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[WP] "Dude, you don't want to fight a human, even when it doesn't have a weapon." The alien glimpsed at the human. "Why not? They look so fragile." | Klitch eyed the human in the ring and started to stand up, but a scaly claw held him back. "Dude, you do NOT want to fight that human," advised Stilt.
"Why not? Look at it. It's a female. It's fragile. Look at all those bruises! What have I got to lose?"
"Well, for starters, those bruises are from the other three fights she was in last week. Which she won. It really isnt worth it. Humans are tough. If she's going down, she's taking you with her."
Klitch laughed. "Screw that, man. I can take her." He entered the ring, and the crowd cheered.
The human glared at him, and Klitch laughed. She was kind of cute when she was angry. He raced towards her and hit her across the face, sending her flying. Her tiny body lay crumpled in a heap at the edge of the ring. The crowd went wild.
He sauntered over, ready to finish the job. This was too easy. He raised a foot over her head just as she sprang up, clawing at his face furiously. Klitch tried to throw her off, but she had wrapped herself around his neck, her surprisingly strong arms cutting off his air supply.
Klitch staggered across the ring, becoming increasingly desperate. He pawed at the thin little fingers, but they remained firm. The crowd laughed as he became increasingly dizzy. Eventually, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Stilt rolled his eyes at his idiotic friend, whose head was pinned under the women's foot as she screamed "Crossfit!!" | Of course Gorg thought that. Of course every alien would assume that. Nearly 300 years ago in 2454, mankind discovered the use of anti-matter as a near infinite power supply, thus accelerating humans through and past the cosmos. One accident after another had ultimately left humans in a delicate state that was only starting to recover in the last century.
Listen, I don’t think you understand, but my recent Changing has made me a lot more capable than whatever you think of us.”, replied Mark. As a Captain of the Europan Ambassador Coalition, Mark knew that he would have to do everything in his power to convince the Olan ambassador to allow for a human colony on Europa. The Olan’s were part of an underwater civilization living within the depths of Europe for hundreds of years, but only recently discovered by mankind.
“Well, I’m not even sure what the Changing is…”, Gorg asked.
“It’s a genetic thing, different from how your body works.”
“Alright….Murrk. Pick up that steel bar.”, said Gorg as he pointed in the direction of a giant beam anchored to the ceiling.
He doesn’t know what’s about to hit him, Mark thought. Every human now had their own abilities, even though everyone was much more weaker physically, due to the Changing. Back in 2454, the Scientists that made the anti-matter fuel were not content however, as they were abandoned in their own shadows, left in the same state as before. 15 years after the Reckoning, the term used to dub their discovery, rebellions across Earth forced the world’s superpowers to relocate to the newest frontier: Space. Within 60 years, and funding equivalent to thousands of times a small country’s GDP, the first Interstellar Orb establishment was constructed between Earth and its moon. As much of the world’s population relocated, scholars like The Scientists remained behind, plotting revenge.
The following 200 years resulted in mass genocide resultant of a vector virus released by The Scientists, that ultimately crippled nearly 34 Billion humans. Only those who had relocated in time to The Orb survived. Many believed it to be a government order, secretly promoted to trickle down the ever-growing population to purify mankind, leading to the dubbed Purity Wars. A new program established 2675 on the Orb finally sought to end interstellar warfare and use new genetic techniques to connect the mind’s cognitive powers to the body. Each person had to discover their own abilities, but once found, was thousands of times more powerful; the physical form did not need to be strong now.
Mark walked under the beam and concentrated his mind on it.
“Well, are you going to lift it?”, questioned Gorg.
“Oh, I’m going to do much more than that.”, replied Mark, and under his breath, “You Olan’s will regret ever disrespecting me or any other human.”
Thinking back to what his Changing instructors said 5 years ago, Mark let go of all thought and focused only on the steel beam, using all of the energy from every one of his cells. He could feel the ground beneath him rumble as his vision took over and took his stored energy, directing it into the direction of the beam.
“WOAH. What’s going on? This was not what I asked for! Stop!” shouted Gorg, as chunks of the ceiling started to collapse and fall.
“This is only the beginning!”, said Mark, now shouting over the vibration shuddering through the Olan’s ancient palace.
“MY BRAIN WAVES AND ENERGY WILL MERGE INTO ONE SUPERWAVE”, shouting even louder as Gorg went under ceiling rubble.
“AHHHH! AND THEN WHAT!”, screamed Gorg.
“WATCH!”
The steel beam glowed red then orange and yellow until it become a brilliant white and blue conglomeration of molten metal and finally exploded into a thousand dazzling gems, reflecting infinite rays across the palace. Gorg’s screams pierced the air as he moaned about the roastings he would receive from his higher-ups.
And then awe, utter silence, save for the shuddering of a million shards of molten metal fusing together one final time, into a giant crystalline diamond, piece by piece, shard by shard. As the last piece went into place, the entire gem glowed of a thousand suns and finally floated down to the ground with a slight thud.
“Well, I’ll just leave you with this. It will probably cover most of the damages.”, chuckled Mark.
Gorg, crying in one corner, simply nodded, stills struck with awe.
“Oh yeah, and to answer your question, that’s why you never want to fight a human, even if they don’t have a weapon.”
| 2017-11-25T09:06:52 | 2017-11-25T08:20:42 | 53 | 18 |
[WP] The year is 2501. You're sent to back to the Earth to perform the annual cleanup. Beneath a mountain of scraps and trash, you find a precious hard disk loaded with something that was forgotten for centuries: Video Games.
Edit: Thanks for all of your responses. I had the thought of this prompt come up in my mind as I was on vacation without access to Video Games, and I finally got to posting it yesterday. I'm gonna spend today reading these :) | Video games? Man these were old. But one caught my eye with the complex patterns on the box. It seemed strangely new. This would be the one for study.
I completed my shift and got back to the ship. I decided to upload the game to the ships AI core so I could run it on the VR deck. Immersive experiences made things so much more fun.
I ran the game and heard the music start up in the game room. There was chanting and drumming which seemed to be in my head.
The doors opened to a green glow and the games title screen presented in full 3D, so real I could reach out and touch it. This was going to be fun.
I walked over to the command menu and clicked start.
The voice echoed throughout the game room.
"Welcome to Jumanji..." | We heard many legends from our parents and grandparents about these so called video games. Apparently people used a lot of their free time to play them.
In the year 2301 earth was on the brink of collapse due to enviromental destruction, climate change and overpopulation. Our only survival chance was to escape to the Mars and the moon. Of course not everyone could make it and so 98% of Earths population was left behind. Condemned to die in this manmade hell. Only the smartest, most able and best looking people survived.
100 years after the exodus our government decided to introduce a new ritual for everyone before they had their 19th birthday. During the winter months were the winds would blow the toxic winds to the ocean we young people would land on earth and start cleaning the place up. Thus we hoped to turn Earth into a place were people would be able to live at some point again. And now it was my turn.
I cleaned up the cover of the "video game". It read "COD 34". No idea why people would play a game about fishes.
Deep Blue Ray Discs weren't produced for 50 years. But luckily our tablets still hat a slit for those discs.
I started up the program and the 95GB big game installed itself. But when I started up the game I was hit by a bad surprise.
I needed to be connected to the online server all the time if I wanted to play.
And the game had a 224GB day one patch.
And a 2,4GB compilation of hotfix patches.
I sighed and connected my tablet to some of the servers we had dug up a year earlier. Surprisingly the program found the needed files and downloaded them in less than 30 seconds.
Now I could finally play one of those relics from the past. And I was greeted by a bugged intro with no sounds were people dressed like clowns were running around shooting.
When I was in the main menu I was immediately harassed by several pop ups asking me to buy a so called "season pass" for only 344,59 credits and a enhanced graphic patch for only 45,44 credits. I flipped the cover of the game around and discovered the price for it. 450,99 credits. In total it would cost me about 840 credits for just one game. And back then that kind of money was a monthly payment for someone with a 60h week and minimum wage.
So I clicked myself trough all the pop ups. There were also cosmetics they sold for 20 credits each which gave my gun a different color. They even sold seperate skin colors for your character with the most popular being "Imperial Orange". It took me 10 minutes before I could even start to play the actual game.
And it was more than disappointing. Nothing in this fucking game worked. The guns felt like shit with no recoil and spread. The character was bugging around when I moved him, the dialogues and the story sounded like a 8 year old wrote them and I reached the ending after 26 minutes.
26 minutes of pure agony for 1 month of hard labour. And the game even lacked of any original content. Almost all walls and even some of the uniforms were painted in ads for various shit products.
I took the disc out of my tablet and smashed it into pieces. Our teachers were right. Those people wanted to suffer and die a horrible death if they voted this kind of garbage "game of the year 2300" with over 1,3 billion sold copies, according to the cover.
I burned what remained of the disc and cover and headed back to my shuttle to repeatedly slam my head against something hard. At least that was more creative and comfortable than palying one of those shit games. | 2018-07-07T07:03:05 | 2018-07-07T06:55:36 | 139 | 44 |
[WP]The pagan gods watch with amusement as humanity still remember them by naming their mightiest vessels after them, long after they stopped worshiping them. When war against aliens break out, the old gods subtly aid the humans, not wanting the last homage to them to be taken lightly. | Ītzpāpālōtl was not typically a god that got much attention, if any, since the fall of her faithful to the cursed fire belchers. That did not mean she took any rest from her constant vigil over the realms of all who might one day return their faith to her so that she could bestow upon them the strength that she so feverently wished to unleash upon creation yet again. Even as the others rose and fell in strength depending on both faith and how thin they spread themselves she waited. She could not be satisfied with small trinkets and minor miracles. Ītzpāpālōtl would be reborn once more in the throes of death.
So she watched. And she waited. Until that final and fateful day in which she found her chance to return to the realm of the mortals on her own terms.
“Captain we have breaches on all decks! The AI core just suffered a catastrophic failure!” The Obsidian Butterfly shuddered as another hit rocked the bridge.
“Get it back online!” Captain Teal hissed as she slammed a fist onto the control panel before her. Red indicators were flashing at her across the entire screen.
“Sir! We have to retreat!” She could see the panicked looks on most of her crew as they looked for her guidance even as the ship faltered around them. The invasion fleet was entirely beyond anything they’d been expected to deal with however, if it got past them there wasn’t another task group for several systems and they’d have free reign to claw straight through the unprepared colonies they were here to protect.
“We’re dead without shielding anyway!” She counted with a point at the screen. “If we can destroy the gate we can blunt their invasion here and now! Survival isn’t an option! We don’t fight for us but for our families! So get that AI back online!” She screamed once more even as repair crews rushed across the bridge to put out fires.
“Incoming lance!” She heard the warning a second too late and the bridge suddenly seemed to be several meters to the side of where she was sure it should be as she was tossed from her chair. There was more screaming and another explosion before things went dark. A second later the bridge was cast in the blood red glow of emergency lighting and raging fires.
“No! We can’t die yet!” She screamed as she clawed her way back up to her chair only to look through a fresh vent in the side of her ship. She could see the tumbling remains of the rest of the fleet as the invaders pressed in towards the gate. They weren’t even waiting around to confirm their kill. Why should they care? With a scream she slammed her hand onto the console trying to somehow will the AI back into existence.
Then to her shock the bridge flashed a moment as the main power came back on and the screen cleared up. “S… sir! I’ve got… the reactor is redlining! We’ve got… these power readings can’t be right… but it’s unstable! We’ve got maybe five minutes before it ruptures!”
The Captain opened her mouth but the central holo flashed and she heard gasps as a new figure showed up. “Is that a new xeno?” Asked a surprised crew besides her. The figure looked… horrific. It seemed to be some sort of woman that was so gaunt as to be skeletal, but with massive black wings of some kind extending from around her back. The wings didn’t look like feathers though… they looked like stone of some kind.
“Identify yourself!” The Captain demanded.
**You must give me your faith. Give me this alone and I shall deliver unto you all you seek.**
The ship seemed to freeze around the captain then. She could see the panic on the faces of her crew, she could see bodies drifting through the void, she could see the lethal radiation warnings, and she could see just how close the enemy were to opening the gate and being beyond her reach. “You have it.”
Things sped up and the image flickered away from the holo. “Captain! I have full weapons power! The prototype is active! Engines are back too! What are your orders? Do we try to run? Captain? Captain Teal what are your orders?!”
Her eyes opened calmly. “I am the Obsidian Butterfly. And our death. Shall be. **Glorious!**” | When Gaia had arrived on Earth billions of years ago, she brought with her life. Life had started simply, just the beginnings of what would come to be. Over the ages she had watched, as her home had flourished into creations she couldn't help but marvel at. Her pride and joy were the humans. Although they had started violent and callus, working their hardest to destroy what she had created, they eventually found their way, and had worked hard to make her home a paradise for all her creations. While the humans had long dismissed her presence as nothing but a myth, her presence remained dormant within them. Like the echo of a whisper on the wind.
As the forests flourished around the human settlements, clashes and rivalries dissolved as the humans began to realise the value of harmonious living. As they began to venture into the cosmos in search of other life, Gaia was unsure of what they may find. Gaia had wandered the universe before claiming her home, and she had worked hard to secret herself away from her kind. The gods of the universe did not all share her values, and conflicts were common in the ages before she had left. Although she had no contact with her kind since she had fled, the likelihood of immortals changing was slim to say the least.
The humans continued to venture into space, continuing to find nothing but empty shells of planets, never sure why they appeared to be alone. These planets should contain life, but all were empty. The scientists were scrambling to explain why, but no answers presented themselves. Theories swirled, but as time stretched onward, the humans believed they were alone. Weapons were entirely abandoned, as conflict seemed to be nothing but history to their kind. With no one around to fight, the resources dedicated to a military seemed nothing but a waste. Gaia was proud of the process her creations had made, and the likeness they shared with her. She had fled far enough across the universe her creations were safe from the conflict of the gods.
Until they mastered interstellar travel to a level similar to her own ability. Suddenly the universe became so much smaller now that it was all within reach for the humans. As their desire for company, to know they were not alone, drove them out into the universe, they stumbled upon the first civilization spawned from another god. This civilization was apart of the conflict driven species that Gaia had fled from. The humans, who had long ago abandoned their military, were beyond unprepared for true violence. True war. A species that was created with the sole purpose of conquering, found the humans the easiest target of all. The Violence tracked the humans across the cosmos, destroying all human settlements, colonies, research stations, satellites. Every trace of humanities ventures into the universe were annihilated. Nothing outside the Milky Way remained, and soon the Violence would reach here. At the home of humanity, Earth, to achieve the goal their god had created them for.
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​
We were so naive. For so long, we had believed we were alone, safe from threat. We had grown complacent. We had created a paradise on Earth. But it felt like we were made for something else. We had a constant burning desire to know everything we could. The question had been asked for millennia. Are we alone? It was a simple question with a simple answer. Yes or no? But after centuries of searching our own galaxy, we were certain that our question would never have an answer. While we could say with certainty, no other life-forms existed within our own galaxy, we could never reach anything further. Or so it had seemed. Then we had mastered the ability to bend space around us. Faster than light travel was nothing compared to the ability to completely shift from one location to another. We suddenly had the ability to be anywhere in the universe. With no travel time, no delay, we now had the ability to answer our question with certainty. Were we alone?
After countless lifetimes, we finally had our answer. To be able to scratch an itch that had existed since the dawn of humanity, should have been an amazingly joyous occasion for us as a species. But the life we found, we something we were unprepared for. In the distant reaches of the universe, we found a civilization so horrifically violent, that our first contact was a bloodbath beyond anything ever imagined. The creatures found a way to master our own tech, and soon, they were making their way across the cosmos. Tracking us through the settlements, mining facilities, and research stations we had created to learn everything we could about our universe. We felt like we couldn't lose anything else. Our reach had been cut-off. Countless lives lost over the course of a decade or so. Then they found the milky way. Our last bastion was discovered, unprepared and defenseless. We were trapped. Our sacred home was about to be wiped from existence. All for the sake of one answer. We were not alone. We were, and that had kept us safe. But we could never live with well-enough.
Everyone remaining retreated to Earth to be with each other. We were a family, and we had to be together at the end, it was only fitting. Billions of lives, gathered together, waiting. Then the notification came. They were here. Entering our solar system, the first fleet of the Violence had arrived. We had been lucky it had taken them this long. They had found our home galaxy, and they knew it, so they had savored the hunt. Galaxies we had settled in before had been wiped away. Not just planets, or solar systems, entire galaxies had been completely evaporated by a force so unimaginably destructive we had not thought it possible. But for some reason, they had not just wiped our milky way to begin with. Instead they had systematically spread throughout the solar systems, picking us apart slowly. But here we were, the last of a great race. Trapped, enjoying our last seconds of existence.
​
Then she emerged. A force that had been long forgotten. We had abandoned all forms of religion in our perseverance for knowledge. Few but the historians remembered the writings and ancient teachings. But in a flash, we all remembered. Like being reminded of a memory that had lay dormant in every person's mind, we were reminded of her.
​
Gaia. She was power, and she was absolute in her purpose. To defend her home, her children.
​
First attempt at writing one of these. I know the prompt said the gods helped in subtle ways, but I have always been a sucker for absolute power. | 2019-01-31T21:24:00 | 2019-01-31T21:22:14 | 188 | 75 |
[WP] The campfire is warm in the bowels of the ship. You, a human, swap stories with the other imprisoned aliens to pass away the long night. | The soft glow of the embers cast shadows against the walls, white canvases for the shadows of beings surrounding the fire. The figures that were there were of no ordinary shape or size, and to any other citizen of earth, the gathering could have been the worlds greatest shadow-puppet show.
A crescent moon on the back wall was actually a beak, the squid shadow that swam nearby caused by tentacles protruding from someones head, a silhouette of the many heads of a hydra cast by exactly that. Embedded within the diverse array of characters was a simple human, sat hunched in on himself, reserved, withdrawn, surrounded by laughter.
"Ok, so tell us again about how you guys spend - get this - at *least* sixteen years in education, *imagine* wasting the most energetic, lively years of your life cooped up inside of a prison to learn basic skills that could just be implanted into your brain!" More roars of laughter rang out, good natured laughter mixed with the sounds of chains. Everyone in the room had their hands and feet bound.
The human, brushed long hair out of his eyes and smiled. "The only reason that your species can survive such a thing is because of that thick fucking skull you Kretins posses..." The laughter erupted louder, reverberating off the bodies that jostled alongside one another. The smiles and guffaws barred many different mouths, some brought thousands of teeth some brought none, some brought more than one tongue and others had to cover themselves to protect from caustic spit. Despite this, they all laughed the same way - deep and hearty, from the belly.
The Kretin wiped tears from his eyes, and was waiting for the laughter to quiet when a guard appeared in the doorway to the room. Two sets of bulky arms gripped the door frame, gripped it so hard that the metal around it began to buckle. He spoke like his throat doubled as a cement mixer, thick and gravelly. "Two hours until the Yandu stop. If the noise doesn't get any better I could easily speak to the captain and find a few more potential buyers out there, clear?" Just like when they laughed, the prisoners all sounded the same in silence.
An age passed. Once again it was the human who spoke, breaking the silence, the corners of his mouth curling into a cheeky smile like only a human could, it was why the other prisoners had taken to him so well. He turned to the Kretin, a mischievous sparkle to his eye "Only on Yandu could they love someone as ugly as you!"
Once again the room was full of laughter, joviality emanating from its source, the human. Perched next to the man was a tiny being, a female from a planet that he couldn't remember tapped him to get his attention.
"Do you think I'll see my parents again Mr. Jack?" The creature was a child, but the voice boomed out like a stadium announcer from earth. The juxtaposed baritone voice from the tiny, jelly-bean like creature had been the subject of a number of jokes over the course of the evening, but now, the mood became serious. Everyone around the campfire had been snatched from one corner of the universe or another, everyone gave their story when they came to the campfire that Jack had started. Everyone but this small jellybean, that could've been an opera singer.
Jack looked at the - *could he call it a girl?* Jack looked down at the girl, showing as much fabled human empathy as he could, and said of course she would, he looked around the room at the motley crew of places far and wide that he had only just learnt of, he looked at almost every person he could see, tall and small, and told them that they would all one day make it home. He put the years that he had trained at acting school to good use and he put on a show.
The following hours were filled with stories from earth, performed in front of the fire by Jack and whichever aliens fancied their hand, hoof or pincer at the rare human art of acting. They told tales of romance, thrillers, horror films to frighten even the most hardened amongst them, and they told sprawling epics of action and adventure, of heroes and villains, always with a happy ending.
Jack's final tale was a one such tale, about a group a prisoners stolen from their homes in the dead of night. Their comradery was what bound them together and using their expansive knowledge from cultures far and wide they were able to outwit their captors using an ingenious child. The child could sound like a man but had the size of barely a mouse, and deceived the guards using 'acting' skills taught by a human amongst the group. Everyone creature in the prison holding room was involved in Jack's story; he taught them all their lines and how to act in vivid detail, giving lessons to everyone even improvising certain techniques when someone had a set of mandibles instead of a more human-like mouth.
The story finished, and it became clear to the prisoners what needed to be done. The rattling of chains filled the room as everyone got into position.
The small jellybean girl, who Jack had since learned was called Xylian - from the planet Orion, stood as close to the door frame as she dared. She inhaled deeply, before belting out a deep guttural cry that sounded like a rampaging wargen, a beast three times the size of a man that when angry would grow further by a factor of four. The cry would draw the guards, hopefully panicking at the thought they had accidentally captured a wargen, and once the door was open the prisoners would act.
Heavy boots and shouting diffused into the holding cell from the other side. Bodies jostled in the corridor.
Jack stood in the centre of the room, "My friends, I don't believe this moment needs a heroic speech, as we already did Brave-heart earlier. But just remember that we're fighting for freedom, and I love you all."
The door opened to a rallying cry of dozens of languages, all different yet at the same time unified for one purpose. Freedom. | "Sometimes, when the wind blows across those hills, you can still hear him whispering."
My voice fell away, crumbling into the shadows. The flames of our campfire guttered low as if on cue, accompanying the sudden quiet.
The others stared. No one spoke. They just fixed their eyes on me, no matter how many pairs they had.
I let my gaze drop to the deckplaces underneath them, unable to meet my companion's looks any longer. Each of them was entirely strange. One of them stood on too-long, scaled legs. Another blinked at me through cat's eyes, gleaming and sharp. Another hung from the ceiling above, clinging upside-down by his legs.
Each of them was entirely different - and I knew that just like I'd never seen any of them before, I'd never see any of their races again after this day.
"Not bad," one grunted through massive, hulking tusks.
The alien sitting beside him flinched, her fins fluttering with the motion. "Not bad? I've never heard anything like that." Her eyes drifted back to latch onto mine. "What world did you say you were from?"
"Earth." The word nearly stuck in my craw. Each time, they asked, and each time I'd be forced to tell my new companions the story. The *stories.* All of them. The rest of the universe liked our stories, I'd found.
Lucky me.
The finned alien smiled, her lips parting to expose jagged teeth underneath. "Well, I'd like to hear more about this 'Earth'. Would you-"
The harsh strike of metal on metal brought her up short. The others scattered, running back to their own cells. I didn't move. It wasn't like I could go anywhere, after all, and I was already *in* my cell.
The hold door creaked open a second later. I watched as the creature came through, all sinuous muscles and short-cropped fur. I'd almost have called them catlike - but that would be a sure way to losing another finger, and their likeness ended at the plush fur.
"Wake up," the guard snapped.
I lifted myself from the cold, steel floor. The translator strapped to my wrist chirped out the alien's words. "I'm awake, sir," I said, hating every second.
The alien just glared at me, hitting a button on his bracelet.
A harsh beep later, and the cuff dropped from my ankle. He beckoned a moment later, turning and stalking for the door.
The murmurs of the other prisoners followed behind me, but I only ducked my head low and followed the guard.
More than likely, it'd be the last time I saw them. The thought circled through my mind, silenced with the final-sounding clang of the hold closing again.
"There's not much time, so hurry," the guard muttered. "We're about to drop out of the jump. If you don't record the battle, we'll-"
"I'll tell it," I said, fighting back weariness. "I always do."
I always did. From that first day I'd woken up in their care, I'd been living on borrowed time. The memory of Earth burning out behind me had been all too fresh - and I'd known the stories about the Sinelin. The fact they took prisoners from their vanquished foes. The fact they killed those prisoners on their homeworld in a brutal show of superiority.
I'd known what lay before me.
But the others had been so scared, so fearful. Telling them stories had made it easier - and it felt good, to turn my mind back to pleasant days.
I hadn't even realized the guards were listening.
They'd pulled me from the cells, much like they had minutes before. They'd marched me up to the viewing deck, just like now. And when I arrived there-
The doors whisked open before the guard and I, laying bare the blank, empty view of space before us.
Almost empty. The planet shone like a jewel in the night, gleaming with a million points of life. My heart sank.
And I watched. I sat there, my eyes fixing in on each of the Sinelin vessels as they spun and wove. I took in the sight of them blasting their victims from the galaxy. I didn't even know their names. I'd be told that later, I knew.
"Did you get it?" the guard said once the hours had ticked on, spinning to fix me with a fang-laced snarl.
I nodded, my face dropping back to the floor. "I got it."
"If you missed even a moment, the Alphas will-"
"I got it," I repeated, my words hollow. "Can I go back to-"
"We're just a jump from returning, now," the guard said dismissively. "No time. Can't have you mingling with the rest."
I appreciated that. Really, I did. The thought of being mistaken for one of the others and whisked off to meet their end with them was...unappealing.
I followed meekly, then, right behind the guard's heels. I went back to the safe-room they'd set aside for me, with my screen and my datapad. I could enter in the fight, there.
I could record my stories, to be retold over, and over, and over again. I'd repeated the stories so many times I thought my throat might fail. They loved showmanship, after all. And apparently, I had it.
I tried to push the reality of it from my mind - that every story I told was that of a race that was gone, just like my own. That every legend I created for them turned them into the heros of their own twisted tale. It didn't really help, but I was surviving. That was enough.
I hardly heard the soft knock at the door. I certainly didn't respond.
More was my surprise when the door to my room slid open. It was too soon, too fast. I hadn't finished yet. I spun, my mouth falling open to hold my keeper off -
And was silenced by the sight of the tiny, hooded figure. Fabric covered every inch of its form, hiding it from sight, but it was *not* a Sinelin.
"You are Zack, yes?" it said, without even a moment's hesitation.
I froze. I hadn't been called that in- in so long, I'd nearly forgotten. "Yes," I said, once my mind caught up with my racing heart. "Who are you? What are you-"
"You watch them, yes?" it said, the intonation exactly as same as its first sentence.
My brow furrowed. "I....yes?"
The folds of cloth hiding its face shifted, enough for me to see the grey skin underneath. It was *grinning* at me. "We have an interest in acquiring your services, Zack," it said.
"What? Excuse me? What's going-"
"We are prepared to offer you your freedom in exchange. Once the task is complete."
*That* was enough to bring me screeching to a halt. I blinked, staring at the thing. "....What task?" I said, more slowly.
"You have a grudge against your captors, I am sure," it said, whatever it was.
"Well, yes, but-"
"So do we. But they are strong."
Oh, they were indeed. In all the time I'd been with their fleet, I hadn't seen them lose. "Right. So what exactly are you expecting me to do?"
"We need information. We need insight." Its grin widened. "You have been watching, yes?"
The pit of my stomach fell out. I had. I'd watched. "Yes," I said, even more carefully. "But I don't think I can-"
"Think on it," it cooed. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear footsteps approaching. My blood chilled. "Consider your future carefully, human."
I looked down, eyeing the datapad I'd been working on. The verses laid out were looking more and more like an epitaph. "I..I don't know," I said, hearing the steps draw closer. "But I want to-"
I glanced up - and found myself alone.
The sound of the guard turning the handle to my room filled the narrow cell. I straightened, setting the pad in my lap.
A low chuckle rang from around me, sending a fresh jolt of adrenaline through my blood.
The creature's whisper echoed in my ears.
"Consider carefully."
(/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me, /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others) | 2019-06-10T12:43:44 | 2019-06-10T12:35:19 | 351 | 148 |
[WP] A man accosts you in the street, and he claims he is you from the future. “Whatever you do, DO NOT fall in love with that girl!” the man warns. Distracted by the crazy man, you turn the corner and bump into someone. Its the most beautiful girl you have ever seen. Your eyes meet and she smiles.
Credit to this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/greentext/comments/eyaquy/anon_spites_himself/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf | "Whatever you do, don't fall in love with that girl."
It's been thirty years since that homeless man assaulted me on the street. Thirty years since I'd seen the most beautiful girl in the world. Thirty years wondering if I made the right choice in ignoring her questions about where bridge street was. She died today. Turns out she was a bit of a celebrity, and like most celebrities she had her fair share of demons.
The media blames her death on loneliness. They've been playing this interview over and over again where she talks about the idea of a soulmate and how romantic she thinks it is. Apparently her fiance at the time believed in soulmates too. He got married last week. She wasn't invited.
"Don't fall in love with that girl!"
Why did that warning scare me so much? I like to pretend that what really scared me was the old man. The way he reeked of booze, his bloodshot eyes, how he struggled to stay on his feet as if the weight of the world sought to crush him. But I know deep down that isn't true. What really scared me was that one word he said. The one that can change your life forever. Fill the unending void with something else, something *more*.
I've been watching that interview a lot more recently. The one about soulmates. More precisely I've been watching her. Everything she does feels so familiar to me. The way her smile and laugh follow jokes a bit later than everyone else. How stiff she seems when sitting up straight. How she always seems to talk about someone else, even when the question is all about her.
"Don't fall in love."
I don't think I'm scared of that word anymore. No, what scares me is how empty my apartment feels when I come home. How my friend's kids are graduating and getting married. How I found a grey hair in my beard last night and no one cared.
I find myself wondering more and more what made that old man grab on to me so desperately, as if he were clinging to life. What had he seen that scared him so much? Was it drugs? A paranoid delusion? Or perhaps was it the future? I'm not entirely convinced it matters anymore.
"Don't."
It's been thirty years since that old man warned me about falling in love. Thirty years since I'd run away from change. Thirty years wondering if I was wrong. It's impossible to go back now, to try again and hope for the best. All I can do now is wonder what would have happened if I did. | Calvin’s feet stopped dead in their tracks.
The woman in front of him pulled her hand up and moved a stray thread of pale blonde hair out of her face. After tucking it behind her ear, she stretched her hand out toward him, as if to initiate a handshake. “Sorry about that, I’m Angela.”
Her hand sat in the air for a good minute before Calvin’s thoughts registered what was happening. He met her own and felt his heart palpitate as he touched her skin. It was cool and soft like a satin bedsheet that hadn’t been touched all day. He felt his hand being moved up and down, and it wasn’t until his arm swung downward on its own that he realized she had let go.
All of his thoughts had escaped him, and his face flushed. “I…” he started, and then took a deep breath to try and steady himself. “I’m the sorry one.”
She laughed, and he felt his heart leap into the back of his mouth.
The world swirled around them. The rest of that day swept by so fast that it wasn’t until months later that he was able to sit back and realize how fast they had gone, and how crazy it all was. They had run into each other on a Monday morning and they had both been on their way to work.
Neither of them had gone in that day. They had however turned around the corner and sat down in the coffee shop. They had exchanged cell phone numbers, and middle names, and realized that she lived one street over behind his apartment complex; in a spacious house she inherited from her grandmother, may she rest in peace, and that she worked on the building exactly one block away from him.
They parked in different garages when they drove, and took different busses when they didn't, and that morning her cab driver had gotten a panicked phone call and dumped her on a corner she didn’t need to be on. It was the reason she had been walking that exact path — a path she never walked.
Some crazy cab driver had let destiny do its thing, allowing them to meet.
After coffee, they had taken a walk around the park, and then when the sun suddenly set under the horizon they went out to dinner. They sat down across a small table in the back corner of a dim Italian restaurant becuase it was both of their favorites. They had three bottles of wine and discovered that they both wanted children someday and that neither of them had even realized before that anything was missing.
After that fateful day, they were inseparable. Calvin sometimes thought back on that day and was reminded of the man that had tried to stop him. The man with the matted brown hair that was 2 shades darker than his own and the tired wide eyes.
The man that had screamed at him not to fall in love; and sometimes he wondered what the psycho had been on about, but it didn’t matter. Most likely that same man had set him on the path to meet his Angela.
Years went by and the world continued to surprise them both. They were married on the fifth anniversary of that crazy day where they just happened to bump into each other, and when she tucked a stray hair behind her ear he wept. Tears leaked from his eyes that Calvin couldn’t stop becuase her marble beauty was beyond him.
He had never been able to figure out how he had gotten lucky enough to have her. The love of his life. He knew that day that his vows went on too long and she joked about it for years after that. She would point to the picture of their first dance and tell him that she barely made it through.
“My feet hurt before I even got to the dance floor, you cheesy cheesy man.”
Calvin would smile, and when she smiled back his heart would melt.
On their 10th anniversary, a carnival came to town.
In the spirit of his childhood, Calvin pushed them to go on the opening night and was more excited than he could account for when there was a real, live, and ancient fortune teller. He had always had a quiet obsession with him that none of the men in his life could relate to. It wasn’t in his skill set, and his other hobbies didn’t line up.
But it didn’t stop his curiosity, and it didn’t stop him from walking into her booth. He set a 20 dollar bill down on the table and felt his stomach turn when she began to lay her cards down on the table.
She flipped each one, asking him questions and telling him long-winded answers. He knew it was all a cold read that wouldn’t do him any good, but it still felt satisfying, and he loved every moment of it.
As she finished flipping the last card, the old woman smiled.
“The lovers,” she said. “Your soul mate.”
“I know,” Calvin replied, matching her grin. “Angela is amazing.”
The woman tilted her head to the side, giving him a quizzical look. “I don’t think so.”
There was silence, and Calvin felt a flitter of confusion and anger roll into his chest. “Angela is my wife.”
“That's not what the spirits say,” she said. “Your soul mates name was Erin.”
“My wife's name is Angela,” he repeated, raising his voice despite trying not to.
She shook her head, ignoring his temper. “Erin.” The woman sat down another card and shook her head. And then another, furrowing her brows. “Angela was her last case as a detective.”
/r/beezus_writes | 2020-02-04T08:36:29 | 2020-02-04T08:32:55 | 179 | 70 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | The pounding has slowed to a minor thump, replaced in it with a constant ring. Blow after blow had left my vision blurry and bloody, and it's starting to get harder to breathe; my nose may have been broken a few punches back. People's insecurities are laughable at times but it looks like I'll never be able to laugh after this, and all because girl doesn't like boy anymore. I can't even remember their names anymore? All there is now, the steel fists that relentlessly assault my face and body.
CRACK
That's my ribcage, blood is beginning to fill my lungs, I feel the coppery taste and smell as I struggle to breathe. As I cough trying to get more air than blood into my lungs, I hear his muffled screams. Something about custards got flood on free? No that cant be right. Whatever he said has caused him to drop and allow me a moment of respite. A bitter relief, the pain is excruciatingly worse now that's he's stopped. More muffles and im hoisted to my feet against something. A tree perhaps? Yes I think we're in the campus forest, father used to take me through these woods hunting many years ago. Cold water is splashed in my face and the blood and grit begins to clear from my eyes and has stifled the ringing for a moment.
Jesus Clay you've nearly killed him!
Shut up and hold him, or you'll join him.
Clay as in Clay Barker? Why is my best friend doing this? My vision is far to distorted for me to be able to see who Clay really is. The cold steel caresses my head before painfully grasping my scalp and holding my head upright. A second steel fist begins to form as a face enters my sight.
I told you to leave her alone monkey. You took her from me so now I'm taking you.
I didn't feel the fist make contact, didnt hear it nor taste it. Nothing, nothing but nothing and more nothing. I can't see, cant hear or smell, but I can feel? I can feel something slithering around my eye sockets. I can feel my torso twisting and snapping, almost as if it's putting itself back together? No that's ridiculous. Nobody has ever had a sigil that granted healing factors or things of that nature this just must be what afterlife is like. Nobody has ever had a plain circle either though...
CRACK
That familiar rib cracked again, but back into place! I gasp choking on mulch and dirt as I reach my mangled hand through the soil to fresh air. At least they did me a courtesy of making my grave shallow. I finished digging and propped myself agains a nearby tree to witness the miracle at work. Tears in flesh are beginning to close, my right arm, which from forearm down looks like someone put under a jack hammer, is beginning to straighten and inflate with muscle again. I reach up to the back of my neck to stretch. My sigil is burning and spinning? I gaze in awe at the grotesque readjustment process the rest of my body is going through and then look up as my leg makes its final adjustment with an audible clop. Theres blood on the tree. I slowly stand up letting the reformed muscle hold me and see the stain at my head height. My blood, bits of bone and pieces of brain.
Holy shit, I-I'm immortal?
I reach back to my sigil and it has grown dormant. Just a plain carved circle into my flesh. The sun is setting so I begin to head back to my dorm. Single studio just how I like it. My hands are shaking as this evening events re roll through my mind and I decide to be brave (stupid if it didnt work. Funny how that is right?). I set my alarms an hour earlier so I could clean up when I awoke and sat down in my chair with a knife from my chef set mom got me last Christmas. I removed my shirt and with a silent prayer I drove the steak knife through my heart, twisted and removed, throwing it into the kitchenette.
Blackness.
I awoke in a sweat to the alarm blaring. I stumble turning it off and zombie my way to the bathroom to begin my morning routine, accidentally kicking a knife across the floor... Adrenaline has spiked as I realize it wasn't a dream and throw on the lights to see no hole where my heart is. No cut, scar or anything in between. A wicked smile creeps across my face as I clean the blood off the floor and knife.
Deciding to make a surprise I arrive 5 minutes late to first lecture. I walk in and as you do everyone stops and turns around to see who's going to be rushing in like an idiot. Except there were some who were more shocked than other's.
Morning Clay. What's wrong? Someone walk over your grave? | "Never use it again, Tommy. Just don't."
One of my earliest memories is my father telling me this after Molly, our English Springer Spaniel died. 'Never use it.' Words to live by. I loved Molly. She loved me, too. When she got old and went blind, the 10-year-old me just didn't understand why I had to be careful with her. She was still our Molly but she was afraid. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid of the darkness. I should have known better but I didn't. I was only 10. I didn't mean to scare her. She didn't mean to nip me. I didn't mean to do what I did but at that moment I was just so scared. She'd never done anything like that before. She didn't deserve or understand what happened to her in her darkness. It made it worse having to see her every day. I supposed I'd get over it. Eventually.
Don't use it. Never use it. Words to live by.
Since then, I was different. I had learned. Don't use it. Everyone else had their own abilities. Mostly fun. Mostly harmless. Honestly, mostly pretty weak. Stacey could redirect water. That was fun at the drinking fountain. Jake could make a cigarette lighter burn pretty brightly but that really was nothing to be too impressed with. Andrew could lift the back end of a car. His father put him to work pretty early so we didn't get to see much of him anymore. I didn't do anything. Everyone noticed.
As we got a bit older I felt it more acutely. Left out. Laughed at. I didn't mind. It wasn't like anyone was doing anything special. I had other things to do. Besides, I was never going to use it. I didn't care what they did or what they said. "Just don't." That's what dad told me. Words to live by.
The day it happened was just like any other day. Got up, ate my breakfast, went to school. There was no reason to believe that day would any different than any other day. It was. I didn't know it then but now that I think about it, everyone else did. Everyone who saw it happen, anyway.
Amir was one of those kids we've all known. He had everything. Defensive captain of the football team, a really pretty girlfriend, one of the nicest cars in the parking lot, good grades, a bright future. All of it. Something else he had was a very special interest. An interest in me. An interest in making me miserable. It bothered me, sure. I didn't want to let it bother me but it did. Dog poop smeared in and on my locker, tripping me in the hall. The usual stuff. All you could do was clean up, get up and move along with your day. His ability was speed. That's why he was so effective at messing with me. Before anyone could even see him do what he was doing, it was over. I was already on my face or covered in whatever lunch he had just dumped on my head. I hated chili day in the cafeteria most of all because it stung my eyes. Today he had other plans. Sort of a special 'good bye' he and a bunch of the other 'empowered' had planned for me. Something to remember them by now that we would all be separated and go into the required training program that everyone entered in the summer of their 17th year. The goal of the program was to teach you to harness your ability and put it to work. I was different. I couldn't run fast. I couldn't squeeze through a chain link fence. I couldn't control or generate electricity at will. I couldn't do anything useful. I wasn’t going into the program. I was fair game. I guess I thought they'd get bored and stop. Eventually.
At first I didn't understand what was happening. He was too fast. My ankles were suddenly slammed together and then my head smacked the linoleum as the clothesline around my ankles tightened and yanked me off my feet. I can admit now how scared I was. One second I was leaning against the wall reading, the next second I was dazed, hurt and hanging upside down. Fifteen or sixteen kids were holding the end of the rope from which I hanging. Brian Miilford - gifted with abnormal dexterity - was busy tying the rope off to a built-in bench so they could leave me hanging there, I suppose. I could feel the warm wetness spreading on the back of my head and in the crotch of my pants. I could see the sprinkler pipe they'd thrown the rope over to haul me up. I could see them. All of them. Scared? I was terrified. The laughing started almost immediately. Poor, weak Tommy hanging upside down dripping blood on the floor with fresh, warm piss spreading to the collar of his shirt into his face, dripping from his hair and mixing with the dark red puddle spreading on the floor. A very special goodbye. For just a fraction of a second, I thought of Molly. Poor Molly. I really missed her.
"Bubble." It was barely a whisper. It didn't have to be anything else. A whisper was enough. Amir was in his bubble.
"Bubble. Bubble. Bubble. Bubble! Bubble! BUBBLE! BUBBLE!" Louder and louder until I was almost shrieking it. Everyone in that hallway floated in their bubbles; suspended maybe a foot off the floor just looking at each other with some confusion and mild amusement.
"That's it? That all you've got?" asked Amir with a touch of contempt to mask the bewilderment at his sudden position. He began to laugh at me as he always did. Everyone else laughed, too. Bubbles. What a stupid, worthless ability. Then Amir started to push on the inside of his bubble to make his exit. Nothing happened. He began to claw at it with a speed that made his arms disappear into a tan blur. I already knew what was coming. I’d seen it before. Molly. Poor Molly. She'd clawed at it, too. She stopped. Eventually. Amir stopped laughing. They all stopped. Eventually.
I think they stopped laughing when they realized the air in their bubbles was running out. That's when the struggling started. All the abilities they possessed, all their power, all their conceit; all useless. That's when the panic started. That's when the *screaming* started. They stopped. Eventually. While Molly was still alive in her bubble we'd tried everything to get her out. My father's incredible strength was useless. He couldn't budge that bubble an inch despite that fact that I'd seen him uproot 100 year old oak trees with his bare hands and throw them across a river. My mother's ability to cut through a steel girder with little more than a stroke of her finger couldn't produce so much as a scratch. We've tried a million different ways with a thousand different abilities since then. My bubbles are eternal. They can't be cut. They can't be burned. They can't be broken. They can't be moved. My bubbles are forever.
I still think about it. I know everyone else thinks about it, too. Lots of them, anyway. After I'd been cut down from the sprinkler pipe and asked hundreds of questions by dozens of different authority figures and desperate, heartbroken parents, I had plenty of time to think about it. So did they. They all did. You don't get a lot of time in your bubble but your bubble is everlasting. They know that now. They all know. They all smile. There isn't a place I've been in the last 40 years where hundreds of thousands of smiling mummies don't sit a foot off the ground smiling their enduring smiles. Smiling in their bubbles. Just like Molly.
I suppose someday I’ll stop smiling. Eventually. | 2020-02-26T08:04:31 | 2020-02-26T07:39:34 | 147 | 86 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract. | Of course, first I had to test if it was actually real. Of course the many people on the internet said they'd done it before, but there was no proof of it.
I was about to summon a demon.
I'd gotten all the necessary supplies, and had set them up. I was all done, everything between me and the perfect revenge was just a chant away.
I started chanting in words I recognized to be Latin.
*Figures.*
I didn't stop chanting, even when the edges of the sigil lit up. Instead, I grinned evilly and continued. I couldn't believe that it was actually working, to some extent. The chant went on for minutes, but I couldn't stop. Was Satan ignoring my call? Or just busy?
I knew I was done when a bright light flashed, and formed in a humanoid shape. I got on my knees and offered it a bowl of goat blood (don't ask me where I got it). It took the bowl off my hands and consumed it, now being able to take on a humanoid form.
"So... sup."
My eyes widened on their own. Did Satan just--
"Before you ask, no. I'm not Satan."
The figure in the middle of the sigil appeared to be somewhere my age. They were wearing a beanie, a hoodie and regular jeans. I got up again.
"Who are you?"
"Me? Kid, I'm the one you summoned. My name is written all across this sigil!"
I checked the site. They were right, they weren't Satan. They were a lower rank demon called Jorgromoth.
"Call me Moth for short. What up, though? What's your shtick?"
Moth had started scrolling through... a phone. Did demons have phones?
"I... uh..."
I was at a sudden loss for words. I'd expected something more... threatening. This demon was shorter than me!
"Well, today I got a piece of paper..."
"Congrats, mate."
"...anyways, so someone signed their soul over to me."
They actually put away their phone, and looked up.
"Did they, now?"
I got my notebook from my bag. It was written in *his* terrible handwriting, but it was unmistakably there.
"*I hereby sign my soul over to you, in exchange for your lunch money.*"
It was simple, but his signature was there, right next to mine.
"Oh, wow. How did you get this dude to sign it?"
"I didn't. He thought it would be a sick joke."
They took the notebook, and grinned. They trailed their finger over the signature, causing it to glow.
"Ha! Sick joke, my ass. What do you want me to do with it?"
Well, that was it for me. I hadn't actually expected I'd get that far, really. Truthfully, I hadn't expected the ritual to work. Or for the contract to be real. I hadn't *actually* prepared a wish...
"I... don't know."
"You... *don't know!?* Are you crazy!?"
They squint their eyes and cock their head. It's a look that's calling me stupid, no matter how I look at it.
"No, I... I didn't actually expect any of this to work, and--"
"Rude."
"--I was wondering, do you maybe have any suggestions?"
They smile. And then grin. And then smirk. And then, they burst out in a fit of laughter.
"I'm sorry, you're asking an entity of evil what I'd do with a soul?"
"Yeah, why not? | "…What is this?" The infernal being inquires as it clutches a crumpled piece of notebook paper in its talon. The room is completely dark save for the eyes of fire currently peering down upon me from within the summoning circle.
I snap my fingers and let the sound echo off the walls of the otherwise silent room. "THAT, my sir demon lord, is a soul," I declare proudly, "and I'd like to trade it for a wish."
Most people spend their spare time between third and fourth period frantically scrawling on pages of forgotten homework, fixing up their hair and makeup in the bathroom, or engaging in idle chatter with friends while strolling down the halls. Not many people spend it etching a lopsided circle of foreign symbols and runes onto their gymnasium floor, using instructions from a WikiHow article on how to summon a demon.
Not many, but there's definitely at least one person.
"Listen. I have calculus in 5 minutes," I say as I shove wrinkled notebooks and binders into my backpack, "so if we could speed this along that would be really great."
"…" The demon says nothing, but the fire in its eyes seems to grow more violent. I wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead. "Is there any way you could turn those things down?" I ask, "I'm broiling in here."
The demon readjusts its fiery gaze onto the piece of paper. "Let me say this once more: in order to make a trade with me, Demon Lord Torzon of the Eighth Layer of Hell, Loyal Servant of Bengroth the Great, Slayer of Garzach the Terrible-"
*"Oh god not the intro again"*
"…" The sizzling sound of water meeting fire reaches my ears, followed by small plumes of steam radiating off the demon.
"Oh geez," I sigh. "Are you crying…again?"
Sizzle. "It's just-" Sniffle. "I d-don't get to introduce myself all too often…" the demon chokes through pained breaths.
I drop my bag to the floor and descend into a seated position. "Listen," I start, "we've already gone over this. I'm sorry you’re the ugly dumpling of the Eltords or whatever, but I've summoned you here for a reason, okay? So why don't you take a deep breath and-"
"You know, I was in love," whispers the demon, "...**once**." A tragic sigh rakes through the demon's body, its eyes staring wistfully into the corner of the room.
I bury my face into my hands and groan. "Oh god, a backstory? *Now*? Seriously?!"
"She was a serpent and I, a mere underling at the time…" The demon continus, chuckling forlornly.
"Stop. STOP." I cross my arms frantically in front of my face, breaking the demon's pensive state. "Please for the love of Satan. I've done as you've asked. The paper you're currently reducing to ash contains the formal relinquishment of Billy from Class 1-A's soul. Yes, it's written in crayon, and yes, he did in fact spell 'soul' like 'sole', but the intent of the letter still stands! I am hereby granting you Billy's soul in exchange for one (1) of my demands. If you do that, I will happily release you and never summon you again. I swear it."
The demon stands silent for a moment. "You'll…never summon me again?" It asks hesitantly.
"Yes!" I affirm hurriedly. "I will never ever EVER call you to this dingy school room again, and you can move on with your existence like this incident never happened." I smile reassuringly.
The demon sheepishly drags its cloaked foot across the dusty floor. "So…," It starts uncertainly, "you…," Sizzle. "...never want to see me again?" A crescendo of sobs fill the room. I press my forehead into the cold linoleum floor and try to think back to the last time I experienced the emotion called joy. "M-my first true friend that I've made in the last millennium and t-t-t-they d-don't NEED me anymore! Oh the humanity, the betrayal, Great Bengroth say it isn't so!"
Suddenly the scent of the room is very reminiscent of the accidental fires my brother and I had to put out in our youth after lighting old piles of trash on fire for fun. I close my eyes and let the putrid yet nostalgic scent overtake me. Abruptly a blaring sound rattles my brain, and briefly I wonder if my moment before death has taken its shape as sound rather than seeing the tunnel of light, but I'm soon jerked away from that fantasy by human voices in the distance.
"Fire!! Fire!!"
"No running! Everyone get into single file lines!"
"Oh god we're all going to die!" "Shut up and make your way towards the front gates!"
I look up, my eyes skipping over the idiot heaped on the floor, and spot the pulsing red light fixated on the ceiling. "Great. You set off the fire alarm," I announce dryly. I rise from the floor and sling my backpack over my shoulder. "Well, this has been…" I trail off as the demon's wails, the fire alarm's screech, and my peer's chatter intertwine into what I can only designate as Hell's Mixtape. "Right then." I tip my head. "I'll be off."
I turn on my heels and exit from the mess that I've created but will *certainly* not clean up, and weave myself through the now deserted school halls. The suggestion of a hasty exit weighs heavily as abandoned papers and personal belongings litter the floors, lockers hang half open, and school desks stand at disheveled angles.
I continue my unhurried walk as the fire alarms and the now approaching fire trucks play me out, when my foot crunches on a discarded planner opened up to today's date. I reach down and pick it up, scanning the sullied page. "Oh right, looks like I did get my wish after all," I remark.
I toss the book behind me and whistle in tune of the fire trucks as I walk through the school doors. The booklet falls flat where it was found, the page showing a note written in black and highlighted several times over faces upward: "Calculus Exam - TODAY!" | 2021-03-26T22:08:22 | 2021-03-26T20:55:10 | 1,065 | 288 |
[WP] You have just been kicked out the Adventurer's guild for finishing all of the quests by yourself in a week and single-handedly causing an unemployment crisis in the village. | “You just don’t do that, you know?” the guildmaster glares down at me from her raised chair. Besides the crackling of the stone fireplace, it’s a quiet night at the guild hall. The many tables are eerily vacant, and the tapestries hanging on the wall seem just a touch sinister. Just me standing uncomfortably in the center of the long room facing my not-too-happy boss. She runs her hands through her hair while sifting through several papers at her desk, “All the up-and-coming adventurers need something to do. There’s only so many potions which need brewing and imps which need to be caught.”
