is terrified. The huge eyes are even wider than they should be. The creature looks like it's bravely fighting the urge to cower in the corner. But, steeling itself, the creature begins to speak.
*"I has summoned you, demon. Do my bidding, and I will you return. Refuse, and you trapped within the circle be forever!"* says the little creature, with a voice like a cartoon mouse. It's clear that English isn't the creature's first language, but it's reasonably fluent.
Wondering about being trapped in the circle, you take a step forward and extend your hand toward the shimmering air over the circle on the ground.
This time, the creature loses its nerve. It does take a few hurried steps back, looking ready to run, but when your hand is stopped by the barrier, some of its confidence returns.
You touch the barrier, wondering if you look like a goofy mime. Although you can't see it, there is clearly something there. Closing your eyes, you feel around. If you didn't know better, you'd swear it was a steel wall, cold to the touch, and absolutely solid.
*"Yes, yes. Trapped! Do what I say and you I will release."* The creature explains.
*"Look, there must be some mistake, I'm not a demon, I'm a human,"* you try to explain.
*"Yes, human. That is what said. Human demon."* The little thing seems to be growing in confidence now that the barrier does seem to be working.
*"No, you don't understand. Demons are from hell. Demons are big and red and scary. I'm just a human,"* you try to reason with the little thing. Something must have gone wrong in the magic it used on you.
*"Yes, hell,"* the creature nods in agreement. *"Suffering? Torture? Inquality?"*
*"Well, yes, I suppose there's some of that, but it's not really _hell_. Forget about that. Look at me. I'm not a demon!"* As you say that, you look at yourself through the eyes of the creature who summoned you. To it, you must appear huge and powerful. Your skin is slightly tanned from that recent trip to Mexico, and while it's not red, even in mid-winter you're not as grey as the little thing in front of you. You may not have horns or a tail, but it's pretty clear you're extremely intimidating, even with ruffled hair and your bad posture.
*"Ok, let's just put that to the side for the moment. You say you summoned me and you can return me? Why did you want me? I don't, I mean... I'm not magical,"* you say, hoping that you won't be trapped forever by a creature who vastly overestimates your abilities
*"You Bahry Lahrsn are,"* the creature says, mangling your name. *"You the legendary demon of sex are."*
*"Wait, what? Demon of sex? I'm no... I mean, I'm not a virgin, but I'm no sex demon,"* you try to explain.
*"No?"* The creature consults the book in front of it, reading from some list. *"Did three times penetrate goddess Anjla on night Prom? Did up-hook Shrly and later same night Surah on eve of New Year? Did digitally Dafnie in vehicle back on trip road car back?"*
You stand there in stunned silence. Somehow your greatest sexual exploits, mild as they are, are written down in a book this creature is reading. You cringe, thinking back about how you'd fooled around with Daphne Samuels in the back seat of a car on a road trip. Her coat had been covering her waist, and you'd... Well, at the time you thought you'd gotten away with it, but later on you learned that *everyone* in the car knew what was going on.
*"Look um... I... How do you know about that?"* You demand, your voice a mix of anger and confusion.
The little creature closes the book and shows you the cover. On it are some glyphs you don't recognize but the creature points to them.
*"Great demons of Eroth,"* it says, pointing to some glyphs. Pointing at the next set of glyphs, it says: *"Volume 6."*
You stand there in silence for a while, thinking. Apparently, you're Barry Larsen, legendary demon of sex, whose exploits are documented in graphic detail in a demon manual. Might as well just accept it.
*"Ok, well. I guess I'm a sex demon. What is it you want?"* You ask.
*"You me help. Lovely Shrmu is! Notice not she does me,"* the creature laments. *"Help me to sex her you will? You must!"*
Over the next little while, you impart your meagre knowledge to the little thing. It treats your words as if they were magic spells, rather than tidbits of advice. Such arcane knowledge as "be confident" and "dress nicely" are treated as dark magic. "Don't be clingy" is treated as a holy commandment.
Within a few hours, you run out of advice. You wonder if it will be enough, but the creature looks as if you'd just revealed the inner workings of a secret cult.
Distracted by its plans, and trying to remember everything you've said, the creature opens up the spellbook.
*"Agreement you fulfilled. Return you to hell now, I will,"* the little thing says, starting to wave its hands in an intricate pattern.
*"Wait, little guy,"* you say. *"Look um... let me know how it goes, ok? You can bring me back here, if you want."*
The creature looks at you and blinks. Perhaps it's wondering if the demon is trying to trick it. Without another word it snaps its hands out.
There's a flash of light, a bang, a puff of smoke, and when it clears you're standing in your living room. That's when you realize the opportunity you missed. If that book had your entire sex life in it, maybe it knew if Megan was ever going to stop playing hard to get. | 2017-05-12T12:27:31 | 2017-05-12T10:01:31 | 36 | 21 |
[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! | This is my first post.
I've never written on this subreddit before, or written anything at all really, but something about this request has intrigued me. I have waited long enough. It's finally time to try my hand at writing for an audience, but I have no idea how to start. I haven't forced myself to be creative in a long time. Let's do this.
...
I've been here for about a half hour now. I was early and thought I'd beat everyone with something clever right off the bat, but I was wrong. This undertaking has just become yet another thing I'll never finish. Just like everything else. Playing guitar, learning to skateboard, and several other things that my constant pessimism ruined for me over the years.
I wonder what my excuse for failure will be this time?
// In the right place this time | 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?" | 2017-08-30T14:26:18 | 2017-08-30T14:14:02 | 19 | 12 |
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