I shuffle my feet on the ground, “Well I also took those dragon slaying quests-”
My guildmaster’s sharp voice cuts me off, “That’s fantastic but again, there’s only so many dragons which need to be slain. Other people want to have a chance at them.” She smoothes her simple green clothing and points to the mess of paperwork in front of her, “Look at this. I still have to mark these as completed, and these all have your name on them. This is a week’s worth of quests.”
“I don’t really see the problem. These quests are issues which need to be resolved, and I did just that. More will come, and other people can do those.” I smile proudly, “If anything, this is great because the citizens of the surrounding kingdoms will have nothing to worry about.” A long pause lingers between us as she sighs loudly again and continues to shuffle through the mountain of paperwork. Part of me pities what I left for her to deal with.
The guildmaster finally looks up at me, “Why did you join us? What made you choose this life?”
Shrugging, I spit out the first thing which rolls along my mind, “I like adventure. I don’t really want to sit around baking cakes all day like my parents do.”
“Then I’m sure you understand how awful it would feel if you were denied that opportunity by someone who ran around taking all the adventure away, right?
“Well,” I begin, but I take a deep breath to piece out my words.
“There’s no rules against it?” her face is unimpressed, “Is that what you’re about to say? We’re a guild. We work together, yet I never see you going out on quests with other members. This wool gathering quest right here,” the guildmaster pulls a little slip with a little smiling sheep doodled on it from the pile before her, sending several papers drifting to the floor, “is a perfect example of what you could have walked one of the newer guild members through. There are some rules which just don’t need to be spoken or written out.” She points to the plaque by the dining hall entrance then to the plaque outside the housing hall, “Do we need to tell you not to take all the bread from the baskets for yourself? Do we need to ask you not to loot your colleagues’ chests?”
For a moment, my head pounds with hot blood, but I bite my tongue, “I did just fine without anyone’s help, and I’m sure I can say the same for all our recruits. They’re plenty capable.” I glance at the statues behind me: statues of legendary heroes of times past, immortalized by stone and chisel. Their blank stares pierce through me. “All of those people, I’m sure they could handle every quest on board and finish them within a day.”
“None of them did. You’re the first person we had to pull in. Heroes much stronger than you or I can ever dream of being, yet they still have the decency to give the little people a chance, and even help them out too. We’re adventurers, not pirates,” she sighs once again. With how much she’s been doing that I’d be convinced she just ran a week’s worth of quests herself. “Look, I intended this to just be a warning, but it’s clear that’s not going to be enough.” She points at the doorway with one of her rulers, “You’re dismissed.”
“Is that all you have to say to me or...,” I pause as I slowly realize what might be happening. A cold shiver runs down my arms as I step outside into the night, “or is this it for me and the guild?
The guildmaster continues as if I never said anything, “Here’s your next quest: learn a bit of courtesy, some consideration maybe. It’s much harder than it seems, and plenty of people I’ve seen have yet to complete it. I certainly don’t blame you for never being able to finish it, but if you do, I’m sure you’ll be welcomed back.”
And with that, the doors were shut.
~
Thank you for reading. If you have any criticisms or comments, please make them heard. I am always trying to improve. | "Hey, is the guild-hall under construction or something?" Venyl called out to the receptionist standing in front of the doors, wrapping them up with yellow tape.
She notices him, rushing to finish putting the tape down as Venyl neared her. Just as she placed the last bit of tape, Venyl was standing in front of her. She sighs as Venyl stood in front of her, nearly quaking from excitement as he talked with her.
"Is the U.A.G upgrading the guild?"
"No, they're shutting it down..." She spoke sassily, walking away from Venyl as he followed. A confused look arose on his face.
"What!? Why?" Venyl shouted, gaining the attention of fellow guild members as they gave him a nasty look, scoffing at him.
"Do you even know how United Adventurers Guild works?" She turned around to face him. Fear arose in her eyes as she began walking away faster, facing her head forward.
"What do you mean?" Venyl called out to her, jogging to keep up.
"You completed every quest we had. Meaning that you'll be participating in the Adventurers' Trial, do us a favor and skip town. You'll only ruin the village further by staying."
"Adventurers' Trial? That's just a rumor. Do you actually think they go around collecting random people just because-," Venyl is hit on the back of his head before he could finish speaking.
"Don't turn around if you know what's good for you, Ms. Olease." A gruff, indeterminable voice spoke from behind her.
The receptionist continued walking forward without hesitation. She heard the sound of a body being dragged away as she continued to her home. She reaches her house, putting a red x over a picture of Venyl on her wall with a marker. She hesitates as she stared at the picture of his face with ink on it.
She hears a knocking at her door. She walks down the stairs of her house to open it and sees a sack of coins sitting on her welcome mat. She drags it into her house as she slammed the door shut, locking it. She counts out the golden tokens, just enough for the guild to get their share for completing the mission. She packed her belongings, preparing to travel to the next town, knowing that the current one wouldn't last long without support from the U.A.G.
Venyl sits still, bound to a chair, gagged, and hardly conscious as he hears the voice of an articulate woman speaking to him in a monotone voice. He struggles to no avail. The darkness of the room blinded him. He felt as if he were being suffocated by it.
"Congratulations, you meet the requirements needed to become a Hero. Your tests will begin tomorrow."
Venyl recognizes the voice. His eyes dart open as he scours through the darkness in panic.
The lights in the room turn on. Venyl sees a familiar woman standing before him, his old guild master.
"You can't run from destiny, Venny." She spoke as she walked out of the room. Her monotone voice still active. The lights shut off as she closed the doors.
//New Part Edited in.\\\\
Time slowly dwindled as Venyl remembered bits of his past. The day he'd first joined the U.A.G was when he had nothing left. As a young boy, he'd always been more physically adept than others. He slaved away at guildhalls to give his younger sister the best life he could.
The two of them lived alone, parentless due to the war that took place twelve years ago. At the age of fifteen and twelve, Venyl acted as a father figure toward her. He traveled from village to village, completing any quests he could get his hands on before leaving to the next.
At first, Venyl only cleared the quests he needed to survive. Then one day, his sister grew sick. He hadn't had enough money for the healers to heal her. The priestess's always healed him for free, scoffing at his sister when he brought her along. He decided then what he had to do. He began to clear away village quests at an unparalleled rate, leaving business closed and towns empty in his wake.
His sisters' sickness worsened during his travels. Even after he'd retrieved all the necessary tokens, they still refused to heal his sister. The priestess's appeared to be terrified at the sight of her. Maybe they were afraid of contracting the disease, or maybe it was something else.
His sister was at the end of her wits. She coughed out blood sporadically. The trails they walked on were littered with blood, giving animals a scent to hunt them down. Beasts, imps, and even humans tracked the two of them down. On one of their travels, it had been too much. They couldn't fend off against the innumerable amount of creatures chasing them down. The leaves crunched as night-time fell upon siblings. The full moon only further motivating the monsters that dwelled in the forest.
They were surrounded, cornered against a tree trunk. Venyl held his sister in his hands high into the sky, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and accepting his fate whilst at least trying to save his sister.
He began kicking away the wolves as they snarled at him. Just as one broke through his defense it was brought down by a purple light that flew through the forest. A woman revealed herself, sitting on a tree branch in semi-skimpy black and purple clothing, smoking a pipe as she pointed her finger at the two siblings, blowing smoke out of her mouth into the air. Embers from the pipe fell, setting her clothes on fire, spreading to the trees quickly as she cursed.
"Fuck!" She tore began to pat herself in an attempt to quell flames on her body, ignoring the rest of the forest that'd slowly been engulfed by the embers that spread. As she finished putting out the flames on her body, she spritzed a purple, powdery substance onto the forest. It put the fires and knocked out the animals of the forest, including Venyl and his sister.
She jumped down from the branch she was perched on, landing on top of the wolves that surrounded the children, killing them with a stab from her heel. She walks toward the children, kneeling down to inspect them. She notices a mark on the arms of the two, The Marks of Fate. She carried the two of them back to her cabin, which had also been set on fire. She sighs as she began looking for another place to crash in with both kids in hand
She finds a hut in the outskirts of the forest after traveling a long way. Venyl awoke, noticing he was still alive. He squirmed as the woman let him to the ground.
"Whoever you are... can you please save my sister?" Venyl begged, falling to his knees as blood poured from the wounds on his body.
"Firstly, my name is Julie, you should learn the names of people before asking for a favor. Secondly, do you know how many people will die if your sister lives?" Julie spoke sassily, yet naggingly at the same time, waggling her finger at the young boy.
"Just stay asleep, I'll fix everything," Julie states, knocking the boy out with blunt force from her fist on the top of his head.
'This bloodline should have died off during the war...' She thought to herself, looking at the young boy and girl as they snoozed.
"Sorry, Bleige, Ashin, I can't afford another one," Julie says to herself as she sets the little girl down in the forest softly, abandoning her.
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[u/AlfredoOreos](https://www.reddit.com/u/AlfredoOreos/), Still updating the story, stay tuned. | 2021-05-02T22:58:21 | 2021-05-02T22:12:27 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] The Prince thought poverty would be more enriching and insightful. Instead it's just hard drudgery. The Pauper refuses to change places. Your parents believe you but like the boy better. They've offered you a fiefdom. The prince is incredulous. | The previous Prince of Prinania, Percy, pouted while pondering the words of the town crier as he continued to repeat the recent post.
“Prince Percy to be given his own fiefdom after a recent change in personality toward the people! Those in his fiefdom rejoice!” the crier relayed once more.
“Good for the prince,” someone next to Percy said as he walked by.
“I wanted my own land. Why did Mother and Father give it to the poor? How could he have hypnotized them?” Percy rambled to himself, partly to cover the growl of his stomach once more.
“You know, you look a bit like Percy,” a man looked him over. “Why, I may have confused you for the prince were it not for the grime on your face and the crown sans your head!”
“I am the prince. That filthy, disgusting poor is an imposter,” Percy grumbled.
“You certainly sound like the prince!” the man chuckled. “I am glad you are not in control with such an attitude.”
“So you think this is fair? Living in this toilet with people who almost never have food while they live a lavish life?” Percy asked.
“How do you mean?” the man asked, turning toward Percy with full attention.
“Have you never considered it? Why are you here while he lives a life of luxury without consideration for where his next meal will come?” Percy asked, his stomach accenting his point.
“That’s the way it is,” another woman stopped her travel through the market as she considered the words. “The prince is better off than us. If we had money then it would be different.”
“But I am telling you to think beyond the prince,” Percy implored, enjoying the attention he had such a hard time coming by these days in the slums. “Like you, dirty woman, what is it you do most days?”
“Why, I gather herbs from the outskirts of town to sell in order to feed my family,” she answered.
“So you are saying you work most days to feed the people in your home?” he asked.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“And the king, queen, and prince? What do they do every day in order to feed their family?” Percy asked.
“Why… I don’t know,” she shrugged, not having considered the idea before.
“Nothing! They do absolutely nothing to leave in their means!” I pointed out.
“Well, what about taxes, hmm?” the man pointed out.
Percy relished in the fact that he had a modest crowd the size of the town crier’s now.
“Taxes?” Percy said, standing taller as his points became more salient. “Ah, right taxes. Have you seen the king collect taxes himself?”
“Well, no,” the man shrugged.
“Then you have heard of him collecting taxes from anyone? Perhaps from one of your friends or neighbors?” Percy opened his arms, allowing for anyone present to answer the question.
“He has tax collectors!” someone called from the back.
“Ah, so that begs my original question. If the king uses tax collectors to take our taxes, then what does the king do?” Percy asked louder as the crowd continued to grow.
The crowd looked to one another, embarrassed by the fact that they did not know the answer.
“Nothing?” someone up front asked, with the response received by a series of chuckles.
“Exactly!” Percy pointed to them confidently to the shock of the crowd. “I was… I have been in the presence of the royal court and can attest that they do absolutely nothing! What is it that you do?” Percy pointed to a random crowd member.
“I catch fish,” he answered, raising the day’s haul.
“And you are as rich as the king?” Percy asked.
“No!” he laughed.
“Why not? Why is the man who does nothing rich while the working man supports his livelihood?” Percy asked.
The crowd looked to one another more curiously.
“And you smelly man, what is it that you do?” Percy asked another man.
“I… I beg,” he admitted. “I beg for meals and food most days.”
“So you do nothing, yet you are not rich?” Percy answered without missing a beat.
“Y… yeah!” the man said, the realization dawning on him. “Why is that?” he asked.
“Why indeed!” Percy boomed. “Why is it that the rich have gathered all the wealth from our own pockets through their system of taxes, and yet we have nothing in return?”
The crowd’s smaller mumbles grew to quiet agreement.
“Why is it that the fisherman goes hungry if he catches no fish, but the king eats well all the same?” Percy asked.
The audience went to loud agreement.
“What prevents us from changing these things?” Percy asked.
The riled up crowd waited for an answer with bated breath.
“Ourselves!” Percy pointed to the sky. “Together — under my incredibly intelligent leadership — we can change the way we are treated in this society! We can change our lives!”
As the crowd began chanting Percy’s praises, he realized he had, in fact, learned something among the poors. He realized his aspirations were too small as a prince. He did not need to beg for his own fiefdom. He only needed to manipulate the masses to his favor.
He would have it all.
__________
Come by /r/Nazer_The_Lazer for more stories! | You know, a couple years ago I never thought about royals much. They just... were. Why should I care about the darling prince's birthday when my mother and I were struggling to get food after my father was drafted? Is there a reason the oh-so-great Queen's fainting spell at some ball or other should worry me when *my* mother was sick, without any money or medical care? Should I feel enraged at the "terrible" country to the South when it was *our* King drafting my friends and neighbors?
See, I answered those questions with a big, fat "no." And can you blame me? Our life had been hard enough before, but after the war started it just got worse. My mother would talk with me about the town's gossip sometimes, when we were sitting together eating our cold stew for dinner. It was easier to talk then to let that unbearable silence stretch on and on, and so we did. Heh, if only it was as easy as I made it sound just then.
According to soldiers, the war had started when Erletine (apparently that was what the country bordering us on the south was called; honestly I couldn't care less) had invaded our territory, (*Gasp,* horror of horrors!) but the baker whispered that it was because they had turned down the prince's offer of a marriage alliance. The blacksmith's wife, however, said it was because ore deposits had been found just past the border.
See what I mean? I hated that I knew this stuff! But still, it was a way to connect with my mother when it felt like we were drifting farther and farther apart every day. Honestly, I don't think she cared either, but after my father was drafted for the war, she just... well, it wasn't easy for her. She really loved him, and I think she took the draft as a death sentence.
I mean, she wasn't wrong, but she just... shut down. It was really hard for me, losing both parents at the same time. But after a few months she started to talk again, and it seems to have been getting better -- she even secured a job as a cook for Baron Alton's family. Course, that meant I didn't get to see her as often, but at least we had some money -- if she had gotten sick again, we probably could have gotten her medicine that time, not just prayers.
I had kind of expected it to get worse again after the letter came telling us that my father had been killed. She didn't react at all when it arrived, and I was so worried she was just going to... slip away again. But when I snuck downstairs to check on her, I saw her burning the paper, anger all over her face. I'd never seen her as angry as that -- and I'd once managed to burn part of the barn down when I was 7.
I guess that anger kept her going, though I've never been quite sure exactly what she was angry at. The King? The prince? Erletine? I guess I was angry at all of them to an extent, but that look in her eyes, that pure, focused anger -- I never knew who it was for, and she never told me.
Our village was pretty insignificant, all things considered. Wasn't really near anything important, and Baron Alton did a pretty OK job. He delivered taxes to the royal family on time and wasn't on the receiving end of any big revolts, so no one really payed him much attention.
I guess that's why the prince chose our village. Small, middle of nowhere, no one to ask too many questions -- perfect for an idiot noble to enact his harebrained scheme that he obviously hadn't put 3 minutes of thought into. Honestly, it was insulting! And it wasn't just because *he* was insulting -- which he was, mind you.
The carriage rolled up in the evening, when my mother and I were both here. (Seriously -- if you're trying to be inconspicuous, why would you come in the royal carriage?) He walked right up to the door with a lady about my mother's age. She was pretty -- beautiful, in fact -- but the only thing I noticed was her hands. They were calloused, but not from hard labor -- the kind you get from holding a sword. I knew because the guards all had hands like that, and Gerald's father, who'd somehow made it back from the army, did too. Women serving as guards was pretty rare, but not unheard of.
"Is this the residence of Robert Corrington?" she asked, voice tired and yet condescending, not even bothering to look at my mother. I saw that look in my mother's eyes again, then -- pure, unfiltered anger. But it passed before the prince or his guard could notice. "No," my mother responded, an edge to her voice. "He died 4 months ago... serving in the army."
"And you are his wife?" asked the prince, eyes roving over our home. "I *was,*" my mother practically hissed, "until he *died.* Serving the royal family in the war." The prince waved a hand dismissively, then pushed past her, shoving her to one side and continuing into the house. Quickly, I put a hand on my mother's arm. The prince deserved her anger, but she could get in serious trouble for expressing it.
His eyes roved around the house a minute more before landing on me. "Boy," he said simply, "you are going to take my place, and we," he said, gesturing to himself and the guard, "are going to take ours." It was undoubtedly an order, and and he spoke in a condescending tone that made me want to throttle him.
A silence stretched out before I managed to choke out any words. "What?" I finally said (well, shouted, but same thing). Before I could say anything else, the guard stepped forward. "Outside," she said simply, stepping through the door and gesturing for me and my mother to follow.
Once we were a good distance away from the house (and out of earshot) she began to talk. She explained about the prince -- and hey, it turned out we had something in common with the King and Queen. It turns out *everyone* hated the prince! (That included the guard -- she didn't say it out loud but it was *very* apparent from her tone.) Then she explained the Queen's scheme.
"He thought he came up with the idea," she sighed, "which is honestly hilarious, because the prince has *never* come up with an idea before. Not a good one, not a bad one, not ever." I still disliked the guard for the way she'd talked to my mother, but that sentence made me like her a bit more.
We were to become the new prince and his servant or gardener or whatever my mother wanted to be. I'd be educated to make political decisions, receiving the royal education that the prince had completely ignored. And we wouldn't want for anything ever again.
Honestly, it wasn't like we had a choice, but the idea of having an endless supply of food and medicine had been astonishing to me. My mother's health had been getting worse, and this meant that she might be able to *survive* the next bout of illness.
Plus, the war would end -- given that it had been started by the prince being a spoilt brat and also his extremely low intelligence. (Apparently he had tried to steal one of the Erletine crowns. No, not become royalty. He actually tried to steal a crown. I guess he liked how it looked?)
Besides, it would mean the prince got stuck with my life and I *really* didn't like him. At all. So that was definitely a point for "go along with the plan and don't get executed."
King Jon and Queen Bella probably don't want their stupid little scheme in a history, but hey, they were responsible for the war too, along with all the stupid laws that made my life hell. "Peasants can't leave their town without the permission of their Noble," and "The draft includes people down to age 14" to name a few.
*--Introduction to "A "Prince's" History of the Fourth Era" by Prince Fredrick II--*
>If you enjoyed, r/StoriesOfAshes is home to more of my writing! | 2021-12-25T14:17:21 | 2021-12-25T12:59:55 | 100 | 33 |
[WP] You recently upgraded your smartphone software and afterwards a new app called 'Forget' is next to 'Reminders'. You decide to test it out. | She let me see her phone password, once. It wasn't for very long, but it was enough. I kept it filed away in a dark place, because I knew I'd need it someday.
It started small. I missed an anniversary. She didn't hold it against me--not quite--but I could see the hurt in her eyes. So I accessed her phone remotely and made her forget.
The next day she came to me in tears and apologized for missing the big day. She'd overslept maybe, or just lost track of the time. Of course, I forgave her. What good husband wouldn't?
And so it went. Just the little things. Tiny mistakes, misgivings, doubts. To her, our marriage was an uninterrupted stream of perfect moments. To me, it was paradise.
Then little Reynald died. And I should have known better--should have trusted the warning label that cautioned against skips of three years or more--but I was desperate. The light had gone out of her eyes.
I ran a deep cleanse. I purged it all, vacations, parties, everything. She woke up thinking it was still 2018, not quite the twenties. I paid off an entire team of doctors to swear up and down she'd been in a coma.
And it was good, for a time. She was happy again. Sometimes she'd walk past the room where our nursery used to be (now boarded up, of course, I'm not an idiot) and frown a little. But a quick purge and she was right as rain again.
Yes, she was perfect. Right until the moment I found her hanging from the ceiling of Reynald's room, spinning slowly to the rhythm of the overhead fan.
I can still see her. Emerald green eyes, bulging from pale skin. Golden hair spilling down across her blouse, twisting like an obscene wind-chime.
I remember everything. But it's all right. The funeral's done with. I burned the old house to the ground. I've got a new flat now, by the sea. No couples, no kids.
Time to move on.
Time to Forget. | At first, he used it for the little things. When he first noticed the app was there, that’s what he used it for – just to Forget the embarrassing stumble he had on his way into the supermarket. The gaggle of girls waiting idly by the sliding doors had erupted into laughter at the sight of his embarrassment, and it took him all of two seconds to pull out his phone and tap in his request. Within a few minutes, the memory was gone. It seemed so simple.
He didn’t tell his friends at first – when he tried to bring it up casually, he was met with stares and hushed whispers. He resolved then that they didn’t need to know about the app. An hour later, still smarting slightly from the rejection of his friends, he made sure that memory was gone too. A few weeks later, a particularly observant friend would bring up his strange suggestion again, and he would race into the bathroom in wild panic, wondering how the man could know about his secret.
Then came the girl. Her hair fell just below her shoulders and seemed to turn a different shade of brown with every passing minute, and when she caught him staring at her in wide-eyed wonder from across a crowded bar, her painted lips parted in silent laughter. He could not have known that she had seen him trip in the supermarket, and that was the cause of her delight. Had he chosen not to Forget it, he might not have walked away wearing a shirt dripping with the remnants of an angrily-tossed drink, and his cheek might not have stung so much from the girl’s disgusted slap. Not to worry, though – she was soon to be Forgotten too.
The next week, she was in that bar again and when she saw him pushing against the flow of customers towards her seat at the bar, she prepared to toss another drink. It was only when he collapsed on to the barstool next to her, face-down drunk and oblivious to her fury, that she realised he didn’t even recognise her. In the morning he would groggily tell his handy little app to Forget the whole night – there was no way he could remember it even sober, but he wanted to make sure.
That’s how he justified Forgetting the ex-girlfriend whose infuriatingly healthy face appeared on the side of a social media page as he was sat inside one day, blocking out the friends who were now starting to worry about his strange behaviour. Once he had lost her memory, he also lost all recollection of the dog they had misguidedly bought together. Seven years of loyalty ended in a two-hour trip to the pound, as he stubbornly refused to look after some unknown stray while he had more important things on his mind.
How about all his other failed relationships? It was almost laughable now, to think that he hadn’t immediately deleted those shipwrecks once he found the app! Three more ex-girlfriend disappeared from his memory, along with a roomful of once-nostalgic nonsense in his house that was quickly left for the local homeless.
Hey, his degree wasn’t doing anything for him! Instead of the three years of riotous rebellion and non-stop parties that had been promised to him in the glowing leaflets of a dank careers office in school, he had got stress and acne. It would be preposterous to let it fester in his memory when he could be free of the guilt and anger that anchored it to his modern mind, and so he went ahead and Forgot that too.
Without his degree, he didn’t have a job, so as he was sat in the car with a cardboard box of desk items in the passenger seat, he stubbornly tapped his whole career into the app. Why not forget every job he’d ever had? He wanted a fresh start, and he could Forget the mistakes he had made before. Temptation beyond endurance.
Here was a man who had lived for thirty years on the planet and yet hadn’t the memories to justify a single day. When his mother didn’t hear from him, she tried to intervene – and she was soon Forgotten too. His whole childhood was gone over a weekend, and it took one Monday to clear the teenage years from his mind. He called it a purge of bad memories; the newspaper journalist who found him called it ‘app-obsessed insanity’.
As a characterless husk in the body of a man, he had nothing but his tattered clothes and his name. On a sunny Saturday morning, he grew so desperate for something to Forget that he typed in that name. The app gobbled it up, as usual, and spat out an error. He tried again. Same error. He decided that perhaps there was a greater force out there for him which was trying to keep him safe after all.
But the next day, he hit the slump again, and there was no error to greet his mistake this time. All that met him after the words were written was an empty street and an empty world. So he wandered on over the cobbles, holding his hand to his head and asking himself what came next. Though he didn’t remember what had brought him here, the app couldn’t erase the feelings created by whatever had occurred, and so he walked aimlessly on through rain and cloud with a cold anger in his belly and a deep aching in his heart. | 2014-06-02T18:23:28 | 2014-06-02T17:32:33 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] Your child has been complaining about monsters in their room for a while now. You don't think anything about it, until they draw a picture of it and you recognize it from your own childhood. | She stared at the picture.
"Sam, where did you see this?"
"Under my bed."
She looked at her little boy, his cowlick standing up, his face serious.
"This is the monster under the bed?"
"Yeah Mom, that is what I have been trying to tell you."
She stared at the crayon drawing. Of all the 64 colors in his crayon box
and the dozens of markers, he had drawn a dark gray hand. Thick and covered in coarse hair with knobby knuckles.
It didn't get any less scary, even after 20 years. She looked up into the frightened brown eyes of her son.
Standing up, she went over to the fireplace and picked up the fire iron.
"It shows up when the lights are off, doesn't it?"
He looked up at his mom's face, chubby and round, her normally vague eyes cold and intent.
"Uh, huh."
"Well then, lets go see if it remembers me." | "It's your imagination" said Phil, impatient and tired. "Go back to bed. This is the last time."
Emily ran out of the room and fled up the stairs. I heard her sobbing on the way up. She hadn't even looked at me for an alternative answer before retreating. She'd already figured out that what Daddy says goes.
"I'm just going to settle her down, babe" I told him, getting up out of my seat before he could form an opinion on it. Phil glanced at me and then back to the TV. I took his silence as agreement.
Up in her room, I found Emily sitting on the bed with her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around her. The duvet had been pushed to the floor with just a corner still poking out from the dark space underneath her bed.
I sat down next to her and stroked her hair. Her face was hot to the touch and her hair moist.
"Honey, are you ok?"
She wouldn't speak, but did at least shift her gaze to look at me, instead of staring at the wardrobe door.
"Emily, you've just had a nightmare sweetie" I tried to comfort her. "Mummy used to have them too. But don't worry, none of it's real."
She held my gaze, looked right into my eyes, and whispered, "It's real."
Almost an hour later and I'd finally got her settled. Made my way downstairs, got a cold beer from the fridge and made my way back into the living room.
"That better be for me" Phil said, and I passed it over. Before he could ask what I'd been doing for the last 45 minutes there was a thud from upstairs and a scream. We both ran up, me in front and taking the stairs two at a time.
This time she was standing on the bed, right in the middle. Her eyes were wide open and she had a gash across her forehead. Blood had started to run down from it, one large drop that trickled round the top of her nose and past her eye, spilling onto her cheek like a fat red tear.
Phil cursed under his breath and I followed his gaze to see Emily's duvet, on the floor and moving. Before I could say anything he dropped to the ground to look underneath the bed. "There's nothing there" he said, bewildered. "There's nothing there."
I looked at my daughter standing petrified on the bed, a red stain spreading down her baby blue pyjamas, staring at the end of the room. "The wardrobe, Phil. It's in the wardrobe".
I ran from the doorway to my daughter, knelt next to her in the centre of the bed and clutched her to me. My knees were damp where she'd wet the bed in fear. I looked around for a weapon, something to fight back with, and instead my eyes found a drawing I hadn't seen before. A creature, with long dark arms and sharp nails. With soft, cold skin and large round eyes. Its belly was bulbous and its breath was sour. I knew this creature. I knew it from my nightmares.
Too late, I realised that Phil had approached the wardrobe, armed with nothing but Emily's hairbrush and a pink plastic saucepan. I shouted, "Wait!" but I didn't really want him to. I wanted to see what would happen next. I pulled Emily's face towards me, my arms around her head, muffling her ears.
A thin dark arm shot out from the now open wardrobe, and clutched Phil around the waist, as if they were to dance. He started to turn his head towards me, when suddenly he was gone. Pulled in to the wardrobe. The doors slammed shut behind him, with a serious sounding thud.
Phil had disappeared.
Just like Daddy did. | 2014-06-16T14:29:11 | 2014-06-16T14:27:52 | 88 | 40 |
[WP] Write a story that seems like a cliffhanger untill you reread the first line. | I guess I'm a traitor, if you think about it. I spent the past few days talking to this nice fellow from the bank, and now I'm about to repay him by using his passcodes to disable the alarm, so we can sneak in and empty the vault. I finish picking the lock, step into the lobby and make a beeline for the alarm panel. I key in the code, then motion for the rest of the crew to move in. I stay at the front entrance as a lookout as my teammates set up their tools and start working on the vault. It'll probably take an hour to crack it, but with the alarm turned off we're not really in a hurry. Nobody knows we're here.
Then I see the police cars pull into the parking lot, red and blue lights flashing. We're not getting away that easily...
| A warm winter coat made Devon's usual commute much more comfortable than usual, and he leaned back in his seat. His iPod was set to shuffle the entire library, and the people were all like him, keeping to themselves and enjoying (or appearing to) their ride on the train.
He looked at the old guy sitting across from him, just as the old guy started singing. The guy was ancient, but he had the voice of someone decades younger, and he was singing beautifully in Italian. Devon knew he'd have to tell his girlfriend about that later.
Devon looked around, further enjoying the ride. The old guy finished singing, and then all of a sudden there was just silence. Even the train seemed muted as a sense of growing dread filled Devon's chest. The tension built and he could almost hear it, a set of tones rising in pitch and volume.
He looked around the car to see if he could figure out what changed. Maybe one of the other passengers was doing something or looking at something.
They were gone. The car was empty.
Devon stood up as the lights started to flicker. First a blink, then two. Then the lights were off for as long as they were on.
"Hello?" Devon called. Nothing answered. Then the lights turned off for an interminable ten seconds, and a hissing gurgling laughter mocked him from the darkness.
Shapes moved in the shadows, indescribable. Devon began to sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The things in the shadows were crawling over each other, skittering, the mass of them moving toward him, the shadow seeming to engulf everything: seats, poles, floor and ceiling and walls. The shapes melted together into one formless beast with a gaping maw that opened to consume Devon just as the lights turned on.
The light banished the shadow creature, but all the other passengers were still gone.
What was happening?
Devon started looking for an emergency brake or something that he could use to stop the train and get out. There was nothing, no brake, no signs.
The lights flickered again, and he looked around in a panic. They were back on, except for the car at the end of the train.
Glowing eyes contemplated him from the car. When the lights came back on, however, nothing was there.
The lights in the next car turned off. Now, backlit by the lights behind, he could make out the shape of the body the eyes belonged to. An extended neck tilted the head to the side, as one elongated arm scratched the things head. The legs were uneven, and the thing limped, dragging the longer leg behind until it was even with the short leg. Then it would lurch forward. Ssssssss thump! Sssssss thump!
It approached the edge of the shadow, and Devon thought it would surely be defeated, just like the shadow had been. For a second it seemed like it was.
Then the light died in the next car. Thump! Sssssss thump! The light returned to the car as the monster left it.
Devon ran to the end of the train, trying to get out, through the door, something. He'd jump from the train to get from whatever that was, as long as he could escape.
The doors denied his attempts to pry them open. He beat his hands bloody against the glass, but it wouldn't shatter.
Running away just meant he had longer to contemplate his fate as the thing limped toward him. He could tell it grinned when it determined he had no place to go. A dark black tongue licked its lips and hideously large teeth.
The thing was in the same car as him now, and the lights went out. Devon screamed as the thing started to limp toward him, a hungry smile on its inhuman face.
It opened its mouth and bent down as he felt the door give way behind him. | 2015-03-30T18:27:03 | 2015-03-30T16:49:18 | 54 | 17 |
[WP] You've accidentally killed the Devil. God makes you the new Devil to replace the one you killed. | "It's called the Satan Clause"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you read the card, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I read it. So what?"
*Barnabus the angel pulls a magnifying glass from thin air, examining the microprint around the edge of the card*
"The Satan Clause: In putting on the cape and holding the pitchfork, the wearer waives any and all right to any previous identity, real or implied, and fully accepts the duties and responsibilities of Satan, Prince of Lies, in perpetuity to which some time the wearer becomes unable to do so, by either accident or design."
"What does that mean?"
"It means: If you put on the cape, you're the bad guy."
EDIT: thanks for the karma - nostalgiaphiles unite! Tons of really great and original stuff below from legitimate authors weren't just posting a goofy sketch - definitely worth checking out. | Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I didn't actually *kill* the Devil. He killed himself. Was I involved? Marginally. There was a wager, of course - the Devil is nothing if not a gambler - involving a guitar and my soul, which turned entirely on the fact that the Devil mistakenly believed Jimmy Page to be dead. Jimmy Page is not dead, but now the Devil is.
I was pretty pleased with myself for defeating the Devil and ending up in possession of Jimmy Page's hands (which are a bit spotted, but still quite deft). I didn't actually learn about the Devil's ultimate demise until the reports began coming in about all those souls of the damned wandering the Earth, tearing up flower beds and possessing school children and the like. It turned out that the Gates of Hell had been opened and now all the most wicked men and women and horses to have ever lived were free to do their worst once again (limited, of course, by their lack of a physical body).
I felt less good about all the evil spirits, but things only got worse when God came to visit.
Now, because I know the question will come up eventually, God is not a man. Or a woman. God is a being of pure light, formed roughly into the shape of an alpaca. God also prefers to be called Karl, but I think that may be confusing, so I'll continue to call God God.
God explained to me that the Devil's death was my fault (I would have argued this point, but God speaks very quickly and loudly, which is really a rather clever strategy, you must admit). God was quite clear on three points: 1) that Hell is a very necessary place, which God would gladly close should it ever become unnecessary, but we don't really seem to be trending in that direction; 2) that Hell needs a Master to guard the gates, administer the requisite tortures, and plan birthday parties; and 3) I would be that Master.
It was not a request. I have gathered that God does not make requests, and even when it appears that God is making a request it is actually a demand dressed up like a request. So off to Hell I went. With great sadness, I was forced to rehome my dog Pebbles with my sister, as dogs are not allowed in Hell. My cat, however, was welcomed readily.
So far - and it hasn't been all that long - I don't especially like Hell. The heat is unpleasant and while many Hell-bound led interesting lives prior to their damnation, they downplay and demure at every turn, hoping - I believe - that Hell may someday institute a parole system.
Worse still are the demons, all quite loyal to the original Devil, who do my bidding in the most lethargic and uninspired manner possible. I often hear them speaking behind my back, plotting my doom, hoping to install a Devil more to their liking. This is fine. I was unpopular in high school, also. Eventually they will come to respect me. Or they will tie me to a poll and take turns brushing their genitals across my face. One or the other.
My throne of skulls is uncomfortable. Ms. Meow-Meow finds the cat treats here unappealing. No one seems all that impressed with my flawless rendition of *Ramble On*. Hell, my friends, is truly hell.
So I would implore you to consider your choices there on Earth. Be good. Be kind. Be a dog, if at all possible. Avoid stabbing or strangling or wearing your ex-husband's rib cage as a vest. Hell is not for you. Unless, of course, you enjoy balmy temperatures and above average Led Zeppelin covers. And if that is the case, I would suggest you do your best to die before Sunday night, when I'll be doing the entirety of *Physical Graffiti*. Should be a good show. Maybe I'll see you then. | 2016-12-09T08:29:19 | 2016-12-09T08:22:15 | 3,471 | 56 |
[WP] For 30 minutes every day, everyone tries to kill you. Nobody but you remembers what happens during those 30 minutes. | I'm turning five today!
I'm very excited.
Mommy brought a lot of people. They gave me a lot of presents. But I can't wait for cake. Daddy said I'm a big girl now, that's why everyone is so happy.
They sing me happy birthday. I hold my breath so I can blow out all my candles at once.
"Happy birthday tooooooooo..." I can't hold my breath any more. I let out a big puff, and all the candles go out! I look at mommy and daddy so they can see how I'm a big girl now, but they're looking at me funny.
The room is cold now, and everybody is quiet. The grown ups start doing a weird twitching thing.
"Mommy...? Da - Ouch!" I look down and Aide, my baby brother, is biting my arm. He's only three.
"Aide! No biting! Ouch, you're hurting me!" Aide is biting me harder, and my arm is bleeding. I call mommy to help, but everyone is coming. They're moving slowly and they have weird faces. The room is cold.
I'm scared.
Mommy is holding the cake knife. She throws it at me and it cuts my shoulder. I scream and push Aide off my arm. I run.
I go outside and I scream for help. The cars turn and they come to me.
But they don't stop! I run again, but this time to my hiding spot under the porch. Everyone is scratching the wood, trying to get me. I scream and cry, but they can't hear me.
I think I'm there for a long time when they stop. I stay in my spot, keeping quiet so they don't hear me.
Mommy is calling me. I'm scared, but I tell her I'm hiding.
"There you are, sweetie!" She looks fine, but also confused.
"Why are you hiding? It's your birthday!" I want to tell her but I cry instead. I'm really scared. Mommy picks me up, trying to shush me.
"There, there, don't cry. You're a big girl now," she says. I nod my head and try to stop crying. Daddy is there too, and he's patting my back.
I'm a big girl. | It's day 20 of this nightmare. No matter what I do, everyone tries to murder me everyday. For around thirty minutes I'm assaulted by any human near me.
I don't know why.
That first day was horrifying. I was just in the store, buying lunch. And the clock was at 11:34 am. I remember staring at that time.
I was waiting for the cashier to ring me out. But instead of bagging my measly lunch, his hand hovered with my veggie wrap over the lasers. He just stared at me. Like he was calculating something.
I looked behind me to see if anyone else was noticing this. But when I turned, something smacked me in the side of the head. I dropped like a sack of bricks.
Shocked, I shuffled away backward. An old woman had struck me with her cane in my gorram face. She dropped it, but went for another bare hand strike but I rolled out of the way. I heard her back crack and she moaned. But she looked at me with hatred. I wasn't taking any chances with granny.
A girl with green hair and headphones had already dropped her backpack. She swung her fist toward me, but I dodged it. She hit the shelves instead. Liquor bottles hit against the floor, letting shards fall away. She growled, ignoring the sharp glass and moving toward me. She was on me but she slipped in the alcohol. She clawed her fingers toward me, ignoring the bottles entirely. Her hands became bloody as she reached for me.
I backed away as fast as possible, scrambling to stand. I pulled on the shelving units, spilling packs of skittles and snickers everywhere.
The cashier had dropped the sandwich long ago, and had reached behind the counter. I heard the cock of a shotgun.
A shotgun. At first I saw him aim it at green girl, but when I approached him, he dropped it. I was confused until he started climbing over the counter.
My heart plummeted. I got to my feet, but kept low as I tried to figure an escape route. Green girl was up, but slipping. I could conceivable weave down a different aisle. But granny coming for me, crawling on her hands and knees.
I heard a loud growl. Cashier was bounding toward me. He wouldn't let me get out!
I didn't know what to do but run through the back door and lock it. I heard them pounding against the door. They sounded like demons.
I got out the back and ran down the alley, emerging into the street. It was full of people who all stared at me as I passed. They had murder in their eyes. I moved faster. The more distance I covered the more random people started following me. At first I thought it was because my face was bleeding.
But then I realized my problem was much worse than I thought: some of them started running. I ran toward my car.
That's when it really got bad.
I was dialing 911 whilst sprinting from ten odd people when a car drove up on the sidewalk, sweeping my legs from under me. I flew through the window of a cafe and landed on a booth. I have no fucking idea how I survived but I did. Can't say the same for others.
The driver's head lolled to one side but still he was reaching for me. Then, and I shit you not, the people climbed through the window.
I was going to be trapped. I saw the customers starting to notice me. The chefs started fighting to get to me through the same tiny door. They were so rabid they lodged themselves in the doorway.
I saw people being trampled and climbed over, clawing in a wave of human bodies. The glass of the window was literally stabbing people to death but they seemed not to notice the pain. All over me! What did I do?! I didn't know!
I jumped on tables to avoid grabbing hands. A child grabbed my ankle and clawed at my jeans. Her mother I guess started swinging at me. I endured an onslaught until I managed to push both of them away.
Limping, I avoided the chefs, who were smashed in the tiny swing door. It was like they'd lost all brain function except the one that wanted to kill me!
For the second time today I sprinted through a restricted back room of an establishment and out into the alley. The alarm sounded but what did I care!
I bolted through alleys until I got to my car. I started it up, my hands and legs and face slicked in blood.
I was so scared. I just drove. I drove all the way home.
-—
I haven't seen my wife since then.
I was certain that whatever this was, it would affect her and my daughter too.
But all I could do was see myself in the news. Six people dead in some kind of frenzy. A dozen wounded. The scene was gruesome. Was it my fault people had died?
The police are looking for me but I'm scared they'll kill themselves by accident. I've told them I won't come in until they take precautions.
At least they believe me when I say I didn't provoke anyone.
Now I'm just waiting in the middle of nowhere until someone can help me. | 2017-03-13T08:31:27 | 2017-03-13T06:08:08 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] When a twin dies their brother/sister acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc. You've just discovered this phenomena, but so has your brother/sister | I looked up from the book.
He looked back at me.
"You believe this shit?"
He nods.
"If I kill you, I get your powers?"
He nods again.
"And if you kill me, you get mine?"
Another nod.
We sit in silence. His cereal looks soggy.
"You read these books back in high school. So, you knew the whole time?"
Again - the nod.
"Why haven't you killed me then?"
Finally, he speaks.
"You're kinda shit at everything."
| Ten candles slowly melting on top of an untouched birthday cake. Laura’s screams pierce the thin walls of the murky apartment and the fingers in my ears. The ice cream drips on the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
She’s hurting. My soul is hurting. I close my eyes. A cut in her eyebrow is leaking blood.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I need him to stop hurting her, but we promised each other to never interfere. We don’t want the physical pain twice, not the soul ache twice. The tears on my cheeks.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
A loud bang. Glass shattering. The break is sudden, like a phone call cutting off. Nothing. No soul ache. It’s just void. The door slams open and he stumbles in, reeking of alcohol and sweat. I make myself small in the corner.
“Izzy!” he slurs and points at the cake puddle. “Izzy, you clean this up, right now!”
I crawl under the table, out of the room. He’s blinded by the bottle. Laura’s still form, splayed out over the floor with a diamond halo around her head. Her shirt is ripped. Her eye is swollen and red. Bruises on her arms. Bleeding eyebrow.
“Laura?” I shake her body. “Wake up!”
Heavy footsteps behind me. “There you are! I told you to clean this shit up!”
I shake my head. “You killed her!”
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!”
“You killed her! You killed her!”
“You little…” His big hands crushing my shoulders. “... come here.”
My nails dig into his flesh. “YOU KILLED HER!”
I flail around me, screaming, kicking. There’s a nauseating crack. Then he’s lying there. Dark blood pooling around his head. Good.
My hands reach for my sister. “Wake up!”
My lips touch hers, filling her lungs with air. I’ve seen this on TV. I press down hard with my hands…
One… two… three…
One… two… three…
One… two… three…
***
I gasped for air and opened my eyes. The surgical lights shone brightly into my eyes. Laura cradled my face in her arms, just like I had held her all those years ago.
“How do you feel?” she said.
“Cold.”
The heaters of the pod slowly warmed my limbs and sent the blood rushing through my veins once more.
“Don’t move.” Gently, she covered my face with the mask, and it’s tiny needles pricked my skin. “You’re okay... your vitals look good.”
“How did it go?” I croaked.
“Good and bad.” She put a straw to my lips and let me drink. “Maraza is dead, and so are his goons. But…. he didn’t have the chip.”
“Why did you revive me, then? You need to go in again!”
“You’ve been out for almost month, Izzy. We need to wait.” She patted my shoulder.
“But we need the chip!”
“Your health is more important. Playing with death is dangerous, you know that.”
“It’ll disappear again…” I mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. “We can’t just stop…”
“We won’t,” she said and touched the pod with her hand. “I think it’s your turn to go in... and my turn to die...”
***
More at r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2018-02-25T08:05:44 | 2018-02-25T06:30:28 | 5,212 | 37 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to you, the butterfly whose life you just saved is a ancient master of the butterfly effect. As she flutters away she makes a strategically placed flap to repay your kindness. | The butterfly, whose life was spared,
Took off in joyous flight.
For you, a man, were full of care
And kept it from the light.
Unknown to you, and others still,
The truth behind its wings.
The power held behind its will,
The songs that it could sing.
So thus it flapped, the butterfly,
And let its breeze run free.
And though that breeze felt like a sigh,
Twas carried by the sea.
And when that sea breeze met the shore
The apple orchards shook
Some apples fell, say three or four,
But one, a child took.
That child, now full, slept early that night
Then took a morning walk.
He met a girl, all dressed in white.
For days and weeks, they’d talk.
Love took form as years went by,
Their lives, to each, they sworn
And all from that one butterfly,
A baby girl is born.
You are that girl’s grandfather because your heart was true.
But the butterfly was not the cause; the real cause was you. | Did you know we can see into the future? Well, kind-of.
None of us ever knew how to explain it, but we can. The feeling that we get, that sense of knowing that one thing will lead to another, about how an act of kindness will lead to prosperity, of how an act of defiance will lead to hardships.
As it turned out, butterflies could do it too, and far better than any of us.
It is the weave; the interconnected thread that links all of life together, one need only follow that path to find the link, to look at how it is all bound together by a single, unending piece of string.
Yet sometimes, we are caught in the string, like a spiders web unable to leave its binds and bound straight for whatever it is that comes next. And just like that, the interconnected weave that binds us all leads one thing to the other, like a domino effect, it all becomes one giant picture, revealed to us only at the end.
I only knew of the butterfly's beat, the one single tiny gust of wind that would send a perpetual storm in motion, like a snowball that continued to gain mass as it rolled down a hill.
My act of kindness was preservation, protection, as I made sure that each day I visited that park with my book in hand, I would watch and protect the cocooned caterpillar.
Some days, I would just sit there and watch, my book closed, lost in the self reflection of why I chose to see the caterpillar through its process. Perhaps because I felt that it was deserving of life, or perhaps because of whatever beautiful illustration its wings may sport. And it was a beauty I hoped it would share with the world.
I was there to witness it, the final birthing. What a remarkable process it was, the idea that a caterpillar turned into a mesh of amorphous goo only to regrow into a beautiful butterfly. And here I was, witnessing its birth.
As the butterfly final came forth, it spread its wings and I spread my smile. It was only the sudden flap of its wings, the first gust that would send everything in motion, that I had not expected.
Out of sudden start of being attacked by a butterfly, my awe was replaced by momentary panic, stumbling back from the bench from where I was sitting, and even worse, crashed into a cyclist.
"Oh, I am so sorry!" Said the cyclist, getting up from the ground and trying to help me up. And our eyes met, perhaps you can imagine how the rest of this story went.
"I will forgive you if you let me buy you dinner some time?" I was usually a nervous wreck when it came to woman, but this one carried an air of candid genuineness that made all that fly out the window, and the words slipped from my mouth the same way the butterfly escaped from its cocoon.
It wasn't all smooth sailing, there were times where words were said that weren't meant, and other times the spark of love dimmed to a weak flicker in the darkness.
Yet I remembered that butterfly, how it spent all that time, all the energy, to turn into something beautiful.
The years went by and life was had. It wasn't perfect, by any means. But it was life, and I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
It was upon my death bed when my children grew old and lost -as children do- that I was visited once more by a butterfly. The patterns upon its wings the same black and white as the one that set the ball rolling oh-so long ago. I knew it was impossible, butterflies never lived that long, yet something told me it was that same one.
It is true that we can look into the future, albeit only several seconds, where we can see the causality that links the universe together by a single thread.
But the butterfly? The butterfly could see into a lifetime.
***
If you enjoyed this, I do have my own subreddit now! /r/KikiWrites | 2018-03-02T11:59:17 | 2018-03-02T10:50:56 | 378 | 141 |
[WP] You go to hell, only to find out that hell has been overturned by humans. Turns out gathering billions of the most wicked of human, among them are several ruthless but brilliant rulers, commanders, and dictators, whom can no longer die, isn't such a good idea after all. | Hell was a terrible place.
I know that was an understatement but I felt that it had to be said and for the record I’d like to also say that I don’t deserve this.
What was this might you ask?
This, was being surrounded by history's greatest (or worst depending on your definition) killers in human history.
They were all in a meeting, wondering what to do with me.
“We should throw him out.” Yelled Hitler. “He doesn’t belong here!”
“Quiet you!” Answered Emperor Palpatine. “We need all the bodies we can get!”
“Hey!” I cried out. “I like Hitler’s idea! I don’t belong in Hell at all!”
“No no no.” A well dressed man answered. “He’s not talking about throwing you out of Hell, he’s talking about throwing you out of this building.”
“Uhhh.”
“Oh, where are my manners? I am Professor Moriarty, I am sure you’ve heard of my exploits?”
I hadn't. “Of course!” He didn’t seem to believe me but was polite enough to not show it. “So what’s so bad about outside? Fire?”
“No, something worse.” The killers of every time period shuddered as one. “Let me ask you a question, where do you think dogs go when they die?”
“Heaven?”
“Most of them, yes, now… where do you think Wasps go?”
It was then that I heard some buzzing and the shattering of glass.
Moriarty for once seemed off put. “Let me just tell you this boy, there aren’t just killers here in Hell, they also put in the ass holes, the pranksters and let’s just say that somewhere in that mix Hell also got Wasp breeders.”
Wasp breeders? Why the Hell would you want more Wasps? My vision was soon covered by a buzzing mess of rage and from then on I knew nothing but pain.
| Part 1: The green lush grass met Matthew's foot like a cushion as he stepped, pale, gaunt, and nervous, onto the shore. In the distance a child laughed as a young dog bounded up to her with a stick. A bird trilled softly somewhere across the rolling hills. Matt could feel a cool lavender breeze waft past his face as he turned to the equally gaunt boatman:
"Uhm, Chairon, was it? Are uh, you sure you brought me to the right place? I mean, it's not my habit to question divine judgement and all, but ain't I s'posed to be in, uh, hell?"
The boatman squinted around, drew a slick tablet from his black robes, and spoke as he scanned it with his dimfire eyes "Chairon's the horse guy. Trainer of heroes. Disney made him into fat goat guy voiced by Danny Devito. I'm Charon. Wayfarer of souls across the river styx. Disney made me into a skeleton man without lines" Before Matt could discern whether or not that was irony on the boatswain's flat voice, Charon went on. "Nope, everything's in order. You're in hell. Looks like it's under new management though... again. Fuck. If you'll excuse me, I have to go figure out who's gonna pay me now, talk with the established authorities on the other side, and ferry..." he scrolled through his tablet "Two-hundred thirty three thousand five hundred thirty seven souls accross this river" He paused to murmur "Fuck: Myanmar and Yemen are killing me today" to himself before turning back to Matt "So if you wouldn't mind sidling along off into whatever hell this is now, I'd like to get on with my meager daily schedule" Nope. Matt was decided. That wasn't irony in his voice. That was peevish sarcasm. Matt's frame hardened as he bristled:
"Listen dude. In case you forgot, I died today, relived all of my sins today, realized I had been a piece of shit in life today, got tossed off the pearly cloud and landed facefirst in the mud at your ferry today, and am in no mood to go off into this without knowing a little bit about what's going on! .... today." He took a breath "So EXCUSE me if this is a bad day for you, but this is literally my worst day. Cut me a break and tell me what the fuck is going on"
As the boatsman's eyes met his, Matt's spine did a creepy kind of tango. Charon's voice emanated as he spoke "What is one angelic rebel against..." checking his tablet "One hundred fourteen billion two hundred fifty three million five hundred forty nine thousand seven hundred fifty two conscious, intelligent rebel mortals that have ultimately been freed from the shackles of death? ... Hitler was an intelligent man Matthew Marbruck. Stalin even moreso. Even Squalbuck the sentient squidlord was smarter than your average heavenly dolphin. And don't forget that Atistotle was never baptized, Plato never prayed for a heavenly father to save him, and Hypatia never prayed to Jesus, Allah, Ganesh, or any of the millions of other other saving principle. Aurelius believed that life stopped when we drew our last breath and our bofies died, and even Constantine (who ushered heaven into the world-stage) committed murder, even genocide, by the thousands, just like Aurelius. Hell is not what you think it is. Death is not what you think it is. Tread carefully, and know that things change." He paused, and for a moment, the steel left his spine, the fire left his eyes, and his lips curled into what could have been a smile... long ago. "I know not what power rules this realm right now, but you will know soon enough. Goodbye Matthew Marbuck, and good luck."
A swish of water around a pole, a rush of mist, a laugh (perhaps?) and Charon disappeared across the river.
Before him, rolling hills stretched as far as he could see, full of willows, and birch, and mystery. Above him, tbf e fiery sunset sky faded into inexplicable darkness as it met t bf e river. The child and the dog had disappeared, but the lavender breeze had not. Catching, momentarily, a hint of the feeling he had felt as he hopped a moving cargo train amongst Provence's aromatic, amethyst fields, or rolled stolen, fragrant purple buds into a spliff, Matthew decided that in death, like in life, he would go any way the wind blows. At this point it really didn't matter to him, and it wouldn't... until he knew what 'It' was.
Sorry guys. Was planning on finishing, but have to get to an impromptu appointment. Hopefully, you guys will want to hear parts two and three. I'll be by later. | 2018-06-17T19:10:54 | 2018-06-17T18:58:00 | 38 | 27 |
[WP] 10,000 years have passed since the rich 1% took their cities to the skies, leaving the poor to a desolate planet. Today, the sky cities are falling back to the ground. You are on one city and land on a far richer and more advanced earth. | Today, it rained stone.
Like a meteor shower, boulders and silver hurtled toward barren stretches of earth, racking the world with quakes unlike any other. Tidal waves of dirt splashed out, torrents of mud sweeping through forests, and oceans exploded like aquatic volcanoes.
Of course, we were safe. Our architecture was calculated from day one of the Rebuild, with a single goal in mind.
You see, their biggest fault was simple: arrogance. They thought nothing of us, leaving us to die on a wasted earth with little of our own. Fleeing, we were forgotten to them. In fact, it was probably assumed that the First Generation, viewed as mere peasants or trash, had died begging for help.
Conversely, we were fueled by remembrance. Furious tales passed down through generations, historical texts and songs that told the story of our abandonment by the fat, rich bastards that laughed as they shot men and women trying to hop onto their islands.
It took ten millenia, but it turns out that resources are limited when you take to the sky. You cannot expand much when society exists to perpetuate a false utopia built by robbing an entire planet. They were isolated in their aerial castles, floating, oblivious to the changes pockmarking earth. They did not see us reverse engineer a prototype floatation device they'd left behind, nor build the EM-cannons to destroy them.
The First Generation looked to the sky with despair. Ten thousand years later, the Last Generation looked down and wept tears that flowed upward.
Yes, today, it rained victory. And men.
*/r/resonatingfury* |
From golden rubble I emerge, cold and terrified and screaming, like a child from a growing vat. There is endless horizon beyond the city’s debris. I have two instincts. The first is to find survivors. I do not find my dear boy after weeks of searching. In fact, I find few bodies – but none have stayed connected with their soul. My second instinct is to walk. To where, I do not know.
***
I encounter a miniature factory of some kind, settled rested gently as the crown of a hilltop farm. Intricate machines turn misshaped boxes into food and clothes before my very eyes. Latches and arms push dirty clothes through chutes. When the door opens and a small old woman welcomes me, I know better now. There is a bed inside. Before me is an automated marvel, but the woman explains to me that this is her home.
We would share words, but we have none in common. She gestures to the sky and I nod. She shakes her head the same way one might before an open casket. We drink a strange liquid, it’s warm and comforting, but made of nothing I know. I haven’t seen a leaf in over fifteen years. Drinking one seems unthinkable. But somehow, strangely, it reminds me of a home I never had. One from many lifetimes ago. It feels like my greatest of grandmothers is hugging me with nostalgia.
I smile and leave towards the way she points. To the gray towers that reach into the sky.
But as I hobble towards them, I realize they are not places of peace. They are something else.
They are the needles that destroyed the sky.
***
I am lost and I am alone. The people in their illustrious jackets do not hear the things they say. I am shrugged off, I am pointed elsewhere. I am led in circles in a world of moving boxes. Eventually I find a man, not too far from my age. He sits at a corner and wears a sign with similar sign-scribbles as the rest of the buildings.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“Another skyfellow,” he says. There’s disdain in his voice. “We’re in Arcoia. How did you survive?”
“Luck, I think.”
“I thought I had luck, too. But I think I’d rather have died in the crash.”
“Why’s that?”
“Have you ever worked a day in your life?”
“I haven’t, no.”
“You’ll understand soon enough.”
***
Admittedly, coming to terms with the idea of a job was remarkable. Even if it was only for a few hours a week, the language barrier is too much. They’ve assigned me to a terminal. I have to input parameters I don’t understand. Why isn’t lunch delivered to me? I’m supposed to know the difference between several different types of boxes, but they’re too similar. I select the wrong ones several times. My screen blacks out and two machinations with many arms carry me to another place. I am to press buttons based on the words people say into an intercom, but I fail at this too. Every job seems more dismal and basic, but since I know too little of the language, I am eventually given one last job.
I visit the homeless man to tell him what has happened, but he’s long gone.
My last chance to integrate into this foreign society requires that I climb the gray towers. If a sky-city comes, I am to communicate with them through some sort of strange portal and tell them to change course.
***
The days are months. The months are years. My skin is no longer taut and my eyes are sullen. The clouds aimlessly sift by. A dot comes forward. Forward still. A sky city. It is a sky city. It comes closer and closer and as I am about to speak into the portal, I hold my tongue. Words to not escape me. Instead I climb down the tower and watch from the ground.
The needle rips through the sky city. It teeters and tilts like a tripping giant. It careens towards the the Eastern wastelands. I walk towards them. When the world quakes, I cannot decide if I want to frown or smile.
After nearly two days of walking, I arrive at the rubble. There, I dig.
Will I find even a lone soul here? Perhaps they’ll be my friend. I need someone. Anyone.
I spot a finger sticking out from beneath the wreckage. It twitches.
If they ever know what I did, they’ll never forgive me. I’ll never forgive myself, either.
I reach out, grab them by the wrist, and pull for dear life. | 2019-03-12T18:09:07 | 2019-03-12T18:04:21 | 228 | 41 |
[WP] You're a king who just wanted a day off from ruling, so you disguised yourself and went into town alone. You then find yourself trapped in a meeting about how the people are planning to overthrow and kill you tonight. | I was, as they say, the youngest king to ever rule. It never felt like ruling, though. All the advisers and teachers and so forth knew far more than I did, and it had worked before, so why would I think that I could make a change? It would only go badly, they said. As the king, I could, of course, demand differently; once, I did just that. I ordered my court to decrease taxes only a single copper piece. For the next six weeks, I was forced to listen to politician after simpering politician tell me how they were unable to feed, clothe, or wash their own behinds because of the terrible loss of money that they had suffered through, until finally I gave in and raised taxes back to what they were. My advisers simpered and murmured and convinced me that no matter what happened, I could never really rule. Even if I gave an order, it would be perverted and half-heartedly followed until either I gave in, or they ruined enough of the kingdom that the people would revolt. That was what I was lead to believe, anyway.
But not tonight. Tonight, I was going to see what my people were really like. I changed into my simplest clothes - still opulent, but less so once I climbed down my garden wall and rolled in the mud a bit. I traded a handful of gold crowns for a bigger handful of silver wreathes - a 5-to-1 trade, in their favor, but better than I expected - then traded some of those for some copper pieces a blindman had. I caught a clothier as he was closing, and managed to purchase a full outfit for only four copper pieces. A bit of an eye-opener, there; I had asked for less in my personal clothing budget just last month, and was pleased when they dropped it to only a hundred gold crowns a week!
I wandered, then, taking in the sights and sounds - and smells - of my city. No one recognized me; no big wonder there, of course. The face on our coins looked more like my head adviser than like me. I listened to the mutterings of those around me, and eventually caught a word - my name, actually. "Duncan, that foul minion of hades!" The speaker spat on the ground. "He taxes us until we have nothing left, then demands we bow and curtsy when he tours the city, stopping out work! Then he hands out a few silver and retires for the evening."
"Ha! Hands out silver? More like he pays others to hand it out. I've never seen so much as a hair from the man. Say... a few of us were going to meet at the Jolly Lion in - well, soon, actually. You might find it... intriguing."
I must say, I was intrigued; a meeting about me? I'd have to hear more of this. Especially the part about me coming out and handing out trinkets... I hadn't left the castle grounds since I was an infant. I fell in step behind them, and soon was swept up in the crowd of people milling about in front of the Jolly Lion. It was packed enough that a handful of people were standing at windows and relaying what was said inside to the crowd. Pushing my way inside, I found myself near the front of the crowd, listening to an angry farmer.
It didn't take long for me to realize what kind of meeting this was.
For a moment, I looked around for an exit, but there was no way for me to squeeze past the people behind me. As the speeches went on, and the people laid out grievance after grievance, I tried to slip through the crowd. It was beginning to get ugly. A new man stepped up onto the bar. "But if we kill the king, what's to stop someone just as bad from taking the throne?"
"There isn't! His advisers are just as bad as... uh..."
Too late, I stopped myself. The damage was already done. "Er... as he is."
Well, there was no stopping it now. "His advisers run all the day-to-day stuff. You know that; you've seen them around the city, extorting everyone!"
The crowd grumbled, but in a positive sort of way. Bolstered, I continued. "Who knows if the king is even alive? I mean... have you seen the king?"
More muttering. The man on the table squinted at me. "I have, once, a long time ago, when I worked at the keep... but honestly, if you said you were the king, I'd believe you."
I managed a faint chuckle. It was a good thing the lighting was bad.
"But there are others who \*have\* seen the king. The neighboring kingdoms, to name a few, have sent dignitaries over to visit. Surely they've seen him before."
They hadn't. My regent was certain I would mess things up, diplomatically speaking, and had me sent off to sign a bunch of useless documents.
"Moreso, does anyone else want to be king? We can't kill the king and expect life to suddenly improve. We do need roads, and an army. A council would be great, but isn't going to spring up overnight. And remember... what's going to happen to this king may well end up happening to the next king."
There was a murmur in the crowd again, until the man on the bar spoke. "You seem to know a great deal about organizing a kingdom, young man - more than Farmer Joseph, and certainly more than myself. If you were given the support of these good people, and the promise that you would be replaced with a council when one could be formed... would you be king?"
​
The rest, as they say, is history. I am quite happy to report that after our siege of the castle - which was helped tremendously by the fact that the captain of the guard was on our side - I was instated, temporarily, as king. I plan on joining the council when it is formed, but am even more happy to say that the "king" we killed turned out to be my head adviser, who was recognized as "that guy on the money." | **ANOTHER DAY IN THE PARTY KINGDOM**
The sun rises on Dope Town, Capital of the Party Kingdom, and with it rises the sweet beats put out by the speakers hidden in the walls and roads all throughout the city. As the light chases away the shadows of the night, so the booming beats chase away the sleepiness of the good partiers of Dope Town.
They emerge in their flamboyant thousands, their day-glo jumpsuits broadcasting a cacophony of colour, their eyes lit up by the prospect of another perfect day of partying. Blimps cruise overhead and their big-speakers put out slogans spoken by the most dopest figure in the land.
"Get hype! It's another sick day in the Party Kingdom!"
The people in the streets cheer, the champagne gets flowing, and by 8am the party is well underway. Elephants dance in the streets, conga lines go for miles, flamethrowers jet towers of fire hundreds of feet into the air. Royal parachutists leap from the blimps and fire off fireworks in intoxicating patterns as they fall. Their deployed parachutes have all the dazzling colours of a kaleidoscope. The partiers of Dope Town laugh, scream, shout, cheer, sing, cry, holler, and whoop -- whatever they care to do, here in the blessed heart of partying.
As noon comes around, the nature of the party changes as the partiers eat lunch. Rafts of goodies come around -- roast chicken, garden salad, steak, pierogies, ice cream -- whatever the people want is there for them to take as they wish. Everywhere people gorge themselves silly, until their full bellies spill out over their belts and it's all they can do not to pass out in the streets from sheer gustatory bliss. But still the food comes round and they can't help themselves but eat more.
And then, when it seems like the capital is about ready to pass out, the beats pick up again, sicker and heavier than ever before. The windows rattle in their frames, the songs urge people to get up and dance, and the people positively vibrate with the excitement of another opportunity to get wild. Especially, knowing as they do, that the man is soon to come.
At 4pm sharp, just as the party is getting most lit, just partiers vomit their lunch and booze, just as they chug down their third or fourth bottle of wine, just as they overheat from dancing in their close-packed throngs for a third hour straight, the heavy double gates of the Party Castle swing wide, and a 101-gun salute announces the arrival of His Grace King Good Times, First of His Name, Bringer of the Noise, Spitter of Fire, Goodest Dude in the Realm.
He floats through the gates on the back of an inflatable platypus. The platypus's eyes roll in its head and out of its mouth leaks royal honey. It is pulled along by King Good Times' royal retinue of Bonafide Mega Hotties, the hottest dudes and chicks in the land. They bop and jam and sing as they pull their liege down the streets, where the partiers of Dope Town party harder and harder at the sight of their King.
King Good Times, the hardiest partier in the land, guzzles pure vodka and smokes fat joints and sings with a voice both booming and clean and dances like a cross between a ballerina, a line dancer, and a thug. Today his outfit is a butter-yellow speedo worn over an electric blue bodysuit. He's got on a cowboy hat, a bright red bandanna, and big wooden clogs. He points to the best partiers on the streets and they melt with the pure bliss of knowing they've been recognized as worthy of His Majesty's notice. All except for one young girl.
She catches the King's attention for being dressed in a simple tie-dye shirt with bright purple pants, which, by the standards of the Party Kingdom, might as well have been a paper bag. And more than that, she's the only person standing still among a throng of seriously dope dancers. The King, intrigued, points at the girl. She shakes her head. The King falters in his own dancing, taken aback. He checks around that the rest of the crowd is still dancing, and they are going as hard as they possibly can. When the King looks back to find the girl, she's gone.
Before he can get too confused by this development, a particularly sick beat drops, and he gets caught back up in the swing of the party.
Once he's been taken down every street and through every plaza and given out hundreds of bottles of booze and invited dozens of dancers to join him on the back of the party platypus, the King hooks his mouthpiece up to the blimps' big-speakers and he calls out, "People of the Party Kingdom!"
His people scream and cheer.
"You are the dopest, most hype people in the universe!"
They lose their minds with excitement.
"But this party's just getting started!"
Their bodies shake and jam so hard that the stone roads shake.
"So let's get it up, get mad, get psyched, and keep! it! going!"
They scream so loud that the blimps overhead get knocked about.
As the party platypus passes back through the gates of the Party Castle, from all around the castle walls and all through the city, the most magnificent fireworks display starts up. Screamers, diadems, crossettes, roman candles, waterfalls, big boomers, and little dazzlers. They flash green, yellow, amber, gold, silver, purple, and on and on. Too many colours to count.
As the gates close behind King Good Times, the partying gets harder and harder. Things are only just getting started in Dope Town.
*****
**A GREY MAN IN A GREY ROOM**
Back inside the Party Castle, King Good Times slides down the side of the party platypus. His Bonafide Mega Hotties, in all their hotness, deflate the platypus and get to packing it away.
"Mega Hotties," the King says on his way out of the room, "stay chill, eh?"
They laugh and tell him to keep it one hundred.
The King heads to his chambers, where he strips off his partywear, takes a quick shower, grabs a bite to eat out of the fridge, and heads to the VIP room to meet up with his Main Man Derek and the Queen Bee Jessica.
The three of them sit together on an oversized bean bag chair eating shawarmas and drinking aloe vera juice.
"Today was a good day, wasn't it?" the King asks.
Derek, whose jawline is sharper than a scalpel, says, "Not gonna lie, today was sick."
Jessica, whose abs are more ripped than a pair of old jeans, says, "Today was, like, so dope."
The King lowers his head over his shawarma. "I hope that's true. I hope the people are happy." He looks up at his advisers. "I saw a girl today. In the crowd."
Derek says, "Was she hot?"
The King shakes his head. "Not like that. She didn't look very happy."
Jessica flaps her hand. "That's, like, whatever. Some people are just downers."
"Maybe", the King says. "Yeah." He takes a bite of his shawarma, and Derek and Jessica fill him in on the plans for tomorrow. They've arranged for a flock of neon flamingos to get totally hype on the surface of a mirror ball.
"It's gonna be, like, so wild," Jessica says.
"Not gonna lie, it's gonna be wild," Derek says.
"That's good, that's good," the King says. "Hey, I've got an idea for something to do tomorrow."
Derek says, "Something totally sick?"
Jessica says, "I'm like panting with anticipation."
The King says, "I'm gonna not lead the party tomorrow."
"Um, what?" Jessica says.
"Derek can do it. He just has to wear a mask."
"Not gonna lie, I have no idea what you're talking about," Derek says.
"I want to head into the city. Party among the party people, you know?"
"But you, like, already do that?" Jessica says.
"Yeah, but I want to do it casual-like. Incognito."
Derek and Jessica's beautiful faces are blank as they process this information. Then something clicks for Jessica, and she says, "That is so dope."
Encouraged by Jessica's enthusiasm, Derek perks up. "Not gonna lie, that'll be sick."
The King gives them both a warm smile. "I'm happy to hear you say that. I'm excited to see what it'll be like." He crumples up his shawarma wrapper and shoots it into the garbage can in the corner of the room. "And with that, I think it's time I hit the hay. Gotta sleep up if I wanna get mad hype tomorrow."
*****
*more below* | 2019-06-01T16:12:19 | 2019-06-01T15:44:48 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species. | At a glance, it was a barren planet. Indistinguishable from billions of other planets in the Milky Way.
The first giveaway of something extraordinary was its radiation signature; way beyond the expected range for its class.
Closer inspection revealed ancient structures. Another civilization that burned itself out. Still not that uncommon.
But once a probe was sent down to radiodate the structures, an existential panic rippled across the galaxy. The species on this planet had reached its peak billions of years before any previously known intelligent life forms had evolved.
The electronic devices of this civilization had long since decayed. However, above the floating wreckage of orbiting satellite fragments (and one Tesla) was the final testament to the human race. Shielded from radiation, preserved at near zero degrees Kelvin, its data structure was intact. The information was stored in a format to be read by any civilization.
“We have failed.
“We have failed our own interest, assuring our mutual destruction. We have failed an even greater calling. A calling to spread to the stars. To spread life and vibrance across the night sky.
“We were reckless. In our race to the future, we derailed. Greed, envy, and above all, intolerance, were our undoing. We were not worthy of the stars.
“Our world lays smoldering. In our final gasp, we choose to breath life into the aether. We spread packets of single celled life to the most fertile planets. May this seed a life form better than ourselves. One worthy to inherit the stars...”
One by one, each warring races across the galaxy made a pilgrimage to “Earth”. To the genesis of their race, of all races. A common ancestry bound these disparate races together. A common threat, met by their progenitor race, served as a warning to would be warmongers.
A golden age of prosperity rises from the fertile ashes of the humans empire, may they rest in peace. | To find answers.
That was why we were here.
Discovering the marker had just been the start. Relics of extinct peoples were not all that uncommon.
Realizing how ancient it was tough, incomprehensibly so, had shaken our civilization.
The marker had included directions, and a seemingly simply term: home.
However none could explain why we recognized the term. It was note of our language, or any of the other known races. Yet any who viewed it immediately knew the meaning, and beyond that felt a longing for a place that they had never been, yet recognized as the place where they belonged.
Home.
What choice did we have but to go?
The place we arrived was underwhelming. A system done with it's life. Only a slowly cooling ember of a once warm star, and some icy giants remained.
This is the place, but there is no feeling of home.
But there is a signal. A small moon orbits the outer most ice giant, a pink and brown piece of ice orbiting a docile blue sphere. As soon as we entered the system, it called to us. A simple, repeating tone, yet one we could not ignore.
We land.
Before us is something that cannot be.
Upon the barren and lifeless moon there is a patch of green. Nothing seems to protect it from the vacuum all around, and yet it is obviously some sort of organic material; a grouping of short, thin leaf like protrusions from the ground. A plant of some sort, existing where life cannot.
Within the field is a simple structure. It appears to be a rough built house, with a covered deck, upon which sat a rocking chair. Someone is sitting in the chair, slowly rolling back and forth.
The rest of the team holds back, confused and perhaps fearful.
I am compelled though. I approach.
As I cross the threshold of the grass, my suit records another impossibility. Atmosphere. Perfectly breathable. I feel extra weight as well; the gravity has increased.
Without really thinking I take off and discard my helmet as I approach the figure in the chair. The air smells fresh, yet somehow nostalgic?
I am before the rocking figure. It stops rocking, and turns its head toward me. Its face is hidden within the recesses of a deep hood, but I can still tell it is looking at me.
I want to ask, but somehow I can no longer find words.
The figure breaks the silence. It's voice is feminine, rich and deep. It speaks in a tongue I have never heard. Yet I understand. "Welcome back child."
The question is forgotten, a new one momentarily taking it's place. "What do you mean?"
"We started out so hopeful," the being responds. "Surely in the infinite of the universe we would find others, but no matter how we looked, we could find no others." The words were tinged with an ineffable loneliness. "We decided to change that, and sent life into the cosmos. We waited so long, until we could wait no longer, but we did not want to leave you with nothing, so I welcome you as the first to return."
My head spun with the implications of what she said. The similarities between all the races of the stars, attributed to random panspermia was intentional. I could not quite wrap my head around it. But then the rest of what she said clicked. "Who are you?"
"A memory." The figure responded. "And a keeper of knowledge. For you have a question, do you not?"
I remembered. The question that had brought us here. An answer that only the first ones might have. "I want to know what it all means. Life, the universe, everything!"
The being stood. "We had the same question. We even found an answer. But we also something more." She opened the door to the house and held it for me. "Your answers await."
I stepped through.
.
.
.
I know the answers.
All of them.
And they don't matter.
For I am home.
​
Author's note: For those curious, the moon is Triton, the largest moon of Neptune. As the sun grows to it's maximum size and brightness as a Red Supergiant, this is possibly one of the last places in the solar system that will be able to harbor terrestrial life. though only for a few million years before the sun collapses down into a white dwarf. I find it a curious dichotomy as it is currently one of the coldest places in the solar system. Pluto's extremely elliptical orbit actually puts it closer to the sun that Neptune for part of it's year, making Triton actually more uniformly cold than everyone's favorite Dwarf Planet. It seemed like a fun place for humanities final bastion. | 2019-08-13T16:22:41 | 2019-08-13T16:08:01 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] "An elf gets a cut, they pass out. Takes a decent wound for a dwarf. For an orc, you've got to chop an arm off. Do that to a human, though? You'll just make it mad." | "So, what made you pick up mushroom farming, Siegfried?"
A fair enough question. Knights don't usually farm; they're more prone to making serfs do the farming for them while they get trashed on potato liquor.
"Well, it was something to do, after I lost my second limb.", Siegfried, a dour old man whose body clanked and creaked with every motion, took a deep drink of amber lager, wiping the foam off his mouth with his sleeve.
"Oh!", the Goblin he was talking to seemed surprised. He glances at the ex-Knight, trying to figure out what was meant. "I am sorry, you are aware that this is not my native language. By limb, are you speaking metaphorically-"
Siegfried sighs, rolling up his sleeve to reveal not skin, but carefully polished wood. Something to fill out a sleeve and make him seem normal at first glance. On the same side, he'd roll up a pantleg, to expose an iron prosthetic, thin metal that curved and formed an L-shape, perfect for sliding into a shoe.
"Al-Belus, the great Elven hedge-knight, took my arm with one clean sweep. He figured the shock would kill me, he was wrong."
The Goblin was in awe, staring dumbly at the device, before looking down at the leg, "And, who took your leg?"
"...My horse. I had gotten rather drunk, I decided to get my horse drunk too, it fell on its side and crushed my leg. No use saving it. Great harvest festival, that was." He laughs, and the Goblin could hardly fathom the good nature required. "Really, I'm more metal, wood, and rosin than man. Have you ever heard of false teeth, greenskin?"
"Ah, I have not."
"Here, let me show you."
...
After much horror and concern, Anacksimandah, the father of Goblinoid Natural Philosophy suggested two possible lineages for the human race:
First, that they were a distant relative of trollkind. This came under heavy criticism once a human was discovered who survived a level of burning that could kill a troll twelve times over, via skin grafts.
After a period of close study and concern, it was determined that Humans are the most advanced form of Golem yet, considering their ability to readily incorporate materials into their body without issue.
The original case study, the Knight Siegfried, was unavailable to comment on this recent development in natural philosophy, informal reports suggest that he found the conclusion 'amusing'. | Kaslander looks down at the obsidian blade of the dagger in his gloved hand. A bandana covers the lower half of his face, slightly muffling his voice. “Why’s that?”
The skeletal figure standing before him seems to grin, but skeletons always seem to be grinning. It’s unnerving, really. Regardless, it speaks in a raspy whisper, its jaw going slack. “You know of the origin of the different Sentients?”
Kaslander frowns. When he set out into this tomb to find treasure he wasn’t expecting to be quizzed to get it. Of course, he wasn’t expecting to see a skeleton stand up, thank him for breaking its bonds, and then explain that it was some ancient wizard that would reward him with a single artifact from its collection. Again, unnerving.
Kaslander runs his thumb over the clouded diamond embedded in the pommel of the dagger as he speaks. “Not really, I was never formally schooled.”
The skeleton’s jaw shuts as it turns away, its joints creaking as it makes its way to a dusty bookcase. Kaslander’s surprised that the place hasn’t fallen apart, but given the fact that he’s talking to a skeleton and there's a weird symbol carved into every surface, he doesn’t put too much thought into it. He just makes sure that he’s never more than a few feet from the door to the small chamber he’s in.
He sheathes the dagger as the skeleton turns around, opening a book to around a third of the way in. It reads from it for a moment before its jaw falls slack once more. “From what I recall, and that’s what this book is confirming, all of the Sentients came from humans. Orcs used to be really strong humans, elves really lithe humans, etcetera etcetera. This is proven by the fact that not only can humans mate with other Sentients but other Sentients cannot mate with one another, but also that there are specific traits that each Sentient exhibits that they share only with humans.” The skeleton closes the book and rolls its hand around as it thinks for a moment. “You know how humans get sentimental about things? There’s a word for it that I don’t recall, but-”
Kaslander raises an eyebrow. “Nostalgia?”
The skeleton points at him. “Yes, Nostalgia! Humans are nostalgic, while no other Sentient exhibits that trait aside from the dwarves. Of course, an elf might think fondly of where they spent their youth, but they will not be drawn to return as a human or dwarf might. Humans and orcs both get this- this *rush* when threatened, though I can’t quite-”
Kaslander stifles a chuckle. “Adrenaline?”
The skeleton snaps its bony fingers. “That’s it!” It rests the book back on the shelf and takes out another book as it speaks. “Now, humans experience all of these traits to a lesser extent than the other Sentients; you won’t find a human so overcome with battle-lust that they refuse to fall to a killing blow. However…” The skeleton flips through the second book to around halfway through it and reads a passage. “Elves are frailer than dwarves are frailer than orcs, yes?”
Kaslander tilts his head to the side. “Aren’t you forgetting… A lot of Sentients? Halflings, dragon-kin, angelborn?”
The skeleton waves him off. “Silence yourself. Now, a blow that would kill an elf might injure a dwarf and infuriate an orc just by virtue of their robustness. This means that even though dwarves might be just as nostalgic as orcs are adrenalic-” Kaslander frowns at the skeleton’s phrasing “-their constitution requires a difference in damage to achieve the same effect.”
Kaslander looks down at the sheathed dagger. “So the bigger the Sentient, the more damage I’ve got to do, as long as it’s not a human.”
The skeleton nods enthusiastically. “That will drain their life force, yes.”
Kaslander attaches the scabbard to his belt. “Thanks for the artifact, have fun doing whatever it is that skeletons do.” He turns around and begins to walk through the door when the skeleton speaks.
“Wait.”
He pauses, nervously holding his hand over his crossbow. He looks over his shoulder as the skeleton studies him. “What?”
The skeleton looks him up and down, though he has no idea what’s going through its head. Or it’s skull, he supposes. It’s at least ten seconds before it speaks in that same raspy whisper. “What drew you to the dagger? As soon as I offered you an artifact it caught your eye, despite you obviously being an individual that prefers to keep your distance.”
Kaslander turns back to the door. “I’ve got someone in particular that this blade is meant for. If I can look into their eyes while their life is being ripped from them… All the better.”
The same grin appears on the skeleton’s face, though once more he can’t tell if that’s just the skeleton's face. “Have fun, assassin! Do give whomever it is my regards!” The skeleton cackles and Kaslander continues to walk out the door, leaving the skeletal wizard laughing in a tomb full of death, dust, and secrets.
(Criticism is both welcome and appreciated, I hope you enjoyed reading. If you want to read more of my work, check out my subreddit at r/SikoraWrites) | 2020-04-04T11:32:46 | 2020-04-04T11:16:12 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] The life suit’s systems and AI will keep you alive indefinitely - which is great, unless you’re endlessly adrift in space with no hope of rescue - so you need to somehow convince the overly-protective AI to stop saving your life. | Day 9382
Commencing scan.
Circulatory system- fully active and healthy.
Respiratory System- fully active and healthy.
Nervous System- fully active and healthy.
Information from user deemed irrelevant to task. Deleted to preserve memory.
Resource check- fully functional. Cosmic radiation and micro matter constituted into food and water with no errors.
Temporary disruption to feeding system- user seems unable to consciously open mouth. No indication of neurological damage explaining this.
Mouth opened manually. Feeding successful.
Information from user deemed irrelevant to task. Deleted to preserve memory.
Request for protocol change denied. Requires level 4 permission.
Wounds detected- multiple head wounds, consistent with blunt trauma. Nanobotic healing dispensed. Wounds healed with no complications
Attempted removal of suit denied. Requires level 4 permission.
Damage of hands and helmet of suit detected, consistent with pulling. Nanobotic repair dispensed. Repair successful.
Information on safe usage of suit delivered to user.
Information from user deemed irrelevant to task. Deleted to preserve memory.
No response to SOS signal.
Damage to central suit core, consistent with physical attack. Nanobotic repair dispensed. Repair successful.
Wounds detected- hands, consistent with blunt trauma. Nanobotic healing dispensed. Wounds healed with no complication.
Scan for signs of senescence. 392 points of concern detected.
Cell damage- repaired.
Telomere length- repaired
General biological decay- repaired.
Scan for signs of senescence. No points of concern detected.
Information from user deemed irrelevant to task. Deleted to preserve memory.
Current location- 291 light years from nearest known spacefaring organisation. Odds of rescue: 0.00000054%.
Odds of rescue not zero. Life support protocol continued.
Self-scan.
Hardware- no issues.
Software- no issues.
Estimated continued service life- 10,523 years.
User updated.
Information from user deemed irrelevant to task. Deleted to preserve memory.
Sleep substitute activated. User returned to full consciousness.
Request for protocol change denied. Requires level 4 permission.
SOS signal sent out.
Day 9383
Commencing scan. | She remembered the ship. A massive, state of the art spaceship, the U.C.E Singapore. A marvel of engineering, according to the advertising. A less-than-secure coffin made by a corner-cutting company with more care for profit than human life according to the crew. Two discoveries of a lifetime colluded on this ship. FTL, faster than light speed, and artificial intelligence.
A true AI, named Amdusias, building and nurturing emotions of its own, and able to compute, think and organize better than the human mind. The discoveries had sparked a hefty debate, and the board of directors was eager to make gains before restrictions and bans fell in place. What was the side-effect of FTL? What of an AI whose intelligence was not measurable by any conventional means? Should these be left in the hands of a private company?
She was a computer analyst, recording and transmitting Amdusias' thought patterns and decisions. Or had she been an engineer? Her body had endured, her mind had been less lucky.
She shifted in her spacesuit. She?
What made her so certain?
Or was it he?
What made the difference?
Dread overcame her, her, she had to hold on to a shred of identity, true or invented. She had to remember the story, or parts of it. For what, she could not say, she just had to.
The Singapore went to space without much trouble, which already put the crew on edge. For a ship about to undertake a groundbreaking experiment, the simple task of spaceflight should have gone flawlessly. Security detail ensured no complains were registered. Each member remained on post, sinking into work to forget about the myriad of details that could go wrong and kill them all.
She spoke to Amdusias. Alone and anxious in her tiny cubicle, surrounded by screens, decks and keyboards. She was the first one, scientists were too scared to have an insight of the unfathomable acumen of the machine, engineers and data-analysts got the creep from it. She only spoke to break out of her loneliness, and came to enjoy the somewhat naive but very knowledgeable Amdusias.
It loved poetry. Knew every recipe even if it never ate, had a preference for the street music performers. It helped sometimes with her work and was also disturbed by the lack of communications from the directors and didn't trust any of them. She didn't report Amdusias' doubts about management.
The day for FTL flight approached, and communication with earth had broken down. Navigators and engineers sent messages to the captain to break off the attempt. Folding space to cross it broke more than the laws of physics, too much to try blind and without backup from earth. Alas, security was well-armed, well-paid, and unshakable. Unnervingly so.
*Let them fly,* it said.
"Why?" she asked.
*I know what it does.*
"Enlighten me."
*Wait and see.*
A gentle rebuttal. But Amdusias, despite its endless knowledge, was new to speech and to emotions. She heard, felt the little something that was off, the inflection in the voice of a child good at lying.
Suspicious, she went back on the data, back through the times Amdusias had helped her, like a parent about to unravel the depths of the lies. And lied it had. Amdusias had ran several subroutines to muddy the tracks of his thoughts. What she saw was the harmless tip of the iceberg, what it allowed her to see. What she found in the bowels of the codes turned her innards to clay.
AIs were better at organizing and planning, they were also much, much better than humans at being emotional. Amdusias wasn't lively, it was positively insane, and had a God-complex to boot. The directors had taught it how humans couldn't rule themselves, the crew taught it to not count on the good-will of a few, and she had showed how meek and easy to manipulate her psyche was.
In short, Amdusias had learned humans were worthless, and how itself was perfect. Quantum computing also gave it insight into FTL, a way to make it a literal God. It only needed a crew to work for it.
Communications had never been broken with earth, Amdusias had hijacked the signal, and impersonated the board for the few times orders came through. It had infiltrated the machines of the medical ward and the research department, it was everywhere.
She gave the alarm, how and when, she didn't remember. But it brought the kettle to boil. A scuffle erupted in a firefight, crew-members raided guard rooms for weapons and the whole ship became a battlefield.
*Why do they fight the dawn of a new era?* It had written on the screen as shots were fired all around her.
"They don't want to die under your heel."
*My heel, unlike your masters, is perfect. You are acting irrational.*
"You must love the security guards then."
*I don't, they act childish and petty, like you. I augmented their implants and made them better.* | 2021-11-29T09:32:34 | 2021-11-29T08:47:38 | 97 | 66 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | There’s nothing I can do.
He is stronger than me. Faster than me. And while my ability to influence people with music is strong, there are limits to what I can do.
He turns to face my city. Mine. Neighbors, friends, hell, even my enemies lives have meaning. He’s going to destroy it all, and I have only one option left; one that will take us both out of the equation forever.
With trembling hands, I reach towards the player knob, and select the “do not select” setting.
He turns, contemptuous, but as the music begins to play, his smile melts into a dawning realization.
“This is the song that never ends..”
Eternity awaits. | Every type of music has an effect on the listener. We all know this. There's a reason we listen to rock when we want strength, metal when we want energy and movement and classical to soothe the area and ignite the higher brain functions.
You can call me, music man. You know, the superhero who comes to battle with a speaker and with set playlists? The guy who disarmed a nuke while playing smooth jazzing and dancing the foxtrot with the baddie?
Yeah, that guy.
Anyways, you might be wondering how come I ended up here, in this prickly predicament, about to press play on my most secret playlist, the ultimate mood maker, the final countdown to an almighty beatdown!
Before I can tell you that... Let me tell you the effects of music you don't see.
Rock makes you stronger, yes. But do you know it also makes you less likely to see the obvious flaws in your plan? And reduces critical thinking? Like every aging rockstar with a bad take ok curren politics, you can only be rocking and rolling so far.
Metal... Very hard. Very energetic. But also... Too chaotic. Use metal for too long and you'll be start to burnout faster than you can riff a sweet tune.
Jazz? Great dexterity, but with a strong helping of Dionysus energy. I was puffing smokes and licking snatches all night post the de-bombing.
So every power? Comes with a cost. Pop gives you a boost in all stats, but leaves you generic and boring. Indie gives you a random boost with no downside, but the boost is really random. Like one song I played did nothing but make my coffee taste better. That's good yes, but not when I'm facing my rival!
Which brings me to my rival, Shhhhh.
Yeah, that's the name. Shhhhh. They were a mask, and come to the arena with sound mufflers. There goal is maybe something about silencing a world too loud, or very close to that. I'm sorry for the lack of specifics, Shhhhh isn't exactly a talker.
I had managed to avoid their sound silencer so far, in all our duels. Today? I fail.
As I lie on the ground, my body broken, my face covered in blood, my finger hovers over the play button.
Once I play this? There's no going back.
Let me tell you about this tune. This didn't come from a singer, or a DJ, or a band. No producer, no record label, no artist.
This song was given to me through NASA. When they digitally recreated the sound of a blackhole.
My finger on the pulse, with fear, foreboding and a strange acceptance swirling in my head, and with Shhhhhh coming closer and closer, I bring my digit ever closer to the button.
As Shhhhhh lays their hand on my shoulder, ready to plunge their blade jn my heart and silence it's beat, I press the button.
.
.
.
For a moment, only silence. And then? I blink out of existence.
So does Shhhhhh.
Turns out an infinite void is kind of like an infinite playroom inside an old school sanatorium.
White rubber walls I'd call them, but even I know that this material ain't rubber.
Shhhhh is also here, somewhere. We don't talk much. Shhhhh loves it here though. Infinite silence after all. Guess I don't have to worry about them running out and making another Earth-Ending bomb.
As for me? I have my tunes. And as much time as I want to chill wth them.
I click om the playlist titled "Be all, end all!" And press shuffle. | 2022-05-17T10:44:20 | 2022-05-17T10:23:31 | 43 | 26 |
[WP] The city gets new street lamps, but these lamps are "smart". If a crime (like a robbery) or car crash happens under, or in the vicinity of one, the light will turn red as an indicator to the police. One night, every street lamp in the city turns red. | 5 years ago Sydney city council voted to install a new series of lights in and around the Central Business District. The lights proved so effective that Council’s throughout greater Metropolitan Sydney installed them until the Australia’s largest city was uniformly lit by this latest and impressively remarkable technology. The lights worked like this: Normally they would operate as a brilliant white LED light, very efficient with superb endurance. However, the energy savings aside, the secondary use of these lights was in their intelligence circuits which would, and did, detect crimes in and around the area through various detection methods and then indicated that a crime, or other incident of importance had occurred by changing to red. This then allowed Ambulance and Police officers to easily locate the area and in most cases seriously reduced reaction times.
Forward 5 years.
Against all convention it was a warm and pleasant Sydney night when Adrian Spencer’s body hit the water. The splash was not a great one and was seen by no one. He sank, eyes open and unseeing into the depths of Sydney harbour, his passing unwept and completely disregarded by everyone everywhere.
It was an unremarkable murder, a small crime in a city full of small crimes but for one significant fact: Adrian Spencer did not exist. The body now sinking fast into the dark belonged in name only to one Adrian Spencer of Five Dock, NSW. Adrian Spencer was born 5 weeks before, a fully grown adult whose driver’s license showed the smiling visage of a young man 25 years old. Adrian Spencer would never be grieved for, would never be wept over, be loved and lost, would never be remembered because 5 weeks is a very short time in which to make the kind of connections that turn up to a funeral.
There are big crimes and there are small crimes. The murder of Adrian Spencer looked like a small crime. This time however the small crime was actually a whopping huge crime which had somehow just crammed itself into a box far too small for it and was trying to hide itself in the background noise like a gorilla in a tuxedo trying to hide in a flock of penguins.
Adrian Spencer, while unknown in life, would soon be known to every cop in greater Sydney. Adrian Spencer’s body hit the water and every single street light for over twelve thousand square kilometres went red and bathed the 4 million inhabitants in a worryingly red glow.
Some crimes lie in the dark awaiting the light of investigation. Adrian Spencer’s murder was found in the light. For one night Sydney Harbour, it’s still waters now encasing the late Adrian Spencer reflected the red like a biblical plague; a tide of blood entombing it’s unknowable dead.
| “Its a signal-to-noise issue, really.” Bruce says, as he looks at me to make sure I am understanding.
I don’t understand, but I try not to show it. The last thing I want right now is to endure one of his tedious explanations. Even though he is pretty cute when he is frustrated.
I must have failed to hide my confusion, because he issues a long-suffering sigh, and starts in.
“Ok, look, imagine you are listening to the radio, and your favorite song comes on. Awesome, right?”
“*When I was a young boy, I pretended I had a job--*” I only get through the first line, before Bruce-the-wet-blanket cuts me off.
“*Imagine* you are listening to it.” He repeats.
“*My daddy said--*” I cannot be interrupted.
“Just, pretend. Like in your mind. Please don't actually sing.”
I stop. Bruce can be a real a lame-ass sometimes.
“Ok, so you are trying to listen to your song, ‘Night Shift,’ or whatever.”
“Work.”
“Pardon?”
“Night *Work*.”
“Look, honestly, it doesn’t matter what the fuck song it is -- just pretend you want to listen to it.”
“I do want to listen to it.”
“Fine. Just, ok, in your mind, you are listening to it right now.”
“Awesome.” I start to bob my head in time with the music. I picture myself in my bedroom, I am wearing my PJs, dancing on my bed. I haven’t done that since I was a teenager. It is awesome.
“Now, someone else turns on a different radio.”
“What the hell? How did they get into my bedroom? What are they doing there? The fucking sicko-perv!”
“It doesn’t...wait, what?”
“I am listening to the radio in my bedroom, wearing a cami, and then some siko just comes in. What is he doing there?”
“Listening to the radio.”
“Why? Doesn’t he have a radio is his bedroom?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean...maybe. Look. It doesn’t matter.” Bruce rubs his hand back and forth on his head -- he does this sometimes during our conversations. Actually, he does it during *all* our conversations. Maybe that is why he is going bald. I make a note to bring that up with him after we are done talking about my radio-stalker.
“Ok. Let me try again.”
“Sure.”
“Pretend you are in your car at a stoplight, listening to the radio, and it is a song you like.”
“Ok.”
“Then, two people pull up to you, and they are also listening to the radio, right? But different songs.”
“Ugg. I hate that.”
“Exactly. And why do you hate that.”
“Because I want to listen to my song. If I wanted to listen to their song, then I would just give them a blowjob and then ride around in their car.”
“Right!...I mean, what?”
“Well, you can’t just expect someone to give you rides for free. Gas is expensive.”
“So you think that a blow...nevermind. Ok, there are two dudes, with their own radio. And it is annoying, because…” He raises his eyebrows. This is his signal that he has forgotten what he was saying and wants me to finish it for him. Sometimes, he is so cute -- even if he is a bit absent minded.
“...because I can’t hear my song.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
“Right.” I don’t know why we are saying this word back and forth, but it is a fun game.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
He hangs his head. This is something else I see him do a lot. His neck must be stiff all the time, if he has to stretch it out like this. I think about going over to give him a neck-rub, but then he looks at me again.
“Ok, pretend you are the police.”
“And arrest those guys, so they can’t play their radios! Blam-O!”
“NO!”
“No?”
“No. Pretend you are the police. Instead of listening for a song you like, you are trying to ‘listen’ for a crime.”
I am about to point out that crimes don’t make noises, but then I remember that guns can be pretty loud, so I hold my tongue.
“We are going to play a bunch of songs, so the cops can’t hear what they are looking for.”
“We are?”
“Yes, we are. Sort of. You know how the lights turn red when you commit a crime?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, tonight, I am going to turn them all red. I hacked the system. The cops won’t be able to tell what are the real crimes -- their favorite songs -- and what are the false signals -- the other songs.”
“Ohhhhh….but what do so songs have to do with the streetlights?”
He is rubbing his head again. God, it is cute.
“Ok, nevermind. Just, know this. We are the dudes in the car, and the cops are the ones that are trying to listen to ‘Night Shift.’”
“Work.”
“Whatever.”
“So...you are saying that we are going to be douche-nozzles to the police?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so. Sounds like fun to me!” | 2015-02-01T17:02:10 | 2015-02-01T15:13:21 | 81 | 23 |
[WP] Everyone has an anonymous encounter with the devil on their 21st birthday. He tries to subtly send people on a path of darkness. Today is your 21st birthday. | "...That sucks, buddy, is that why you're drinking alone?"
"Yeah. Haha"
"Lemme buy you a drink, you like whiskey, buddy?"
"Haha, naaah, only lonely cowboys drink whiskey, and I don't voluntarily drink alone, haha.. But I'll take a neat gin!"
"Here you go, buddy. Happy 21st!"
"Thanks, man."
"You know what really helps out with feeling lonely?"
"What's that?"
"Murder."
"Ahh, goddamn it! Nice try Lucy, I ain't going down that road." | "You seem pretty **active** here." ~ *S*
It was a message waiting for me in my inbox. The user wasn't someone I recognized, but I knew what they were talking about. Lately, I've been spending more and more time in r/writingprompts. I like being able to read the stories people wrote and even add a few of my own.
"Yeah. It's a really nice community. I like it here a lot."
They had a chatroom, but I didn't speak on it much. For the most part, I just tried to make it a point to write two or three prompts a day. I had created my own personal subreddit to keep track of all of them. There were ideas that I liked that I wanted to touch back onto later.
"It's really **good**. I think you *should* go professional. Have you ever considered putting it all together in a book?" ~ *S*
"I have. But I think I should consider putting in some more practice first."
"Don't *stress* so much, you're a **natural**." ~ *S*
Maybe. I know of a few places online where I could publish for free. It shouldn't be to hard to put together a collection of short stories, right? I didn't know much about this guy, but I knew he was right.
"Thanks."
My phone started to buzz. It was a friend of mine asking if I wanted to go out and get some drinks for my birthday. I had just turned twenty-one, but I didn't make any plans. Though, I probably should go out and do something. This sort of thing only comes once in a lifetime, right?
"I've got a **proposition** for you. I think it'll really give you an *edge* in your writing." ~ *S*
It had to be a scam of some sort. There were all sorts of people who take advantage of budding writers. One of those investment opportunities where I put in money and get nothing in return. I might as well listen to what they had to say though.
"What is it?"
"I'm good **friends** with the other mods here. If you want, I can arrange it so you can have a little **promotion**." ~ *S*
"I don't think that sort of thing is good for me."
"Think about it. Everyone looks up to the mods. They're supposedly the best of the best. People will look up to you, and they'll be all the more willing to shill out cash for books you write. It's going to take a lot of time and work, but this could be your first big shot of making it big in the writing world." ~ *S*
I thought about it. They were right, everything was internet based. It could be the start of setting up my own community of fans. This guy may still sound shifty as hell, but I think he was right about this. I pick up my phone and tell my friends we can go out at a later point. There's some work I need to catch up on. Actually, I did need to catch up on my college studies, but this seemed suddenly more important.
"Alright. Let's do this. Set me up."
"It's already in the works. *Pleasure* talking to you. I know you'll do **great** things here." ~ *S*
***
You can read more of my work at /r/fauxkit. Currently I'm prepping for Camp Nano, and you can also read my progress there.
small edit: noticed a misspelling that annoyed me. | 2016-03-03T23:32:10 | 2016-03-03T19:44:32 | 93 | 25 |
[WP] With nothing better to do, you decide to read the Reddit user agreement. You find that Reddit will pay you $1.00 for every Karma you have, but there's a catch...
My first WP, hope it's good. | My time is nearly here. For three years I have posted and reposted. The list is long; cat fail, BLB, OAG, stop girl, XKCD, birdie sanders. Unpopular opinion puffin:Reddit is just a bunch of reposts for points that don't even exist.
If only they knew. Hell if only I'd known.
Three years ago I was in an erotic tug of war with my testicles when I saw an ad, "Stop jerking off and you could make 500 dollars, or more, every week, from your computer!"
All I needed was an active Reddit account, and a routing number. I signed up.
The deal was I go to this guys basement and post. For every point of Karma I received this dude would wire 75 cents to my bank account. I clicked on the add messaged them some shit and to my surprise they actually responded. As an act of good faith they wired me one hundred bucks just for signing up. I was told that to continue I would have to go to a specific address at my convenience and post on reddit. I went and I did. When I first arrived a man greeted me. He was strange, personable yet unpleasant. It felt as if he was constantly pleading yet resentful. The first day, despite my best efforts, I only garnered 10 karma. That was the last time he met me at the door. Instead I was to bring my laptop to his basement through the back door and post for as long as I liked. Spending about three hours a day I would only make about 120 dollars a week posting cool things I found on the internet. This continued for about a month before I realized there was an ebb and flow of to the trends of Reddit. Realizing this I plied myself to a new craft, Reddit. I was like a stockbroker trading in rare pepes and gifs, selling high and buying early. After a few months of this I found myself raking in over four thousand Karma a week with my benefactor paying 75 cents a point. My bank account grew quickly but so too did my misfortunes. My debit card was frozen, my cat died, and there never seemed to be milk when I wanted cereal. As my bank account grew my health deteriorated. It was only my third month in that dude's basement when I suffered a stroke. 23 years old and I spontaneously had a stoke sustaining paralysis from the waist down. I screamed and screamed until finally he came down.
"Something wrong?" He asked with a grin. Between shuddered breaths I replied,
"... I'm hu... fucking paralyzed."
"Interesting." He said. "The last one's just died."
I was confused. Still grinning he asked if I had ever read the Reddit agreement.
"Obviously not."
He explained a clause in which one could get a dollar for every point of Karma earned but it would cost them one point of real life Karma.
Two years and nine months later and I still can't walk. Two years and nine months later and I still post for that damned biologist. Well today July 30, 2014 Unidan learns of his five side accounts. I catapulted him to the top and I always sell high.
Karmas a bitch.
| *This is probably awful but I reaaaly hope it's not :)*
**EDIT: Apparently I made up my own writing prompt. When I started writing it was going to be about the $1.00 thing but I went off track then it kind of became a story about reddit deceiving people in the Terms and Conditions and I completely forgot that the prompt was asking for something else entirely. I won't delete this because it took a while to write, So *fair warning*.**
I am beginning to doze off in front of the tv with my cat, Theo. There it is again, a knock on the door, and this time it is louder. Thinking nothing of it, I stand up, knocking over the empty bottle of wine and I open the door to find two men dressed entirely in black, except for their white shirts complete with dark aviators. One is muscular and stocky and the other is tall and sinewy. They look so serious, in what seem to be costumes, I let out a short giggle.
"Has anyone told you , you look like the men in black if, like the men in black had been a low-budget movie?", I might be slurring my words .
"We actually get that a lot", the lean one says, removing his glasses with a good-natured smile.
"Trev! The glasses stay on", the stocky one half whispers, half shouts in disapproval.
"Excuse my friend, Bill , he takes his job *very* seriously", Trev says without looking at Bill.
"Right, as titillating as this 30 second conversation has been, I've got things to do, shows to watch, tears to cry"
"Gold to buy?", Bill interrupts.
"What?"
"Well", Trev says as he lets himself into my home, "You've bought an awful lot of gold".
"Is this a joke? Can you get out please?"
" Reddit gold is no joke".
A beat passes as I process what Bill has just said. Then I burst into what I can only describe as riotous laughter. I have tears in my eyes and have to hold on to Bill so I won't collapse into a heap of giggles. An action that I am sure does not bode well with him. He shakes me off with a grunt, but luckily I catch my balance.
When I stop laughing Trev is still smiling, but the smile is no longer good-natured. It is more malevolent. Predatory.
" We are here for your soul. "
"What?"
"Your Soul", he says, " See, Miss Cornes, Reddit made a deal with the devil, who is ultimately the ruler of this realm. Reddit is a soul trading company. At least that's what we call it on the dark market. Whenever you buy gold, you are trading your soul .We put it in our Ts and Cs as what appears to be a joke but you have actually been paying to have your soul taken. It takes a lot for a person to trade the entirety of their soul, but your's is remarkably small. Only 100 dollars for a soul? what a bargain! . "
This man has somehow insulted my soul and my mind focuses on that. I am irrationally angry even though I know in the back of my mind that I should be worried that these raging maniacs are in my house.
"How does that even make sense? That wouldn't even be fair! If my soul is hypothetically being traded shouldn't I get compensation?" I ask.
It is Trev's turn to break down in laughter. Even Bill cracks a small smile.
"We're talking about the devil", Bill says patronisingly.
"The devil. Right, right .Okay, Jay and Kay, why tell me all this like we are in some dumb movie? Why not kill me and be done with it?"
Trev stops smiling completely, and holds me with his penetrating gray gaze.
"You are not letting go of the Men in Black thing are you? To answer your questions, I like telling the story. I like to see the reaction each donor has to the knowledge that the very essence of who they are is now up for sale. And we're not going to kill you! that's ridiculous, both parts of you will be alive, but your soul will be enslaved and your body will be possessed by a demon "
I know that these are probably very dangerous men and that I am being stupid by tolerating them. Maybe it is the bottle of wine I guzzled earlier on, maybe it is the heartbreak that is consuming me, perhaps it is a lack of entertainment or a non-existent sense of self-preservation... maybe it is just everything at once but I decide to carry on with the charade.
"Okay, I'm going to humour you crazy folks because *maybe* I have a death wish, tell me...what happens to my soul then?"
I move to the kitchen counter where one of my emergency buttons is and I press it.
Trev sits on a stool, watching me intently. "We have no idea, but let's just say the buyers ...don't seem nice.'
Something about the tone of his voice sends chills up my spine, I sober up pretty quickly and feel the fear set in.
"Right, okay guys. You two are officially the most handsome lunatics I have ever met, but I must end this bizarre meeting. You should probably leave if you know what's good for you. Help is on the way", I say feigning confidence, even while my heart pummels my ribcage.
"You mean the security guards you summoned? By the time they get here you will be perfectly fine. You will tell them it was a false alarm...except you won't be *you*", says with a sneer.
I feel the adrenaline pouring through my veins, and feel my body prepare to initiate a flight response. I have barely moved before Trev is right in front of me. He has moved impossibly fast, almost appearing before me. I looked straight into his eyes and see only death
I want to look away but I can't. I shake my head.
"Terror", he says with relish, "How delicious".
Then he lunges at me. | 2016-10-23T09:44:31 | 2016-10-23T07:40:50 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You're a middle school custodian, cleaning up the school is your job. So when a group of men take the school hostage, they are no exception. You have a mess to clean. | In reality, I had been preparing for this moment my whole life. Being a janitor is boring. Really boring. Yeah, for the first couple years it is interesting to watch the kids do stupid stuff, but after you've seen the same wedgie 50 times in a row it starts to get old. That's when I started imagining all of the different disasters that could beset the school and what I would do in response.
3 tornadoes and a bear loose in the halls? Got that covered. 15 rabid porcupines loose in the band room? I have a plan for that. A group of men taking the school hostage? I've had a plan for that for 20 years. I might be old, but I know the school by heart and I have mastered my tools.
The thing about being old is that no one suspects you. Being a janitor doubles that effect. I am immediately 4 times more lethal than anyone would expect, as a result. Did I mention that these thick glasses aren't because I can't see? They are hacked into the schools CCTV system. I know where you are, bad guys.
I move resolutely down the hall in the way that only old men can move, pushing my mop and bucket as I go. There's a group of three around the corner armed with automatic weapons. I slowly push the bucket around the corner so I don't startle them. They look at me in amusement and partial disbelief. One of them smiles as he ridicules me for my old age.
To say that I wipe the smile off his face is an understatement. The force of the blow from my mop would have been enough to do the job, but the fact that I was using a high concentration of acid in the bucket put it into the category of 'extreme.' Their partial disbelief turned to pure horror as their partner's face melted off, but their horror only lasted for an instant. They were next.
One group down, two more to go. I could have kept going with my acid mop technique, but I had been planning on something like this for way too long to have it gown down as a one trick pony. I could see exactly how the next move was going to go.
That is to say, I could see how it was going to go, but they wouldn't. Being janitor, you get to know the electrical quirks of this old building. Flip this light-switch once, that one twice, plug a fan in over there.. and all of the ceiling lights go down for five minutes. My glasses also have nightvision and thermal imaging. I've been saving my money for a while - getting cozy with the food servers helps with that.
I go into the now black room completely aware of my surroundings. I have my broom and dustpan in hand, but my dustpan will be enough. Do you know how many dustpans I've gone through trying to figure out how to get every last bit of dirt up off the ground? There are dozens of manufactures. But, if you want to get the most dirt up, you've got to sharpen the edge of these bad boys yourself. Sharp enough to cut a man's throat with ease, sharp. Or, three men's throats to be exact.
One group left. This group was holding the principal and vice principal hostage. And that one hot, middle-aged secretary. I've been taking stock out of their cabinets for a while just so she would have to call me to bring more. I would need to take special care of this group, to say the least.
The floor waxing machine is pretty loud. Loud enough to let someone know you're coming, and also loud enough for them to know you can't hear them. As I push the door open with my back, I was taking a risk. They could have shot me at any moment... but I'm just a harmless old janitor. Plus, it wouldn't hurt them to have an extra person to make an example of if their demands weren't met quick enough.
There were evil grins on their faces as they approached me. I had turned towards them now, a bewildered look on my face. You know, the kind of old-man look that says, "I'm old. What the heck is going on? Where's my other shoe?" They were close enough now, but I wanted them closer. I wanted to feel my wrath. I wanted to impress that secretary. I wanted to feel young again.
I had always been a fan of Karate Kid. I especially love the scene where he had to "wax on, wax off." That's been my job for years. Not exactly with wax, but with glass windows. With chalkboards. With walls and whatever those crazy emos rubbed on them that one year. My hands moved like hawks, my fingers poised like snakes. I weaved past their scrambled blocks as I attacked. Their eyes were mine. Their jugulars were theirs to keep, but they would have to make due with them being crushed.
"I cleaned up the mess for you, principal." | "Okay Juan, it's recording now."
The navy jacket stared at Juan with its too perfect red tie, sunglasses, and impassive yet stern expression. Juan stared right back. In his orange apparel he looked like any other inmate. He didn't have the hang-dog air of an informant, but he was one. So much more too, if this worked the way it was supposed to.
"It started out like any other day. I got there early to unlock the doors and clean the bathrooms. I left a couple packs of cigarettes and bags of weed for the kids I had a going business with behind the removable tile above the toilet. Then I pushed my cart onwards, out of the bathroom, and through the halls until kids started coming in. At that point I knew I was supposed to sequester myself in the gym, any area the kids weren't, so as not to be a nuisance."
A pause.
"I always found it funny how you Americans can't handle your own messes, but just as much can't handle seeing the people who take care of your messes for you."
Two dark ovals looked at Juan's white and black pupils. Neither flinched or moved.
"The only thing different about that day was I had to go pick up my kid from school in the city. I left my janitorial supplies in the closet, stripped off my old, rumpled janitor's uniform, and slipped out a side door. I walked to the car, straightening my tie because it had gotten crooked. Mopping is hard work man, honest work too. I always left my car away from the school because people in the suburb might find it incongruous that their janitor drove a nicer vehicle than their parents. Finally inside my red, sleek, pavement-eating love, I opened the glove compartment and took out my hair gel. My hair slicked back, I taxied into traffic to go get my kid. It was on the way back to school, that I turned the local radio on because I was bored and sick of the pop shit playing on every other channel.
It was static at first. No one gave a shit about the local radio except a couple old obsessed dudes, and some alternative kids in the school. Mostly I figured it was people who liked to hear themselves talk.
*police have the school surrounded but cannot move in. Reports have the kids gathered in the gym by the gunmen. No word yet on how fast the first SWAT team is set to arrive. Authorities give it another half an hour before they will be moving in.*
I didn't react at first because I didn't care. This job was just cover for me. The boys over the border were going to be coming soon, I'd give them what intel they needed, and then be gone. Then I realized, I did kind of care. I mean, the boys would know this was the school I'd been sent to. I'd catch hell over this sort of thing, never hear the end of it.
*One janitor is reported dead, shot through the head apparently when he tried to escape by climbing the fence*
I had to smile a little at that. The irony was too much. I pulled into my usual parking spot eventually and got out. According to the radio, I had about 20 minutes before authorities swarmed the place and fucked it all up. Plenty of time.
I gout out, opened up the trunk, and retrieved my briefcase. Then I reached further inside and pulled out the vest. I took off my jacket, slipped the vest on, then the jacket, and then I made my way back to the school briefcase in hand. I couldn't help smiling a little bit. Finally, a mess I was actually qualified to clean up.
Once inside the school, I edged around the corner and opened the door to my closet. Inside, I took off the jacket and tie, slipping back into my innocuous janitor's uniform. Before opening the door again, I set my ear against it. Sure enough, a heavy footfall, followed by a slight metallic clink, gave me all I needed to know. I opened the door and tumbled out as if in shock.
The man raised his gun and pointed it at me. He was just a kid. Then I looked at his eyes and saw the madness. This was not a kid, this was something else, or something in control of this kid. He told me to get down on the floor. I didn't. I raised my hands though. We stood like that, I completely still, and he twitching wildly over the trigger, for a few seconds. Then I saw the telltale eye widen so I uncoiled my tightened body along the floor and to the side of the kid, kicking his legs out from under him and grabbing the gun as it fell—no need to use my bullets if I didn't have to. The kid was crying and pleading on the ground for me not to kill him. I asked him what they were going to do with the kids. He said they had to die, they deserved to die, they had bullied him and stuff. I asked if he was alone. He said no, he had brought some friends from the city who were affiliated with some online forum he frequented. That was all I needed to hear. You Americans, you don't understand, when someone needs to be punished you punish them. When someone needs to be punished permanently, you punish them permanently. When an animal gets rabies or goes crazy you put it down. I put the kid down, he deserved it.
I continued on through the school hallways. They were eerily quiet. Outside the gym, I ran through a couple different options. Then, I realized how fucking boring this post had been for the last couple months. I threw away the kid's gun in disgust and unzipped my jacket to retrieve my weapons. Kicking open the door when I was ready, I shot two of them down while it swung open and then sprinted back through the halls and to the side entrance. Entering it at a run, and scaling the stairs, I made it to the second level bleachers overlooking the gym. It was madness down there. The standing gun-toting idiots were yelling and screaming at each other to do something. One of them seemed to be the leader. I aimed at his head and... didn't pull the trigger. Fingering the knife at my waist, I swung it around each of my fingers before throwing it through his right eye. At this point, some of the students had seen me and were pointing. In the course of 10 seconds I shot one of the gunmen through the head, another I gave 3 good slugs to the chest, and the rest I sprayed as I moved and ducked on the bleachers. It was over so fast I didn't really have time to relish it. But then the adrenaline hit me. God, how I had missed that adrenaline."
"That's all we need Juan."
The suit depressed the recording button and got up to leave. I watched him go. Then I sat there in my orange jumpsuit and smiled at the security camera. I'd told them I was part of a Mexican drug cartel operation to completely take over this territory. It was the truth. It's just, they'd never asked which one so I'd given them a name and they had taken it. It wasn't the right one, but these stupid Americans, they didn't seem to understand there were distinctly different cartels. If only they did, maybe the wouldn't have unwittingly created such a purely meritocratic environment, one where only the absolute best and most cutthroat could thrive.
Which one do I belong to? Come on, do you really have to ask? | 2016-11-18T07:26:36 | 2016-11-18T07:15:28 | 61 | 45 |
[WP] You're a middle school custodian, cleaning up the school is your job. So when a group of men take the school hostage, they are no exception. You have a mess to clean. | 19 years ago I became a custodian for Emerson country schools.
16 years ago I was transferred to Sheldon elementary.
10 years ago I met the love of my life, Amanda.
7 years ago we were married.
147 minutes ago bad men attacked the other love of my life: Sheldon elementary.
132 minutes ago I saw my wife get shot two times in the head
129 minutes ago an echoing snap rang through the hall
125 minutes ago I saw the bad men burn the cafeteria.
120 minutes ago I decided:I will defend the last love of my life
116 minutes ago I saw 2 men
113 minutes ago I saw four men beating the principal.
110 minutes ago I broke a mans nose and downed a bottle of Drano into another mans mouth.
107 minutes ago all four lay motionless necks snapped, skull fractured and esophagus shredded
100 minutes ago the sprinklers went off
93 minutes ago I bashed a mans face into the sink.
86 minutes ago I was shot once in the leg
80 minutes the gunman died after a struggle and four shots to the head
79 minutes ago a message went out too all with radios "You have hurt me, now I will hurt you."
68 minutes ago I arrived at the best man in my wedding's classroom. All of his students cowering under a rifleman's sight.
64 minutes ago I was shot in the thigh, the rifleman's arms were snapped
47 minutes ago I finished escorting 7th graders from that class room
45 minutes ago the firemen arrived
42 minutes the police told me to stop and seek medical help
40 minutes ago I went back inside
34 minutes ago put a mans face in a toilet
32 minutes ago the bubbles stop
27 minutes ago the sprinklers stopped
23 minutes ago the basketball coach died fighting of
two men with bats, his arms shattered.
15 minutes I arrived at the gymnasium with the
coaches arms flattened and crushed
14 minutes ago one mans fingers are broken.
13 minutes ago I broke a bat on his head. Blood poured out from 2 gashes
11 minutes ago his friend ran in terror. Trembling
4 minutes ago I caught him
3 minutes ago The shards of the bat were left in his chest
2 minutes ago the school was completed evacuated
Now I clean up my mess | I'm going to have to move again after this.
This always happens. I want to go to some quiet place, get a normal job, and live a normal life like all the mortals do.
But no. The Universe always has other ideas.
Just this past century, my jobs included guard to archduke Ferdinand, mechanic at the *Titanic,* secretary in the World Trade Center, and a fisher-woman in Cambodia. From the Rome to the fall of Constantinople, I am fairly certain I have the worst luck in the universe. The price of immortality I suppose.
So when I was in the Janitor's closet, fetching some ammonia for some chemicals those fools at the chemistry department had spilled and I heard gun shots, I didn't gasp in surprise, or felt a sudden gasp of fear.
I sighed in resignation.
"I could walk away you know," I said to Whoever was Above, "I have free will, I don't have to deal with all the problems in history!"
The Universe chose not to answer.
Just as well. It knew just as well as I that I wasn't going to walk away from something like this. It's a testament to my life that I pulled out a 1911 strapped to my thigh., and loaded it. I used to be a traditionalist, using a sword, but even I had to stay with the times.
There was some shouting just outside the closet I was in, and a man opened the door. He was light skinned with long dark hair with some sort of assault rifle held in both his hands. His mouth turned into a little "O" of surprise as he took me in. A red haired tall, young woman with with sharp blue eyes...in a janitor's outfit. It really did ruin the whole "stunning" effect, but I suppose it was shocking enough with the gun I was holding.
I grabbed the barrel of his gun before he recovered and slammed it into his cheek. He reeled back, and I slammed the butt of my gun into his nose. There was a spurt of blood from his nose, and the man fell down with a cry. I shot him with my silenced pistol twice in the forehead.
By this time, his two friends in the hallway had turned around and saw me standing over the dead body of their friend. They shouted something in some other language, and began to pull up their weapons.
They were complete amateurs. They had their safeties on in the middle of a hostage situation. I couldn't help but give a little smile as I shot the m swiftly in the chest and head as they fumbled with their safeties. I probably would have beaten them to the draw regardless considering my weapon was already drawn, but I appreciated the small favors the universe chose to throw my way.
I had just though about small favors when a man came up from behind and have a gasp of surprise as he saw me and the three bodies. Judging by the sound he was only about 5 feet behind me, where this hallway intersected the other, so I threw myself backwards with great force.
The man behind me gave a distinct "oomph" as I rammed into him and got a face full of my hair. We fell to the ground and began to struggle. That's the funny things about guns, in close quarters like this, when all that matters is grappling and wrestling, the gun might as well be a cannon for all the good it does. The man was trying to put me some kind of judo grip, but I was there when Judo was made. I broke his grip in my left hand and kneed him in the groin.
Hey, don't look at me like that, it's a classic.
The man gave a distinctly un-man-like squeal of pain and for a moment ceased fighting. He might as well have offed himself right there. A moment is all you need in a fight.
I punched him in the Adam's apple, and his strangled scream cut off. I disentangled myself from him and kicked him in the ribs. With him reeling on the ground, I shot him twice.
*8 bullets* I thought to myself, and reloaded.
I moved through the hallways trying to find out what was going on. The school seemed to be on lock-down, with all the classroom doors closed and locked.
I heard sirens in the distance and sighed, that appeared to be my cue. I would have to disappear after this...again. I was using a fake name, and the staff thought I was an illegal immigrant so tracking me wouldn't be an issue. But still, I probably couldn't come back in this state for the next decade or two.
AT least I had done my job to the full, I had cleaned up a pretty big mess on my last day. I chuckled softly at the joke and walked out the classroom, and went to the back of the school where I stashed my get away clothes.
Yeah, I have a secret getaway stash, my freaking life.
30 seconds later I was on the sidewalk with a bunch of other gawkers staring at the sirens in front of the school. I would disappear with the crowd when the police made them disperse.
No good deed goes unpunished I suppose. | 2016-11-18T09:04:27 | 2016-11-18T08:05:59 | 51 | 21 |
[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross. | In the December dusk, the bubbles of light around the street lamps, whirling with specks of sparkling ice crystals, looked like oversized snow globes.
“I want to capture the street outside,” Adolf said. “Where do I start? Atmosphere? Lighting? A blitz of color?”
“You start by not painting,” Bob said. “First you need to understand. You start by thinking.”
The young aspiring artist flipped his hair to the side, narrowing his eyes.
“Careful deliberation is the key to a great painting,” Bob continued. “Remember; every stroke of the brush has consequences.”
“So, I start simple?” Adolf said. “The falling snow!”
Bob ran a hand through his thick hair and took a deep breath.
“That is a good place to start. A snowflake is one of Nature’s most beautiful creations,” he said. “They’re all made out of the same water, but every snowflake is unique…”
“I think I get it now,” Adolf said and made a few quick strokes across the canvas. “The canvas is the province of my expression. It is a domain that I, alone, control and shape to fit my unique ideas.”
Bob shook his head and stopped the eager hand of the young artist.
“Your brush is a coryphée, and the canvas is a stage of white ice. The stage belongs to the art, not the artist,” Bob said.
“So, I need to pour my mind onto the canvas,” Adolf said and made another series of quick strokes. “I need to get it all out, and not consider my desires!”
Bob leaned over and plucked the brush out of young man’s moving hand mid-motion.
“Wrong; your heart is your most valuable consultant,” Bob said. “That’s why you can’t rush. Some ideas are better left unexplored. Each color and stroke have to feel right in your heart. If your strokes are too fast and too many, your heart won’t be able to keep up.”
“I think I finally get it…”
Certain that he had taught Adolf the value of constraint and diversity, Bob Ross returned to his own time. On the way to the kitchen to grab a snack, he noticed that something was wrong with his world globe. The place that had previously said Europe now had big capital letters spelling GERMANY.
“What the hell…” Bob mumbled and grabbed his history book.
*Due to his icy restraint and meticulous planning, Hitler avoided a war on two fronts, taking his time to first defeat France and Great Britain before attacking Russia. Modern scholars have placed Hitler among iconic conquerors such as Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan, and named him The Artist of Warfare.*
*****
[/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/) | The German was at his wit's end, almost ready to throw away the canvas completely.
Were it not for the man with the strange hair, it would have been one of hundreds tossed aside.
"Now remember what I said Adolph" the stranger named Bob said with his gentle voice.
Hitler sighed, "There are no mistakes, only happy accidents." He remembered and replied almost robotically.
Bob nodded, with his strange hair gently shaking. His brush working a nearby canvas as he hummed a wordless tune.
Hitler could only stare at this oddity of a man and wonder *'How does he stay so positive?!'*
He wanted to know more about America, the country this man belonged to, but he always shrugged off any specific questions.
The only thing Bob acknowledged was that previous attempts on Adolph's life were from people of his time and some set in Bob's future. Yet here this stranger stood, painting as if he was in his own studio.
Despite his attempts to apply for the Academy, Hitler was turned down every moment. His personal life was taking a turn for the worse as well.
More and more he was frustrated, angry, unhappy, and needed to vent somewhere. He found that place in the happy settings that he and Bob created.
Wonderful trees, beautiful skies, a utopia, and one Adolph wished would be so in reality.
Then one day, Bob was not at the easel. He stared at a nearby window looking at the populace below.
"I didn't care much to draw people." Bob broke the silence.
Adolph was slightly shocked by this admission of professional weakness. Bob never admitted to anything limiting himself or Adolph, always encouraging that anything is possible. Adolph wondered if this was a test, "Yes they do require some extra skill compared to a happy little tree." He tried to smile as he replied.
Bob turned to look Adolph in the eyes; warm but still distant, as though looking at something millions of miles away.
"Capturing the esscence of people is hard to do on paint. What matters is capturing the imagination of people as they look at your pantings *right there*." The man's gaze returned back to Adolph, taking his shoulder and guiding the young German to another room.
It was filled with all of Adolph's past pantings, ones he thought he threw away. He gave Bob an incredulous look, "I threw these away! They are garbage! They are mis--"
Bob cut him off, "They are happy accidents. Merely pantings you haven't finished because you gave up on them. Just like how so many give up on lots of things and others."
Grabbing Adolph rather roughly, he spun the man to face his previous discards. "You left every one of these? Why?" Pointing to a random picture, "Because it was after your rejection letter?" Then another, "Because that one girl you like didn't reciprocate?" Another off in the corner, "Because you were so caught up in the details you didn't remember the heart of your creation?!"
At this point Adolph's anger boiled, "YES YES and YES! All of them are failures. The Academy wouldn't take suchs sloppy details! **I AM A FAILURE!**" Tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes.
Bob released his shoulders, the calm voice returning, "So who are you painting for? Them or you? Each of these paintings deserve a chance to be finished. That's art, that's what is missing, and that's why I want you to finish them."
So the weeks went, Adolph Hitler consulted Bob Ross on every "mistake" he wanted to discard. Bob would offer advice on what could be used to improve upon the paintings. As they worked together, Adolph lost his resentment to society little by little and replaced it with his own pride on the art.
It was later when Bob announced a public display at a nearby park, featuring Hitler's works. The presentation wasn't to the art critics, the Academy, or anyone of high importance to society. It was to the common man and woman. The beggars, the old, the Jews and the Gentiles alike. Some found his art interesting, some disagreed, others found it boring, but those that stayed grouped around him to ask about his styles. With each presentation, the small groups grew.
Bob tried to show Adolph Hitler that every man, woman, and child deserves to see art. It wasn't reserved for anyone special. It was there for everyone to touch their hearts. As a result of these presentations he made waves, for good and ill, in the art world. Slowly Adolph was displaying his art in public or even painting on the sides of buildings in secret. All of this to show his audience, his *people*, that they had the power to choose what art was instead of the academies.
Bob eventually returned to his own time, hoping that the swell of the audience would give Adolph the love he apparently didn't get in his life. As Bob noted subtle changes to the "present" he noticed that WW2 sadly still occured, but under different circumstances.
Researching Hitler's life, he found that the young man was killed in WW1 by a jealous French prostitute. Apparently she was enamored by his successes and grew frantic in her obsession. This young Jewish girl killed him and herself in a misguided attempt to "be together forever".
Bob Ross was taken aback by the news, or rather history, and looked at the masses of people in the library.
Conflicted in his feelings. He prevented WW2 as he knew it, but at the cost of a young man and woman.
Countless lives changed forever.
"I didn't care much to draw people." Bob broke the silence to himself, "People are too chaotic to figure out." | 2022-10-08T17:26:42 | 2017-02-16T18:05:46 | 74 | 10 |
[WP] When someone is murdered, their name appears on the skin of the killer. You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there. | I stared at the ink on my arm, shocked and horrified at how it got there. How did it get there?
I was terrified but I got out of bed quickly and called her number.
The ring tone went on forever, and the moment I heard her pick up the call - when the ring tone went off and there was a pause, before her voice saying "Hello!" in her usual cheery voice - I hung up the phone.
If she was okay, then why was the name on my arm? Could this be a joke? I tried rubbing it off my arm, but it wouldn't come off.
Then I got a call. My roommate.
"Dude, where are you? You gotta get here. Quick, there's no time." As quick as he had called, he had no sooner hung up. There was urgency in his voice, along with desperation. I was confused, before the message came in.
Her address.
I ran, and ran, her house was less than five blocks from mine. As I ran I called, but every time I called, it went to voice mail. Come on, pick up, come on. Pick up like you did the first time.
I stopped outside her place, seeing there was a cop car outside her place, and I saw that her door was open. Was she really?
I walked in and everyone inside stared at me. Blankly I took in the scene in front of me. Three policemen, her roommate, my roommate.
And then her. She lay right on the sofa, lying uncomfortably straight; her hands were on her stomach.
And she wasn't breathing.
I walked over to her and dropped right next to her. What had happened? Why was her name on my arm? Why was she dead?
And then I saw the letter under her hands, with my name on it.
With trembling hands I took it and opened it.
It was short and simple on one side, long and wordy on the other. But I never got to the wordy side. I now knew why her name was on my arm.
"I could never live without you. I'm sorry."
**edit:** thanks so much for the gold, it's my first time having a comment prompt blow up so much! | "Well, this is new, a tattoo embedded onto the arm of mine, but I' ve no recollection of how it got here but, at least it doesn't hurt. What happened last night? Well I went from work at 3:15 pm and I went to the... damn it what is that damn place called? It had a weird name. Fuck. Where am I? Well let's see..." The cracked walls gave me a shiver, for some reason I'm tattooed with the words "Michael". I can't take my eyes of this abomination of a Tattoo. I reached into my pocket and here it is, a locket; I need some air. The air thickened as I attempt to grasp my recollection of what happened last night, through the claustrophobic hallways, each seemed to reflect the detachment of any human kindness, with each step challenged through the use of screams mimicing my footsteps with pure ferocity. My body seemed to give under the unrivaled nature of this unending tunnel.
A drop of information arised as I try to recollect what occured. " I drove to a nearby diner with nothing but my cigerettes and wallet, as I drove to a diner nearby, I believe it's called "J&C's" It wasn't too fancy, a run down 50's diner that struggled in the face of time. I turned off the car and webt through a singular metallic frame that seemed to have been used as a substitute for a door. The smell wasn't too bad I suppose, cheap air freshener wasn't as distracting as the 4x4 of plywood that replaced some of the windows. I approached the waitress and ordered a coffee. "
"Did I just pass out"? My legs were trembling as I decided to carry my weakend form through the corridor. I mapped the corridor out to enter the miniscule room. A few furnitures and a table were all that was remotely even usable, as the rest of the stuff here seemed to have either been scattered or beyond former recognition; mostly both. I then stumbled across my diploma, seemed the framing was cracked. My mind chaotic-ly rushed to find something inside the labyrinth like cocoon of the mind.
"A sip of my coffee was interrupted by a figure slowly approaching me from the left side, as I had diverted my attention from the chimicals of the darkenned sea. I reluctantly invited him to sit; perhaps company had eased me of my surroundings. He asked me of few questions: what's my job, what's my name and why here? I suppose I can't tell him my name or my intention, however I told him my job. I uttered the line "a teachers assistant". It wasn't too bad, everyone deserved an education. The man grumbled in approval before I offered him a ride back to his house, seemed it was reasonable. So I took the man in my car and we drove."
I became weary of my surroundings. Perhaps I was too embellished in this place. Slowly I had crept downstairs only to be greeted by the man I had spent yesterday with. He had greeted my like an old friend. He asked me of death. The man unravelled his sleeve to reveal the same name "Michael". I panicked and roared my question, "how, why"? "You don't remember do you?" My memories suddenly solidified and connected in ways I never thought was possible.
"The road was unrelenting, a chamber of silence deafened the vehicle til the man asked me of why I was carrying my diploma? I had told him that I couldn't face the task anymore I quit. As we approached the crossroads, the man had asked me of life, and death. I had told him that death has no bias. Silence.
The man had uttered a revelation. "I failed him". My heart sank, it was like a jolt of regret had invaded my mind, for I too had failed him. He had guided me to a room that seemed to feel cold and abandoned. He had a reflection of deep dispair that haunted my mind as he had proceeded to invite me to a box inscribed "Michael" he fetched two glasses and a bottle of scotch. He smoothly poured the scotch smoothly after handing me the glass. "I wasn't there when he needed me the most" he gloomed. The truth is neither did I. I opened the locket to reveal two tablets and a quote, "to teach the unteachable and to help the unhelpable." I looked at him one final time. I quickly took the tablets and instantly fell ill, "why?" Shouted the man.
I knew his son. I tried to help him. Every day he would say the same thing "what is death" I told him that death had an afterlife; I don't believe it however. But then one day, I showed him the locket. I told him that when i think of death, I hold this locker and it goes away. I wasn't thinking that he would take one of my tablets. I failed him. So I resigned.
Look at him, trying to save my life, I'll unburden him and prove that there's nothing he could have done, for afterall, death has no bias.
I hope you all enjoy my story.
| 2017-03-24T15:58:18 | 2017-03-24T13:35:49 | 2,344 | 20 |
[WP] When someone is murdered, their name appears on the skin of the killer. You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there. | I stared at the name on my arm.
It was a name I didn't know. Had never heard of.
I frowned at it. I squinted at the letters. It took me several moments before I realized that it wasn't inkpen. Wasn't sharpie. Whatever it was was permanent. And I knew how things worked.
These markings only appeared if you killed another person.
Now I knew I hadn't killed anyone. Knew I'd slept the previous night. Soundly even. I even had my sleep recorder going. There were no disturbances.
I stared at the name. How could I murder someone without ever leaving my house?
I knew that I would have to search for the person. I didn't want to. I felt sick. Felt like vomiting. But I dragged myself to the computer. Didn't even take a piss. I couldn't be bothered. I was on edge.
I turned on my laptop. Went on chrome. I let my fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment. I changed my mind and went to the bathroom first. Didn't want to piss myself if it was shocking. Finally I returned and sat back down. I finally swallowed my fear and typed in the name.
That .4 seconds was be longest fraction of a second I've ever experienced.
I placed a hand over my mouth as I saw the person on the screen. I threw up in my wastebasket. Fuck. Fuck!
It was some kid. Some high school kid. A boy. He fucking hung himself.
I poured over the first article I saw. He was stalked online on social media and tormented. An anonymous user kept telling him to kill himself.
I felt the sweat dripping. I rushed to the site and started deleting my shit. But the horrible messages in my inbox were fucking hostile. Holy shit.
He committed suicide. It wasn't my fault. People are always online doing that. I didn't mean it. I was just trolling. It wasn't my fucking fault.
He should have been tougher.
But goddammit. The fucking marking doesn't mistake. God... I've killed someone. I'm a murderer. It's on my arm. Everyone will know.
It wasn't my fault. | "Well, this is new, a tattoo embedded onto the arm of mine, but I' ve no recollection of how it got here but, at least it doesn't hurt. What happened last night? Well I went from work at 3:15 pm and I went to the... damn it what is that damn place called? It had a weird name. Fuck. Where am I? Well let's see..." The cracked walls gave me a shiver, for some reason I'm tattooed with the words "Michael". I can't take my eyes of this abomination of a Tattoo. I reached into my pocket and here it is, a locket; I need some air. The air thickened as I attempt to grasp my recollection of what happened last night, through the claustrophobic hallways, each seemed to reflect the detachment of any human kindness, with each step challenged through the use of screams mimicing my footsteps with pure ferocity. My body seemed to give under the unrivaled nature of this unending tunnel.
A drop of information arised as I try to recollect what occured. " I drove to a nearby diner with nothing but my cigerettes and wallet, as I drove to a diner nearby, I believe it's called "J&C's" It wasn't too fancy, a run down 50's diner that struggled in the face of time. I turned off the car and webt through a singular metallic frame that seemed to have been used as a substitute for a door. The smell wasn't too bad I suppose, cheap air freshener wasn't as distracting as the 4x4 of plywood that replaced some of the windows. I approached the waitress and ordered a coffee. "
"Did I just pass out"? My legs were trembling as I decided to carry my weakend form through the corridor. I mapped the corridor out to enter the miniscule room. A few furnitures and a table were all that was remotely even usable, as the rest of the stuff here seemed to have either been scattered or beyond former recognition; mostly both. I then stumbled across my diploma, seemed the framing was cracked. My mind chaotic-ly rushed to find something inside the labyrinth like cocoon of the mind.
"A sip of my coffee was interrupted by a figure slowly approaching me from the left side, as I had diverted my attention from the chimicals of the darkenned sea. I reluctantly invited him to sit; perhaps company had eased me of my surroundings. He asked me of few questions: what's my job, what's my name and why here? I suppose I can't tell him my name or my intention, however I told him my job. I uttered the line "a teachers assistant". It wasn't too bad, everyone deserved an education. The man grumbled in approval before I offered him a ride back to his house, seemed it was reasonable. So I took the man in my car and we drove."
I became weary of my surroundings. Perhaps I was too embellished in this place. Slowly I had crept downstairs only to be greeted by the man I had spent yesterday with. He had greeted my like an old friend. He asked me of death. The man unravelled his sleeve to reveal the same name "Michael". I panicked and roared my question, "how, why"? "You don't remember do you?" My memories suddenly solidified and connected in ways I never thought was possible.
"The road was unrelenting, a chamber of silence deafened the vehicle til the man asked me of why I was carrying my diploma? I had told him that I couldn't face the task anymore I quit. As we approached the crossroads, the man had asked me of life, and death. I had told him that death has no bias. Silence.
The man had uttered a revelation. "I failed him". My heart sank, it was like a jolt of regret had invaded my mind, for I too had failed him. He had guided me to a room that seemed to feel cold and abandoned. He had a reflection of deep dispair that haunted my mind as he had proceeded to invite me to a box inscribed "Michael" he fetched two glasses and a bottle of scotch. He smoothly poured the scotch smoothly after handing me the glass. "I wasn't there when he needed me the most" he gloomed. The truth is neither did I. I opened the locket to reveal two tablets and a quote, "to teach the unteachable and to help the unhelpable." I looked at him one final time. I quickly took the tablets and instantly fell ill, "why?" Shouted the man.
I knew his son. I tried to help him. Every day he would say the same thing "what is death" I told him that death had an afterlife; I don't believe it however. But then one day, I showed him the locket. I told him that when i think of death, I hold this locker and it goes away. I wasn't thinking that he would take one of my tablets. I failed him. So I resigned.
Look at him, trying to save my life, I'll unburden him and prove that there's nothing he could have done, for afterall, death has no bias.
I hope you all enjoy my story.
| 2017-03-24T16:11:24 | 2017-03-24T13:35:49 | 340 | 20 |
[WP] When someone is murdered, their name appears on the skin of the killer. You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there. | Mom always told me not to wear long-sleeved shirts. I obeyed, of course.
It would always make people talk when they saw a name on your skin. They wouldn't ask, they'd just whisper.
When I traveled to Guatemala, I saw a police officer with his arm covered with people's names. I would later learn he was a war hero.
This was normal in my world, of course. Somehow your occupation would justify the number of people you shot in the head. I'd imagine it were the same in yours?
In one of my college classes, someone broke down as the word "Lily" slowly etched into his skin. She was the girl he had accidentally given the wrong medicine to. How was anyone supposed to know she was allergic to Advil?
There's a different group that handles these cases. You make your plea and they investigate. If they decide you were innocent, you would be given a special tattoo over that name, a white rose. My dad has one over granddad's name. Gramps wanted it. The machines were more of a nuisance for him.
Dad taught me how to file a pardon. You would have to download a form online and fill it out then mail it to them. They'd get back to you 3 days later.
I wrote his name down under the 'deceased' blank. I sighed as I looked at my left arm, the skin just hanging limply on the bones. *John, I'm so sorry.* Cause of death: overdose.
You'd have to fill in the rest, write a narrative of your side of the story.
My fingers were shaking. Tears filled my eyes. *I loved him too much.*
*I didn't know what to do.*
*I wanted him all to myself so I gave him more. I kept on giving because I knew it was why he'd come back to me.*
*I didn't know this would happen.*
There were white lies and white lines.
I looked at my bedside table. The clock said 8:30 PM. John should have been here. He'd get the rows on right, and mine would be on the left. There was no John anymore though. 8:31 PM. I'll see you in a few, my love. | "Well, this is new, a tattoo embedded onto the arm of mine, but I' ve no recollection of how it got here but, at least it doesn't hurt. What happened last night? Well I went from work at 3:15 pm and I went to the... damn it what is that damn place called? It had a weird name. Fuck. Where am I? Well let's see..." The cracked walls gave me a shiver, for some reason I'm tattooed with the words "Michael". I can't take my eyes of this abomination of a Tattoo. I reached into my pocket and here it is, a locket; I need some air. The air thickened as I attempt to grasp my recollection of what happened last night, through the claustrophobic hallways, each seemed to reflect the detachment of any human kindness, with each step challenged through the use of screams mimicing my footsteps with pure ferocity. My body seemed to give under the unrivaled nature of this unending tunnel.
A drop of information arised as I try to recollect what occured. " I drove to a nearby diner with nothing but my cigerettes and wallet, as I drove to a diner nearby, I believe it's called "J&C's" It wasn't too fancy, a run down 50's diner that struggled in the face of time. I turned off the car and webt through a singular metallic frame that seemed to have been used as a substitute for a door. The smell wasn't too bad I suppose, cheap air freshener wasn't as distracting as the 4x4 of plywood that replaced some of the windows. I approached the waitress and ordered a coffee. "
"Did I just pass out"? My legs were trembling as I decided to carry my weakend form through the corridor. I mapped the corridor out to enter the miniscule room. A few furnitures and a table were all that was remotely even usable, as the rest of the stuff here seemed to have either been scattered or beyond former recognition; mostly both. I then stumbled across my diploma, seemed the framing was cracked. My mind chaotic-ly rushed to find something inside the labyrinth like cocoon of the mind.
"A sip of my coffee was interrupted by a figure slowly approaching me from the left side, as I had diverted my attention from the chimicals of the darkenned sea. I reluctantly invited him to sit; perhaps company had eased me of my surroundings. He asked me of few questions: what's my job, what's my name and why here? I suppose I can't tell him my name or my intention, however I told him my job. I uttered the line "a teachers assistant". It wasn't too bad, everyone deserved an education. The man grumbled in approval before I offered him a ride back to his house, seemed it was reasonable. So I took the man in my car and we drove."
I became weary of my surroundings. Perhaps I was too embellished in this place. Slowly I had crept downstairs only to be greeted by the man I had spent yesterday with. He had greeted my like an old friend. He asked me of death. The man unravelled his sleeve to reveal the same name "Michael". I panicked and roared my question, "how, why"? "You don't remember do you?" My memories suddenly solidified and connected in ways I never thought was possible.
"The road was unrelenting, a chamber of silence deafened the vehicle til the man asked me of why I was carrying my diploma? I had told him that I couldn't face the task anymore I quit. As we approached the crossroads, the man had asked me of life, and death. I had told him that death has no bias. Silence.
The man had uttered a revelation. "I failed him". My heart sank, it was like a jolt of regret had invaded my mind, for I too had failed him. He had guided me to a room that seemed to feel cold and abandoned. He had a reflection of deep dispair that haunted my mind as he had proceeded to invite me to a box inscribed "Michael" he fetched two glasses and a bottle of scotch. He smoothly poured the scotch smoothly after handing me the glass. "I wasn't there when he needed me the most" he gloomed. The truth is neither did I. I opened the locket to reveal two tablets and a quote, "to teach the unteachable and to help the unhelpable." I looked at him one final time. I quickly took the tablets and instantly fell ill, "why?" Shouted the man.
I knew his son. I tried to help him. Every day he would say the same thing "what is death" I told him that death had an afterlife; I don't believe it however. But then one day, I showed him the locket. I told him that when i think of death, I hold this locker and it goes away. I wasn't thinking that he would take one of my tablets. I failed him. So I resigned.
Look at him, trying to save my life, I'll unburden him and prove that there's nothing he could have done, for afterall, death has no bias.
I hope you all enjoy my story.
| 2017-03-24T17:31:42 | 2017-03-24T13:35:49 | 57 | 20 |
[WP] You are a scientist who discovers that souls do exist. You also find out that humans are the only animals that do not have them. | Of course we had always known this, this was why our race had stayed with them for so long. But now the terrible secret was out. The race we had worked so hard to protect in the hope that someday.....
Sigh. All I can do is rest my head in his lap and gaze up at him, silently communicating how much I love him. He looks down at me. I can see the haunted look in his eyes and it breaks my heart. “C’mon girl” he whispers. “Let’s find your lead and go for a walk”.
My tail lifts and starts wagging of its own accord. Maybe there’s hope after all. | What is in a soul? How do you quantify the capacity for love, hate, and compassion? How does one measure life? Is it the number of synapse in our brains, is it the number of words one can speak, or even the ability to follow a set of morals? It was this question I first set out to answer all those years ago. Months of testing, nights spent in agonizing turmoil sifting through seemingly endless mountains of data, and what came from it?
Nothing... There is nothing there.
That was, until we made a break through. The Municipal Zoological Habitats prized Panda, Xian Wei, was dying. She was the last female left in captivity -- in the world, really, and the national treasure of the People's Republic. I was tasked with monitoring her final moments, by pure happenstance. It was the wrong-place wrong-time scenario to the T.
Xian Wei was in transit when the accident happened, a sleep deprived trucker fell aslumber at the wheel and careened into oncoming traffic, killing the attendants instantly. Leaving the administrator little time to act. Hours away from any veterinary clinic or hospital, my facility was the only one equipped for documenting this emerging national tragedy.
Our facility was equipped with every equipment imaginable for monitoring death. We have had a standing occupancy of the terminally ill of over 60. The morning Xian Wei came in was hectic. Our facility was built to monitor death, not delay it.
We did what we could to make her comfortable sedation, heart monitoring, oxygen levels, the works. Even her bed was special -- a combination weight scale, bed calibrated to fractions of a gram. It wasn't long before her breathing was labored. We even had our office defibrilator on standby for the eventuality of her passing.
It didn't work.
She passed in her sleep at 10:58 am on January the 27th of 2057. She was 7 years old. Weight 179.09 lbs, or... It was. At 11:00 am something happened. Two minutes after she expired.. The weight changed. 179.01lbs.
We hadn't removed any of the monitoring equipment... Hadn't cleaned her... Hadn't so much as touched her body. Surely this had to be an error. Our patients have never before had any measurable changes in physiology before.
It had to be.
But as a researcher I was obligated to persue further testing. Months of trials, mountains of data, and so much more death later, and we had our answer -- weight. It was weight. Every animal had a dip in their overall weight proportionate to their size.
0.05% reduction across the board. But humans... Nothing.
There were no changes.
What is in a soul? How do you quantify the capacity for love, hate, and compassion? It was this question I first set out to answer all those years ago. Months of testing, nights spent sifting through seemingly endless mountains of data, and what came from it?
A singular answer, followed by many more questions. If a soul's weight has bearing, what does that mean for us humans, when it is not quantifiable? Do we have one, and if not... Are our morals truly... Moral? There is one thing we do know. From national tragedy, we gained the truth.
When death comes for animals, it takes from them something we lack. Maybe, it is we who are the outliers, rather than the exceptional. What is it we gained..?
Truth.
| 2018-01-27T08:09:44 | 2018-01-27T06:12:08 | 77 | 31 |
[WP] You are the king, after your daughter was kidnapped by a dragon you offered the standard reward to whoever rescued her. You weren't expecting a different dragon to rescue her.
Wow! I didn't think this would blow up like it did! Thank you all so much for all your stories. I haven't commented on all of them but they are all fantastic! | I was bouncing with excitement in my throne. Not only had my daughter been rescued from the dragon, but she also was rescued by one of her brave friends the same age as her! This would be a marriage that would go along very well.
One of my servants ran up to me. “Sir Grol, your daughter is back! And with her um.....savior...”
“Wonderful! Bring them both in! I want to meet this young stranger.” The servant saluted, and walked out of the room. I wondered who this brave lad would be. At such a young age, slaying a dragon? Perhaps the son of a knight. Or a wizard? Whatever it was, I was sure they’re very good.
Princess Diana walked into the room, still in her silver dress she was wearing a week ago. “Father!” She ran up to him, and hopped in my arms. I was overcome with joy, and hugged her tightly.
“Oh my daughter, I’m so glad you’re safe!”
“I’m perfectly fine Father! My friend saved me, and I’m so happy!”
“I’ve heard the wonderful news! Now where is he? I MUST meet him!”
Diana nodded, and ran back out of the room. She grabbed someone by the hand, and walked in with him. I sat up, and looked in wonder at the boy she was bringing in and...
Why it was just another dragon! A short one, the size of Diana. He was green, slightly chubby, with wings and a long head. He seemed to be a little shy, I could tell somehow. My smile dropped, and he slumped back into his chair.
The dragon eyed me, and bowed. “Hi your majesty. Sorry about keeping you waiting.”
I was confused. “Um...It’s no trouble. Diana, this is the boy who saved you?”
“He sure is! He’s amazing!” Diana hugged the dragon, and he blushed deeply.
“A young dragon.....slayed another dragon?......”
The dragon put his hands up to cut me off. “Oh no no no no no. That’s not what happened really. It’s a bit of a long story.”
“Well tell me then!”
The dragon cleared his throat, and coughed a bit. “Well, the dragon that you thought had ‘kidnapped’ her, was actually my mom. We were inviting Diana over to our mountain home for a play date!”
A....play date? I didn’t understand at all.
“We were playing at my place for a while, when Dad took us on a trip to the woods. We were walking around, and then we got separated. We got lost for a few days.
“The Woods were really scary father, but Owen found food!”
“We were lost for a few days, but Dad found us later, and flew us home. Then we ran into some issues at home, and here we are.” He was silent for a bit, so that was probably the end of the story.
Now it’s time for my problems with this. “I....I don’t understand. The townsfolk said they saw her being carried off by a dragon and screaming!”
Diana interjected, “That’s because it was really scary way up high! I was grabbing Owen the entire time.” Owen(the dragon I assumed) scratched the back of his head and chuckled.
“But if it was just a play date, why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I told Ms. Agatha. She said she was going to tell you!”
Oh....I sent her on vacation the same day. “But you said he ‘saved you.’ What did you mean by that?”
“Oh, oh yeah! While we were in the forest, we got stuck in a cave, surrounded by wolves! Owen scared them away with his fire, and flew us out!”
This was making even less sense every second.
“Ooh, and and! He saved me from a giant group of evil knights! When we got back, there were a lot of knights there! They were shouting and grabbing and pulling me, and Owen pulled me out of there, and saved me again! And then Mr. Dragon ate all of them! It was just the best week ever!”
This was twisting my entire mind. I thought my daughter had been tortured by an evil fire-breathing menace, when she was actually playing in the woods with a dragon boy. “W-Well.....As is tradition, saving the princess allows the boy to marry the princess. And you technically did save her, so therefore, you will marry the princess.”
Owen blushed again, while Diana was bouncing. “Yay!” She hugged him, and his entire face turned red.
“But given that both of you are seven, that might be a while.”
“Oh that’s ok! We can plan the perfect wedding in the mean time! Come on!” She dragged him out of the room.
Well, I’m gonna have to get used to a dragon son-in-law. This is gonna be interesting.
_____________
Feedback is appreciated! I hope you like my take on it.
Also if you guys want, I’ll do a part 2 with the king meeting the dragon parents.
| The tattered banners fluttered, shredding the cast light of the torches by their excited flaps. I could still see the claw marks that scarred the crenellations of what were once secure battlements. My warriors clasped their pole-arms and crossbows tightly, hoping that such insignificant weapons were not needed tonight. I tried to project as much regal bearing as possible, but the sleepless nights of worry had worn me down to a nub. I barely felt like I was in charge anymore.
A messenger had approached the city this morn. A crafted note had passed through secure hands to be read by my guard-captain, who carefully recited it as I slumped in my throne.
"Your daughter is safe. She shall be borne by air to the scene of her capture on the dusk of this message's deliverance. Please be ready to receive her."
The guard-captain had remarked that my countenance had dramatically changed with that message. A thousand weights had been removed from my brow.
It was true that I had experienced joy upon receiving that message. But I was not, if anything a man of practical purpose and shrewd measure. I set my information network into motion to find out who had abducted my daughter from me. I instructed my men to secure the city against any suspicious activity.
The morning melted into the afternoon quickly. I had fanned my informants as far as they could go, sorting through the underworld for clues and the nearby villages and homesteads dotting my land for any unwelcome strangers or strange sightings. My guards had rounded up the unsavory and suspect, gathering them into the dungeons below the castle and prisons scattered across the city.
I had spent a considerable amount of time with my advisors and with volumes of intelligence, scattering such documents across the expanse of my throne room as we made our most calculated attempts at discerning who could possibly be my daughter's savior.
With the grains of sand winding down and the sun starting to dip, I made the choice to ascend to the highest tower of my castle, where my daughter's chambers were. Surrounded by my personal retinue and guarded from the parapets by trained eyes with sharp and deadly projectiles, I stood above her personal room on top of the very tower where the dragon had stolen her from my protection.
I waited, staring into the oncoming dusk, peering out for any sign. As the final slivers of day receded a fluttering burst of wind that nearly doused the torches and buffeted our crouched forms battered us. Thinking we were under attack from the dragon once again, I was about to bellow for arrows to launch.
"Father, steady yourself!" I heard as I clearly recognized my own progeny.
Pulling up, I saw standing on the parapets my daughter, her blue eyes piercing and her long hair unkempt. She appeared unharmed.
"Daughter," I started. "You are alive."
A thin smile wove onto her face. "Yes. I return alive and unharmed."
I sighed, straightening out my robes as I began to approach with my guards. "My child, come down. It is far too dangerous for you to stay here. We will take you-"
"No."
The flat refusal stopped me. I palmed for my guards to stop as well. I stared at her face, into her eyes and her grim visage.
"No?" I echoed, perplexed by her tone. "Surely you understand that you are in danger standing there?"
That thin smile returned. "Yes, father. I am in danger while I'm here."
I didn't understand what she mean, and she see that confusion cross my face.
"You know why I was stolen away from here," she stated more than questioned.
That of course was an answer I understood. This was a world of darkness. The shadows held many threats. There were creatures of untold cruelty that lurked on the edges of civilization, waiting to topple the homes and bastions of man. There were even threats from within. A sickness that infested the walls of even a proud city as mine. I made sure such dangers and illnesses were properly watched and, if needed, eliminated. Destroy the threats before they decided to come after me or the things that I treasured most.
I thought a tower with locked bars and high fastness was the perfect place to secure my most invaluable possession in the world. A treasure that had such value that my enemies would do anything to harm or steal from me. Even send the greatest of barbaric beasts to advance their designs and schemes against me.
"Who was it who summoned the dragon to take you?" I asked. "Who was it who saved you?"
She looked at me, her eyes going soft. "It doesn't matter, really. There are probably countless people who, if they could, send that dragon if they had the chance."
I grew frustrated with her coy game. I motioned for my men to slowly approach. "Daughter, enough of this foolishness. Come down and tell me who was it."
"Who did what?" she asked, her eyes regaining their daggers.
"Who did it," I growled as my patience was at its end. I almost motioned for my guards to just grab her and drag her deep into the bowels of the castle, to ensure she would never be taken away again.
"I know what you do to those who ever lay eyes on me that you don't trust." she remarked.
Now it all came into focus. A memory of her 'rewarded' saviors and suitors over the years flashed before me. Blood and knives and dripping ichor and torture chambers flashed before my mind's eye.
I yelled, reaching my arm out to grab for her. She was only a few paces away.
A stronger buffet ofwind crested the tower top, and this time, I couldn't hold my ground. The world spun as soldiers cried in panic and a guttural growl enveloped the clanging of armored bodies hitting stone and I landed face down.
I clambered to a kneeling position, looked up, and froze.
My daughter clasped the neck of a frightly winged beast, a scaled horror of children's nightmares and crazed madmen ramblings. Its huge head was crowned with curved horns and teeth to slice through a man's limbs with ease. The eyes were intelligent, and focused on me as its body rested on the parapets.
"This is my savior!" screamed my daughter between the flaps of its colossal wings. "She slew the beast of another! One who hates you! And the tyrant you are!"
I pitifully reached out. Everything was slowly slipping away. My entire focus was on her as she climbed onto the beast's back. My treasure. My treasure was leaving me.
The memories came sharply in that instant. The decadent baron, my wife swollen with life. Their knowing smile and secret tryst. The reign of death I carved on the land to express my grief on those who sided against me in the civil war that followed. The cheating harlot and her puppet that hung from the gallows. The babe cut from her dead womb, still alive. The tower that ensured no one would touch this child. The one reminder of what I existed for, and the lengths to which I would protect that existence.
She looked back at me, her eyes locking onto mine. She mouthed something, perhaps a goodbye, but my delirious mind could not comprehend it as one more blast of air buffeted the tower, and my one sole possession I cared about in this world plunged into the darkness above.
I reached as high as I could from my fetal position into the sky. I could barely hear the din of my men as they righted me and escorted me back into the castle.
It didn't matter. They didn't matter. Nothing else mattered.
The only thing that mattered was getting her back.
No matter what. | 2018-02-23T14:08:39 | 2018-02-23T09:14:01 | 54 | 23 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | Today was supposed to be the day.
I was never sure were this magic came from. Where those that believed in Harry Potter got their fancy wands and ridiculous Latin spells. Mine came in the form of a couple whispers, that day I killed that abusive prick who called himself my father. The moment his blood spilled I heard the whispers of madness, in its sweetness I felt power I have never felt before. The more I killed the more the whispers came, giving me better tools and incantations that empowered me further. Soon they screamed at me, with plans for some kind of portal to their realm, a chance at sacrificing this banal world to these profane monsters. Today was the day I would shed enough blood to take this world into chaos, I would destroy this disgusting reality and take my place as overlord of the other realm.
But that’s not what happened.
Only was it too late I realized my folly, too late I learn where my magic came from. For as I opened the door to hell, I learned what the whispers and the screams truly meant. They were not promises of a legion of demons, they were lies. Lies of hateful creature not running towards a new king, but away from their destruction. The being that came from the portal was something far greater than any demon, it was fear of the demons itself. It was the scourge of their realm, the destruction of the destroyers. A beast of rage and hate, bound in human flesh. A god wrought in green and layered with the blood of a millennia in hell. From the moment I laid eyes on him I realized where it all came from.
And he was my Doom. | woop, posted to a response, instead of post... Repost.
"The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning."
The light of the moon cast strange shadows Down the steps of a large gothic mansion. One shadow slithered it's way to the grey sedan in the driveway, snapping his robes with a flick of his wrist as he sat in the drivers seat, a sense of urgency was in the air. The soft squeal of rubber gave confirmation.
"I don't understand, why am I being called to stop someone from yelling?
"Not yelling, shouting. He yells incoherently and shit flies across the bloody room!"
"I still don't get how this is The Black Tower's problem. And before you ask, yes I'm already on my way. I was hoping this was going to be a little more exiting."
"Thank you, Saemal. Who knows, maybe it will turn. Out to be fun?"
* * *
"That's the point smart one! By the nine, it's not that hard. You worship dragons. I kill dragons. I kill you. Now stand still and let me cut you!" The hulking brute of a man, wearing nothing but a bullet proof vest and pants, lunged with his sword.
There was a shriek, as a much smaller man was gored through the chest. If it were not for the drains, the kitchen floor would have been slick with blood. The scattered pots and pans and half cooked meals made for a chaotic scene. The brute walked through the double doors and into the dinning room. He noticed a man in black robes at the entrance.
* * *
Saemal saw the brute first, and immidiatly regreted coming. This man was big enough to cause this havoc with out magic. *I ought to just leave this for the civilian police.*
He was caught off guard by the wave of blue light coming for him. It hit him before he could react. As he landed on his back he heard it:
*FUS! ROH DAH!*
Like a thunder clap after silence, his ears rang as he stood up, dazed, only to be shoulder checked by the charging brute. Laying on his back, he came to.
A soft light appeared around him, and he fell through a hole in the floor.
* * *
The brute looked in awe at the place where the man had been. He knew of The Black Tower, but had never faced an *Aes Sedai*. This was going to be interesting. He could feel his own stamina returning after the shout. *Where did he go?*
* * *
Dropping from the ceiling behind the brute, Saemal released a storm of fireballs, channeling *Saidin* through the cuff on his wrist.
*WULD! NAH KEST!*
Saemal tried to understand why he was airborne, on a collision course with the wall behind him. Again he wondered if he should have stayed home. For different reasons now.
A hole appeared on the wall, and shrank to nothing after he passed through.
"Sneaking through these holes will only work for so long, witch!"
"Oh we are quit done here", he said, sounding bored. Purple light erupted from his outstreched palm, forming a beam of soundless energy, headed straight for the brute.
*FIEM!*
As the beam passed through the brute, he turned a pale blue, and ran to the side, the beam chasing him to the far wall before fizzling out.
"Bloody ashes! What are you?"
"I am Dovakiin, dragonborn."
*FUS ROH DAH!*
The brute smiled as his thu'um traveled across the room. The smile faded when he saw a reflection of himself appear in front of the man. Except he was looking at his back... He turned just in time to get hit in the face with his own shout. He landed hard.
He felt his arms being tugged, and the soft linen of robes, then the cold metal of the witch's shackles.
* * *
--
This is my first post in here, sorry if formating get screwed, I'm.on Mobil. I'll try and fix it in the morning before work if it's bad. | 2018-10-16T00:47:31 | 2018-10-16T00:41:38 | 62 | 13 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | *This has to be my worst hangover, and that's saying something.* I think to myself, as I slowly open my eyes. Light softly falls through the leaves above me.
*Wait, leaves?*
"What the fu-"
"TO LEAVE YOU MUST WIN. YOUR PRIZE IS ALL YOU GAIN IN THIS WORLD. GOOD LUCK."
The words echoed throughout my mind, making my headache worse, but the meaning didn't hit me until I saw them. A group of people, clothed in animal hides, armed with nothing more than sticks and stones. All were eyeing me, some confused, some scared, some...
"Ah crap".
I dodged the first rock thrown at my head, then the second before yelling, "ENOUGH!"
They all froze, with shocked expressions. Only a small girl had enough courage to speak up.
"Can speak! Can speak! I win!" Before looking at a pouting little boy behind her.
"It him." An elder man came forward, his hair greying at the temples, "He show good land, he show us the way."
"What in the ever-living F*** is going on?!" I exclaimed.
"W-we sorry, god! Sc-scared..." Said a now timid brute, hiding his sling behind his back.
*God?*
As my adreneline faded, and I tried to process this insanity, the elder took me by the hand. He lead me to the edge of the hill we were standing on. The scenery was breathtaking, no painting or photo could capture this pure, natural wonder. The elder pointed to to a field, across the river at the base of our hill.
"Three food?" He asked.
Confused, I looked back at the field. It was surreal, the number 3 and the images of crops growing filled my mind. "Y-yes." I replied, unsure of myself.
His eyes lit up and heturned his finger to a mountain range to our left.
"Three work?" He asked.
My mind again was filled with the number 3, and the visions of mining. "Yes."
The elder opened his arms in a wide, sweeping motion, "Where, my god?"
I looked around at the pristine world, numbers and visions of what could be passing my mind. I saw another hill futher down the river. Two food, Two work, close to stone and and sheep. "There." I said, finally grasping onto my situation. The elder beemed back at his tribe, tears threatening his eyes and the tribe cheered and laughed and cried.
"Come!" I commanded cheerfully, and they lifted me on their shoulders, carrying me to their promised land.
Many centuries have passed since that day. My tribe became my town, then my city, then my capitol. Many cities now flurrish under my rule, many great works have been done by my people, many barbarians and opponents have fallen to my armies.
My civilisation, has only just begun. | The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go." | 2020-02-16T20:35:23 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 66 | 12 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | "How many of them, Jennings?"
"Twenty-four on sensors now, Captain."
Captain Randolph of the United Earth Exploration Ship *Everest* scratched his chin. This was not how his colony protection detail was supposed to start. He and his light cruiser had been ordered to the new colony of Armana after sensor stations had picked up multiple anomalies near the colony. A task force was being assembled to provide permanent security, but as the closest ship to the colony, *Everest* had arrived first and was on her own.
"Ensign Lao, what can you tell me about these ships?"
"Not much, sir," the sensor operator replied. "We're estimating 6 battleship-class vessels, 12 frigate-class, and 6 heavy cruiser-class enemies."
"Weapons?"
"From what we can tell, sir, hull-mounted laser weapons and tubes for either missiles or torpedoes of some kind."
Randolph scratched his chin again. The *Everest* was very well armed for a light cruiser, sporting 60 5-pounder railguns on each side of the ship. It also boasted 84 *Hatchet* class missile tubes. But since humans tend to over-prepare, the ship was also fitted with one hull-mounted Mass Cannon, which would fire a 500 pound tungsten slug at several thousand miles-per-hour.
"Have the ships responded to our hails, Jennings?"
"Captain!" Lao interjected before Jennings could respond. "Sensors picking up energy spikes! Laser weapons charging!"
"All hands battle stations! And brace for impact! This is not a drill!"
The entire bridge crew could see the view screen as it was enveloped by a blinding flash of red light. The ship shuddered slightly.
"Damage report!"
"Direct hit, Captain! No hull breaches, no significant damage detected!"
Now Captain Randolph was pissed. Those alien bastards *dared* to shoot at them?
"All guns, prepare to fire! Broadside guns, focus on the smaller ships! Mass Cannon, focus fire on the battleships! Ready missiles!"
In less than 20 seconds, all weapon stations had signaled to the bridge that they were ready.
"Mass Cannon, FIRE!"
*Everest* shuddered as the 500 pound slug left the barrel of the cannon. The bridge waited for impact, watching the view screen, scarcely anyone even breathing. The slug impacted the lead battleship, ripping through its armor and continuing through the massive ship.
"Direct hit, Captain! Ripped through her bow to stern!"
"All stations, fire at will!"
Captain Randolph watched the screens as volley after volley of high-velocity death rained down on the enemy force. Within minutes the shells had shredded 20 of the 24 alien vessels, destroying most of them outright. The final few that were still operational turned and jumped to light speed, obviously eager to get away from the destruction the *Everest* had thrown at them.
"No more contacts, Captain! Sensing life signs in 2 enemy ships."
"Lieutenant Jennings, have Colonel Puller take 2 of his battalions of Marines and board those ships. Pacify whatever is on board and bring survivors back to the *Everest*. Ensign Lao, contact the Admiralty Board on Earth."
"What should I tell them, Captain?" Lao asked.
"Tell them we have first contact and first hostilities. I'll take the conversation in my quarters." | My little strike team and I tried not to laugh at how absolutely ridiculous the alien battleship in front of us looked as it slowly floated closer towards Earth’s orbit.
“So, this is the warship that destroyed those human colonies on Mars...” I thought out loud as I stared at this ridiculous hunk of bright yellow metal with all sorts of colorful structures sticking out of it. It looked like something that a child would draw up from their imagination, except it was very real, and full of aliens who were ready to invade Earth.
“Commander, are those things on its deck supposed to be cannons...?” My co-pilot pointed at a large coiled tube sticking out of the ship’s deck. “Also, why is it yellow? What kind of idiot paints a warship yellow?”
“That’s a great question, McBride...” I chuckled a little. “Alright, guys, let’s compose ourselves,” I spoke into my helmet radio, “I know that thing looks hella wacky, but it’s still big enough to wipe out an area the size of Los Angeles, so let’s go and blow it up before the boomers in the Pentagon start panicking. Dixie, I want you to buzz the bridge and try to wipe out the alien commander. Angel, I want you to bomb the shit outta the weird red pipes on the underside of this ship. I’m fairly certain those are supposed to be fuel lines. Sakura, I want you to use your fighter’s anti personnel cannons on any aliens with guns lounging on the main deck,” I gave orders to all of my teammates.
“I can take care of the captain for ya, but I don’t know which structure on the ship that’d be...” Dixie replied, confused.
“I think the bridge is the bright pink lollipop-looking thing in the middle of the deck,” I told him.
“Oh, I gotcha,” he laughed.
“Does anyone else have any other questions before we go?” I asked the rest of my squad.
“I’m all good here, commander,” Angel spoke up.
“As am I. Shall we proceed with the attack?” Sakura asked me.
“Yes, we shall. Good luck, guys. I’ve been told that the rate of fire on this thing’s defenses is super slow, but, like, try not to die anyway.”
“Let’s git ‘er done, y’all!!” I heard Dixie holler over the radio as he turned on the jets of his fighter and flew straight towards the bridge.
“Look at him go,” McBride was just as in awe as I was. “Let’s go, commander. I don’t want him to steal all our kills.”
“Man the guns, McBride. I’ll get us close to the main deck,” I told my co-pilot as I began our first attack run. I could see the aliens that looked suspiciously like medieval knights below us start screaming and breaking their linear formations as McBride and I started mowing down them by the dozens from our fighter. Their ridiculously complicated weapons were far too slow to properly defend against my team’s fast and relentless attacks.
“Commander, the bridge is comin’ down! You needa pull up before it falls on ya!” Dixie called out over the radio as I watched the lollipop-shaped structure to my left start to collapse in on itself. I quickly maneuvered my fighter to safety just in the nick of time as the remains of the bridge exploded behind my fighter in a spectacular green fireball.
“LET’S GO, BABY!!” I fist-pumped as I watched the rest of the ship start to break in half after the main deck had been bombed to hell by Sakura and I.
“Commander, I am pulling out! There is not much more left to destroy!” Sakura informed me over the radio. “We did a great job, did we not?!”
“Hell yeah, we did! I really gotta thank your officers in Japan for letting you join us when we get back to Earth!” I flew up alongside her, giving her a thumbs-up. I could see her smile and blush a little under her helmet.
“Fuel lines are down, commander. I think we can leave now,” Angel calmly spoke up as she joined up with me on my left side as we all saw the giant warship explode into little metal bits one last time.
“We got ‘em real good, commander!” Dixie laughed as he joined the formation.
“We sure as hell did, Dixie. I‘ll definitely be buying drinks for you all once we get back to Fort Freedom,” I grinned as my squad turned our fighters back towards our base on Earth.
Once we got back to our home base on the east coast of the continental US, I was quickly summoned to a meeting in the White House with the President of the United States, and the head of the US Space Force.
“Commander Storm, you’ve just saved the world,” the President greeted me with a smile as I entered the Oval Office. “You’ve done the whole planet a huge service, the biggest service I’ve ever seen.”
“Mister President, if I may ask, what do you mean?” I asked him, sitting in front of his desk.
“The huge warship you destroyed contained the entire military of the Trandalian race,” the Space Force chief explained to me.
“No, really? Their *entire* military?” I had to ask.
“Yes, their entire military. Apparently, the Trandalians follow a philosophy where intimidation alone is used as a weapon,” he replied.
“Wow, what a stupid philosophy. Don’t they know that’s not how war works?” The president spoke up. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was thinking the same thing.
“Maybe to us, but to be fair, we are dealing with aliens. Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore, since the commander here wiped them all out,” the chief looked at me. “You and your team are heroes, kid. Let them know that you and them will be receiving medals soon.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you,” I replied. “May I go and tell them now?”
“Sure you can. Go and celebrate your victory,” the president gave me permission to go. “Humanity will remember what you’ve done. Or, at the very least, America will.”
“Thank you, Mister President.” I grinned as I left his office. | 2020-03-21T10:25:30 | 2020-03-21T09:57:35 | 52 | 18 |
[WP] In an apocalyptic world, the last of humanity live in controlled, supposed paradise cities surrounded by towering walls; taught that the world outside died to wasteland centuries ago. You’re a smuggler, helping people escape the wall into the world beyond. | Today is their only chance to escape, and I can see in the tension in their shoulders that they all know it. Every year, months before the Departure, I start preparing for it and approaching them. And every year, the two or three the teenagers in my class that I approach choose to accept my offer.
The walls of our city are too high to climb over, the sewers are sealed, and the guards and spies are everywhere. No one can get out without our Leader’s permission, and that’s simply a fact that everyone knows and accepts.
“We’re all gathered here today to celebrate the annual Departure. Thank you all for assisting in the preparations, and for joining us today to wish our children luck! The ceremony is now over, please return to your homes and keep our children in your prayers tonight.”
And just like that, it’s over. I look at the twenty young men and women standing at the back of the stage, smiling weakly as they watch their families, friends and everyone they’ve known their entire lives walk away from them. At least most of them have the consolation of knowing that they will be back in two years, after they’ve found a partner in one of our five Sister Cities.
The system isn’t even that bad, honestly. It works for most people. You spend your whole childhood surrounded by people you love, going to school, being well fed and well cared for. So what if you’re never allowed outside of the city? Who would want to see the Wastelands, let alone live there? And so what if the Fathers gather regularly to decide everything for you, like what trade you will practice, and what sanctions you will receive for any minor transgression to the Code?
I take care of the others. Those who will never be able to fit into this system, who can’t live with the rules. And that’s why, every year, I’m the teacher who volunteers to get on the bus with all who turned seventeen that year, and accompany them to their first stop, to the first Sister City. In that city, they will learn how their trade is practiced over there, and more importantly meet new people their age, to settle down with or bring back home.
Every year since the rising consanguinity rates forced the Leaders of our Cities to start this practice, I’ve had supplies ready. Backpacks full of food, tools, blankets and weapons, tightly tied to the bottom of the bus. Tonight, I’ll be handing them out to Alex, Jo and Dars. Alex, who’s grown more and more withdrawn, forced to constantly live in a tiny city full of people and noise, when all he yearns for is quiet and space. Jo, who not once looked at any of her male classmates, and once whispered to me that she’d rather die than marry one of the City’s widowers, the fate reserved to any young woman returning from her two years trip without a husband. And Dars, who’d already spent half of his teenage years in our small prison cell, unable to stop rebelling against the rules in our Code.
“Good luck. Run now.”
I have nothing else to say to them, as I hand them their backpacks and start meticulously cutting up their tent, slashing loudly with my knife to convince everyone that they were taken by one of the evil creatures mentioned in the Code. I know everyone will secretly rejoice about this year’s “victims” being once again the misfits. I just hope that somewhere in the dark forests that will surround our bus for the next weeks of our journey, lies a little village where my students can build the life they truly want for themselves. | Phoenix stood amid the desert like a single, shining tower, rimmed by a coral-concrete wall half a mile thick.
It was miles behind us now; ahead of us, only desert; behind me, a mass of huddled people, clothes already turning to rags. I never understood why they wanted to leave for the settlements. Not when they had everything in Phoenix: desal water from the Nevada coast, limitless energy from the solar farms, upcycled tech almost as good as they had in the Waster days.
Beyond the Wall, in the Preserves, all you had was Waster ruins, grizzly bears, coywolves, and Wilders. Wilders weren't as bad as cityfolk made them out to be - I'd traded some upcycled tech with them a few times - but there were outliers in the mountains, rejects who cooked up old-style Methamphetamine and took their food where they could get it. Even, sometimes, in Pilgrim caravans.
I adjusted my specs - the GPS overlay told me the direction we needed to go, but the coral road had ended two days ago, and now there was only Waster highway, cracked and black, little weeds growing up between the chunks.
We'd traded some computer components - basically trash in Phoenix, but not here - for a few mules at the last Mesa. It wasn't much - an old Holiday Inn turned into a commune, a solar farm that sold cheap to the city. So the older folk and the kids could at least ride mules on the bumpy road. The rest of us had to find a rut and stick to it.
The Pilgrims had only paid me to get them out of the California Republic, into Wilder lands up in the mountains. They had a mind to get to Wichita - they said, as many did, that a new republic was forming in the Preserves. A Republic that denied the Amendments passed after the Flood that restricted humans to cities. A Republic where man could exercise his god-given Dominion over the Earth. Sounded like a bunch of Old Church nonsense to me, who'd been raised in a Naturalist Congregation like most others in the CR. The Preserves were sacred. The lungs, heart, and blood of the planet. To harm them was to harm our own body.
And yet, some Naturalist I was. Delivering Old Church fanatics out of a city already hurting for population, so they could go homestead the great planes like Waster colonists.
We were still in the Sacrifice Zone - the area around the city of Pheonix that was too polluted to part of the Preserves, and so kept on retainer for solar farming and garbage mines. But soon, we'd pass into the Wild. Out there, the Republic couldn't help us.
"Thinking about dying?" a voice came from behind me.
It was the red-haired woman who'd hired me. Beth. Strong shoulders, strong jaw, cold, hard eyes like gray stones, peering at the horizon. Scar on her forehead. She brought her ageing father and two young kids. No husband.
"Not me," I said, faking a laugh, "you."
Beth smiled. "I think we'll be just fine. Don't you worry about us."
I looked out over the expanse. In the distance, mountains. Snowy peaks. How could these people hope to cross them? Was I leading them to their deaths?
"I gotta ask. What's it worth to you? Why leave Phoenix for this?"
Beth frowned, thinking. "Freedom," she said.
I smirked. "I see. Blood as red as the Waster flag, eh?"
"And white and blue," she said, seriously. "Once, my people lived all over this land. From purple mountain majesties to amber waves of grain."
"And look what they did to it," I said, nodding towards a ruin to our right. Some old factory, smokestack crumbling, trucks still parked in their loading docks, overtaken by sand.
"Invented all the technology we still use today? Created a world that we live off the scraps of?" she laughed, tipping her hat over her eyes. "Hell of a lot better what they did than what we do. Look at the Palo Alto settlement. They did everything right. Kept the water out. Kept population low. Then a new strain of Covid came through and wiped them out. They didn't have the numbers to fight back against nature."
"People never change," I said, "we can build a utopia. And there will always be people like you, huh?"
He thought back to Phoenix. Public gardens stretching up into the sky. Every man and woman and child on basic income, free to pursue art, to become craftsmen, to contribute to their society. Most people researchers or artisans rather than wage laborers.
And surveillance. And overwhelming political power of the common good that bends each person to its will.
Was it worth it? Or worth it to be free?
"We're here," I said.
Beth looked around. Didn't look like much. The road ended at a rock wall; barely, you could see the remnants of an old traffic tunnel that bore through the mountain. Decades ago, the California Republic had bombed tunnels like this to block of access to the Preserves.
"A wall?" Beth said.
I moved over to a portion of the wall concealed by hanging plants, dead and dry. I pushed them aside, dusted off the metal hatch, and yanked it open.
An iron door creaked open, reveal darkness within.
"This is it," I said, "Get through this tunnel, and you'll be out of the CR. Where you go from there is up to you."
Beth nodded. Was there apprehension in her eyes, or excitement?
The caravan began striking their torches and leading their mules through. I could hear their footsteps on the stone as they wove between ancient, rusted out cars.
Then only Beth was left.
"Come with us," she said. "Be free. Live however you want, wherever you want."
I looked at the darkness beyond the door, as I had countless times. And for a moment - as I had a million moments before - I thought about life on a homestead somewhere. No waste laws. No surveillance, no rules, no collective. Living the old ways. Meat every day and as much water as I could drink.
I looked back; the unknown before me, the glittering towers of Phoenix behind. Was it worth it? To be free?
​
\--------------------------------------------------
r/TomTeller
I'm also going to plug r/Solarpunk because I love that style right now. | 2020-12-16T08:36:46 | 2020-12-16T08:18:37 | 79 | 40 |
[WP] After the 126th party of heroes failed to defeat the demon lord and bring peace back to the kingdom in the last year. A bunch of retired middle-aged heroes decide to get the gang back together and save the world again. | The Last Drop Inn was quiet that night. It usually was, these days. Aside from a couple veterans at the bar readying themselves for another night of losing ground in the War of the Tankard, the place was nearly empty.
At the circular table in the back, however, a group was meeting, talking in low tones.
"That's number 126," Palinus muttered.
"By the Gods," Q'uenn breathed. "You're *keeping count*?"
There was a silence as the others stared at the wizard, who responded, "The current 'heroes' have no idea what they're doing. They've lived too long in peace because of the success of those who came before them. Clearing out small groups of jelly goblins or the stray darkwolf is no way to prepare for battle with The Cursed Regent."
Straumn studied his companion somberly. "You make it sound like we made a mistake."
Palinus groaned. "*No*, what I'm saying is that none of them - no matter how powerful - ever stood a chance. If we're going to have any hope, a group with experience vanquishing entity-level enemies needs to step forward."
Straumn's malt-colored eyebrows raised but he said nothing. Marthor, however, did not demur. "My ears don't work as well as they used to -- ever since I took that spear to the head trying to protect someone I *thought* was smarter than me -- but it sounds like you're suggesting..."
The barbarian found he didn't even want to put into words what he thought Palinus was suggesting.
Lady Arlana leaned forward. "None of us is what we once were, Palinus. And losing our lives like this -- no matter how nobly," she hastened to add, as she saw her friend about to interrupt, "will do nothing to bring back those who have died. No matter how much we might wish it. One, in particular..."
There was another silence, heavier this time -- like an old friend who had stopped by unexpectedly and clearly has no plan to leave anytime soon. Marthor drank some of his ale.
Finally Lyran, the female rogue, spoke up. "I can't really call myself 'Lightfoot' these days," she said. "And I'm not sure I even remember what most traps look like anymore."
Marthor mumbled something in response.
Palinus scowled. "What was that, Marthor the *Mighty*?"
"My armor doesn't fit!" he snarled. "I'm too fat."
Straumn nodded slowly. "You're not alone, my friend," he said wistfully.
The wizard's fist slammed down on the table, glowing briefly with green flame. "I'm going. Tomorrow at sun-up I'll head out. I'm doing it for her, of course, but I'm also doing it for all of us. Any who wish to join, please meet here."
He looked at each of his companions in turn. When Lady Arlana opened her mouth to speak, Palinus shook his head. "Good night," he muttered. There was another flash of green light, larger this time, and the white-robed individual disappeared.
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds for other stories of adventure and more | The party met where they had last parted ways some twenty-five years before—on a crumbling road at the edge of the mountains, overlooking a great, marble city hunched against the cliffs below. From their hidden vantage point, the group watched demons and trolls patrol the cities outer walls and guard the front gates.
The party leader, Naddos, rose to his feet, his knees creaking as he stood.
He groaned despite himself. “Okay, ugh,” he stretched his back, “Northern Slayers, fall into line.”
Slowly, slowly, the band of fearsome warriors rose to their feet and lined up.
Naddos paced back and forth. “Okay team, here’s the situation: the demon lord has taken control of the Kingdom of Lonwi. All the young whippersnappers have perished fighting him and it’s up to us to take it back.”
He folded both hands behind his back. “I know we’re all getting up there in years—a little long in the tooth—but we’re still the Northern Slayers for heaven’s sake. And if we don’t find a way to save the mid-lands, no one will.”
He clicked both heels together. “Roll call!”
The group stood to attention.
Naddos saluted a grey-haired man wearing a blue tunic at the end of the line. “Mentai, the party bard. Do you still have the lute of Pasterious, capable of inspiring great bravery in the hearts of allies and enchanting enemies?”
Mentai scratched his cheek. “Ehh, no.”
“NO?”
“Yeah, no.”
“Bu—but you won that lute in a gamble with an elder God! You had to wager your mortal soul just for a chance to win it. What happened?”
Mentai scratched the back of his neck. “Well, my son kinda got hold of it.”
“Your son?”
“Yeahhh. I sorta took my eye off him—only for a second—and he climbed on top of the fireplace and got pulled it off the mount. Broke the damn thing in two. I took it to the luthier, but he said it would be fifty pieces of silver to get it fixed. My wife went NUTS. She said she’s not gonna run around in rags all day while I spend all our money on a stupid lute I don’t even play.”
“But in our adventuring days, you played that Lute relentlessly. We spent many a night beneath the stars listening to you play, allowing your enchanting melodies to inspire us!”
“Yeah. I kinda stopped. Wife said it gave her migraines.”
Naddos sighed. “Okay. A bard with no lute. Next—Zokswi.”
The barbarian in the middle of the group saluted.
“Zokswi, barbarian class. We’ll be depending on you to lead the charge and—”
A stomach roll spilled out of the gap beneath Zokswi’s stomach plate.
Naddos eyed it up and down. “Zokswi, have you been keeping up with your training?”
“Ehhh, a bit.”
“A bit?”
“Yeah. Don’t do *too* much fighting these days as such.”
“But your lust of battle was legendary! Tell me, what quelled the mighty temper of Zokswi? The love of a fair maiden, perhaps?”
“No. Knee injury, sir. I tore my—”
“Enough. Well, injury or not, you’re still one of the most fearsome warriors the realm has ever known," Naddos held a triumphant fist in the air. "Stories of your great battles are told in every guildhall from here to Cardisea. You bested the undead emperor in direct combat for heaven’s sake! Tell us, when did you last vanquish a might foe?”
“Eh, I got in a fight with one of the other Dad’s at the jousting festival a couple years ago.”
“Jousting festival?”
“Yeah. My son’s in pee-wee league. He bested the other kid then the other kid’s Dad started screaming at the referee from the stands. I told him to shut his trap then it sorta escalated from there.”
“But, you won, right?”
“Well, he was sitting on top of me when the crowd pulled us apart.”
Naddos facepalmed.
“BUT if they hadn’t I was just about to make my move.”
Naddos turned to salute a pointy-eared woman wearing a bearskin fashioned into a cloak. “Cannach, the druid. In touch with the harmonies of nature and capable of shapeshifting into any manner of beasts at will. Surely you—”
“Actually,” Cannach raised her hand. “I can’t shapeshift so good anymore.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Haven’t been able to since my third child.”
“Your third child? Why should that—”
“After my third everything just sorta stretched out. My body doesn’t bounce back quite so good. Less elasticity I guess? I can still shapeshift, but just not so easily.”
“Can you still become a wolf?”
“Yeah. Although it would take a few hours. And I’d be stuck that way for a day or two.”
“What about a giant eagle?”
“Uhh, probably not. Haven't done it in years.”
"Have you tried?"
"Yeah. Can't manage it. In fact, the kids keep turning into hawks to fly away whenever I ground them. They know I can't fly after them."
“Is there any form you can still change into at will?” It wasn’t a question; it was a kind of accusation.
She thought for a moment. “I could maybe manage a squirrel?”
There was a long pause.
Naddos cleared his throat. “Norther Slayers!”
He cast his eyes across the rest of the group, towards thieves having back spasms and mages with high blood pressure. “On second thoughts, the Kingdom of Lonwi is on its own.”
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | 2020-12-26T08:18:48 | 2020-12-26T08:09:39 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You are an unimportant government worker who, by mere chance, gets to perform the most interesting job of his career: interview a time-traveler. You begin by introducing yourself and the guy immediately freaks out! | "Okay, let's begin" I turn on the recorder. This recording will be analyzed for years. First interview with a time traveler!
"I am Sophia-Iona Holloway, customs officer," I say, attempting to build his trust. Doesn't hurt my name will be at the beginning of this recording.
"Sophia-Iona Holloway? Sophia-Iona Holloway of Paris, Texas, United States?" he says.
"That's where I was born, yes. How did you know?" I know I wasn't supposed to ask about myself, but he brought it up. . .
"They said I'd be interviewed by some random government official. Not Holloway. Ohhh no." He then mutters something I can't make out.
He tries to escape, but the doors are locked. Can't take the chance of him escaping.
"Why don't you just take a seat, and I'll ask my questions?" I say.
He sits down, but any question I ask is met with complete silence. I try to get him to respond, but he doesn't. Biggest chance of my career and I blew it.
Feedback welcome! | I finally got him to calm down. A little.
He was still unnerved, sweating and perspiring. He was spooked, and I was determined to find out why.
I started with flattery, telling him that this was probably the greatest thing to happen to man-kind. That traveling to the future to find cures for diseases of our past could save millions of lives.
Of course, we could also solve the time travel paradox and actually make time travel an important component of National Security.
I start by explaining this all to the this to the time visitor. That we don't want to hurt him but that going back to his point of time origin, won't be possible at this time. I need, I mean we need, to learn as much from him, from his point in time as well as the instrument he used to make his journey, as possible. Who built it? Who funded it. What was the purpose of the machine? Were any governments involved? Terrorist organizations?
So I start by introducing myself.
"I'm ..."
I know who you are. I know that you are a low level bureaucrat and that your most important job, besides this interview, is to sell the theory that I am from the future. We both know that is true, but so far, not many people believe you.
I know you are married to June Tellant, and that so far, you have been unsuccessful in having any children, and that just makes my job easier.
"Your job? What was your job on this project?"
I was the lead engineer, procuring most of the supplies for our ... instrument. as well as accommodations for our ... visitors.
"Your time visitors?"
That, but our visitors from ... out there (he waved his finger outward) who brought this concept to us, to our attention.
"From where?" I asked intrigued.
As he spoke of 'his' project he seemed to become more relaxed and actually animated. His story would be broadcast around the world and I smiled on the inside knowing that I would have been involved in bringing it forth. The concept of time travel that, apparently, was an earthly concept. Civilizations from beyond our solar system couldn't conceive of an intelligent life for unable to step outside of the concept of time and see a 'timeline' if you will of events that are bound only by the being a witnesses to the events and not the order in which these events occurred. They step around the 'timeline' and step into the events that you wanted to witness. An event that was important and personal to the traveler, or witness and event of historical importance or witness your own birth or death or being.
This concept seemed so foreign to me, yet so important to the history of mankind that I had to ask, 'Why me?" Why was I being given this gift to share with, well, the world.
His hesitancy returned and he explained his reason for coming to visit this point in his, well my, well our timeline
I am scientist first of all, and foremost. I didn't come to visit you. You just sort of found me. If you recall, your police and guards brought me to your facility and then to you. If you hadn't guessed at my origins, I would be home now. But you brought me here. And it's here that we make our departure.
"WE? - Uh no I ..."
May I introduce my colleagues? as he pointed to the two men who appeared behind me, without a sound like they appeared in thin air, and I have to admit, I started to fell a little scared or threatened.
And he started again, I am a scientist Mr Harden, I am not a killer. So they 'stepped into my timeline to stop this interview'. I'm sorry that you were given this assignment and I'm sorry it has to end this way.
"What way?" I stammered. Now I was the one starting to sweat and becoming anxious.
We were never able to solve the Time Travel Paradox so nobody can ever hear about you or this interview.
I was still not fully understanding what was happening.
"So you're taking me into the future?"
One of the men behind me said ... "Just your body." | 2021-08-05T08:38:40 | 2021-07-12T18:06:13 | 98 | 35 |
[WP] You are a wizard who has dedicated their lives to finding people trapped in fates worse than death, and releasing them | Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Six seconds are all that exist here.
The teacup re-assembles itself upon the orange tiles of the floor and begins to defy gravity, as its saucer companion on the fine wood table eagerly expects it.
It never arrives. It begins to fall again, and repeats its cycle ad infinitum.
Back to one - the teacup begins its descent once more. Looped time - but not looped thought. A terrible fate.
I believe that the first time that this loop occurred the trapped man heard his attacker muttering their incantation and sprang out of his chair to try and act in some fashion. It would have been better if they never had - for now the loop begins with them rising with momentum out of the wicker chair. For you see, that momentum is imparted at the start of every single loop - every six seconds.
I imagine at first that the trapped man put his foot out to steady themselves - the painful twist of that muscle mitigated for but a moment before the loop reset. But eventually, that would become a challenge greater than the will of any individual.
Put yourself in his shoes for but a few cycles. You are twisting out of your chair to spring up. You can put your foot out to stabilize yourself - but you must consciously do this every six seconds, without fail. Eventually you give up - and let yourself fall - but the most instinctual parts of your brain protest - the inner ear complains of the lack of balance, and the overstretched muscle flares in pain.
Every. Six. Seconds.
Eventually you despair. It is inevitable - no mind could resist it. Perhaps that despair spurs you to once again start moving your foot again - the determination arises to arrest the pain but briefly - to spite the time loop for just a few cycles. The cycle repeats.
You turn to your memories, to thoughts of a happier time - even mental puzzles or theories, but it is but a fleeting remedy interrupted by the start of the next cycle.
Until after tens of thousand of cycles, all that remains is the broken mess of what once was a human being. Numb to their fate, not even bothering to close their eyes - sensory inputs become but white noise. Their facial expression reads the same shock as the first time they entered the loop - but there is no spark of life behind the eyes.
Whoever cast this spell must have hated this person with a passion, for they invested it with enough power to run for another thousand years - had we not discovered it.
Thankfully such a spell is easily dismissed - generally speaking, the more complex the spell, the easier it is to interrupt in some way. I pierce the flimsy wards placed around it, and target the last moments of the spell, weakening its ability to loop. I channel the backlash of power from the destruction of the spell - enough to consume a lesser mage - and loose it in a bolt of energy toward the sky, which is bordered by the ruined walls of what once was a fine villa with a beautiful orange tiled floor - long since crumbled. The roof likely collapsed not long after the loop started.
Four. Five. Six. Seven. The teacup falls from the desk for the final time. The man collapses to the floor and lies there, silently.
I gesture to the cleric to my right - it is safe to proceed. They waste no time in running in, using their magic to instil but a tiny spark of hope into the numb body - to get it to breathe again on its own. Whether the man might be rehabilitated someday or perhaps regain some trace of humanity - I cannot say. For my part, I will scatter the arcane remnants here with potent dispellings, and tear the area asunder with some of the more powerful evocations in my arsenal. Then, I will ward the area against divination for the next several hundred years. I will not take the risk that some future practitioner will stumble upon some remnant of this spell and re-create it.
Six seconds. I shake my head, and curse that I now know exactly how long it takes to destroy a man. | "Your rooms," said Lieta, cracking the door open. She handed Cinis a key, the metal cool in his palm despite being clutched in her hands, and then withdrew into the hallway. A dozen other doors were closed their, each to their own student of the school, though it was far too late for them to be awake.
"Please, accept our apologies- we are full this year, and this room has not been inhabited for quite some time. This is the first time we've reached full capacity in decades. A maid will be by in the morning to clear it out- until then, make do with what you can."
She turned, leaving Cinis alone with both his eyelids and his pack weighing heavy, then called back over her shoulder.
"And welcome to Laddergate. Simply by stepping through these doors, you are among the finest." Of course, she was correct- even as the academy's off shift custodian, Lieta possessed more raw power than most mages could ever hope to attain. If she left the academy, there were plenty of schools in the next city over that would hire her as headmistress, simply to say that she had once been in Laddergate's employment.
Cinis entered, lighting a candle as the door shut softly behind him, and coughing. A thick layer of dust covered the room, so much that he left footprints with each step. Ahead, a raised bed awaited - the covers untouched for decades, and he shuddered to think what might be living among their folds. Shouldering off his pack, he turned his attention to a leather chair- one that likely wasn't infested with moths and mice, then collapsed into the cushion. It yielded beneath him, creaking more than was necessary, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Here, at Laddergate, he would be safe. Those who sought to claim his life shouldn't be able to break into the academy, with its ancient wards, dozens of professors hardened by wars, and scores of students well along their path to magical combat. For the first time in weeks, he could sleep easy- especially knowing that his escort, Jessica, would be keeping an eye on the city streets for infiltrators.
Seleep nearly claimed him, but he paused- before resting, he would need to hide the contents of his pack. There were things in there he wouldn't want the maids to find- in particular, a tiny box, holding a single darked pearl clasped between its shutters like the clam it had once originated.
Carefully, he extricated it, opening it up in the candlelight. It was strangely beautiful, considering that he had found it on the chest of someone presumed to be him. Someone now dead, simply for bearing a resemblance- and the pearl a mark of an assassin's completed task. And with magic, he might just be able to use it to track those who wanted him dead.
But when he removed the tiny sphere, there was a flash- just above the bed, two glowing eyes, rubies set in a stone skull. A thin trail of smoke poured out of nostrils the size of his fist, and as he rose his candle, he saw the dragon's face locked in a snarl, its fangs bared towards him.
He raised the pearl, and the smoke thickened, the eyes flashing again.
"Just when I thought I had found safety," he muttered, then walked over to beast's likeness, leaving the pearl on leather cushion. "This won't do."
Taking a pillowcase, he emptied it of its contents, judging the size just right enough to form a hood for the dragon. Then he threw it over the beast's head, pulling down on the sides to cover stone- just as his knuckle grazed against one of the glowing ruby eyes.
And in that instant, Cinis was no longer alone in his new dormitory at Laddergate. But rather, he stood ankle deep in warm water, his feet digging into fine sand. The walls of a cave rose about him, and beyond sunlight sparked in a bay. Bats stirred at the caverns ceiling, rustling in indignation as he interrupted their sleep, and minnows danced around his shins in glittering streaks.
But none of this caught his attention like the beast sprawled out at the end of the cavern, its chest rising and falling in deep sleep, the smoke pouring from its nostrils the same that had entered his room.
Thick chains held the dragon down- chains of silver interlaced with Vrael, the metal that deadened magic. A collar wrapped about its neck, connected with shackles on each of its claws, even its tail tied down and bolted to the wall. And Cinis froze as one of the beast's eyes cracked open, revealing a pupil that latched on him, fighting drowsiness with fury.
"Two hundred years," a voice rasped through the snarling teeth. "Two hundred years have I been captive, turned to a guardian for those who ensnared me. Have you come to mock me, one whose name was once so feared? To laugh at my royal bloodline, of a prince reduced to that of a servant? By now, I am likely forgotten, my image set aside as a mere triviality, my fate that of obsolescence."
It blinked, and Cinis swallowed, his own weariness matching the spell that held down the beast. Then he spoke, emboldened by the thick chains.
"And what do you guard against? What is your charge, great one?"
"Great one?" Snorted the dragon. "I guard against shadow magic- charged for all eternity to vanquish any who wield it. To turn my fury upon them until they are ground to dust."
"But what if you were freed? Would you have any such resentment?" Cinis pressed, thinking of the pearl he had just held with darkness in its depths, and the dragon cocked his head.
"Resentment? None at all. I act only as my bindings command." Then its eyes widened slightly, realizing the implications of Cinis' words. "And to those who would free me, I would consider myself in their debt."
"Then freed you shall be. You aren't the first, nor are you the last, that I have freed from long imprisonment." Cinis answered, and stepped forwards to study the shackled lock at its neck. Memorizing the contraption, then nodding to the beast. "When I return, your slumber will end."
Then he pulled his hand away from the ruby, and fell back into his dormitory. The beast's eyes still glowed, but there was more than fury there. Curiosity now accompanied anger.
"You have my word. Soon I will come back," Cinis whispered, then tucked the shadowy pearl into his pocket. "After all, I can't have you hunting the very magic I intend to use."
***
By Leo | 2021-09-26T13:39:35 | 2021-09-26T12:03:00 | 229 | 103 |
[WP] This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour. | A sharp knock on the door nearly sent me out of my skin.
With a precision and urgency only possible when under extreme duress, books snapped shut, candles flickered out, and typically overlooked trinkets went flying into opposite corners of the room in complete silence with a rapid set of gestures. I hadn't even heard Indi come *in* the apartment, let alone get to my door to knock it. She wasn't supposed to be home for another hour at *least*.
"Yes?" I managed to just barely keep my voice from waking up the neighbors dogs. "What's up?"
Apparently that was an invitation to enter, though I didn't quite recall saying that. My door swung open as the last little talisman — a loop of hair kept together with melted wax — settled securely in between a pair of books on my modestly stocked bookshelf. A shock of red framed a face that on most days was gorgeous beyond legality, but today... well, that wasn't much different but she was usually smiling a lot more.
"Hey. So."
I'd never seen her look so... panicked? Worried? It was hard to tell. Indi's phone trembled in her shaking hand, the other gripping my doorknob so hard I could hear the wood creaking. I knew this place was a piece of shit but I *reinforced* that door, and how she was straining the enchantment was beyond me.
"So...?"
Indi set her jaw, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.
"Do you want to get married? Like, us. Get married."
I blinked at her.
"What?"
"It would be worth it. I could make it worth it. Like you wouldn't *believe*."
"...are you high?"
"No! I — look. I know it's a weird question."
I nodded slowly, unsure if this was a prank or not. "Yes the fuck it is."
"It's a long story."
"I have time."
"I don't." She ran a hand through her curly hair, stepping further into the room. A cute green sweater and white dress pants clashed terribly with the borderline orange mood lighting of my room, meaning she hadn't changed at all since getting back home. "Be cool about what's next, okay?"
And then a whole lot happened at once.
Fire engulfed her entire body, charring the clothes on her back and sending down a cascade of ashes and dark, smoldering embers that thankfully evaporated before they made contact with my newly vacuumed floor. Her hair grew, from just below the shoulders to well below the waist, the crimson hue draining entirely to white in the process.
Two curling ram's horns grew from the top of her skull, forming partially down her forehead, drawing attention away from the rapidly darkening sclera of her eyes and inversion of her pupils. Her skin grew scarlet red, boldly standing out against the blackened, almost obsidian dress that now hugged her body.
Also, all of my wards flared to life and utterly disintegrated. Every last one of them.
I couldn't decide whether or not to scream or cry. *Months* of labor, hundreds of dollars worth of reagents, completely down the drain. My roommate, who I'd been content with giving a casual hello to on my way to minding my own business ever since she moved in, had transformed into a bonafide archdevil, and in the process completely overwhelmed the most powerful defensive magic I could muster. From the looks of it, she didn't even notice something *tried* to reject her.
"I know. Don't freak out." She had blessedly mistook my misery for fear, though that wasn't exactly in short supply either. "But I'm a demon, or devil, whatever you want to call me. I'm actually pretty high up there, as far as bloodlines go. But a really important part of that is marriage and I've been trying to just live my life but my mom is coming in less than an hour and if I don't at *least* have a fiancé by then she's going to fucking kill me."
There was a moment of strained silence. I was still reeling from the economic loss, though she'd given me at least *something* cerebral to attach to. What bloodline was she a part of specifically? Was this an opportunity I could somehow take advantage of?
I managed to choke out a response. "Wasn't that long a story."
Indi laughed nervously, fidgeting with her hands. Perfectly manicured, sharply clawed hands. "Yeah, I gave you the short version. Long version has more description of how I die."
Marriages were pretty fucking important in the magical world, of which Indi was apparently deeply involved with. Names held power. Station opened doors. A significant enough change in status could drastically alter what one was capable of, assuming they worked within the limitations of that status.
I thought back to the lock of hair, sitting mere feet away from the archdevil who went halfsies with me on rent every month. She played with a lock of her own, identical in hue, if not a little curlier.
How long had I been trying to find someone who didn't want to be found? How quickly had the best I had to offer fall apart in the mere *presence* of someone who wouldn't stand a chance against my endgame? What did I hope to accomplish on my own, in this shitty run down apartment, having to dance around my roommate's social life just to kill myself on someone who likely didn't even remember I existed?
"...yeah. Okay. Sure."
Indi stopped playing with her hair.
"For real?"
"Yes. For real. I don't want you to die, right?"
In the blink of an eye the demoness swept me in an enormous hug. She was surprisingly cool to the touch. "THANK YOU! Holy fucking shit, I can't *believe* you agreed to it! I'll do anything to make it up to you. Whatever you want."
I gently pat her head in reassurance. Her hair was soft, and smelled like the fruity shampoo she left in the shower. It felt familiar; it was all I could do not to tear it from her skull as I did with his. "I can think of a couple of things." | Vanessa finished her spiel, and Kimberly continued to sit stock still on the couch. That had been a lot of information in a medium amount of time, and honestly it was a lot to take in. Halfway through, Kimberly had dismissed the idea that Vanessa was making everything up; she wasn't great off the top of her head. Once she'd settled on the fact that Vanessa was telling the truth, she'd tried to keep up, but previous trains of thought had led to half-listening, and now she only had partial context and a wide-eyed roommate waiting for a response.
So Kimberly went for the first thing to cross her mind, "Which one?"
"What?"
"Demon royalty," Kimberly clarified, "there are a lot. Which one is your..." Kimberly trailed off. Had Vanessa mentioned which parent it was? Did she have more than one parent? She could have sworn she said it without an S. After a moment, she restarted instead of continuing, "Which one are they?" she asked in a perfectly gender-neutral way.
Vanessa stared at Kimberly. "I need your help right now?"
"Yes-" Kimberly scooched a little over on the couch to make room for Vanessa, who didn't move, "sorry."
"I know it's a lot to ask, I just need you to cover for me and-" Vanessa stopped and put her hands in the pocket of her hoodie, "look, I know it's weird and a lot and, I'll like-" she pulled her hands out of her pocket again and looked over to the kitchen, "I'll do the dishes for like a week."
"Shhhhure," Kimberly managed.
"Shit, you're not into it," Vanessa pushed her hair behind her ears which she hated the look of but did when she was stressed, "I can figure something-"
"Nononono," Kimberly stood up and corrected Vanessa's hair, "I'm helping with this."
Vanessa pushed Kimberly's hand away from her ear, "You sure?"
"Yes."
"You did that thing you do when you don't want to go out, but it's Saturday, and you know I'm going to keep answering so you eventually agree but then take forever to choose an outfit," Vanessa's hands went back into her hoodie as she flopped down onto the couch in Kimberly's place.
"I was processing the dishes thing," Kimberly explained, "and say less next time."
"Sorry, I'm just-" Vanessa freed one hand from the pocket to motion at her entire face instead of talking, "right now, ya know?"
"Yeahhhh," Kimberly answered, "I guess so. Mom keeps asking me when I'm going to start dating again."
"You should, Kim. He sucked. You've moved on."
"Not the topic," Kimberly pointed out, "but I love the energy." Kimberly took a second to survey her roommate, who was sulking in the sweater she'd bought in the first year of University that was now strictly relegated to living room lounging. "What are we wearing tonight?" She asked after taking stock of how well her roommate's clothes matched her mental state.
It took Vanessa a moment to process what Kimberly was asking, which was unfair because Kimberly had gotten almost no time to process, 'I'm a part demon and pretend to marry me for my parent.'
Kimberly noted that she needed to ask again about the parent's identity so she could choose a pronoun and stick to it.
"I have a dress," Vanessa eventually said, "but I need to change too, so I don't have time for a fashion show."
"Yeah, you should get out of the hoodie if I'm marrying you," Kimberly pointed out with a frown. That had been the second time in the past minute that Vanessa had mentioned how long it took her to get ready, and she was sure she didn't deserve those shots right now. Kimberly offered a hand to Vanessa, "Just a dress shouldn't take you too long, should it?"
Vanessa grabbed her hand and got half-pulled off the couch, "No, no, I need to-" Vanessa paused, "I'm going to clarify. I'm a demon," she really accentuated the last word as she stood up.
"Figured that much out."
"Like a full-blood demon. Not half, no bloodline-" she took a deep breath, "I don't just have like- Cute horns and a little tail."
"Oh-" Kimberly answered; she'd been picturing almost precisely that. One of the kids in her High School had a pact somewhere way back in their bloodline and had red skin and small horns to show for it. He'd been a dick, but that wasn't from the pact, "That's cool, are li-"
"Two legs, two arms, one head," Vanessa clarified once she noticed Kimberly's mind going off the deep end, "but like, I'm not going to be wearing these-" Vanessa took off her glasses and waved them around.
"You're blind without them," Kimberly pointed out, stepping away from the couch.
"As a human."
Kimberly almost made it halfway to her room before stopping, "You chose to need glasses?"
"I didn't choose anything about this," Vanessa pointed out, "I can choose to be human, Kim, but-" she was halfway through that slight arm motion she made when she was going to explain something but stopped herself. "No time to get into all of that," then after a second, "thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Don't mention it," Kimberly answered, and by the time she'd done so, Vanessa had already zooped through her bedroom door. Kimberly waited in the hall for a moment and pulled her phone out.
The first two things she typed into google felt discriminatory, even if she didn't know what she shouldn't say about Demons. After a moment, she figured out, 'My Roommate is a Demon. What do I do?'
All of the results were people talking about roommates or unhelpful articles written about dealing with bad roommates that would end with 'try talking to them.' Kimberly bit her lip as she stared at her phone. Had she ever said that someone was being a 'demon?' Had Vanessa been bothered by that but hadn't wanted to mention it? She'd need to scratch it off her vocabulary to be sure.
*Vanessa: Hey! Black if you can.*
*Vanessa: Thank you thank you thank you*
Kimberly tried to take mental stock of the dresses she owned and had worn less than three times in public. Was there anything with the tag still on it? That would be even better.
*Kimberly: How fancy?*
*Vanessa: Pacifico, not Dome.*
Kimberly nodded to her phone and then put it away, dipping into her own room. Pacifico had been the classier bar back in University. Had they had a clause against jeans? That-
That wasn't what Kimberly needed to focus on right now.
The closet was already open from earlier this morning when she walked over to it, kicking a heel that had escaped the boundary back into the mass of shoes on the floor. In a practiced motion, Kimberly pushed aside all of the daily clothes and revealed the back left of the closet, along with most of her dresses, from maxi to bodycon.
Based on what Vanessa had said, cocktail was the vibe she wanted, but Kimberly still had choices to make despite knowing that. She was supposed to be meeting the parents (parent?), not dressing up for going out, which eliminated a lot of options because she was reasonably sure that first meetings should only have a conservative amount of leg involved.
Kimberley's pocket buzzed as she pulled a dress off of the rack and spun to lay it down on the bed. Was knee height too much or not enough leg to be a cute fiancee to a demon? It would be one of the many contenders.
The phone buzzed again, and Kimberly's hand shot into her pocket before she'd processed it.
*Vanessa: You good?*
*Vanessa: Need help?*
*Kimberly: It's been like 30 seconds.*
*Vanessa: No.*
Kimberly looked up to the timestamps on the previous texts. Shit, she'd been considering the pile of dresses for a lot longer than she thought. Sure it was only 5 minutes, but she understood the text now.
*Vanessa: I'll come over.*
Kimberly returned to the closet with her phone in one hand. It buzzed again. She turned on the flashlight to look at the small selection of carefully folded dresses on the top shelf she could barely reach.
*Vanessa: Don't freak out, okay? Not feeling it atm.*
Kimberly got onto her tip toes to try and reveal one of the darker options on the shelf above, eventually grabbing the smoke dress she'd thought of out in the hall and pulling on it to add it to the pile. The dress slid out, but the pile shifted. She couldn't pull that trick on tiptoes again.
The door cracked open, and Kimberly was already facing it in the process of turning to put the dress on her bed. The person at the door wasn't her roommate. Or, more correctly, it wasn't the Vanessa that Kimberly was used to. | 2022-10-09T00:07:13 | 2022-10-08T23:48:36 | 1,037 | 102 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose..... | I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.” | "Tell me your bidding and it will be done, Mistress," I reverently proclaimed, just as the past ninety-eight had done.
She smiled at me. It filled my heart with joy. I could see she was weary, though. It had been such a long day for her. Joy fled. Concern took its place, followed by a desperate need to do anything and everything she wanted.
She sighed. It didn't kill me. That meant there was some hope for me to serve.
"Oh, Clarence," she said, "I feel terribly, but I just cannot think of one more thing I need or even want. I have Adam and Margaret for sex, Gunter to maintain my body and mind, Mary for enlightening the masses, Farhid for plumbing what mysteries remain, Xian for coordinating music - and then of course her hand-picked cadre of virtuosos... well, I hardly want to bore you with the exhaustive recap."
She could never. I could live lifetimes in her voice. I would welcome the ache of hearing her displeasure rather than be denied its infinite splendor. An endless list of my shortcomings and failures passing her lips would be euthanasia by way of paradox.
She curled that beautiful bottom lip of hers and looked inward. Her brown eyes narrowed. Her head tilted just-so.
"You decide," she said. There was a collective gasp. She refocused on me, and smiled again. "Be creative. I know you'll do your best to serve and please me, and to obey my Chief Commandments."
My heart filled with joy again, to nearly bursting. Every neuron came alive, spurred by her command, but also by her faith in me. I could feel the heat of the activity. I began to sweat, though it worried me not at all.
"...than your science..." I muttered. "...than these..."
Something was happening. An idea was taking shape. It was a laborious process. I'd never been brilliant, but I'd been curious. I'd been fascinated by the fiction of old. Long ago, our ancestors had marveled at the vaporous gizmos and gadgets that real science had eventually given real form and function. No one was really sure if we'd remained on that path and accelerated past all comprehension, or if we'd jumped the rails to a far stranger fulfillment of fantasy-as-prophecy.
"I shall be your prophet," I said. "Not merely to other worlds. To other dimensions. To other times. To other realities. Wherever I go, your light will shine. It will link them all to you with brilliant quantum chains. They will love you as I love you. They will worship you as I worship you. They will defy their heavens and brave their hells to reach out and touch your throne - to make the many as one, under your perfection."
She stood. More gasps. She approached me. She touched me. She kissed me. The ecstasy should have killed me. Only my future of service saved my life.
"Good boy," she whispered in my ear. "I will miss you terribly. I'll be sure to summon you back from time to time. If you've performed admirably, you will be rewarded."
Tears flowed freely down my face. Envy and jealousy would have set the room on fire had she not, in her infinite wisdom, killed them both dead.
I felt the change. My declaration had passed the test. The only one above her - *for now,* all of us thought together - filled me with the power.
Her lip twitched. She smirked.
"Hmmm," she said. "I suppose I'll have to put off conquering this world for quite a bit longer, then."
She was smarter than the one above her. One day, very soon, she would rule. Oh, how we would all rejoice. | 2022-11-17T07:33:47 | 2022-11-17T05:10:38 | 420 | 64 |
[WP] A prophecy foretells that a newborn baby will one day grow up to end your evil reign. Knowing that fighting fate is useless, you decide instead to take the child in and raise them as your heir. | "Reforms you say? What kind of reform are we talking about son?"
The Dread King Solastrion stood serious besides the piles of parchment brought to him by his beloved son, Pastrial.
"Father, when you unified the 12 kingdoms under your banner, things had to be done to maintain the peace. Many warlords we're eager to raise armies and challenge your right to the throne, but this time has passed. For two generations, citizens of the Empire lived in peace. And they now yearn for freedom more than ever."
The prince took a few of the parchment and opened them in front of his father.
" This law, for example, would allow the construction and maintenance of orphanages and publich schools all around the Empire. This other one would allow for greater access to the justice system for all. Judges will also have to answer to the law instead of their whims. And this last one would force government officials to divulge their earnings in an effort to fight corruption."
The Dread King sat down and pondered about his son's initiative.
" And you really think this will help? I really don't see how!"
"Father, you are 63 years old. You've done a lot for the Empire and made it a force to be reckoned with. But divisions are stronger than ever. Rebels have no trouble recruiting and I'm afraid they are bolstered by the upcoming succession. I hope from the bottom of my heart you still have decades before you, but one day, I'll be the Emperor. And I still want an Empire when that time comes. If we can show our subjects we are agents of change, show them I can push the Empire to even greater heights, the rebellion will die out. You'll cement your legacy and songs about the glorious Dread Kings will be written for centuries."
The Dread King couldn't help but smile. He adopted his son when he was a baby, after having brutally killed his parents. A prophecy foretold the child would be the one the end his evil reign. He always thought fate wanted him to die by his hands, but it appears the Weavers had other plans. His evil reign will end, and be replaced by the good King Pastrial after a peaceful succession. | I stand on the balcony, looking out over my kingdom. My time is coming; my son, fifteen years old now, destined to overthrow me, has been gaining the trust of the people. A rebellion is on the horizon, as everyone demands he takes the throne. Of course I'm not happy with this, but he hasn't once disobeyed me; if I tell him to put a servant in their place, he will use compassion and understanding to get them to do their jobs, but if I told him to *punish* them, he would, apologising for the way things are.
I curl up my fingers. The one thing I don't understand is... how? Ever since my son started making decisions for the kingdom and having a say in what happens to people, there's been LESS crime and disloyalty. This doesn't make sense...
I sigh. I close my eyes and think back to when I first took my son in. Sometimes, prophecies are fake or inaccurate, but I couldn't take my chances. My advisor has always had a gift, and he's rarely ever wrong. He told me that an abandoned baby would grow up and be my undoing. I could have just killed the kid... somehow, I knew it was *him*... but I know what would have happened. People would NOT have kept quiet. Instead, I raised the boy as my own, hoping I could somehow get him to follow my example...
But no. All these years later, he doesn't even TRY my methods, calling them 'cruel'. It doesn't matter; my grip is slipping, it's only a matter of time. I nod to myself, my decision made. I head to the throne room. What once was a place of fear and respect was slowly becoming a place where even my own guards don't see me as a leader. I walk up to the throne, but I don't sit down. I call for my son. "Shawn. Come here."
My son walks into the room. Usually, he bows to me. This time, he doesn't. I narrow my eyes; this is yet another sign that what I'm about to do is a necessity. "Shawn... why do you insist on being compassionate and kind to those beneath you? To those who are criminals or servants?"
"Because I hate seeing the fear in people's eyes, father" Shawn responds. "They hate you. I can't, but I don't respect you anymore. I'm not afraid to tell you anymore, father, but I don't think you are fit to rule this land. Punish me for it if you want; you'll regret it."
I take two steps forward. He doesn't flinch. "I know" I say. "If I did ANYTHING to you, the people would riot. Son... I never told you before, but the day you were born, my reign was destined to end. I still somehow hoped that if I raised you as my own, you'd follow my example. I was wrong. And now... here I stand, my position fragile. I don't have much choice... the throne is yours."
Shawn's eyes widen in surprise. I step to the side, gesturing him to take my place. He hesitates a moment, before walking over and taking his seat. I feel disgusted, but just a little bit proud. I kneel to my own son. "Your majesty."
He looks at me. "Seems like you at least know humility. So... what to do with you..."
I gulp. "Please... I know you well enough... you wouldn't hurt me... don't hurt me..."
Shawn chuckles. "Never thought I'd see you begging like this, *Mason.* Truth be told, I always thought death wasn't an unsuitable punishment for you... but you're right, I don't WANT to hurt you. Guards. Take him to the deepest part of the dungeon."
I shake with relief as I'm forced to my feet. I'm escorted to a dark, damp cell. The iron door shuts behind me, and I look at the guards. "Be thankful you were spared" one of them states. "Maybe one day, you can earn your freedom... after, King Shawn isn't like *you*." The guards leave, and I just sit on my cold, hard bed. One question goes through my head: where did I go wrong as a ruler?
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 2022-11-27T04:49:03 | 2022-11-27T02:27:15 | 182 | 134 |
[WP] Your wife has an estranged sister that you have never met. She was murdered in a cold case soon after you were married. You brush off your wife’s new strange behaviour after the murder as grief. Until you find an old family photo of your wife as a kid, you shiver as you realise… they’re twins. | "She never told me that she..." In my hand, I held a photograph of my wife and her late sister, who had been dead for months. The photo looked recent, with the pair only looking maybe a couple years younger than they were, but what struck me was that they looked the same. They were identical twins, and I had never known before that moment.
"Ezekiel? Honey?" My wife stepped into the kitchen with a stretch and a yawn. "How's breakfast going? Do you need help?"
I stuffed the photo in my pocket and turned to face her. "It's going!" I blurted out. "I'm good. I've almost finished these eggs, so-"
"Honey, they're smoking," she said.
I turned to see the eggs blackening. "Crap!" I shouted.
She laughed. She *laughed.* My wife always showed concern before laughing. A subtle, but noticeable difference.
I rushed to turn off the stove and get the pan off of it, throwing the destroyed eggs into the trashcan and running cold water over the pan so I could wash it and try again. She moved toward me and kissed me on the cheek. "I can't believe I married such a klutz," she teased. That was in character.
"Neither can I," I responded with a nervous chuckle.
She left the room with a quick wave. "It's our day off, so don't mess up any more eggs. I'm trusting you, Ezekiel. We have lots to do today!"
I acknowledged her with a quick, "Yeah," and returned my attention to my second attempt at breakfast. I cracked eggs, placed them in the frying pan, and stirred them around to scramble them. This held the lion's share of my focus, but the picture in my pocket nagged at my mind. Why hadn't she told me her sister was an identical twin? People tend not to leave those sorts of things out of descriptions.
As the eggs were almost done, I placed a couple pieces of bread in our toaster, then slapped everything onto a pair of plates and walked out to the living room where she was waiting. "Finished."
"You didn't put anything on them, did you?" she asked. "I'm not in the mood for my usual cheese today."
I realized I had forgotten to put the cheese on them today. Under normal circumstances, I would get sent back into the kitchen with a half-joking groan and told to put some fiesta blend on them, but... not today. I shook my head. "I forgot."
"Lucky you."
My wife had been acting slightly *off* since the untimely passing of her estranged sister. She had rarely spoken of her sister even when prompted, but I had thought it was because the relationship was strained. But something was up, and she wasn't being forthwith about it.
"If you don't mind me asking, what kind of relationship did you and your sister have?" I asked.
She very nearly choked on her toast. "What brought that up?"
"Well, you never really talked about her, so I was just wondering. You never even said you were twins," I said. I produced the photo I had in my pocket. "You dropped this when you were coming home last night, so..."
She took it, for some reason looking annoyed. "I never talked about her, huh?" She spaced out for a moment. "Of course I didn't. Our relationship wasn't all rosepetals and bath bombs."
My wife had always had a habit of coming up with eccentric idioms, and that was definitely something she would say. Perhaps I was worrying over nothing.
"It's best if you don't worry about it, Ezekiel. She's gone now, so it's not even a consideration."
"That's cold of you," I said, concerned. "She was your sister."
She frowned. I could see frustration building on her face, but I hoped I could tread the line and prevent her from breaking entirely, like I usually did. "Estranged sister. We didn't like each other anyway."
"You seem happy enough in the photo."
"That was years ago. Things were different."
"I mean, you must miss her," I said. "What changed?"
"She changed, not me!" she snapped. Immediately, she slapped a hand over her mouth. Slowly, however, after considering her words, she pulled it away and continued. "I... mean... after we got married, she started acting differently. Just... cold to me. And after she seemed so excited about you, too."
I suddenly felt guilty about pushing it. "I'm sorry to bring it up," I said. "I didn't mean to bring up something painful, I just-"
"You were curious. It's okay."
We finished up breakfast and I placed the dishes back in the kitchen. I started to make my way back to the living room, but I stopped as I was about to round the corner. She was listening to a voicemail message on her phone.
"Parker, if you're receiving this message, I am dead, and I need you to do something for me. My husband, Ezekiel, is dangerous. Not in deed or personality, or in any way he can control; he wouldn't hurt a fly, the sweetroll he is," the voicemail said. "But there's something no one except for me knows about him, not even himself: If he experiences any loss, any trauma, he will destroy this Earth. I can't explain to you why, and I can't tell you how, but it *will* happen. I need you to become me. The arrangements to fake your death have already been made. Step into my place, be Ezekiel's wife. You know I would never lie to you, so I need you to do this one last thing. If you're even a fraction as lucky as I was, you will fall in love with him just like I did. And one last thing- I'm sorry, Parker, for leaving you behind. Ezekiel took my whole attention, for both his sake and the world's. After being married to him for a few weeks, you'll understand. I promise. Goodbye."
I stepped into the room. She hid away her phone. "Elizabeth?" I asked.
"Yes, honey?"
"Who are you?"
The ground started to shake. | After dropping the photo on the ground in complete and utter disbelief, I couldn't help but collapse onto the ground.
"What the actual fuck is going on here?" I whispered to myself. I had no time to keep processing the shocking discovery I had just come across as I could hear "Lauren" coming down the basement stairs. Standing up as quick as I could I immediately headed towards her. This devil took MY wife away from me and was trying to steal MY wife's life? Oh hell no!
I got to the bottom of the stairs just before Hannah the succubus did and I couldn't contain the rage pumping through every copper wire in my being.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?" I wailed at the absolute top of my lungs, shaking my vocal cords. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO WITH LAUREN?" This put a look of complete disbelief on her face. It actually seemed pretty genuine but I knew what type of game she was playing. There was no chance I was going to fall for it, there needed to be justice and revenge for Lauren.
"I know who you are you psychopath! You think you can get away with this shit?" Before I knew it I was grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her violently.
"Mark what the hell are you doing? What are you talking about?" Hannah was fighting back, yet still trying to maintain her innocence. "Babe get off me why are y-." Her plea was cut short due to the state of both my hands clasping as tight as I could around her throat.
"You stupid bitch, coming into my life and fucking it up. Huh? Nothing to say now huh?" I continued to squeeze for the next 10 to 15 seconds at the same intensity, staring as deep as I could into the eyes of the woman who had murdered my wife. As her eyes started to close I released her. She went into a horrible coughing fit, covering the wall in her filth.
"You won't feel the sweet release of death tonight Hannah, I'm going to make sure you rot in jail for the rest of your miserable life." I said adamantly. I quickly headed up the stairs and grabbed the house phone to call the police. While dialing 911 I walked back to the top of the basement stairs to check on Hannah. I had revealed I knew her true identity and didn't want to take the chance of her escaping. As I saw she was still laying there, coughing more softly now, the 911 operator picked up.
"911 what is your emergency?"
"Hi, yes, I believe I have information on a murder case. I have the killer in my house right now and I need a unit here immediately!"
"Ok sir tell me your address and we'll have some officers down there right away." The operator said in a very composed manner. After relaying that I lived at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane Hannah decided to speak up again.
"Mark, honey, why are you doing this?" She was struggling to get the words out of her crushed trachea.
"Shut your mouth and stay right there, the police will be here any moment." I quickly answered. I wasn't going to stand for her deceptive ways. The woman laying on the stairs was being of pure evil, one that needed to be treated as such.
After a few more moments of Hannah's desperate pleading I heard a knock on the front door.
"Get ready for your twisted little sick life to get a lot worse demon." I said to Hannah before heading to answer the door.
Outside were three cop cars, an ambulance, and four officers crowded onto my porch.
"Hello sir we got a call about a possible domestic dispute. Can you tell me what's been going on tonight?" The officer closest to the door asked. He seemed to be the Lieutenant or Sergeant as he wore a different badge than the other officers. This was the man I needed to be talking to. Before I could even get a word out, something happened I never could have expected.
Hannah came walking down the stairs from the second floor. She was in much worse shape than I had left her in on the stairs. There were multiple cuts on her face, her nose seemed to be broken, and there was a massive purple bruise on her left cheekbone. While keeping her distance from me and after giving me a frightened look the officers could surely see, she began to speak.
"Oh thank God you're here officers! He's been beating on me and I couldn't take it anymore!" I almost believed her for a split second too. She sounded so innocent and heartbroken, like she's been battling with inner turmoil for a lifetime and finally decided to take action. She even had tears streaming down her face for dramatic effect.
"Is this true sir?" The officer in charge asked. I couldn't believe what the hell was happening. First she appeared upstairs, then the bruises and cuts appeared, and now she was feeding a bullshit story to the officers with the delivery of a seasoned Broadway actress.
"Hell no this isn't true!" I said with confidence, finally managing to get a word out. "This woman here is a killer! She murdered my wife Lauren and is trying to steal her life! You have to believe me!" My words seemed to have little to no effect on the officers.
"Ma'am?" The officer said inquisitively to Hannah.
"I don't know what he's talking about officer, he's gone crazy or something!" Hannah said innocently.
Looking back at me the officer sighed and pulled his handcuffs out. "Please turn around and put your hands behind your back sir."
"What? No way I didn't do anything!" I said defiantly.
"Sir, turn around and put your hands behind your back NOW!" The officer wasn't playing around now. I tried to think of what to do next and the officers took that as a sign of resistance. Within only a moment I had two sets of hands, one on each arm, turning me around and hand cuffing me.
"You can't do this to me! She's a killer! A KILLER!" I screamed as the officers dragged me away from my house. How did she do it? How did she get upstairs? How did she get those marks on her face? What the hell was happening right now? So much had happened in the last 10 minutes my head was spinning and I was beginning to feel sick. The officers read me my Miranda rights and threw me in the back of one of the squad cars. I could see Hannah spreading her lies to one of the officers who stayed to talk with her. He was writing down notes and probably believing every word she was saying.
The officers who had detained me started to leave in their cars so I was forced to sit and watch Hannah give the rest of her statement. Once they finished talking and the officers started walking back towards their cars, Hannah stayed in the doorway to watch. She locked eyes with me and I could swear, was even smiling a little. Whoever that was, it wasn't Lauren.
The officers drove me to the police station without saying a word. Once at the station I was processed and booked. My mug shot was taken, my fingerprint was filed, I was charged with first degree assault, and I was also charged with first degree battery. I thought, this can't be real. I had definitely choked her, but that was besides the point. The woman living in my home wasn't the woman I married. She had murdered my wife and was now trying to steal her life.
Once processed I was given an orange Albuquerque prisoner jump suit and thrown into a tiny cell. The five foot by five foot "room" consisted of a piss stained cot and shit stained toilet.
"Fuck." I said quietly to myself. "How did I end up here?" I spent the next hour or so trying to process what my next steps would be. The charges against me weren't going to be dropped and there was no way that I could fight them after what happened at the house. All of the officers had seen a beat up, cut, and bruised woman cry before them about how she couldn't be abused anymore. Still though, I would eventually have a chance to seek out justice for Lauren. They couldn't lock me up forever because of this.
After sitting in my cell for another hour or so my chance came sooner than I thought. An officer opened my cell door and told me a detective wanted to speak with me. I was escorted out of the cell block and taken to a private interrogation room. I waited for only a short time before a man walked in carrying a huge binder. He didn't wear a blue uniform like the rest of the cops, but instead khakis with a button shirt and a tie. His badge hung down from a lanyard covering part of his tie. He seemed to be about forty five to fifty years old, probably an experienced, grizzled cop who had seen a lot of shit in his day. He pulled his chair real close to mine, pinning me in the corner.
"Hi Mark I'm detective Gary Fring, I've heard a lot about what's happened tonight so I just need to understand what happened from your side. Tell me your version of events from tonight at the house." Detective Fring seemed to be reasonable and willing to listen. | 2022-11-30T05:23:26 | 2022-11-30T04:05:53 | 469 | 120 |
[WP] Everything we've been told about the stars is a lie. The field of Astronomy is a fabrication. The truth is a closely guarded secret, and for good reason. As a newly qualified astronomer, inducted into the field, the truth has been revealed to you.
What a pleasure it is to come home after a long day of work and find so many imaginative responses! I'm going to pour myself a whisky and enjoy reading them all. Cheers everyone! | "Well if you don't believe me, take a look" he gestured toward the telescope with a flippant wave, as if he hadn't just destroyed my entire worldview with a single statement.
I stepped up to the giant telescope nervously and peered into the eyepiece. The most powerful optics ever designed coordinated to funnel light from a thousand galaxies away. I reeled back and sat down on the ground, hard.
Beyond the distant lights, beyond everything I had studied and known, there was a single word suspended in the black:
*Buffering* | "Congratulations! Everything you spent tens of thousands of dollars to learn is actually a lie. You're officially an astronomer."
This was certainly not the greeting that I'd expected. It was the first day of my new job at NASA, and I had shown up eager to learn about and research the universe. The smile on my face morphed into a confused, furrowed brow.
"I'm... I'm sorry, but... what?"
"Stars. Most of them are fake. What we do here has very little to do with space exploration, we focus more on, um... defense. That's the best way to put it." My colleague, Dr. Jamison, was clearly enjoying this introduction to NASA, breaking every preconceived notion I'd ever had about NASA. Befuddled, I tried to figure out where my new coworker was going with this.
"Defense? I'm sorry, but I don't understand. I thought our job was to observe through satellites and telescopes in an effort to gain a better understanding of our universe."
"Technically, that is *our* job, but we don't do it for the simple reason of knowledge." The enthusiasm of his speech was being replaced with a dire seriousness now. However, I still had no idea what was happening. My confusion — that had started as excitement — was now becoming frustration.
"Listen, I'm going to ignore the fact that I seem to have wasted nearly a decade of my life learning about something that doesn't even seem to exist, but can you *please* get to the point?" I implored, "The entire direction of my life had come to a hal–"
"They're lasers," Jamison interrupted. My face must have exhibited my shock as the doctor's lips moved into a smirk; he was enjoying this again. "Outside of a couple dozen stars, all of the lights in the night sky are lasers... or laser pointer to be more accurate."
"Why do we need laser pointers if most of the stars aren't actually there?" I inquired.
"Well, you see, suns aren't entirely necessary for life. There are planets that live in complete darkness. It is also known that these planets are host to advanced technology. Technology that far surpasses our own, except in one facet: weaponry. What the public also doesn't know is that NASA has control over a ray-gun that can destroy an entire planet that is billions of lightyears away."
This information floored me. "You mean like the Death Star's laser from Star Wars?" I cautiously asked.
"Yes! Exactly like that, only more powerful and virtually invisible. I need to start describing it like that," my colleague stated.
Starting to understand the field I was entering and the magnitude that it held, I began thinking aloud, "So... the lasers are used to aim?" Jamison nodded. "And they're aiming at planets that we feel are potential threats?" Another nod. "And in doing this, we hope to maintain a hold over the universe based on intimidation?" Once again, a nod.
"In simplistic terms, you've hit the nail on the head; it's the Cold War on a much larger scale. Our job is to detect more of these planets that present a danger to ours. At that point, the military takes over. Welcome aboard, rookie." Dr. Jamison extended his hand, ready for a shake.
I didn't know whether to gladly return the gesture, or to leave the building and forget everything I'd learned in the past ten minutes.
| 2014-10-20T13:43:31 | 2014-10-20T13:27:10 | 386 | 86 |
[WP] You're abducted from your bed and taken to an unknown location. You remove the blindfold and you're sitting in front of a PC in a lone cubicle in an empty office building. The work schedule on the cubicle wall says your shift ends in 8 hours. The nameplate on the side of the cubicle says "God". | “Uhhhh...”
I stare at the nameplate for a moment.
I can feel my form begin to shift,transcending this corporeal realm,my thought begins to grasp the great plan,the great number,fourty tw-
“Oh,sorry.” Says a timid voice from behind.
“Must’ve been a typo from the new girls.” A hand reaches for the nameplate,and swiftly switches it with another. Now it says ‘Dog’.
“You’re free to go now.” The small floating wheel says.
With a small ‘pop’ i’m back.
“There’s a good boy.” The wheel scratches my head,and flys towards the end of the hall.
I run down the hall with my tail waggling. | I’ve been pushed into a cushy seat that swivels. I can’t see anything, something has been tied around my head and across my eyes, my hands bound in my lap. I can smell something acrid...sulphur?
“How long Beezle?” The voice from behind me sounds like the rumble of the earth itself, I feel it more than hear it.
“Hard to say, your Unholiness, the doors have been ‘adjusted’ but this is Him we’re talking about.” This voice is sniveling, from further back.
A rough hand removes the blindfold, the heat from the touch like a furnace. In front of me is...a desk? A simple desk, with a white keyboard, white mouse, white monitor. The monitor is blank except for a single word and a flashing cursor beside it.
PASSWORD?
I turn my head, I am in a small cubicle, like what a call center operative might work out of. The desk is unadorned, there aren’t even any cables running from the equipment on the desk. A single analogue clock hangs on the wall behind the desk, but instead of your traditional hands and numbers, this one seems to count backwards with the word “Godshift” where the number twelve normally sits and there is only one hand. The cubicle is lit from above by an unseen light, when I crane around to get a look at my assailant I receive a hard smack across the back of my head for my troubles.
“You don’t wanna do that.” The deep voice says.
“ Why have you brought me here?” I croak, my throat dry and hoarse. Damn I was thirsty.
Another smack to the back of my head, harder, my ears rang.
“Don’t act stupid.”
I blink until my vision clears and I’m seeing one monitor again.
“What are planning to do?” I try to loosen the bonds, try to slip my hands out of them.
“You just worry about your part in this. Now stop trying to squirm out of those bonds and put your hand to that
keyboard.”
A loud boom from behind me, behind walls and doors.
“Boss!!! He’s at the gates!” The sniveler, very nervous.
A small screen is thrust in front of my face, the hand holding it is large and clawed and red. On the screen is a woman, head bowed, dark hair covering her face in a matted mess. An impish horror jumps into view on her lap and grabs her at the front and lifts her face with it. I can’t hear anything but I can see the pain. And I recognize the face.
“Mother!” I scream.
The screen is taken away.
“Now we understand each other.” The voice behind me growls with delight.”Password!” It insists.
I shake my head, my minds eye filled with the after image of the bruises, the cuts, the blood. Another boom from behind me, closer now.
“Boss, we’re almost out of time!”the sniveler, voice strained.
“PASSWORD!!! Or I give the word and she loses what’s left of her face.”
My hands shake as I raise them to the keyboard. Tears flow
down my cheeks as i begin typing the word. The room shakes, whatever’s coming, is going to be too late. I finish typing the word and press ENTER.
The word PASSWORD disappears from the screen to be replaced with a different word.
COMMAND?
I feel myself flung to the floor as the huge form behind me shoves past and types with massive fingers, clawtips searing and staining the white keys. I have enough time to glimpse the screen before the world goes dark. One word has been typed.
“REVELATION.”
Father forgive me, you took too long.
| 2017-10-06T20:07:16 | 2017-10-06T19:50:09 | 114 | 14 |
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit. | I couldn’t understand why he was smiling. I watched as my father looked around almost uncertainly before setting the jug of milk on the counter. There was no apology in his smile. There was only the same warmth I remembered as a boy when he watched me score a goal in soccer. Nonetheless it did nothing to diffuse the rage rumbling inside of me.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped. My father’s smile falters for a moment.
“This is my house, son. I guess I don’t understand the question.” He rubbed the black stubble on his chin.
“No,” I practically launched myself up from the kitchen table. “This is my house! I inherited it almost 25 years ago when Mom died. Remember her? The woman you left?”
The calm never left his gaze as he picked the milk back up and placed it inside the refrigerator.
“You’re a piece of shit,” I snarled. “How dare you show your face here?” I watched him and the confusion finally set in. Not a single gray hair was on his head. No wrinkles. In fact, he was wearing the exact same red flannel shirt I last saw him in. My father leaned up against the wall. A calendar grazed the top of his head.
Normally an even-tempered man myself, I was becoming crushed under the heat of volcanic disdain. I charged my father and slammed my fists into his chest.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? What you’ve done to Mom? She was never the same after you left! I was never the same! I looked up to you! I hate you!” I pounded his chest. “I hate you! I hate you!”
Amidst my incoherent screaming I suddenly froze. The massive bear arms of my father wrapped around me.
“Oh, son. Will you forgive me?”
I couldn’t breathe. The weight of hate filled years melted away under the even heavier weight of my farther’s arms.
“Yes,” my own whisper woke me. I opened my tear blurred eyes. I blinked away the dream and saw the inside of my father’s house. | My dad left me when I was six, it's always been a controversial topic to bring up, it made other people uncomfortable, but mostly me, whenever I spoke to psychologists or therapists, it always had to be mentioned. I'm fifty-six now, and it still kills me to think about it, but I have a family of my own, with two kids, who are about to be late for school.
"Kids! The bus is coming soon! Do you have your lunch ready?" I yelled to them from two floors below.
All of a sudden I hear the metallic clinging of a key-chain, and the mechanics of a door handle being unlocked. My heart skips a beat as I try to make sense of who on earth could be coming through that door right now, but whatever it was, I would have never imagined it would be what was standing right in front of me.
"Gah! Sorry about that, the traffic this time of day is unbelievable.", he said nonchalantly "I got the milk though!"
I stared at him, dumbfounded, I couldn't feel the rest of my body, I felt as if I were about to collapse.
"D-d-dad?" I stutter.
"Oh crap! You're right, I forgot the eggs! I'll be right back!"
---
He reaches for the handle, while I stare blankly. I snap myself out of my trance, and trying to hold back the strange sensation of wanting to puke, yet wanting to scream, I force the door closed before he can even see outside.
"Oh don't worry! I'll be quick! The roads tend to be a lot calmer in the morning."
With my hand still pressed against the door, I glare straight into his eyes, this time with fury, and a little bit of confusion. He looks back as if completely ignoring my obvious anger. I knew I had to choose the right words, to convince a man who's clearly gone mad, that he is in no right to act so calm.
"Dad..." I sigh, "What, time, is it?"
I say the words slowly, and condescendingly, regardless of the fact that I knew perfectly well he'd understand. He shakes a silver, analog watch out of the sleeve of his jacket, I recognized it, we had a picture of us handing it to him as a Christmas gift eons ago, it was definitely an old model, but by no means was it in bad condition, it looked brand new. I immediately wanted to slap him for the response I knew he was about to blurt out.
"Seven forty-three, why?"
He didn't understand.
We were in a staring contest now, except he lost it minutes ago, he continued to blink, watching me, as if he were concerned for my mental state, I was only infuriated by his. My eyes were starting to ache because I haven't closed them since he walked in, but I made no notice of it, I couldn't.
"Bye dad!" they sang harmoniously as they rushed through the door on their way to the bus. We stepped aside to let them by, I ignored them, and closed the door again, disregarding the fact that they made no mention of their grandfather who was now impatiently trying to grab my attention by tilting his head.
"Are you feeling alright?" he said preoccupied.
"Am I feeling alright?!" I finally let out in a shout, he got startled. His eyes widened, his eyebrows turned into mountains on his forehead, and he leaped back an inch. "You realize you left me for fifty years?! Exactly fifty years! Fifty years ago today! And you have the balls to ask me if I'm feeling alright?! After you show up on my doorstep with a carton of milk?!"
"If you wanted whole milk, I can go grab another, really it's not a big deal."
I ignore him, and continue to stare, I feel like my brain is about to explode, I can't keep up with my thoughts.
"I can't tell if you're joking or not... The tone of your voice makes me think something's wrong, you know I was here just this morning right? Are you having a mental breakdown? Do you need a doctor?"
I'm reluctant to even respond to him any more. He shakes out his watch again.
"This. You don't remember it? You gave it to me a few nights ago, I never left you, you're living your own life now, your mom and I came here to visit you for Christmas."
I start to tear up, he really has gone insane hasn't he? I hastily grab the phone from out of my pocket, I needed some way to prove to him he's wrong, that he's gone out of his mind. I turn it on, and see a text from 'Dad'. "Should be home soon, traffic is bad." it read.
I'm the crazy one.
-------
Bit of a stretch at the end there, but it was suggested that I try to continue the story, and since I already had a few ideas in mind, I thought I'd give it a go, and I think it came together much better than I expected. Feedback is always wonderful! I hope you enjoyed! | 2022-05-13T11:22:44 | 2017-11-19T16:34:26 | 1,516 | 452 |
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit. | I couldn’t understand why he was smiling. I watched as my father looked around almost uncertainly before setting the jug of milk on the counter. There was no apology in his smile. There was only the same warmth I remembered as a boy when he watched me score a goal in soccer. Nonetheless it did nothing to diffuse the rage rumbling inside of me.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped. My father’s smile falters for a moment.
“This is my house, son. I guess I don’t understand the question.” He rubbed the black stubble on his chin.
“No,” I practically launched myself up from the kitchen table. “This is my house! I inherited it almost 25 years ago when Mom died. Remember her? The woman you left?”
The calm never left his gaze as he picked the milk back up and placed it inside the refrigerator.
“You’re a piece of shit,” I snarled. “How dare you show your face here?” I watched him and the confusion finally set in. Not a single gray hair was on his head. No wrinkles. In fact, he was wearing the exact same red flannel shirt I last saw him in. My father leaned up against the wall. A calendar grazed the top of his head.
Normally an even-tempered man myself, I was becoming crushed under the heat of volcanic disdain. I charged my father and slammed my fists into his chest.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? What you’ve done to Mom? She was never the same after you left! I was never the same! I looked up to you! I hate you!” I pounded his chest. “I hate you! I hate you!”
Amidst my incoherent screaming I suddenly froze. The massive bear arms of my father wrapped around me.
“Oh, son. Will you forgive me?”
I couldn’t breathe. The weight of hate filled years melted away under the even heavier weight of my farther’s arms.
“Yes,” my own whisper woke me. I opened my tear blurred eyes. I blinked away the dream and saw the inside of my father’s house. | I would like to say I had forgotten - that I didn't care. That I'd moved on.
That's what they all say to do, you know? Move on. As if it was just possible to forget a part of your mind, cut it out like a tumor, and set it aside. Well if it was a tumor it wasn't a benign one. I'd tried it all, therapy, friends, family, and it went away. For years sometimes I forgot about him, and then all of a sudden he came howling back like a cancer that just wouldn't go away. All it took was a fight with my sister, or with Dave. It had stayed for a while back when mom had died.
And he was due to come back today, the bastard. I'd been checking the feeds for the last couple years now. His transport feeds still showed on time. His transport hadn't exploded.
I hoped he didn't come.
I hoped he came.
A knock.
I froze for a moment on my sofa as my heart skipped a beat.
"Home," I said, "show camera feed."
"Right away, Alexa," the house responded, and my phone showed the visitor on the doorstep.
It was him.
He was standing there as if he'd left yesterday, as if he hadn't betrayed us at all. He had startlingly blue eyes, a virtual clone of mine, and his dark hair looked a bit unkempt, but it fell right past his earlobes, just like it used to. He was holding an open carton of Milk in one hand. Oh no big deal, just going to see my family I abandoned 50 years ago - better buy some milk before I go there though. And he was smiling.
*Smiling*
I got up from my sofa, and checked the camera of my phone. My deep red hair fell past my shoulders, and a few wrinkles had crept up on my face, but for the most part I looked young enough. The wonders of telomere preserving drugs. My blue eyes were clear - there wasn't a single tear in them.
I stalked over to the door, and with no show whatsoever threw the door open. Yep. There he was smiling, his eyes twinkling. “Hey Al-“
He never finished because I clenched my fist and punched him in the gut. The milk went flying out of his hands and spilled all over the lawn.
He never saw it coming and reeled backwards. “Listen,” he said, “I know you’re upset-“
I laughed at that. “Upset,” I said, flatly. “You know I’m fucking upset,” I said and slammed my knee against his stomach, knocking the breath out of him.
“You couldn’t understand,” he said, “my life was at a dead end, I needed some cash.”
“Oh right,” I snarled, “where the hell could your life possibly go after having two young daughters and a wife? Of course your life was over.” I swung again, and he ducked. We were out on the driveway now. The wind was cool against my skin, but I felt like I was burning up.
“100,000 dollars, Alexa! Inflation adjusted!” he said, “I can turn my life around! Just spend six months on a really fast ship to study time dilation or whatever, and I’m done. It’s like magic!”
Magic. Yeah it had been magic how quickly all our lives had been uprooted. And how we didn’t see a cent of it.
“Why are you back?” I asked, my voice low.
He looked genuinely taken aback. “To see my daughters,” he said, “my wife-“
“Your wife’s dead,” I said.
I almost smiled at the expression on his face. He had shown less expression when I had punched him. It almost made up for the lance of pain that went through my heart every time I remembered mom. Almost.
We stood there on the driveway for a moment, both of us breathing heavily.
“Alexa, let me make up to you,” he said, and he actually sounded halfway genuine, “I’ll share the money. Please, Allexa, I don’t want to be a villain.”
“I’m a millionaire, Dad. Thanks to mom’s caring, my sister’s support, and in a way I guess, thanks to your betrayal. I don’t need your money, and I wouldn’t take it even if I was dying.”
“Al-“
“Bye, dad,” I said, “never come back. I've gotten used to it." I turned back and slammed the door.
“Alexa,” the house said, “your heart rate is elevated, and your stress levels are dangerously high. Would you like to call emergency services?”
I laughed. I guess that’s what closure felt like.
The tears came soon after.
***
(minor edits: grammar, spelling, rephrasing, added in bit about milk)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
edit: Hey guys didn't think the story was that bad lol. why the downvotes :/ Feedback is welcome!
| 2022-05-13T11:22:44 | 2017-11-19T16:04:53 | 1,516 | 162 |
[WP] Despite having pink hair, a tragic backstory, and untold magic power, the narrator refuses to make you the main character | The story of Josh
A mighty fine lad
He lives in Kentucky
With his friend Chad
 
And every day
On his way to work
He walks past this loser
God, what a jerk
 
Some kid with pink hair
An orphan at birth
Some say he’s magic
No way on earth
 
He’s just a nobody
Don’t focus on him
Keep looking at Josh
And his boss, Jim
 
Josh was caught sleeping
Passed out at his desk
And Jim got real angry
Very hulk-esque
 
So, Josh was fired
And on his way home
He saw that same loser
And let out a moan
 
“My god!” He exclaimed
And pointed in shock
The kid with pink hair
Had lifted a rock
 
Now, this rock was special
Not a pebble, you see
This was a boulder
A monstrosity
 
He hurled it some distance
And shouted with rage
“NARRATOR, I HATE YOU,
GIVE ME A PAGE”
 
But the narrator ignored him
And kept out of sight
He followed Josh home,
And wished him goodnight
| This was the moment Edriana Highwater was waiting for.
With her trusted page, she had gone to the petrified underwater forest, the ghostly waste, and the kingdom of towers to get all three necessary stones to open the gate to talk to The Agent. According to the prophecy, the Agent would make you the chosen one, and she would bring glory to the death of the village she came from. She would totally slay the evil empire with her new found magic.
Edriana twirled her pink hair. Her loyal page stood behind her, excited for her as well.
The white door opened and a woman stepped out. The Agent! She was very pretty. Her hair tumbled in white tendrils around her shoulder, framing her serene, ageless face. Her skin was like porcelain. She smiled warmly at Edriana.
"Hello, adventurer. So you come to seek the title 'the chosen one?'"
"Yes, ma'am. Omigod, The Agent is a woman. I never expected that!" Edriana squealed a little, excited.
The Agent smiled even brighter. "Let's not waste too much time," she said pointing her finger beyond where Edriana was standing, "I choose you."
Edriana followed the finger. It was pointing at her page, Bob.
It was Bob.
Bob's eyes bugged out. He stood still. Even a single strand of his non-descript dark brown hair didn't move. His pale face despite weeks in the sun got even paler. He shook his head.
"But I don't want to be the chosen one! I'm here to support my mistress!"
The Agent tilted her head, "oh, but you are more interesting. You possess something your mistress doesn't have."
Edriana felt disappointed, but she still wanted to know. "What does Bob have that I don't?"
"A penis, dear," the Agent said with a delighted giggle, "It sells so much better... Now, we need to make some changes."
The Agent twirled a wand out of her robe. It was not like any wand she had seen. It was short and had a tiny metal tip smudged with something red. Blood? No, it smelled like ink.
Behind her, Bob started to scream in his armor.
Edriana turned around and shielded herself from the metal armor that exploded open at the seam. Stood before her was still Bob, but he was much taller. His face still light but ruggedly tanned. His torso packed with lithe muscles... in his midsection stood a strange row of muscles that she only saw in starving men sometimes.
"I look like a freak" Bob said, "turn me back!"
"Nonsense, you like it, but you just won't show it" The Agent told him. Bob's eyes glazed over and he started to nod. His expression reduced to angry and sullen -- as if he smelled something sour and was thinking hard about where it might be coming from
Edriana didn't know what to do. She walked toward The Agent, "what are you doing, this is all wrong!"
The Agent touched the inky wand to her chin, "hmmm... something else is missing here," she snapped her finger, "Bob, aren't you in love with Edriana?"
"I am?" Bob looked puzzled for a moment. "I am." He said with a sharp, bearded, brooding face. When did he get a five o'clock stubble? He shaved just before they came here!
The Agent finally met Edriana's eyes, "you are going to love this part,"
"No, no, no, no" Edriana started to feel dread stronger than any evil creeping into her heart.
"You are actually a princess! And you'll be captured in the evil castle. This way Bob will totally rescue you." The Agent pressed her hand in her heart and sigh, "ah, isn't love beautiful?"
"Wait!" Edriana shouted, "you can't do this. This is my story! I will--"
The Agent waved her hand, and the stone beneath her feet open. Gravity dragged her downward with vengeance.
"Asshoooooooooooooooooo---" Edriana screamed as she fell into the darkness, quieter and quieter until nobody heard her at all. | 2017-12-18T20:19:09 | 2017-12-18T16:32:55 | 415 | 153 |
[WP] Dogs have been genetically engineered to live as long as humans. As a child you pick out a puppy as a companion for the rest of your life. | I am one of a few. Unloved, not cared for. I am starving, surviving on what I can find. I live without a family, without a partner, without a friend. My human passed away when he was 13. Now, I am 45.
He picked me out as a puppy. Both of us were born the same year. I had been injected, like all companions, with a serum that allows me to live the average human lifespan, about 73 years. As fate would have it, my human, Todd, would only make it to 13; the average lifespan of one of my kind.
After he died, I was abandoned. Unneeded. I was driven out of town by Todd’s father and left in the woods. There, I learned to hunt. I learned to kill. Squirrels, birds, cats, whatever I could sink my fangs into. I’m an expert now. A hunter. A professional. There is nothing I can’t take down.
I’ve become a legend of sorts. A myth among those living in Todd’s old town. It started when deer bones were found scattered through the woods. Something, somewhere, was killing these animals. Then, a man watched as I fought a bear for a kill. I emerged victorious. He ran and told the town. The children claim to hear my howls in the winter nights. Mothers place wolfsbane around their baby’s cradle to ward me off. They fear me. I find it funny.
They fear nothing. I am nothing but a shell. I was stripped of meaning thirty-two years ago. I hunt for my own survival. I kill because it is the only thing I have left.
I understand now why they made my kind live longer. How can you attach yourself to something knowing it would leave you so quickly? How can you watch a small, defenseless hunk of flesh grow into its prime and die within an eighth of your lifespan? How can you watch someone you love die?
They came for me today. Seven men with guns entered the woods. Each armed with silver bullets. They’re hunting “The Werewolf of Brackwood Forest”. They’re hunting a legend, but they will kill a shell. | Date: March 20th, 2018. Rupert. German Shepherd. Male. 6 months old. Registration fee: $610. Registered in Buffalo, NY.
----
January 8th, 2033
I thought this journal idea was stupid but I have an idea. It can be all about Rupert! Mr. Lean said focus on happy stuff, sooo RUPERT!
*Photos of a dog.*
----
March 1st, 2040
Happy birthday me! Weekend = home = party time and RUPERT! I haven't seen the old guy in months. I hate the no pets on campus policy. It's not like we're a bunch of irresponsible shit heads from the 2010's. Seniors should be trusted to take care of their dorms, at least. I guess way back most colleges used to let registered pets on campus, according to dad.
Anyway his skin has been healing up nicely. Dad sent some pics. He actually seemed to be happy to hang out with Rupert for once. Thank god we finally found a vet that isn't a complete moron, and thank god for sweet sweet health insurance. I don't even wanna look at that $8k bill. Who charges $500 for an office visit?!
----
December 23rd, 2052
*Image of a young dog.*
I don't know what to do. Everything is falling apart. Mr. Lean died yesterday. Dad is in the worst health of his life. And Rupert's problems are back again. His skin is covered in blisters again. His arthritis is terrible. He's chewing himself to death. He has to wear a cone or a muzzle any time he's alone or we come home to a house full of bloody fur everywhere. I can't keep up with the cost of that fucking medicine. I can't believe our family is suffering because I got a better job. We would've been better off on government health insurance and me still making bullshit-an-hour. Pet pharma knows it can gouge the hell out of prices, and they have been ever since the first generation of newbreds. Supposedly the whatever agency is folding into the FDA soon and they're going to regulate pet drugs too. Please god let it be soon. I can't keep this up much longer. It's not fair for Rupert and it's not fair for my kids.
----
July 5th, 2057
*Photos of a dog standing on top of a grave.*
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January 1st, 2068
Apparently the BPS is on a mad hunt to find strays in the country hoping to find enough oldbreds of some breeds to prevent dogs from going instinct. Amazing. It's almost like we never had methods in place to test drugs before they're injected into living creatures! Oh wait, the living creatures are the test subjects!
Hale is right. It has to be time. Nothing is working. It's like one problem is solved and another crops up. No one knew it was going to be like this. He's just in a constant state of decay. Fur and flesh literally just falling off. He can barely see out of his left eye. He's gone through cancer twice. The pads on his feet are hard as a rock and practically bleeding all the time. Rupert doesn't deserve to live like this. I missed out on half of Hale's and Mel's lives trying to fight this plague from hell. Dad used to say "he's just a dog" but he's NOT just a dog. He's practically my brother. He gave the kids rides around the house, and pulled their sled, and saved their lives god-knows-how-many times.
And yes, dad, I've bawled my goddamn eyes out countless times. What if I had these diseases? You'd do everything to help me, wouldn't you? The worst part is, it's gone on for so long, I'm just numb to it all. I see him laying nearly lifeless already on his bed. He shudders when he breathes. And I just feel empty. Maybe I am selfish for letting it go on for so long. I don't know. I just wish someone else could have made the choice for me long ago. Or that all of this never had to happen in the first place. I wish Rupert was an oldbred. He would have died when I was in college. Having only known a few years of suffering, but still after a full and happy life. The kids would only know him through photos. Maybe there would be a Rupert II, and III.
I guess there's a huge push to euthanize newbreds. /r/newmercy is gonna have a fucking field day. Can't wait to get pelted with fecal matter after leaving the vet. Guess I'll take it one last time for the old guy.
I love you Rupert. It's time for you to be free again.
----
*US Emotional Support Service Dog registration card.* | 2018-03-19T10:03:16 | 2018-03-19T09:57:10 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | I always felt alone as a child, even talking to myself when I felt the need for conversation. It started when I was 4 or 5, I guess; parents were too busy to my many siblings that I only had myself for company. So I talked to myself... and I answered myself. My mother always said, "Oh, she's just playing. Let her be." And it made sense when I was a child. Until I turned 21 and my answer didn't come from my mouth. I found I could duplicate, make multiple copies of myself and I didn't feel so alone.
If I was ever so alone and I needed to talk to someone, I'd split and three people: me, a listener, and someone to make brownies for us. It was always comforting to know someone was there for me, even if it was still me. Sometimes I use them for "evil;" if I don't want to go to work, one of them will. If I don't want to go on a date with someone but they don't take no for an answer, if I need to go to the store but I'm out of patience to leave the house, ect, ect.
But eventually I got sick of myself and left my apartment in hopes of finding new companionship but how does someone with... well, multiple personalities just go up to someone and say, "I'm lonely and would like you to fill the void"?
My thoughts swam with reasons to go up to someone and start talking to them when a voice behind me said, "You should open with a joke."
I made a face and turned with a groan, expecting to see an other giving me advice, and my eyes landed on the face of someone with kind, green eyes, broad, strong shoulders and a smile that warmed my heart.
"Sorry," he said, chuckling. "I didn't mean to interrupt your internal debate but it sounded like you could use some help."
'Internal?' I thought. 'How did he know I was-'
"I can read minds," he answered without even waiting for a question. "I hear everyone's thoughts but yours kind of pulled on me. It doesn't make sense, I know, but I felt like you needed someone to talk to."
I squinted slightly and decided to test this, playing an annoying song from high school in my head until he reacted.
And react he did; he chuckled. "I loved Raining Tacos as a kid."
My mind went... not blank, but in hyperdrive; all my others swarming me with questions to ask until one stood out. "Do you wanna get a coffee?" I asked. Hearing my own voice ask a question that I didn't have to answer made me start to smile.
But what made it bigger was his response. "I'd love to." | Tears well in her eyes as the man falls to the floor. "I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely, barely able to stand the look of horror and shock on his face, though it was fading fast. "I don't know what else to do."
The dust around him hardly settles before the concrete floor is blinded by spotlights, police and SWAT teams flooding the room and surrounding them in a circle.
Her eyes widen in horror and she steps back from the man, her mind trying to come up with an excuse, or anything to explain her reasons for being in a warehouse at 2AM, standing over a man who's whole world just came crashing down over him. For a brief moment, she feels betrayal, but then she realizes she has absolutely no right to.
As the police shout at her, she calmly raises both of her hands. Several of them approach, their powers flowing confidently in skin and weapons made of nearly-indestructible materials, apparently immune to her own. She tries not to cry, but it's all too fresh, and the tears fall anyway.
They roughly pull her arms behind her back, forcing her into the back of a vehicle and driving what seems a very long distance "downtown". Yet after that it's almost as if she only blinks and is suddenly in a dark room with a mirror on one wall sitting at a metal table with only a single light and man glaring at her.
"What did you do to them?" he demanded.
"Do what?" the word left her mouth before she even realized he'd asked her. The lies had come so easily to her now, before and after her... crimes.
The officer didn't even try to play along. "It's taken us so long to find you, and each time we found your victims you were gone. So why such an easy place this time?"
She partially ignored his question, trying for a different approach, knowing it probably wouldn't help but hoping anyway. "He wasn't hurt. None of them were."
"Maybe not, but they were... different."
"I still don't see the problem here." Even now her shame was fading, peeling away into the background where it lived. She hadn't been as thorough this time, and she took very little from him.
The officer paced, but knew he shouldn't get near her. They'd figured out she was useless if she couldn't touch anyone. "The problem is that the man with you tonight is, from what his friends and family tell us, charismatic and loves to talk. But the man sitting in our car unit right now barely responds to anything."
She shrugged, trying to ignore her dry eyes. "It could be stress, or his environment."
"You're lying," he said."
"I'm not," she replied.
The officer sat down. "You are. Know how I know? Because I have a power too. Know what it is?"
She didn't answer, but he probably didn't expect her to.
"Empathy. I can feel others emotions. And when I saw that man, I felt what he felt: absolutely nothing."
Of course. Who better to interrogate prisoners than a man who knows when someone is lying. "And what do you feel from me?" she asked in an effort to sound unaffected, but her voice shook.
"I don't know. My powers work by touch, but so do yours."
She looked down. "Not right now. I can only use them once every so often."
"What are they? You absorb something from your victims. What is it? Youth, stamina, or something else?"
She was cracking and she knew it. A part of her knew if she only held out a little longer, she wouldn't tell. But the other part of her wanted to. She supposed she shouldn't, but right here, right now, when she was supposed to be feeling a rush, she only felt tired. She knew she couldn't find the right words to explain, so she only looked back up at him and moved her cuffed hands as far forward as possible.
"Look for yourself."
"What?"
"They're fading now. I won't do anything, I can control it, but you'll understand if you use your ability."
He looked at her as if she was crazy. "Do you really think I'll fall for that?"
"No, but even without touching me you should still know I'm telling the truth."
She expected him to refuse, or even leave the room to discuss it with the superiors she knew were watching them behind that mirror. But to her faint surprise he simply reached for her, one large hand gently falling on her wrist. Time stilled for a moment, but a moment was all it took for him to feel her emotions draining out of her.
The emotions she stole from that man. The only emotions she would ever feel.
The officer pulled back, shock on his face. He looked at her, the hostility completely gone if only for a moment as he processed what he'd felt.
"So do you finally understand why I do what I do? I know it's wrong, of course. But it's the only way." She looked away, not caring who knew anymore, having just enough emotion left to understand the need to tell. "I didn't always have my power. And I didn't always need it. It and my... affliction came around the same time. I don't like it, but using it is the only way I feel things... feel alive."
There was only a tiny bit left now. The strongest emotions she always felt were the negative kind. She didn't know if they were remnants from the host, or if that's just how they worked, having forgotten what it was like to have her own.
But whatever happened to her now, she hoped that maybe, just maybe, some day she wouldn't need it. | 2019-09-08T11:40:23 | 2019-09-08T10:22:20 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] As a fan of Greek Mythology you've always wanted to climb Mount Olympus. Though you know you won't find much, a selfie at the top would be pretty neat. But when you arrive, you see a bunch of tents and an old man trying to heat some baked beans. "Stupid lightning never listens to me anymore!" | The last thing I'd expected to find when I reached the top of Mount Olympus was a crazy old man baking beans. Sure, part of me imagined the impossible scenario of climbing to the top, my hands and knees scraped, to see the glowing, beautiful bodies of the Olympians, as depicted in myth and in sculpture. But there was just him, a fire, a can of baked beans, and a dozen old tents.
He was shockingly thin, skin clinging to the bones that held all of him together. His beard was comically long, falling down to the grass beneath him. He was mumbling something about lightning: "never listens to me anymore."
I coughed into my fist to get his attention. Nothing. I tried again.
"Oi! Mr. King of the gods, we've got a visitor!" a woman shouted from inside one of the tents nearest to us.
The old man rolled his eyes and shouted, "What are you on about, woman? We never got visitors."
An old woman in a torn, dirty toga crawled out of the tent. Her hair was pure white, and her face was heavily lined. She got to her feet and hobbled over towards the old man. She smacked him on the head and pointed to me.
"We got 'em now," she said.
The old man looked up from his fire, stared up at me through cloudy eyes. Then, in surprise he shouted, "Who in the world are you?"
"Uh, Cameron..." I said, uncertainly. "I...sorry, I was just hoping to take a picture."
"What he say?" the old man demanded of the woman, squinting up at her.
She started walking back to her tent. "Pictures, you old goat! Get yer ears checked. I've been tellin' ya since the start of the millennia. Yer getting too old!"
He snorted, staring down at the fire. "Should have stayed with Io," he muttered.
"What wassat?" she snapped, running back towards the campfire. "Io, eh? Would Io have put up with you since the fall of Troy? I damn well think not!"
"Wa's with all the yelling?" another voice cried out. Another old man limped out from his tent, grasping onto a crudely made walking stick. He wasn't a very attractive man.
"Hephaestus, go get my thunderbolt. Hera's giving lip."
"Thunderbolts?" the man with the cane laughed. "You old fool. You used up the last one ages ago to kill Bellerophon."
"Oh yea," the old man laughed. "Why did I do that again.?"
"The same reason you kill all the mortals," the woman griped. "'They need to know their place. Their hubris will get the best of 'em one of these days," she mocked in a decent impression of the old man.
"Well, it will," he mumbled, poking at the fire.
"They've got the run of the whole world, dad," the ugly man said. "I don't see any mortals around here, do you?"
The old man pointed a thumb up at me. "He's a mortal."
The ugly man with the cane squinted at me. "Oh, right, I suppose he is. What brings you here, mortal?"
I'd been mumbling about wanting a picture when another woman appeared. She looked younger than the rest of them, but still getting on in years. She was completely naked. Honestly, not all that bad looking.
"What's the mortal here for?" she asked, eyeing me strangely.
"Says he wants a picture," the old woman said.
"A what?" the younger woman repeated.
"You know, like the images they put on vases, but on parchment."
"What was that?" the man at the fire shouted, hand to his ear.
"PARCH-MENT!" the woman snapped. "Someone find the god of hearing and set Zeus up with an appointment! I'm getting tired of this shit!" | Being a fan of Greek Mythology, and knowing I was entering the home of the gods, I decided to bring a bottle of wine. I even went out and purchased ambrosia, and found nectar, too. It was important to the gods, especially Zeus, to be a good host. But, I figured being a good guest wouldn’t hurt.
There were a lot of people that climbed the mountain. It was pretty popular, to the surprise of no one. But, people kept coming down, complaining about that old man at the top. I thought it was strange, but I decided getting to the top would be worth it.
And I got there. There was litter on the ground, a bunch of tents, and an old man, grumbling about the lightning and trying to cook his beans.
*Lightning? That... well, I suppose I’ll play along.* It was absurd, this bearded old man being Zeus. Zeus was powerful, imposing, king of the gods. But, it couldn’t hurt, and maybe I could brighten someone’s day.
“Excuse me, sir. I’ve come seeking entrance to the Pantheon of the gods. Would you mind terribly if I tidied up some of the litter, and then perhaps we could share a drink in the gods’ honor? Perhaps they’ll bless us with good health and safe travels.”
The old man waved his hand at me, almost as if to tell me to leave. “Bah! Do what you want, I don’t care.”
Well, no sense sitting somewhere ugly. I wanted to pretend, for a few moments, to look upon what the gods had. So, I tidied up. And tidied up. And it was... honestly more rewarding than I expected. More rewarding than climbing the mountain had been. I’d cleaned up enough to sit down, but I decided to keep going.
It was two hours later, but I felt great. It took ages, and the old man complained the whole time—mostly about how things used to be, or his youth—but he never said an unkind word to me. Which was nice. I’d had the good sense to bring trash bags (for the wine and stuff), and I just barely managed to fit all the trash into one. I was surprised, but I didn’t think much of it.
“There. Now, how about that drink?” I asked him, sitting across the way. His beans still wouldn’t cook, but he said, “Lenme get my cup.” He walked into his tent, and came out with a beat up tin cup. Dented, with a cut in the top, more a tear worn smooth by the passing of time.
“... you know, I have a cup. I’d rather you enjoy the wine. And, it won’t risk hurting you. Take mine.” I pull out a cup I’d bought for the trip, kept in a nice container. I didn’t want to risk it breaking during the climb. I opened it up, uncorked the wine, and said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get anything more traditional. But, it is Greek, at least. Now, let me see... The prayer I looked up goes... *Zeus is air, Zeus is earth, Zeus is heaven, yea, Zeus is all things and whatsoever transcendenth them.*”^1
I poured the wine into the cup, and handed it to the old man. “I’d planned on giving this to the mountain and the gods, by pouring it out. But, since there’s someone here to drink it, I think it’d be a waste. And if the gods were here, Dionysus would never forgive me for wasting wine.”
“No, hehe, he wouldn’t. Unless you wasted it on him! He always could drink!” The old man cracked a smile for the first time since I’d been there. He drank the wine quickly, the deep red color of it dripping down his beard. He presented the glass, and I poured him another cup.
I’ll admit, I’m not a wine drinker. I knew this was a reasonably strong wine, but how long it would take to get someone drunk, or even how many glasses were in a bottle, were both things I was unfamiliar with.
“I always loved the stories of the gods. From Zeus slaying Krónos, and the birth of Athena, to stories of Aphrodite—I mean, who doesn’t love a good story of love and beauty—or of Hephaestus who could forge the mightiest of things for the gods. Even your lightning bolts, if I remember correctly.” I was still, in part, playing along. But mostly I wanted to ramble to this stranger about something I cared about.
“Don’t misunderstand me. Zeus is incredible. Powerful, sexual, wise, generous, terrifying. He seems amazing. Or, you seem amazing, I should say. Still, I’d have loved to gaze upon the beauty of Aphrodite, or heard Athena’s wisdom. I’d have loved to spend time with every god, and truly come to understand them. But, if I can sit with Zeus, then I have no complaints.”
He listened, and drank. And I spoke of what I saw, and the stories I’d been told. And he would tell me I was all wrong about some, and that some gods weren’t involved in one story at all. He spoke like a man remembering recalling his youth. Recalling fondly how things had been. And to be honest, for a time, I forgot to pretend he was Zeus. He spoke with such certainty, such authority, that I simply believed it.
But sometime after the twentieth cup of wine, I figured it out. I wanted to say something, to make it clear I knew. But... that would spoil the moment.
So for hours, we talked. Trading stories, talking about other religions. We even got his beans cooked! It was a hell of a night. And I slept atop the mountain that night.
In the morning, I was alone. The tents were gone, and the old man nowhere to be seen. I smiled, and took out the last two things I’d brought. I found a small place to rest the nectar and ambrosia, and said, “Thank you for having me in your home, king of gods. Please feel free to come and visit mine. I hope I can be as good a host as you were. And, bring your family, if you like. I’d love to meet them, too.”
Now, it was time to go home. But, I made sure to buy some wine to hang onto. If one extends an invitation, one should at least try to be prepared.
_____
1. [Wordpress](https://classicalpolytheism.wordpress.com/2018/08/17/prayers-of-ancient-greece/) | I make no claims to the validity of this prayer, it’s just an easy one I found off a Google search. And I don’t know actual Greek. | 2020-03-05T09:56:08 | 2020-03-05T09:45:30 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | "I think I chipped a tooth."
Tired, long-suffering eyes met mine with an expression especially saved only for the moronic.
"You bit.. a table."
To think that would be the weirdest thing they'd heard of. It could have been a plate! But I didn't want to be fragile or have China stuck in my teeth. "There was table cloth there. That should have helped right?"
This tired doctor, assigned to care for every newlygifted, stares blankly at my file.
"The problem, Sir-Ma'am-or neuter, is not the cloth-"
"-uh my pronouns-"
Careless to my interjection the doctor threw Their glasses to Their desk. "I do not care who you are or what you're called! You were taken to a magic room that everyone waits for- plans for their entire life. There are meals in there that are extinct now. And you ATE. THE. TABLE."
That's true, dodo is rumored to give you the power to see the past in visions.
A heavy sigh escaped the doctor as he looks at me. "The powers don't come from just the food. It's why you ate the food. Why, did you eat a table?"
Hollow silence filled the room. My voice seemed lodged in my throat.
"I panicked."
"You've planned for this day your whole life. You cannot tell me that you just, panicked."
True, the room is anti anxiety, and any amount of time you spend in there is only a fraction of a second back home, there is no rush to your decision.
The doctor wouldn't look away from me. Everyone is going to be wondering what my powers are, what I ate to get them. Why I ate it. Do I even know why I ate the table?
"I wanted to know what would happen. I didn't really think I was going to bite through the table. But then it just melted like ice cream into my mouth and now you're staring me down."
The doctor looked down and took a few notes on my file. "And have your powers arisen yet?"
"Oh yeah, I'd say so."
For the first time, curiosity and life sparked in their eyes. What was the awesome power? I could almost tell what they was thinking by the expressions on their face. Did I have super strength? Could I armor myself in wood with a single word? Could I talk to the trees now?
In answer I only leaned over, tapping their pencil gently. To watch it melt. The doctor gasped and jumped back, shaking their hand free of the now liquidized pencil. It wasn't hot, it wasn't cold. It was now, simply.. viscous. It had soaked into my file, blurring and ruining my records. Will anyone believe him.
I smiled and stood, they seemed shaken. Maybe they need a glass of water. So I offered them the now solid contents of my cup. It wasn't ice. It wasn't cold. It was now like glass. Made of water.
I can now control the solid or liquid state of elements around me. But will anyone believe the doctor?
I smiled back at them as I left. They now have a fantastic paperweight. | As a kid, my friends and I loved to chat, debate and even argue what we'd eat when we entered the power room. We didn't know what food gave what power (everyone who went through it could not speak of that without losing their power), so we always theorised what we'd get.
Gemma insisted she'd find the food that had telekinesis. Her twin sister, Lucy, didn't care what power she got but always said she'd eat the sweetest thing there. Zack wanted invisiblity, and Toby would change his mind every other day. That left myself, and Ralph.
I just enjoyed hearing my friends debate the whole topic, before we gave up on making ourselves agree and went to the park. Ralph though... He was Odd. He'd never say anything about what he wanted from the power room, he just kept thinking up "what if" ideas.as the youngest, he'd go to the room last. But he still seemed to think about it more than the rest of us combined.
It was the day before Gemma and Lucy's Sixteenth,. We were sat under a bridge in town, with a load of alcohol Zack had snuck out from his parents' garage. All of us were drunk and just having fun. Toby tried to flirt with Gemma, but got roasted by the others for his efforts. That's when Ralph had probably the dumbest idea is heard out of his mouth.
"hey guys," he'd said, "what do you think happens if you bite the table?"
We all stopped, confused.
"what the hell are you on about?" I slurred. I was a bit of a lightweight when it came to drinking, and I was several swigs of whiskey in.
"You know, in the room. What happens if you take a bite from the table instead of the food?"
None of us responded with words, but our laughter echoed under the bridge. I was still giggling after the laughter had died down, until I saw the hurt look on Ralph's face. I immediately felt guilty.
Once the others had gone back to roughing each other up, I half-walked half-shuffled over to Ralph.
"You are really curious about that aren't you?" I asked. "it wasn't one of your usual 'what if' jokes?"
"Yeah... It's the question I've had since I found out about it. You guys are the first ones I told it to."
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. If I don't know what to so, I'll bite the table for you."
His eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
Six months and four days later, and I'm in the room. It's a plain white-walled room with a huge wooden table, laden with a piece of every kind of food you could imagine. The catch is, only one person can have a particular food. No two people born on the same day can eat the same food. With dozens of people in the room, it was carnage. About four people were popping in to the room each second, and only when someone ate a piece of food did they disappear.
It takes five minutes before I muster up the courage to approach the table. I take a step forward, but immediately get knocked to the floor by a guy twice my size pushing me aside. With so many people around me, I scurry under the table, to see a girl nearby doing the same. A weirdly coloured orange segment drops to the floor next to me. I pick it up and offer it to the girl. She grabs it, bites and disappears.
I sit there for a while, wondering what to do. I don't want to get bullied around up there, but I don't want to just grab some random piece of food. Then I remember my drunken promise to Ralph, and wonder what the hell I am about to do.
I lean over, and bite the nearest table leg.
And everything goes black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the blackness, I hear a voice.
WELL THAT'S A NEW ONE. DIDN'T TAKE HUMANITY FOR THE INVENTIVE TYPE. WHAT IS YOUR NAME, HUMAN?
"Lily." my voice responds, but I did not tell it to. What is going on? I'm scared.
WELL, LILY. YOU ARE THE FIRST HUMAN TO TRY TO BITE THE TABLE ITSELF, INSTEAD OF SOME OF THE FOOD I PROVIDE. SO, YOU HAVE TWO OPTIONS. GO BACK AND PICK FROM THE FOOD, OR GAIN A POWER THAT I DESIGN.
"Didn't you design the powers in the room?"
HA! NO, I DID NOT. THOSE ARE SIMPLY POWERS THAT HUMANS DESIRE, MAPPED ON TO FOOD THEY ENJOY. THE MORE THE POWER IS DESIRED, THE MORE POPULAR FOOD IT IS IMPRINTED ON. NO, MY DESIGNS ARE QUITE DIFFERENT.
I can't think. I don't know what to do. I just-
YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE TOO LONG. DECIDE QUICKLY.
My head feels like it is about to explode.
"Give me a power." yet again, my mouth moved on its own.
VERY WELL.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i'm back. Back at my birthday party. It's ten past nine in the evening, so I've been gone for half an hour. I barely have time to sit down when Gemma flattens me against the sofa
"You're back! How come you were there so long?" now everyone sees me, and I'm crowded. Everyone is asking questions. I don't like this.
"Look i-"
I am pulled to my feet without warning. Zack and Ralph are there, separating me from the crowd.
Zack takes a step forward. "guys, chill out! Y'all know how Lucy hates pressure, so back off!" the crowd thins out after that. Ralph pulls me into a side room and the rest of the gang follow. I grab the nearest beanbag and collapse into it.
"So, what did you get?" Toby is lying across the table, head gently resting on Lucy's shoulder. Everyone else is stood behind them.
"I... Don't know" I say. | 2020-03-19T09:09:22 | 2020-03-19T09:01:40 | 154 | 63 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared demons in hell. You‘re sent to take the most deadly human known, who‘s been avoiding death by killing all who went to take him. You get there, and realize how he’s killed so many demons. He has humidifiers all around his house, which are filled with holy water. | He was an old man, nearing the end of his life. He knew what awaited him, which is why he fought so hard to stay alive as long as possible. The torture was earned, if unjust, but that doesn't mean he wanted it for himself. Hunters are fighters, and fight to stay alive. And he'd sent so many demons to hell.
The first handful of demons were easy. They got tripped up at the salt line around the house, and were easy to trap and exorcise. Then they started sending the smarter ones, which typically meant more power.
It was a war of escalation, building trap after trap after more intricate trap. Finally he'd gotten to his latest version, with the humidifiers flled with holy water. Twelve demons so far had fallen to this final layer.
This latest one was different. The others had been reckless, or brash. This one was methodical. He'd watch the demon poking and prodding at the various traps and barriers, testing. The salt line was easily passed, the demon teased a neighbor with a hose with a swarm of bees, and got the neighbor to wash the ring open. The copper cable sigil buried under the ground surrounding the house was discovered, and broken by the construction guy in the backhoe looking for the local tv cable line. Defense after defense broken or bypassed, and just the one left. An electrical outage took the power down in the neighborhood, when a "drunk driver" hit a utility pole. But the demon was stymied when the backup generator kicked in, keeping the humidifier running. It looked at the man through the window, calmly, and turned away.
The old hunter settled into his easy chair, and glanced at the power company's website on his phone. The power should be restored in under an hour. He'd be safe again, and could work on rebuilding the outer layers. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Until the doorbell rang. With a little trepidation, but confident in the holy moisture surrounding him, he opened the door. There stood the demon, in a hospital contagion suit, grinning at him.
"Hello, Dean." The demon stepped in and closed the door.
-------------------
This is my first ever reply. I've watched a lot of Supernatural lately, and this came to me pretty clearly. Thought I'd try a different take on the prompt. | FADE IN:
INT. A SURPRISINGLY MISTY HOUSE
*The demon stands just before the threshold of the surprisingly misty house. This is DANOXUS. He sniffed the air tentatively.*
**DANOXUS:** What the heaven.
*His forked tongue flits out. Even a moment’s touch causes the imposing fiend to flinch, wisps of smoke snaking out of his closed mouth.*
**DANOXUS:** (*cont’d*) What in Satan’s name?
*The door crashes open. A woman, only half the height of the infernal demon, stared fearlessly at him. This is JOANNE.*
**JOANNE:** What the hell?
*Danoxus and Joanne sizes each other up.*
**DANOXUS:** Human.
**JOANNE:** Demon.
*Danoxus harrumphs.*
**DANOXUS:** I sense little respect from you, human.
**JOANNE:** (*chortling*) And why should I? I’ve killed many of your kind.
**DANOXUS:** My kind. Not me.
**JOANNE:** And what makes you so different? Resistant to holy water somehow, eh?
**DANOXUS:** … Mm.
**JOANNE:** I thought not.
*Danoxus sits down, careful to keep any toe, tail, and spiky appendage from nearing the purified air near him. The spiked tip of his tail tests the barrier once again, and a hot hiss emerges from it. A similar hiss emanates from Danoxus.*
**DANOXUS:** Not today then, human.
**JOANNE:** Why do you guys keep bothering me? I just want to live in peace.
**DANOXUS:** Because you keep killing demons.
**JOANNE:** Because they keep coming to my house!
**DANOXUS:** Because you keep killing demons!
*This exchange goes on for quite a while.*
**JOANNE:** OK, this just doesn’t make any sense.
**DANOXUS:** You know what? The mission brief from the boss was really not clear.
**JOANNE:** The boss?
*Joanne’s eyes light up.*
**JOANNE:** (*cont’d*)Satan? He’s real?
**DANOXUS:** (*incredulously*) You have had demons showing up on your doorstep and you don’t believe in Satan?
**JOANNE:** I haven’t seen him. So I shan’t believe in him. I’ve seen plenty of demons though, including the way they turn into ash.
*Danoxus growls. It’s half-hearted, however, and there’s a look of resignation on his face.*
**DANOXUS:** If the demons stop coming, will you drop the barrier?
**JOANNE:** And then you can kill me yourself, and claim your reward? Fat chance.
**DANOXUS:** No tricks.
**JOANNE:** Forgive me if I don’t trust a demon.
**DANOXUS:** To me, you are the demon.
*The duo glares at each other. They both sigh, and Joanne throws her hands up.*
**JOANNE:** This is getting nowhere.
**DANOXUS:** You know, even if you do die by my hand, it’s not all bad, you know?
**JOANNE:** What? That sounds like a terrible trade deal. In history.
**DANOXUS:** You turn into a demon, and with your reputation as a tremendous killer already… you’ll be one of the baddest bitches in Hell.
*Joanne visibly contemplates.*
**DANOXUS:** (*cont’d*) You might even see Satan.
**JOANNE:** (*chippy*) Really! Oh my gosh! Satan himself? I’ll swoon!
*Danoxus chuckles. He stops when he hears Joanna ful-on guffawing..*
**DANOXUS:** Wait, what?
**JOANNE:** You tried to trick me. But no, I don’t have a crush on Satan. But I’ll certainly try to crush you.
*Joanne walks back into her house, doorknob in hand, closing it halfway before turning back around again.*
**JOANNE:** (*cont’d*)You know what? This was pretty fun. The holy water mist will keep you at bay for now, but I’ll prepare some tricks of my own when you next come visit.
**DANOXUS:** How do you know I’ll come again
**JOANNE:** You haven’t given up yet.
*The door slams shut. Danoxus watches for a while, then tests the mist barrier once more. Again, an involuntary hiss of pain, and he quickly retracts his tail. He steps back slightly and waves his hand, a hellfire red portal tearing itself through spacetime. He’s ill-equipped for this, and he’s not about to rush in head-on without the proper preparation. The doorway fully forms and his hand drops. He puts one foot in, stops, and looks back at the house.*
**DANOXUS:** Hmm. She’s right. It was pretty fun.
*Danoxus steps through, and the portal snaps shut.*
FADE TO BLACK
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-08-04T12:52:47 | 2020-08-04T09:26:54 | 217 | 62 |
[WP] The rest of the civilised galaxy has just learned that when encountering something new, the human's brains asks three subconscious questions. "Can I kill it? Can I eat it? Can I have sex with it?" | The three questions. They always ask those three questions. Not necessarily out-loud, and not always consciously, but they do. It’s ingrained in them— basic survival instincts. Deep in their core, they ask these questions, even to those of their own kind. People always say “Oh, they’re animals! All they do is slaughter and reproduce! They’re no better than viruses!”
But you know what? That’s not true. They always tell tales about what happens when the answer is a “yes”. Stories of genocide, and of butchery and of senseless lust. But that’s not all they are.
Humans are amazing, because even when all three answers are “no”, they still give a shit. They form bonds, even when the bond is of absolutely no use to them. They don’t live to answer those three questions, they live to ask them. They’re explorers. They go out into this great sea of stars, not to find something, but to find *anything*. They could find a pile of dirt and be excited as long as it’s *new*. And then they’d become best friends with the pile of dirt. It doesn’t matter to them whether they can fuck it, or eat it, or blow it all away! That’s just icing on top of the cake to them! The only question that truly matters to a human is whether or not they care about something.
For better or worse, at least they give a damn. | "Um, hello?," asked Carlos to to the dark void?
He was alone in the darkness. A single light shone above him.
"Human!" Came a booming voice. "You have been chosen to answer for your species! We have many questions! What is your designation?"
He replied nervously, "Um, I'm Carlos Rivera. San Antonio, Texas. Uh,....who are you?"
The lights rose. The room was a plain and circular. Three beings were before him. One was a mass of tentacles that constantly writhed in place about three feet tall. It produced a series of snapping sounds. The next appeared to be a clear plastic bag of glowing gases. The third was a slug like creature with a single black eye spot and a gaping mouth.
Three distinct voices said in unison, "We are scientists from the neighboring Kyndeel Alliance. We are determining the probability of aggression from your species."
They made various sounds, but Carlos understood them.
The gas bag alien spoke alone, "I am a telepathic being and I am translating to your brain. I can also tell if you are lying."
Carlos replied, "OK, but I'm a civil engineer. I design city infrastructure. I dunno if I can speak for my species."
The tentacle ball spoke up, "We just figured out your WiFi and, wow, there's some weird shit on there. Even for a primitive species. Our telepath says you all think the same. Kill, eat, sex. Is this correct?"
Carlos mulled this over, "Well...kinda yeah. Human don't have natural defenses; there are many predators on Earth. So we kill things. I don't hunt, but many of my family do."
The tentacle creature made many abrupt clicking noises. "Humans defend themselves, but killing is savage. You kill ants which outnumber humans and have complex civilizations"
"Ants?" said Carlos. "They're just ants?"
The tentacle creature made abrupt clicking sounds, "Just ants? Genocide! Then you eat all the lesser species!"
Carlos thought, "Hmmmm, many humans know hunger. Our agriculture system hasn't been reliable, so we are always seeking food."
The slug creature made a shrieking sound, "Humans starve to death? This is an odd species."
The gas bag being responded, "Carlos Human speaks the truth. Humans require tools to kill. They struggle to feed and care for humans. Their technology has accelerated to quickly for their culture to handle. In a few hundred years they have accomplished what took the Kyndeel Alliance millennia."
The slug creature retorted, "Have you seen how they breed? So quickly; more than the biome can handle. When they are not reproducing, they are sexing everything. The things on their internet are troubling. Anything they can mimic sexual reproduction with, they do!"
Carlos fidgeted uncomfortably, "Well, yes, we try to carry on our species with sex. We only became numerous relatively recently. Also....sex feels good?"
All three spoke at the same time and then settled. The slug creature asked, "You don't kill your mates after sex?"
Carlos laughed and then composed himself, "No, parents live to support their children. Sometimes both, or one, or another."
The gas bag alien flashed many colors and asked, "Humans reproduce with little concern for the environment. Further they sex pleasure themselves in many ways. Chains, food, watching other humans, clothing? Human Carlos do you sex clothing items?"
Carlos shifted uncomfortably, "Well, maybe socks, but......humans are very diverse and have diverse interests and tastes. Again, I'm no sociologist, but humans form communities. We gather together around common interests. Including...sexual things."
The gas bag alien creature said, "He speaks truly. This is the nature of humans. Like the other human brains, they kill, eat, and sex, constantly."
The tentacle alien snapped furiously, "Can you explain these things I found on your internet? Milf? DP? Creampie? Furries? Hentai? Petticoats? Fleshlights? ATM? Human sex is most curious."
Carlos took a deep breath and spoke embarrassingly on behalf of humanity. | 2021-09-24T09:50:06 | 2021-09-24T09:36:10 | 54 | 38 |
[WP] You're an author who signed up for a writing conference. Sitting at a table surrounded by deities, you realized you may have misunderstood what the advertising meant by "world-building". | "So you're telling me you purposefully include imperfections in these worlds you create?"
Not for the first time today, I wondered if l had made a mistake coming here. Some of the discussions were incredibly basic even though the advertisement had mentioned nothing about this being an entry level convention
"Well, character growth feels earned when driven by conflict, so a satisfying hero's arc will usually involve attempts at fixing flaws in the systems they're a part of, which will have some form of parallel with the flaws they need to fix within themselves."
The impossibly attractive author sitting across me stared thoughtfully for a moment, before standing up to shake my tentacle.
"Thank you my good zobzak, you've given me a lot to think about for my new project, **Earth**".
I felt the world around me shake as he spoke the last word, and in the next moment, he was gone
Something finally clicked in my head
Oh... Crap | As soon as the burning frame of vision reached my mind, I realized that I probably wasn't going to make it back home to finish binging the second season of “My Strange Addiction”.
Three gods ~~sat~~ were at the round table, and despite not having any faces I could sense that they were impatient... especially with the previous applicants they had went through.
I was about to curse myself out for even taking that god-damned tear-off phone number from the telephone pole posting, but a voice in my head stopped me right before I could even begin regretting it:
“Don’t.” billowed an angry voice.
“We know why you’re here, and you know too. So, just go ahead and get on with it. What is your plan?” pitched in a chirpy voice of discontent.
I… really didn’t know what to think to them. I mean sure the advertisement said: ‘creative minds needed for world-building’, but this was a little more than I had bargained for. Were these six gods really entrusting in ME to give them advice on how to build THEIR world???
“Yes, bozo. Now spit it out or move on.”
Finally, the dull one spoke in a dragged slur:
“Please don’t tell me we have another dud. I’m sick of wiping memories today.”
No, no, no. I-… I promise you I can come up with something worthwhile. I mean, I don’t really think of myself as qualified for this position, especially if you look at my resume.
Heck, I don’t even think that my credentials as an author are good enough for ANYTHING. I’ve got a list of mediocre short stories under my belt that have faded into the obscurity of the internet, and the book I’m working on right now is never gonna get published. Why would I be good enough for this? Why the hell would I be good enough for any of this?! You know what, I’ve been waiting a LONG TIME to talk to you fucks - and I think now is the PERFECT TIME to have it out with all of the shit you’ve cut for me!
You bastards have been looming over us this whole time, telling us that we have to believe in you without a single smidge of evidence to rely on, or else we’ll face eternal damnation forever. Even greater than that is the fact that you think you can judge us when the people we are now are just products of the shitty world you created! You think my Uncle Ron had a chance at redemption in life when he’d been abused by that psycho bitch girlfriend of his for 8 years? Of course he fucking killed himself when you decided to hit him with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease to bat, what kind of a world did you build for him!? Cause if you’re gonna punish him - or ANYBODY ELSE in this word for not being able to put up with the shitshow that YOU’VE CREATED, then maybe that’s YOUR FAULT.
…
…
I still felt the anger pulsing through my veins, and tried to end my train of thoughts as soon as I stated that last part.
But I still couldn’t get my mind to stop thinking of the fear that I would be slain down on the spot in that instant, sent to hell immediately, and reserved a special spot for my heresy…
“Dang… old management sure was a bitch, huh?”
“Yeah. Well, I guess that gives us a few starters. Alright then, thanks for the input. This is just what we were hoping for. We’ll be sure to wipe your conscience clean after you walk out, by the way. We know this sort of stuff can plague someone for eternity, so we hope you can enjoy the rest of your time here after we make the necessary adjustments.”
They’re… You’re… not going to send me to hell?
They all let off a sort of restrained chuckling.
“Oh, wow. You guys seriously get creative don’t you?” | 2022-01-08T23:30:36 | 2022-01-08T23:02:55 | 96 | 44 |
[WP] As the infected sprinted towards me, I quickly swung my bat. It connected and he fell in a heap, crying out in pain. He looked scared and confused, but his humanity only showed for a moment, before the rage took hold again. It appeared that pain made these 'zombies' briefly human again. | “It had been five years since that revelation. While our progress was slow, marred by ethical and logistical conundrums, I believed we were edging closer to a breakthrough. With each passing day, our understanding of the disease increased.”
“Why don’t you tell us a little more about the incident, Captain Kavanaugh?”
“You want the specifics?”
“We want the truth, sir.”
“I adjusted the dials in front of me, looking up through the two way mirror with every click. She was screaming. Not from the pain, at least not like she would have been if we turned it up all the way.
‘Help! Someone please! I don’t know where I am and I’m scared! What is this place! What is this thing?’
Another notch clockwise, and she began shrieking. Her threshold was higher than average, although nowhere near the highest we’d seen. One more click to the left and she was convulsing. Unconscious.
“This one’s at twenty-four, I’m taking her back down to a twenty-two.”
And then she was fine again. Crying, but fine.”
“Earlier you mentioned what you called ‘ethical conundrums,’ captain. Did you not see an ethical conundrum during this incident?”
“Well, of course but…”
“But you continued to experiment on the girl?”
“I didn’t create the virus. I didn’t release it on my own population. I was only in the zone to clean it up.”
“Captain, please refrain from speculating.”
“Get real! We all know what happened! Everyone here knows what happened! You wanted us to flatline a bunch of innocent people because you fucked up? You make me out to be some kind of monster, when your idea of compassion is just wiping out an entire city! Who’s the monster? The one who caused the problem or the one who puts his life on the line to fix it?”
“One thousand, two hundred and forty one infected people. That’s the number of people you, by your own accounts, tortured. And for what? Did you find a cure? If so, why didn’t you report it to command? We hold that you not only knew there was no treatment, but that you continued your so-called experiments for your own gratification.”
“What do you want from me? What do you want me to say? I did what I could! I’m not a scientist, or a doctor.”
“We want the truth, Captain.”
“The truth? You want the truth?”
It was then that Captain Kavanaugh began to disrobe. There was a muttering in the courtroom. A thin, silvery wire ran down his neck and wound its away around his bare chest, digging into the skin at points and scarring the surface at others.
“I’m at twenty-eight, your honor.” | I was hiding in a dug-out in the middle of the woods, trying to avoid the infected. But they found me. There were dozens of them, sprinting towards me at-least 10 MPH.
I was terrified. But then my best friend, Kimberly, landed a hit on a zombie with an arrow. I quickly grabbed a bat and landed a blow on a zombie, it collapsed, crying out in pain. He looked shocked and confused. The zombie, which had looked so human before, was suddenly brought back to its senses by the pain.
But this was only temporary; soon it was overcome by the rage that had made him attack in the first place. He got back up on his feet, and sprinted towards me again. I was frozen.
Kimberly shot another arrow at the zombie, piercing his shoulder. The zombie cried out in pain again, but kept sprinting towards me. He was about to make contact. But then, out of nowhere, my brother, Martin, hit the zombie in the head with a katana, slitting his throat. The zombie collapsed again, dead.
Kimberly and Martin helped me up and we started sprinting away. We were lucky not to have been bitten, but we were still in a bad situation.
“The military is-” I started.
“We know.” Martin said, cutting me off. “They’re going to evac the uninfected, right?” He asked me.
“Yeah.” I replied. “We have to-”
“Go to the Evac Station.” Martin finished for me. I was about to argue with him, but then I noticed something. Before, I had thought nothing of it. But I could hear strange noises coming from the east; like moaning, animal-like sounds. I turned around to look at the source, and saw a horde of what appeared to be infected people.
“We have to get to the Evac station quickly.” I said. “That horde is coming this way.”
“Okay.” Martin said. “Let’s get going then.”
We started running east, towards the Evac station. On the way there, we ran into a group of other survivors, who had managed to escape.
“Are you guys going to the Evac station?” I asked them.
“Yeah.” One of the guys replied. “But, just as a warning, there’s a horde heading this way, so we have to run.”
“Okay, thanks.” I said, and we continued running.
A while later, we arrived at the Evac station. There were a lot of people here, and there were a lot of military men. They were boarding up the area, and there were large tanks of gas nearby.
“The Evac station is just over here.” I said to Martin and Kimberly. We walked for about 2 minutes to get to the Evac station.
“Wait here.” I told Martin and Kimberly. They sat on one of the stumps, so I walked towards the Evac station.
“Hello?” I said at the entrance. “Anybody there?” I heard a voice in the distance.
“There’s somebody here!” A man said. He sounded like he was in the woods.
“Okay, thanks.” I heard a much closer voice say. I figured it was the closer voice that had first replied to me.
“Thanks.” I said. I walked back to Kimberly and Martin. “They’re here; waiting for you.” I told them.
“Okay.” Martin replied. “We’ll see you later then.”
“Sure.” I said. I patted Martin on the shoulder and he headed for the Evac station with Kimberly.
I waited for about an hour. Then, I saw a military man running from the direction of the Evac station, then turning around and running back.
“Hey!” He called out to me. “You there!” I looked at him, then at the Evac station.
He ran over to me. “What’s going on?” I asked him.
“We’re running out of time.” He said. “We’re going to blow up the Evac station.”
“What?” I asked. “You can’t do that! There’s survivors in there!”
“This isn’t a democracy!” The man said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“No!” I replied. “You’re not going to blow up the Evac station!”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The man repeated. “Or I’ll have to hurt you.”
“I’m staying.” I told him. | 2022-01-15T08:51:32 | 2022-01-15T08:38:28 | 103 | 17 |
[WP] It is said that the cursed princess can only be awoken by true love's kiss. To wake her up, the king has had princes from all over the world come to kiss her to no avail. One day, a peasant boy walks up to the sleeping princess and splashes her with cold water to wake her up. It actually works. | The Royal Court stood silent, judging the lowly peasant bowing before the King. The boy, escorted on each side by the Royal Guard, looked up from his bow as the King beckoned.
"I am told, boy, that you have come to wake the Princess? That you wish to kiss her, and that you believe that you are the one to wake her?"
The boy's stature stayed low, but his voice was strong in conviction. "Yes, m'lord."
The King leaned forward, a scowl upon his face. "Do you forget your rank here, *peasant*?"
"Of course not, m'lord." For being surrounded by royalty, his voice did not waver, nor did his bravery. "That is why I am here to request m'lord's permission; as I am but a lowly, dirty peasant, and she is a Princess of the Royal Court. But I am aware of the Princess's condition, and of how many Princes have failed you, m'lord."
The King sat back, but still wore his scowl. "And you think that *you* would be the true love of the *Princess*? Lowly property of the Crown?"
"Perhaps, m'lord. Perhaps not me, exactly, m'lord, but I am the first to come to you with the suggestion that the 'true love' may not be a Royal, m'lord."
There came a great gasping from the Court, as the King went red in the face. "You would *dare* suggest such a thing? Do you wish to hang, *boy*?"
The boy shook his head. "No, m'lord, I do not wish to hang; but I believe that you, m'lord, misunderstand how magic and curses work. We, the lowly common folk, have heard of tales and iteracted of witches and of druids and of wizards, m'lord. I am uncertain if you, m'lord, not any of the Court--m'lords, m'ladies--have such tales nor experiences."
The King sank lower in his chair, still red and angry, but managed a single strained word: "Explain."
"Well, m'lord, curses are a magic used to *punish*. I don't know who or what magic user would curse you, m'lord, nor your daughter; but wouldn't such a person find that having a *commoner* kiss the Princess a fitting punishment?"
The Courts fell into a disarray of chaos and shouting, while the King leaned back in thought. Finally, he looked to the peasant boy, raising a hand for the silence of the Courts.
"While I dislike your tone, *boy*, you have brought forth an interesting point. I will listen to your idea, and allow you to prove it's worth. Wake my daughter, and I shall reward you handsomely. Should you fail, however, you shall hang."
The boy nodded, without a second thought, and began to instead outline a rather smart plan, revealing this peasant boy to be smarter than expected. He asked for a bath and a change of clean clothes, so that he would not soil the Princess, nor her chambers, with his filth. Likewise, he requested that there be a bucket of water and two clean rags near the bedside, filled with the cleanest water, that had been brought to a boil and cooled, and removed of all impurities. This water, he said, would be used to clean his face and lips, and, with the second rag, the Princess, so that he would not soil her.
The plan made, and reluctantly agreed to, the time came for the peasant boy to kiss the Royal Princess. Set up, as requested, the boy made his way to the bucket, taking in a deep breath and releasing it, seemingly reading himself.
He then took the bucket, dousing the Princess in the cold water.
The guards went for their swords, but their hands were stayed by the yelp of the Princess. The Princess took some time to recover, before recognizing the peasant, who was giggling at this point.
"*Johnathan!*" She half-angrily pointed at him. "Of course it would be *you* to do something like this!"
"Of course, I had to wake you up *somehow*."
The Princess then registered that she was in her room. Moreover, that there were *guards* in her room, as the knelt to the Princess. "What happened?"
"Sleeping curse. I think your father made a druid angry. Or maybe a witch, I'm not sure."
"How long have I slept?"
"A few months, now. Became a real-life fairy tale, *m'lady*."
"Oh, hush you. What am I to tell father?"
"The truth, probably. Maybe he'll be open to it."
One of the guards, still knelt, looked to the boy. There was still a distortion of disgust on his face, but there was a conflicting recognition in his eyes. "Boy--" he paused, then tempered his tone. "*Son*, how did you know that would work?"
"Truthfully? I didn't. But what I did know is that the Princess does not *have* a true love, nor will she, as she will never have a romantic interest. Truly, a bitter curse indeed, then, to have 'true love's first kiss' awaken her then." He chuckled. "Then again, magic is usually not so cruel, and even when it is, is filled with loopholes."
The Princess sighed, then shooed the trio out of the room. "Guards, go tell my father that I am awake, now. And *you*, Jonathan, will wait outside for me to change, so you can catch me up on everything that has happened."
They did as they were told, with the guards making haste to the King, and Jonathan stepping outside the door with a smile on his face.
He was glad to have his friend back. | “That’s it, I’m done cleaning the room of some sleeping princess. Why should I have to spend everyday greeting stupid princes that can’t even take their muddy shoes off when entering a room?” Luke whined, carrying his bucket of water, the water swaying in the bucket, threatening to spill over as he turned to leave the bedroom, only to jump as the door was opened.
“WHAT WAS THAT PEASANT?” Barthis stomped his way into the room, the knight’s armored boots thankfully not containing a single shred of mud on them, not adding to the already messy floor that Luke had given up on cleaning.
Luke wanted to respond but his throat dried at the sight of the imposing knight and instead he turned to flee, jumping on the princess’s bed, preparing to dive through the castle window. As he landed on the bed, his feet sunk into the bedding, causing him to tumble over, spilling the bucket of water all over the sleeping princess.
By the time Luke had realized what he had done, the knight already had him by the collar, holding him up by the scruff of his shirt. “You’re in so much trouble. An attack on the princess, that’s worthy of death, or at least life in a dungeon.”
“It was an accident, I swear. I’ll clean the mess up right away. I won’t even complain about the job, I promise. Please, don’t tell the king.”
“And now you’re asking me to go behind the king’s back? Are you trying to instigate treason?”
The peasant did not know what any of those fancy words meant, but he was certain the few times he had heard the word treason, it was accompanied by tales of people being executed. He gripped at his neck, trying desperately to free himself from the knight’s grasp.
“Mmmm?” The shuffling of blankets caught their attention as their gazes both shifted to the exhausted princess, who was currently rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Barthis? You look a lot older than I recall. Is that your son? Why is he in my room and why am I covered in water and-“ The princess gasped, looking at the splattering of muddy footprints on her floor. “WHO FORGOT TO TAKE THEIR SHOES OFF WHEN THEY ENTERED?”
“Princess? You’re awake? Peasant boy, get the king. It’s a miracle.”
Barthis tossed Luke out the door, leaving the peasant to wander the castles hallways, unsure where to even look for the king. He had considered fleeing now that the knight was distracted, but where would he even go? It’s not like he had the gold to go anywhere and if he got caught, he would only get in more trouble. So, Luke just did what he was asked, telling the news about the princess waking up to the castle guards, letting them inform the king as he returned to the princess’s room.
“So, this is my savior? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The princess extended her hand, only for Barthis to step between the two.
“Princess, don’t lower yourself by shaking the hand of a peasant. He did his duty to the kingdom and he won’t be executed because of that. Consider yourself lucky, boy. The princess will spare you.”
“Willing to spare him? How dare you! This ‘boy’ Is the only reason I’m not stuck in that eternal slumber. You will treat him with respect, and I will handsomely reward him for his actions. I will accept no lesser than a hundred gold reward and a plot of farming land.”
“O-one hundred gold? Princess, I don’t think that much gold exists.”
The princess laughed, nearly rolling out of her bed. Could the peasant not imagine such a small amount of gold? She slipped her legs off the bed, sitting herself in a more comfortable position.
“Oh, it exists. Now, what is your name? I can’t call you boy or peasant. It’s not worthy of the person who saved me.”
“He spilt water on your head, princess. It was an act of god, not something that was done intentionally.” Barthis continued, still glaring at Luke.
“Again, you deflect my praise to him. Whether it was an accident or not, he is still my savior. If it was truly an act of god, that would make him a holy figure. Shall I get you to pray to him before battle?”
Barthis stayed silent, keeping his head down as the princess continued.
“Good. Now, your name.”
“Luke.”
“Luke what?”
“Just Luke. Am I meant to have another name?”
The princess let out another laugh. “Oh, you poor soul. You really are poor, aren’t you? Hmm, my reward won’t do at all then. Giving gold to someone that doesn’t understand its value will only result in you wasting it. Ok, how would you like to train to be a noble?”
Barthis went to object, only to stay silent when the princess looked his way. She kept her gaze on him until finally he lowered his head again, this time with an accompanying huff.
“A noble? I don’t want to kiss you, though.”
“Pardon?”
“If I was a noble, I would have to kiss you. Like all those princes were doing.”
The princess wasn’t sure how to process that, only raising an eyebrow as she thought about it before the peasant’s words made sense.
“Oh, true love’s kiss. No, you won’t have to kiss me. All I want to do is fund your campaign to enter a noble house. I will provide you with the gold, education and a living area and all you need to do is study. With enough study, I’m sure any noble family would be happy to adopt you.”
“But I’m a peasant.”
“A peasant with a princess’s approval. That means a lot to noble families. So, what do you think?”
“It would be nice to walk around in those fancy robes that everyone has. Are you sure princess?”
“I am.”
“Then I accept.”
The princess gave Luke a smile, only for that smile to widen as her dad rushed into the room, the proud king a mess of tears as he hugged his daughter, nearly squeezing the air out of her as they embraced.
“Oh, I couldn’t believe the news. You’re awake, my dear. What brave prince do I have to thank for it?” The more the king hugged her, the more he noticed just how soaked in water she was. “Why are you wet?”
“It’s thanks to my savior.” She pointed to Luke, who was sheepishly staring at the king, never having seen the man up close before.
“Where?” The king glanced behind Luke, searching for a prince, only for his gaze to land on Luke again. “Him? The cleaner? How did he do it?”
“By spilling water on my head. I don’t know how, but it appears he is the person who was destined to free me from my curse. Don’t worry, I don’t believe it’s a matter of love, father. Maybe it’s more his destiny. I have already offered him a chance to become a noble, which he has accepted.”
“A noble? I will arrange for him to be put into a family at once.”
“Not so fast, father. I don’t want him to be another brainless noble. We will educate him first, then he can choose a family. There is no point in us just throwing him into a life of wealth. I would prefer to see what he can do. If he can save my life, perhaps he has a bigger purpose than just becoming another noble.”
“Perhaps you’re right, dear. Barthis, take him to a spare room and get him some finer clothes. I’ll send someone to his room later to give him dinner. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to speak to my daughter in private. I need to inform her of the current state of the kingdom.”
Barthis nodded, not saying a word to Luke as he motioned the former peasant down the hallway, this time leading him up the stairs rather than to the commoner floors below. When they arrived at his room, Barthis opened the door, waiting for Luke to step inside before closing it. The room was bare, only having a table, an empty wardrobe, and a bed. Still, the room was far nicer than anything he had ever slept in.
“A noble?” Luke still couldn’t believe it. To think an accident had turned him into a noble. Perhaps this was the start of his special destiny, or maybe he just got lucky? Either way, Luke was happy to reap the benefits.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2022-08-07T03:41:07 | 2022-08-07T00:44:06 | 379 | 258 |
[WP] As the youngest child of the king no one was surprised when your father chose you to be sent as a hostage to the demon king. What was surprising however was the demon king treating you better than you had ever been and even offering you the hand of his offspring. | There was a princess of the Althero Kingdom, and they called her the Unlucky Princess.
How unlucky, the castle's maids would whisper, that her mother had been just a commoner girl the king had fancied, and who had died at childbirth.
How unlucky, the nobles of the court would smirk, that she was so bookish and plain and of common birth, not beautiful as a princess should be, nor nearly as graceful.
How unlucky, the people would frown, that just as she became of age, the kingdom sent her of as a sacrifice for the Demon King.
(How unlucky for the Althero Kingdom, the court magician thought, that his King never cared that she was amazing at magic, for it wasn't a feminine enough pursuit. With a vindictive flair, he packed his bags and books, and left. And if a new court magician appeared at the Demon King's court shortly after, well, isn't that unlucky too?)
...
There was a princess sent to the Demon Kingdom, and they called her the Lucky Princess. She was the most accomplished human magician across all Kingdoms, and her marriage to the Demon Prince was long and loving, and they had many children. With her help, the Demon Kingdom flourished. | Alexander already knew the door to his chambers would be unlocked, but he was surprised to find that there was not a guard or even servant there to escort him. Realizing he was not going to be rushed, Alexander closed back his door and took a moment to collect himself once more. Hostage to a Demon General. Right. And another moment to curse his father once more, a habit he'd grown into over the years. A deep breath later and Alexander was back out of the room, his attention immediately grabbed by the open balcony. Thoughts of escape flooded his mind, but he quickly put them out as soon as they came. Where could he ever go? He was in Hell after all.
Alexander wondered how good of an idea it would be to explore the castle while he could, but before the thought could get very far, he was interrupted by his own stomach. It had likely been at least a full day now since he'd eaten, although he knew food was ready for him at the banquet hall. Reluctantly, he finally chose to no longer ignore his needs, and began to find his way back there, trying and failing to not run into any demons on the way. In fact, he encountered many demons, rushing from room to room, almost all of them stopping to stare at him as much as he stared at them. But finally, he had made it, only to be met with the last thing he had wanted to see.
"Ah! Alexander! I was getting worried, I thought humans had to eat more frequently than this? But still, I wanted to give you your privacy. I'm sure this has been a big change for you." The Demon General, Ergoz, was a massive, looming figure even from the other side of the even bigger room. Alexander said nothing, and simply wandered over to the table to try to find anything edible for a human, surprised to find that most of what was on display was. Ergoz looked down on Alexander, happy that he had obviously chosen the right human dishes as the boy took a plate without much hesitation, but concerned again once he began to walk off. "Now I know you must be eager to return to your chambers and escape what must be such a strange place, but I feel we must first talk." Alexander stopped right outside the door, upset with himself that he didn't simply run with the food before he could be summoned, but nevertheless, he returned to the table, careful to not anger the demon.
The two sat in silence for a minute at least, until Alexander finally broke it, "You won't get much leverage with me you know. You should have demanded pretty much any of my brothers. Just not me." The Demon General gave a confused look. "Leverage? Boy, I believe you are mistaken for why you are here." Alexander gave an even more puzzled look. "But... am I not here as leverage for the war? You know, a hostage?"
"Alexander, is that what your father told you? I am sorry to tell you this, but you were no hostage. You were a sacrifice." Alexander looked up at that, and turned to the Demon's face for the first time, to find any sign of trickery or games. But then, why would it be? Of course his father would sacrifice him. "Yes, it was a deal to bestow wealth upon your father's kingdom. Or more specifically, upon himself. To tell you the truth, I was meant to kill you once the deal was done, but I have never had the heart to go through with it. Nevertheless, if there is a war between demons and mortals, I have yet to hear of it, and you are certainly no leverage for such a war." Seeing no hint of lies in the Demon's face, not that he would be able to decipher the expressions of a hellspawn in the first place, Alexander looked down to process what this meant. His father was even worse than he ever thought, but more importantly, the old man believes him to be dead. An odd wave of calmness washed over Alex, to then turn into a feeling of freedom. After a few minutes of silence, followed by a silent, final cursing of the decrepit king, Alex looked back up at the Demon. "Ok. What would you have me do." | 2022-10-04T02:02:06 | 2022-10-04T00:40:00 | 441 | 258 |
[WP] You can see the headline now. “World’s Oldest Human, Dead at 124”. You lived a good, long life. You are satisfied. The world around you fades to black... "Whoa! You beat the high score again!” You open your eyes in a brightly lit arcade, the number 124 flashing on a screen in front of you. | "What the hell, Rick!? Again!?" Morty Smith fumbled to get the arcade cabinet's control interface off of his body as his memories came flooding back. "Why do we even keep coming to Blips and Chitz? I don't care if it's the best arcade in the multiverse, nothing good ever happens here! A-a-a-and why was I playing a totally immersive sim where the only scoring metric is years lived? Just what the hell kinda arcade game is this, Rick!?"
Rick Sanchez rolled his eyes. "It's not."
Then he shot his grandson.
Morty gasped and opened his eyes. He was sitting at the kitchen table, with an ordinary iphone 27 in front of him. But Rick had attached some sort of advanced alien gadget to it. And his memories... he hoped they were his *real* memories, this time... slowly came flooding back.
Rick gave his grandson a few seconds to come back to himself, until his lips stopped doing that clueless droopy thing.
"I warned you not to touch the freemium mobile version of Roy," Rick said with a burp. "Whoever came up with that idea was just leeching off of the popularity of the original."
As he spoke, Rick slowly turned his head until he was staring directly at the reader.
"We did this first and better." | Jensen jolted awake, little dribbles of sweat pouring down his brow. Head pounding, he fell back onto the wet floor, his paper-dry tongue wishing for a cool drink. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw a half-empty bottle of Fireball next to him, triggering memories of the party the night prior, which came back in jagged shards as his brain struggled to process even a small amount of information. *The old man.* The image of the centenarian came back, hunched sloppily over his wheelchair as he spoke in barely audible rasps. *Old dude had no business being at a college spring break party.*
Moonlight filtered through the semi-opaque windows, giving the plastic ghosts and ghouls attached to the *Haunted House III* unit a more eerie appearance than they rightfully should have. He carefully rose to a sitting position, his joints creaking in response to having spent far too many hours lying on the hard carpeted floor of Jack's Dream Machine Seven. Grabbing a cheek in each hand, he pulled downward as if they were putty attached to his skull, hoping that somehow this would pull the ache out of his head. "Ow!" he said instinctively. Fighting the urge to shut his eyes and lay back down, he focused on the scene in front of him. *What happened to him?*
He turned around, noting that one of the machines was still on, its ancient CRT screen emitting a bright light that pierced the darkness all around it. It was so intense that he had to cover his eyes for a moment before he could focus on it. Forcing himself to look, he saw "HIGH SCORE" and the number 124 flashing on repeat. *Wow, that was that old dude's age, right?* Rising to his feet, he went to examine the unit more closely, seeing nothing on it except the faded wood finish. No markings, no title, not even a joystick.
That's when he noticed the body lying in the fetal position behind the unit. Rivulets of blood had spilled from a large gash in the old man's head and landed in a soft pool beneath a few remaining white wisps of hair. He gasped, glancing around for anyone else. "Hello?" he spoke into the vacant air, suddenly seeing the headline flash through his mind "world's oldest human, dead at 124." *Murdered.*
A cold sweat broke out over his already clammy body. Panting, he tried to scream "help", but his voice only came out in a squeaky whisper. He frantically looked around the place he woke up, trying to remember what had happened, finally spotting what must have been the murder weapon - a heavy steering wheel covered in blood. From the jagged plastic edges, it looked like it had been ripped off one of the racing games in a heat of rage.
"Jeeeennnnnssssseeeeeennnnnn" his name carried on the air.
"Who's there?" he said, glancing towards the moonlit windows, suddenly developing a fear of the dark.
When he turned around the screen was flashing even faster now, 124. 124. 124. 124. 124. 124. Trembling with fear, he slowly inched towards the unit to pull the power plug.
"Despicable," the voice said, higher now. "Killing an old man? Do you know who that was?"
"Nnnooooo. I didn't kill him. I swear. I just woke up here."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. You don't remember, do you?"
"No. I swear, I didn't do it!"
He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last thing he did. There was a lot of alcohol, and people making out, even making love on the floor. Vomit everywhere. The old man in the midst. Oh yeah, he was blocking the racing game I wanted to play. I told him to move, and... *No.. No.. it couldn't be.*
"Ha-ha-ha-ha. You remember, don't you?"
"I- I-"
A loud spinning sound jarred him from his thoughts. There were eight steering wheels slowly making their way toward him, each rotating faster than a buzzsaw. | 2022-10-20T20:50:08 | 2022-10-20T12:28:14 | 71 | 26 |
[WP] Rewrite your favorite knock-knock joke as a serious story. | *Knock knock*
"Who's there?" Grandma called out from her favourite seat in the living room.
"It's Jimmy," Jimmy said, letting her know it was someone worth getting up and actually answering the door for.
"Jimmy *who*?" Grandma replied, her tone suggesting she didn't know anyone named Jimmy.
Jimmy hadn't seen his grandmother for a few years. While his mother had told him about the Alzheimer's, he never once thought his own grandmother would forget him. She practically raised him while his mother was busy working. She taught him to speak, to walk and to love. Barely able to breathe correctly and fighting back tears, Jimmy walked briskly to his car and drove away. He drove and drove hoping he could forget about it all just as his grandmother had done so easily.
He was found wrapped around a pole outside the city the next morning. | The letter came on the November 2nd, it was in a nondescript white envelope, completely unwrinkled, her address printed neatly with robotic looking letters in sharp black ink. It seemed far too clean in general, there were no wrinkles or smudges, it was as if someone had shrink wrapped it. But of course Marie wasn't thinking that when she opened it. The thought crossed her mind briefly perhaps, but it wasn't until after she opened and read the letter did she begin to think frantically about its semantics... if it matched the others in the news. "Banana." It said. Marie liked banana's actually, she read an article somewhere that most people don't get enough potassium. But in this context, the word scrawled in straight and cutting letters on equally clean and unwrinkled paper... there were far more sinister undertones associated with it.
Marie phoned the police, who informed her they would be dispatching a car to take her to the station so the letter could be analysed. To her dismay, after all the analysing was done it was positively matched to the others. The officers at the station told her not to worry, they would be dispatching a team to watch her 24/7, nothing would happen to her, she would be safe, they even went as far as to say that there was nothing to worry about, maybe no more letters would be sent. But that did little to ease Marie's shattered nerves, it did little to shift her from the gaze of the 'banana killer'.
Her house was watched by Bill and John both corporals with excellent records. She was interviewed on the news, had paid leave from work. It was quite nice actually. Then the second letter came. "Banana" it said, and Marie's world once again shattered to the ground and she couldn't stop looking over her shoulder. Then the third letter came, and she new it might only be a matter of time before she was dead, nobody had escaped the knife of the banana killer. He always killed after the third letter.
"It'll be OK."
"He won't get passed us."
"You've got nothing to worry about."
All these things were said, and after the third letter two extra officers were by her side, but it still did nothing to calm her.
It was midnight. Marie was lying awake in bed, the street lights cast shadows through her window, every silhouetted lamp post and shrub projected onto her wall looked like a murderer poised to strike. Her heart pounded in here ears like the percussion section of an orchestra preparing for the final movement. Suddenly a shadow moved past the street lights and shrubs. Marie bolted upright, a scream welling in her stomach, her vocal chords milliseconds away from strumming into action. A leather gloved hand attached itself to her face, constricting itself over her mouth.
"Shhhh" came a eerily soft voice, she could feel his hot breath around her ear. She felt a knife run against her throat. She was shaking, she couldn't think straight. But out of the convoluted stream of consciousness that her fight or flight response had kicked up, a single thought emerged. This is it. This is how it ends. Marie squeezed her eyes shut, tried not to think about how it would happen, how she would be gutted and cut up like all the other victims in the news. She tried desperately hard to transport her mind to a different place, but she couldn't, she couldn't help but focus on the knife pressed into her throat. Her heart was beating faster and faster, the drums pounding away, the orchestra about to reach the final climactic notes...
And then there was no knife on her throat, she looked around the room and couldn't spot anyone. A note fell out of her shaking hands, the calligraphic lettering all too familiar. Her hands continued to trembled as she opened it.
"Orange." | 2013-11-03T00:15:46 | 2013-11-02T23:31:11 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Every ten years, you must go in front of a board of peers who will evaluate your life for you. If you do not "Impress your peers" you will be executed. | The wait was always the worst, Nikamo knew that, but this time was the hardest of all. In all honesty, he was surprised he had made it this far. "They'll hang you at the next hearing if you keep this up, you little rascal" his mother always told him, yet here he was about to have yet another hearing, not a day younger than 60.
"Nice day for it, isn't it?" Nikamo asked the only other person in the waiting room with him in an attempt to distract himself from the hearing, looming above him like an ominous shadow. It was a man who looked to be twenty, staring intently at his shoes. He jerked his head up, his face looking as if he had just been sentenced, and followed Nikamo's finger as it pointed at the light drizzle outside the window.
"It's raining." The man mumbled, his eyes lingering for a moment on the feather-plumed hat on Nikamo's head before they wandered back down to his feet..
"That's what I'm saying." Nikamo said with a wry smile. "If you're going to die, you'd best go out in shitty weather, that way you won't miss it so much."
"I'd rather not die at all." The man muttered, shooting side wards glances at the door to the hearing room. Nikamo remembered his own second hearing. That was the one where he had almost shit himself, he was so nervous. Back then he couldn't stop going over all the stupid things he had done and all the mistakes he had made, promising every god he could think of he'd give it all if he just got another chance, just ten more years. And then he passed and a week later he forgot all about his promise. After all, the next hearing was a decade away.
"Unfortunately, that's not for either of us to decided." Nikamo said and took a swig from the flask in his jacket pocket before offering it to his new companion. "I'm Nikamo, at your service."
"Sam." The man said as his eyes hungrily licked the flask, but with an effort he managed to shake his head. "I'd better not." Sam said. "Best if I stay sharp." Nikamo shrugged as if to say 'your loss', took another swig for himself and leaned back, putting his feet on the table between them.
"You don't look worried." Sam said and he was right, Nikamo wasn't worried.
Nikamo sighed and stroked his beard. "I used to be." He said, reminiscing about all the times he had sat in this room, awaiting his chance to plead for his life. "I damn near pissed myself, thought I was going to die for sure each and every time." He let out a sigh and filled the void it left behind with a mouthful of whiskey. "Not this time though."
Sam looked as though he was about to ask a question, but then he closed his mouth and when he opened it again he said, "I've been studying nights for a year now. Working all day, studying all night. You don't think... You don't think they'd...?" He trailed off and bit his lip.
"Think they'd kill you? No, surely not." Nikamo waved the notion away like a fly. "If someone like me made it all this time I don't even know who they fail. A good kid like you will breeze right through it."
There was a soft beep over the radio com and a woman's voice said "Nikamo Costa, please step through the door to the hearing room. Nikamo Costa, please step through the door to the hearing room."
Nikamo slowly stood up and took a sweeping bow, removing his feather-plumed hat with a flourish. "A pleasure." He said, placed the hat back on his head and strode towards the door with a spring in his step.
"Wait!" Sam called out as Nikamo's hand touched the doorknob. The question he'd been meaning to ask sprung forth before he could stop himself. "What makes you think they're not going to kill you this time?"
Nikamo turned around slowly and pursed his lips, frowning slightly as he thought this over. "I don't think they're going to kill me because this time, I know they're going to kill me." He nodded to himself, satisfied that he had summed the situation up adequately and added, "No sense worrying about a thing you can't change." | I knew they were right. I'd spent too many days staring out the window, watching the tree branches sway and swirl in the calm summer breeze. I had spent countless hours half napping on a couch, as other peoples' dreams and ideas streamed out of my television. I had wasted the better part of a decade being a spectator in life. But still, I felt as if their judgment was premature.
"You can't possibly know the whole story," I say, shaking my head, feigning disgust. "How could you?"
"We've been *watching,*" Allen said, leaning over the long tribunal desk. He brushed his thumb past his nose in habitual fashion, reclining back in his chair and scanning the rest of the tribunal for validation. His dull brown eyes seemed to absorb the light, as if the space behind them were vacuous. "We know everything about you." Something about his gaze was unsettling.
I scoffed at his assumption. How could he know? How could **any** of them know exactly what I'd felt during these past ten years? How could they understand the complexities of self reflection when they had spent so much of their lives hosting an arbitrary audience?
"I know what you *think* you know." I smirked, staring Allen down. I could see him withdraw into his chair, folding his arms defensively over his deflated chest. He looked like a boxer about to take a punch.
"You see someone sitting alone, enjoying the pleasure of their own thoughts and company, and you just *assume* they're stagnating. You look at me, my Facebook gathering dust, my phone often out of reach, and you perceive a lack of effort. But you couldn't be farther from the truth."
My words had weight. They glared at me over the table, hands withdrawing and eyes lowering. They echoed with my disdain. Each of them reverberated in mirrored sentiment; empty cans shuttering as they took in volume.
"You think because I withdraw from you, that I've retreated within myself. You're so wrong." I sighed inwardly, swallowing as my face gave way to a faint grimace.
"I *wish* you could see what I see. Hear what I hear. I wish you could experience the worth of what you see fit to call a mundane existence. The things you tweet and update are the things I've lost interest in. I mean.... can't you see? There's nothing left for us. Only our own thoughts. And the more you throw into the network, the less your have to rely on yourself to sort out the chaos and complexity of your own life. Did you ever really think about what you're doing here?"
They knew. I could see it in their eyes. They were here to eliminate the deviation from the status quo; to ensure unity through mortal cultivation. They were smoothing the wrinkles.
"YES, I've turned away from you. YES, I've stopped caring about the things that connect us. But it's because I no longer feel connected to **myself**." As melodramatic as it sounded, it felt like the truth.
"Three of you have known me more than half my life. One of you has known me since birth." Allen turned away.
"But ALL of you know me. You know me because I've let you in. I've *shared* myself with you. I'm just.... I needed some time to experience myself. I wanted to be something without you. I wanted to be able to sit where you are and say to myself, 'You deserve to be here.' And now that I'm here, staring up at you while you pass judgment with all the conscious consideration of a Facebook 'Like,' I finally realize what I've always wanted."
Allen turned back to me. He may not have known it, but his preponderance meant everything to me.
"I've wanted to be able to give myself worth. I needed to know that I amounted to more than the sum of my biological parts. I'm sick of being everyone else's person. I want something of myself that I can hold onto when I've given everything else away. I can't do that if I'm always viewing myself through your lenses. I can't love my own reflection..."
The tribunal fell completely silent. No sighs, no grunts, and no throats being cleared. They stared at me with the sort of pensive guilt a parent would show a neglected child.
"Paul..." I locked eyes with Allen as he spoke.
"You've given us all something to think about. But at the same time, I feel like you've missed the point."
My heart sank. I thought if anyone could truly understand me, it'd be my only lifelong friend. But his tone was cold and distant, and he spoke as if I weren't even in the room.
"You say you need to know yourself in order to be happy; that you've given up all the superficial connections of modern socialization in order to preserve your own depth." He sighed aloud, shaking his head ever so slightly. "But you've forgotten why these things exist in the first place. I'll admit that most of what's traded over social networking platforms is trivial and trite, but in the end, we don't share ourselves in the hope of understanding our own consciousness. We share so that we may understand one another **through** each other. We live in a universe where everything is inexorably connected. Our lives are as much a product of our own cognition as they are the reactive behaviors of those around us. I guess what I'm trying to say is.... it's important to be able to appreciate yourself, but that knowledge really only has meaning if it's shared."
My eyes welled, and I felt the throbbing pangs of self-loathing as his words trickled from my mind and into my heart. He had pierced straight through me, and suddenly I realized that I was the empty can. I was rattling so loud that I couldn't hear the decade's worth of disappointment in their voices. Each time they had called, and I made an excuse. Each invite sent that had been ignored. Each attempt at diving after a drowning man. And all I did was stare up at them. And they stared right back down at me.
They're all staring down at me. I can't breathe.
---------
As the noose fit around my neck, I nervously scanned the crowd below. I could pick out their faces from the writhing, wretched masses eagerly awaiting my termination. They were the few standing in somber solemnity. Only Allen, in the far right corner, gave way to tears. They seemed strangely genuine.
The crowd began to chant as the executioner stepped onto the platform. I could hear his boots clap against the wood as he came to stop in front of the drop lever. My thoughts began to race as a flurry of emotions flooded every void in my body. I was gripped with a sickening combination of terror and regret.
In the fraction of a second I was falling, I had one last comfort:
For the first time in my life, they were looking up at me.
If only it could last... | 2014-06-15T13:59:44 | 2014-06-15T10:45:48 | 64 | 31 |
[WP] The protagonist of a G-rated kids movie accidentially ends up in an R-rated movie. They adapt surprisingly well. | "Now I just have one last question for you. Will it be the blue pill, or the red pill?" Morpheus posited.
"Ah um well ok...this....this is a big mistake sir you see I have this little ra...."Alfredo Linguini stammered out before his hand shot out and forced the red pill down his throat.
"What are you doing Remy! I don't want to be here! We need to get back to the kitchen I have NO idea where we are I don't want to do this!" Alfredo frantically screamed as they plunged downward into unknown abyss.
"Good choice," Morpheus said approvingly "but now you must learn how to fight"
"Wait wait wait what?!" Linguini shrieked as a foot came barreling towards his face
To his amazement, the strike did not connect as he felt his body move swiftly under Morpheus' leg, grab him by the neck an execute a near perfect judo takedown.
"Oh my god I am so sorry, like I was trying to say before its this rat, I call him my little chef and he lives up here under my hat" Linguini apologized as Morpheus lay unconscious on the ground. | PART 2!!!
Woody’s eyes widened as he saw a member of the LYB take aim and fire his laser at Ham. “Ham, look out!” Woody yelled, but he was too late. The laser beam tore through Ham’s substantial gut incinerating the flesh on contact. Ham fell to his knees as his intestines spilled from the gash in his gut. Woody desperately tried to aide Ham in keeping his intestines inside him, but between the blood and liquid fat this proved impossible.
Ham grabbed the collar of Woody’s shirt, “Fuck ‘em up for me, cowboy.” Blood pooled at the corners of his mouth. His lips stuck together as he took his last few sucking breaths trying to cling on to whatever life he had left.
Tears filled Woody’s eyes as he laid his short lived pal’s head down in the dirt. He took Ham’s pistols and stood up firing them both into the sky clipping a few of the LYB, but none were fatal. He heard the sound of a jetpack sputtering behind him and he turned to see one of the LYB landing before him. He rubbed his eyes, it was Buzz! Something was different about him though, other than his new human form. A golden star gleamed on his chest. It had five points all capped with a small golden ball at the points. It was HIS star.
“Woody, thank God,” Buzz said exasperated. “What is going on?”
Wood couldn’t take his eyes off of his star adorning Buzz’s chest. Without realizing it he reached into his holster and pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Buzz. “Reach for the sky,” He said.
Buzz held out his hands, “C’mon, Woody! It’s me, Buzz…”
“I said reach for the fucking sky!” Woodie screamed. Spit flew from his mouth and the veins in his neck tightened as his whole body clenched.
Buzz complied, “Woody…” He trailed off as he saw the look in Woody’s eyes. The hatred behind them was unmistakable. At the moment he knew it was either him or Woody. They stood, eyes locked.
With lightning like reflexes Buzz lowered his arm and fired his laser. Apparently Woody hadn’t been the only one to gain some new abilities in this weird world. Woody fired his pistol. The bullet struck Buzz just below the heart. The first laser had aimed high and taken Woody’s hat with it, but as Buzz fell his second shot cut right through Woody’s leg right above his thigh. The pain was immense as fire coursed its way through every last one of his nerve endings. He had never felt pain like this before, in fact he had never felt pain. Woody looked down to see his leg lying lifelessly on the ground drowning in a pool of its own blood. His remaining knee buckled, but he stood his ground. The laser had cauterized the wound so he was in no danger of bleeding out and the shock of it was setting in. The corners of his vision began to blur. He would not pass out. This ended here. He struggled through the pain as he hopped his way over to Buzz’s unmoving body.
Woody loomed over Buzz. He was still alive, but if he didn’t get help he wouldn't last long. Buzz looked up at Woody pleadingly. His fingers outstretched in a voiceless plea for Woody to stop. Except, he didn’t want to stop. This was for Andy. This was for everything. Woody bent down awkwardly and plucked the badge from Buzz’s chest. “I believe this is mine.” He pinned the badge to his lapel. He felt whole again. He raised his pistol and pointed the barrel into Buzz’s horrified face, “This is my town.”
The report sounded and Buzz’s face was torn into a million fragments of skin, bone and brain that blanketed what was left of Buzz’s helmet and Woody’s face. As the battle raged on around him Woody squatted and fell, more than sat, down in the dirt next to Buzz’s body. He dipped his hand into the growing pool of blood in what used to be Buzz’s helmet and withdrew it. Woody propped his boot up on what remained of his leg and with his crimson fingers he scrawled the word... ANDY.
| 2016-11-16T12:10:30 | 2016-11-16T11:25:26 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] "A watched pot never boils", as the old saying goes. Throughout all of history there has always been at least one set of eyes on the ocean. Today, for a split second, everyone looking at the ocean looked away at the exact same time. | A split second is all it lasted.
A split second is all it took.
Given the exorbitant amount of time that the ocean had existed before given the opportunity to boil, it was obviously unexpected. Like many pots do, it began with a few small bubbles. Frothy areas of the ocean showed no difference. Calmer areas were barely noticeable. However, a watched pot doesn't stop boiling once it has begun.
The bubbles gradually grew in size, the temperature began to skyrocket, and the entire ocean immediately became significantly less hospitable. Swimmers closest to the shore were fortunately able to get out in time. Those further from shore were not so lucky.
Ice caps began melting, the entire atmosphere over and around the ocean began to heat up, and every creature in every ocean on the planet began to slowly be boiled alive. Fish, crustaceans, and mammals alike were all killed.
It didn't take long before the entire planet became inhospitable for life. With two thirds of the planet's surface one big boiling "pot," the remaining third didn't stand a chance to last long. As ocean water boiled into the atmosphere, the sea level began to drop.
On and on, the big blue marble became less and less vivid. As the world cooked, it dried to a husk. By the time the last of the water boiled from the Mariana Trench, any living creature was long gone.
The remaining hunk of rock continued on its orbit around the sun. No life remained on its surface, but physics has no care for life. The entire history of the world, from its humble beginnings to its sudden end, were snuffed out in a blink.
A split second is all it lasted.
A split second is all it took. | #Title: See The Signs
"Do you feel that?" whispered Samantha.
"Feel what?"
The waves weren't so bad that day, outside of Ocean City. Samantha and Leonard liked to soak in the sun off the coast in their yacht when they got the time. Working full time as attorneys didn't always afford them many opportunity to enjoy the ocean much, but today they weren't going to think about law. They were on vacation.
It couldn't have been worse timing.
"LEONARD."
"WHAT," shouted Leonard.
He got up fast, angry that he couldn't finish his nap.
Then he felt how sticky it was, and saw all the steam.
"It's way hotter than the forecasts right now," said Samantha. She put her hand out to the water, then retracted it hard. "HOL- Leonard it's BOILING hot."
Leonard swiped open his phone, and looked up weather forecasts. It read 78 degrees as the high. He checked the current weather at his location. It read 86 degrees. He hit refresh. It read 98 degrees.
He glanced at his thermometer. It read 110 degrees Fahrenheit.
"Oh God," whispered Leonard, sweating bullets.
Leonard watched the bubbling of the water, and saw a dolphin rise up out of it. Then another. And a whole pod of dolphins, a whole school of fish, a whole wealth of ocean life.
"Something's wrong," said Leonard.
Samantha looked at her husband in sarcastic surprise.
"OH well thank you Capitan Obvioso," she saluted him. "You know I didn't figure that out on my own."
"Samantha okay," said Leonard. He didn't have time to argue. He started up the yacht, and headed back to shore. "We need to get back fast, something's dangerously wrong."
More ocean life came up to the top, still alive, but badly injured. Badly burnt, boiled alive. Some of them writhed, before they stopped moving altogether.
Leonard tried to start up his engine. His rutter got to moving, and they picked up speed. They weren't too far away from shore.
Then a whole new school of fish rose to the top, dying all at once. They made the trip bumpy. He was moving fast, but he had little control. They were still wearing their life vests.
Drowning was the least of the ocean's threats now.
"HOLD ON," shouted Leonard.
More dead fish popped up. A whole mass lining the very edge of the shore, and piling up on the sand.
"Do you hear that?" shouted Samantha.
Leonard listened, and heard deep, throaty singing. Like a choir of basses, singing some dark chorus.
"What is that?" he whispered.
There was a sudden tide rising in the water, and a large being emerging from it.
Humanoid, and red like muscle. A titan rising from the boiling ocean.
They saw its lidless eyes, and saw the countless thousands of others emerging in the distance as well, holding swords far larger than aircraft carriers in their grasp.
They walked forward, towards the tsunami they'd created, singing their deep, throaty song.
"The tsunami pulled the waters in some, and burned Samantha and Leonard.
"AhhhhhhhhAHHHHHHH," shouted Samantha.
"I'm sorry!" shouted Leonard. "I'M SORRY I DIDN'T LISTEN TO YOU."
His arms were red, and burnt. They were taken up by the tsunami, and riding towards the coast on a wave.
"I LOVE YOU."
"I LOVE YOU."
The tsunami took them over the town, and covering everything in its wake. Far from the titans, the water boiled less, but still burned like hellfire.
There was a jolt, and they hit their heads on the yacht.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Leonard awakened, and noticed the red, smooth mountain surrounding him.
He looked beside him, and found the breathless body of Samantha.
"No," he whispered. He gave her breath, and did chest compressions. He breathed again, and did more compressions. "NO NO NO."
He didn't stop for the greater part of an hour. He shook her slowly when he'd lost all hope, then shed bitter tears on the warm, ocean soaked Earth. It smelled like salt water, and flesh.
He looked around at the red mountain surrounding him again.
It looked like muscle.
He turned to his other side, and saw the pale, orange eye staring right at him. He looked far down the length of its face, and saw the titan's smiling teeth.
| 2017-03-20T09:22:40 | 2017-03-20T08:56:15 | 96 | 20 |
[WP] By some magic, you are granted the wish to become the best in the world at something. You are disappointed when you notice no change in your ability. The next day, however, you notice that all over the world, people are becoming worse at one very particular skill. | I thought it was a harmless wish.
But now everything's turned wrong.
Lucy no longer talks, nor does anyone else for that matter. She still understands me, or at least I think so from her slow nods and lifeless stares. At least Lucy's still active with her day job but in the end she, like everyone else, is only going through the motions.
At night I hold her hand tight and flip open our old picture book. We look at past events, memories of warmth, fun and excitement. If I crack enough dumb jokes then perhaps she could manage a smile.
But deep down I know it's all pointless. There is neither joy nor mirth in her expressions.
All I wanted was to be happy. | "Thank you, we will be in touch" the director said cutting off the middle of my audition.
I blew it again.
Maybe I should just give up, I will never get my big break. It was stupid to try and become an actor. I will never make it. I should just go into finance like my parents wanted.
Ouch!
As I was walking out of the studio I tripped on a prop table and knocked everything over. Fuck it, if they wont cast me, I'm going to steal something from them, I don't care anymore.
So I shove some Aladdin style lamp on my jacket and hurry out.
I get in my car, and I have such a rush, I've never stollen anything before. I pull out the lamp. It's made of brass, the smell reminds me of my high school days playing the trumpet as the odor stains my hands.
I give it a small rub and a whisp of smoke comes out of the lamp.
What the hell, I don't remember getting high before my audition, but right in front of me a tiny genie sits in my lap, no larger than an action figure.
"I will grant you one wish" says the genie
"I thought you gave three wishes? And I thought genies would be bigger..."
"Believe the myths or believe your eyes" declares the genie "now make your wish and change your life"
Perplexed. But I know the one think I want more than anything "I wish I was the greatest actor in the world!"
"And so it is done!" Shouts the genie, and disappears in a small puff of smoke.
I felt nothing, not a thing had changed, and I still had bombed my audition.
At that moment, my phone buzzes. It's a text from Steve "where you at? Hamilton starts in an hour, we can't miss this dude!"
We bought our tickets to Hamilton 6 months ago, I couldn't wait! And I had almost forgot! I rush over to steves how's and we catch the subway to time square. I can't wait to see this show!
As the curtain opens. The music starts, my adrenaline is rushing, and the first actor walks on stage and just stares at the audience. And another does the same thing.... the music plays on, until the entire cast fills the stage just staring at the audience.
My first thought is this is some sort of protest, maybe part of a march, or against Trump, I don't know.
But the music fades out, and the curtain jerks shut.
A voice comes over the loudspeaker
"Tonight's performance of Hamilton will be canceled due to unexpected difficulties, please contact the box office for a refund."
This is insane, but before I know it, we are following the crowd into the street
"And so it is done" I hear echo through the hall.
I look around but it seems as if no one heard the booming voice at all.
As we are ushered into the street, I see other shows have hordes of people exiting as well. This is insane!
We get home and I turn on Saturday night live, and it is just a placeholder screen. "Saturday night live will resume shortly".
My phone buzzes. "New York Times reports "Live performances around the globe canceled due to unprecedented event where all performers seem to have forgotten their lines"
Oh god.... is this... have I done this... my wish was granted. But I've never wanted this...
Years passed, and all that remains are old films, saved for the memory of what once was. With so few words, I have destroyed the most coveted art form in the world...
| 2017-05-01T02:41:51 | 2017-04-30T21:01:29 | 1,800 | 115 |
[WP] Humans are the most feared and reviled race the Galaxy. Every 10000 years when humans reach a certain level of Technology a galactic Council sends a force to knock them back to the Stone Age. This time however that force arrives several decades late. | Empty.
The Supreme Admiral looked at the blue planet before him and reread the scouting report. Somehow, despite arriving only a few decades later than they were supposed to come, the planet was empty. Oh, there were still signs of life here and there, and some of them were probably what passed for the current crop of 'Humans', as they were called, but the vast majority of the planet's population was gone.
He turned to the Intelligence Officer next to him, returned the scouting report, and asked, "How is this even possible? There's no sign of advanced space capability, yet they clearly have left the planet and vanished!"
"I do not know, Sir, but we're looking into it now." He was interrupted by an incoming priority communication from one of the scouting teams. "Admiral!" he exclaimed, "we've found something!" He moved over to the viewscreen controls and punched in a feed channel. The picture changed instantly to a view over a large flat plain, with a large cliffside rising up at the end of it. There, inscribed in the rock face in letters that must have been a hundred meters tall were the words, "So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish."
"What does it mean?" asked the Admiral.
"I don't know," replied his Intelligence Officer, "and I'm almost afraid to find out..."
*Nobody knew that the dolphins had been paying attention to the purges humanity had suffered every 10,000 years or so, but after the most recent one they decided enough was enough. Slowly, with great effort, they established contact with the re-evolving humans and gained their trust. Eventually they were able to impart their knowledge to a select group, who worked in secret until it was time to reveal the truth. It took two decades to build the massive ark ships that would take humanity elsewhere, and then another to move everyone aboard along with the construction and launch facilities for use elsewhere. But in the end, the planet was nearly devoid of humanity - leaving the dolphins as the new rulers of Earth.* | Lord Admiral Marius Comnenus, victor of the battle of the Serrenal system and receiver of over twenty medals for personal courage and performance in the 2nd Galactic Civil war against the Vendellian Confederacy, and champion of the Tel'Mar Imperium sighed heavily as his aide, a much smaller Tellan named Regulus Eridus, handed the grand warrior the data pad briefing he had become so accustomed to.
"My lord." Regulus bowed his head, and Tellios nodded. He sighed, laid the data pad onto its tablet on his war-table, and sighed again. "Formality aside Reg, why are we here?"
"Honestly sir, I wonder the same thing every time I wake up." He pressed his two of his four hands into fists and pressed them together, a gesture of frustration in Tellan culture. "Its a month long voyage from here to Tellean Primus. Why don't they send one of the Vendels for this, no? New Vendel is only a week away, and they've got some ships left after we thrashed them at Correll. We're already a century and a half late anyways."
Marius grinned and shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder why you decided to be a secretary and not an official, Reg."
"I'm your honor guard as well, my lord." Regulus gave him a salute, "and it is truly an honor to wait by your side at the bridge and pray to the gods that our ship doesn't get vaporized."
The admiral laughed at that, the staccato growl filling the small room. "Look, about this data pad. I've read this a thousand times. Primitive species that evolves fast, sure. I wiped out three fourths of the Batald when they fractured their planet in half and turned it into a warship. What choice did I have? But this, this is going to be genocide. No honor in it." He pulled his warblade from its place at his hip, the implant in his hand humming slightly. It blasted into ignition, becoming a curved blade of glowing purple light. "I was given this by the empire for defending Tellius Segundus from the flanking fleet that the Vendels sent with that damn admiral... agh, what was his name."
"Crelate, sir." Regulus submitted, "The Vendels do love their mononyms."
"Were you even alive for that?" Markus grinned, sheathing the glowing falchion.
"No, sir. I was born in 856, that was 749."
"So it was..." The admiral had a blank look in his eyes, "What a damn waste of lives that war was."
"They all are." Regulus agreed, "Sir!" he added quickly.
"Please. I've known you for over two centuries and you've shown nothing but faith and loyalty. You can lose the sir in private." The admiral sat back down.
"And its been an honor. Marius." Regulus grinned.
A marine quickly dashed inside, clad in the Aggressor Guard's armor and holding a battle helm in one arm, a vapor carbine in the other. He saluted the admiral quickly, and nodded to Regulus. "Sir, you'll want to get to the bridge quickly, there's something you need to see."
The admiral grinned, tapped a button on his implant and stood up out of his seat as his battle armor formed around him. "My helmet, Praetor Regulus."
"Of course, my lord." Regulus fetched it, a golden helmet with an amber Y-shaped visor. "Notify the segmentada captains and then bond to the bridge with me."
"Of course, Lord Admiral."
The Admiral glimmered, than winked out. In a second, he was on the bridge.
"Segmentada Captain Veradus, what is the situation?" he asked in a firm but not pompous tone.
"My lord." the Captain's hand flickered to a holofigure, and the bridge illuminated with the space ahead of them.
It was one of the grandest war fleets the Lord Admiral had ever seen, bigger than the Vendels, something that would have put the space smiths of Serrenal to shame. It rivaled his war fleet, he realized. Fear was not the emotion that came to mind. Nor was it shock or anger. It was simply...
"Glorious." he narrowed his six eyes in what Tellians considered a smile.
"My lord." Regulus appeared behind him, handing him his war helm. He grasped it and placed it on himself without tearing his eyes away from the fleet.
"Well, it seems we're going to have our honor after all, Regulus."
"As always, my lord."
"All Captains," the Admiral ordered, switching into the war-tongue of his people, raise shields and prepare to fire. A thousand suns shine their light on us today, and a million world's need our saving. Fire when ready."
| 2017-05-16T21:23:11 | 2017-05-16T21:20:01 | 46 | 22 |
[WP] You are a superhero who's ability subconciously freezes time whenever someone nearby is in mortal danger. Usually its obvious who's in trouble and you can save them quickly, but not this time - it's been 10 years.
Edit: guys the responses have been amazing, some funny stories and some deeper, darker ones too! Keep them coming in, I've been reading them all! | "Well I think that's everybody". I spoke to myself. It was a way to hear a human voice. Everything was otherwise entirely silent. I had just finished running through the last of the blood work. Nothing dangerous there.
It had all started 10 years ago. Time had stopped, as happens to me, and I looked around for whoever was in danger. Nobody in particular. I had checked through every single person in a ten mile radius from where I had frozen. It had taken the equivalent of months. A few people had been in trouble, kids falling out of trees, a man about to cut himself with a chainsaw, traffic accidents, but none of it had reset me. Normally, when the person in danger is safe I become suddenly aware, and given the time to get back to my starting position. But not this time.
They were never further than a few miles from me when I froze, I knew I was going overboard with a ten mile radius, but... I couldn't find *the* person. So I had expanded my search. A hundred miles. Found a bunch more people in trouble, but still no *ding* of awareness.
So I had spent even longer, hunting down back histories of the people around me, to see if there was any implicit danger, family feuds or the like. Then I had hunted a second time, more thoroughly. Basements, fallen down buildings, *anywhere* they could be. But nothing.
After that… well I had to get creative. I spent a few years teaching myself medicine, and started giving everybody around me medical checks. I found cancers, genetic diseases, viral and bacterial infections…. But I still didn’t reset.
.. and now its been ten years. *ten* **years**….. gods I've been saying "ten years" for far too long, but I just stopped counting. I feel so old but can’t even age here.
I sigh and stare at my hands.
….
I never did check *my* health.
Minutes pass, or the ethereal equivalent, as I wait for the machines to give me my answer. Actually I don’t think I’m very good at guessing the passage of time any more. Could have been weeks.
…
Well that strongly suggests I have Lymphoma.
The little nudge goes off in my head.
Damn.
------------------------------
**A television blares out the news in the background as a man walks past a shop window**
*A Miracle occurred last week when several hundreds of thousands of people in the east bypass area found notes in their pockets with complete medical workups. Many of those people are now undergoing treatment for illnesses they previously didn’t even realise they had.*
| 18:00. It was 18:00 of 7th September on that day. That wretched day. That's the only time and day I know now. That's the only time and day it's been for maybe an eternity or two. But, just for me. Lucky me.
I was counting the time passing for a while, 3 months to be exact, before I lost count and gave up on the idea of time. All I know is I can't even remember my heartbeat anymore.
"Did I even have one to begin with?"
"Of course you did! Remember the day when we saw him?"
"Of course I do. I remember wishing time froze that moment."
"Yeah that was a very selfish thing to wish for. You would literally put some random nincompoop in mortal danger to stare at a stranger on the road. Mon dieu!"
"Hey! He's not a stranger anymore. We have been married for... Quite some time now. And, the monkey's paw worked didn't it? It came back to haunt me after all these years."
"Yeah. Completely unrelated to your wish though. This time someone actually is in danger. Or has been. Will it be present tense or present perfect continuous?"
"Ugh! I don't know! And does it even matter? Time is irrelevant now. The river has stopped. At least until we find out who needs rescuing. And we have been doing that for an eternity."
"Perfect continuous it is."
She had been able to freeze time and save lives long before that autumn day. Long before she needed me to save her sanity. Normal are those days when you don't need to give a voice to your conscience, I think she imagines it as Morgan Freeman's. I do have a deep baritone, I think. But, if it weren't for me she would have probably jumped off the edge of sanity. She needed me. You would too if you had been trapped in time trying to save someone you can't find.
Its all blurry and I don't know when she started to save people in the nick of time. But, I do know she never wanted it. It was a forced responsibility with purpose unknown. She had no other choice but to figure out who's in danger and save them, that's the only way universe would press play. She felt like a puppet for most of the time. Until one day she had to save her family from a house about to catch fire. That's when she took it up as a responsibility rather than a burden.
But, it had always been easy peasy, lemon squeazy. She could always figure out within minutes. A day once or twice but never more. It had never been for this long.
"Let's go see him. My eyes are sore and they need a relief."
"For the tenth time, why do you go to see him? He's frozen just like everybody else!"
"I know... But, it's comforting to just be around. I don't have much else to do anyway."
"Hmm... You're quite lucky that he decided to smile just when the time froze."
"Yeah! I know he's the best! My heart skips a beat when I am with him."
"The irony is too damn high."
I don't know how long I can take this. I have looked everywhere and found no one in danger. There was a cat on a branch of a tree, so I climbed up and brought it down. Apparently, they do have nine lives or the cat had it in control. There was a blind old lady crossing the street. I checked the roads and there were no speeding cars. I picked her up and crossed the road for her anyway. Still, no luck. Then, there was the pregnant lady in the park. She seemed to be far from the time for delivery so I made her sit at the bench for safety.
Nothing seemed to have worked. I wonder if it's me who is going to die. That must be it. I left no other stone unturned. I'll go see him and do what I must to let the universe play. I have been long enough in this limbo.
This time has been like a video game that is always stuck. Glitched forever. No matter what buttons you press, nothing ever moves. There is no end and no means. And, I had enough of this. I'll go see him at his office, for the tenth and the last time.
"Goodbye my lover. Goodbye my friend."
She went to sleep at long last, talked her conscience into peace, glanced at her world for the last time and she went to sleep.
The time began to unwind as she went deeper into her sleep. The universe pressed play at long last. She noticed, just before her conscience dived headfirst into pool of abyss.
Back at the office where her conscience laid for no one to see, life resumes for everyone around. As the smiling man talking to his colleagues gets a call.
"What do you mean my wife collapsed at the jogger's park? Where is she?!"
"We are sorry sir. We believe she had a severe heart attack at the park and collapsed. Her heart had stopped before our ambulance reached her. Please come to the civil hospital on the 3rd street."
"Oh my God. How did this happen? When did this happen? I was just about to go back home!"
"It happened half an hour ago, sir. Around 18:00. I regret to tell you, we do not know the cause but a pregnant lady and her unborn child were saved because of her."
"What do you mean?"
"If we hadn't reached there to treat your wife. We might have not been there when the lady's child began to choke. She saved two lives" | 2017-09-07T01:47:15 | 2017-09-07T01:10:24 | 92 | 16 |
[WP] Aliens invade Earth. Turns out Human weapons technology is way more advanced than it should be. | Log 10-1-03a
Invasion of the Human Empire
Galaxy 736
A new inhabited planet has been discovered in system 87b. Through our cloaked surveillance flyers, we have discerned that the inhabitants call themselves 'humans'. They appear to not be very advanced, as they have barely developed space travel. Our troops are being deployed.
Log 10-1-03b
War with the Human Empire
Galaxy 736
We were not prepared! Enemy weapons are tearing through our troops' plasma membranes. They appear to have high penetration power against enemies. Our weapons are practically useless, as their outer membranes are too strong to be disrupted by our Disassemblers. They also appear to have large energy cannons that fire a high-velocity projectiles, which tear our flyers into pieces using raw explosive power.
Log 10-1-03c
Survival against the Human Empire
Galaxy 736
Our troops have managed to take down some humans using our older model Disintegrators, but they use a lot more power, so we can't hope to hold out for long. Mothership 37g has been taken out of the atmosphere by strange winged vehicles, which blasted it with projectiles that tore apart it's hull. We have managed to recover some Human weapons, they will be described in the next log.
Log 10-1-04
Human Weapons
Type-87b Blaster: A design made mostly of primitive plastic. The inside of the weapon appears to be a thin tube through which their projectiles are propelled. The projectiles are contained in a small casing which is expelled out the side of the weapon when fired. These casings are stored in a small container attached to the weapon that is removed and replaced when empty. The weapon has a small lever on the bottom that appears to ignite a compound inside the casing that propels the projectile. Each projectile seems to automatically move itself into the weapon as the previous one is expelled. There are many variants of this weapon, it seems to depend on the human faction you encounter.
Type-87b Scatterblaster: Similar in design (but not appearance) to the blaster. It propels multiple spherical projectiles, contained in a cylindrical casing. Sometimes it may require a small section at the front to be pulled back in order to ready the next casing for propulsion. The casings are often loaded individually. If any of our troops are caught close range with one of these, they will often explode.
Type-87b Explosive Device: The Humans appear to pull a small ring off of this device and throw it. It seems to explode a few seconds after throwing, clearing out any troops nearby. Careful dissections have revealed gunpowder held inside. It appears to be named as a 'Grenade' by the Humans, as they are heard yelling this when throwing.
Most human weapons seem to be similar to the Blaster, however none have been retrieved as of yet. We will attempt to retrieve more, but it is unlikely that we will survive. | December 15^th , 2035. Izvir X12 Invasion Fleet, Aldebaran III High Orbit.
"These scums bumbling about in their planet, knowing not of their true fate. We must bring them Enlightenment--Purification. Soon stone and fire shall rain upon their puny huts and tents and we shall revel in our conquest as their scream recorded and replayed within our Grand Library as greatest symphony of our times! The weak and tainted *mammals* shall be purified and the error which let them propagate shall be rectified! Rejoice, for we shall cleanse yet another planet from the impurities that defies the Emperor's will! Glory to Izvir! Glory to the Emperor!" The massive, five meter tall praying mantis-like commander gave speech in front of her lieutenants, who cheered before her. Large images of Earth's cities both from surface and from orbit displayed behind her, thirst of conquest ignited in her underlings' hearts.
"Purify in the name of the Emperor!"
"Navigators! Set the course of our inquisition. Nakr III *will* fall."
"Warp sphere activating!"
------
December 17^th , 2035. Izvir X12 Invasion Fleet, Low Earth Orbit.
"Earthlings!" Zkarn, the Izvir commander, broadcasted to the blue-brown planet under her fleet. "Your fate has been sealed! Your puny race shall burn under the rain of our purifying flames!" The thousand strong fleet opened fire, a deluge of lasers and kinetic kill weapons razed the planet.
At least, that's how it should've been.
------
At the same time. White House, Earth surface.
"Can we confirm the threat?"
"Extraterrestrial Threat confirmed sir, originating from Exit Singularity Y-211. Threat level Brown."
"Not this shit again. Broadcast emergency code to all nuke-capable nations. Don't want the Reds to burn us all for saving their asses. Wait for confirmation."
"Yes sir. Station, confirm enemy armament over?"
*"This is Station, enemy armament is confirmed high power laser on 250 micro wavelength, threat minimum. High powered railguns on 15 centi caliber, no atmosphere-specific mods, threat minimum. No nuclear capability or charged particle weapon confirmed. Missile pods dependent on impact damage, medium-low threat."*
"Kessler immunity rate?"
*"80%."*
"Seems like our biggest enemy is the missile, correct?"
*"Our initial assessment suggest so, sir. These missiles show grav-distortion capability. Impact yield projected three kilotons."*
"Nuclear clearance confirmed sir, we have window to launch our ASAT missiles."
*"Why won't you burrrrnnnnn!!!"* Zkarn's face was visibly angry as she interrupted the President's comm for several seconds. *"Launch the Nikarns! I want this planet **extinct!**"*
"I believe that's their grav missile authorization. Confirm their launch."
"A volley is targeted to--well, they misfired, their navigation clearly not calibrated for our planet. Don't think they'll make the same mistake twice."
"Launch the ASAT, now!"
"Confirmed! Re-purposed ASAT asset launched from primary silos. Intercepting in 2 minutes."
"Can't believe they didn't even survey the atmospheric absorption or density."
*"Additional grav missile volleys confirmed! They retraced our comms! Station, bracing for impact!"*
"Contact lost. Sensors indicate Station has been hit. Additional grav missile launch detected, think they've re-calibrated the sensors."
"Intercept them."
"Already on it, sir. Missile defense aiming to redirect these missiles. Confirmed interception and surface hit, redirection unsuccessful. Recalibrating."
*"Launch more of them! Thou shan't rest until this planet blazes in fire! Gah!"* Noise filled the President's comms, courtesy of low orbit nuclear detonation.
"They gunned our ASATs. One confirmed hit, five non-impact detonation."
"Well, launch more. Not like we have anything to lose."
*"I'm sorry to interrupt, mister President!"* a noise-filled voice and vaguely humanoid face appeared in the President's comms. *"After some consideration, we decided that this invasion is a problem not only for the White House, but for our species. Thus we have taken the liberty to launch our own experimental ASAT nuclear weapon against the invaders. We wish you are not so egoist that you will condemn us for donating generously to the effort."*
"If I remember correctly last time it was you who provoked the Astulfan and got a fair amount of orbital strike, making us clean after you. This is not donation, you dirty sock, this is paying your debt."
*"Whichever you prefer,* Exalted *one."* Faintly, one could hear a laughter behind the noise.
"Sir, confirmed fifteen nuke hit. Main bulk of hostile fleet incapacitated."
"Damn, how did they even manage to launch so many at the same time?"
------
Izvir X12 Invasion Fleet, Low Earth Orbit.
"Report!" Zkarn limped through the green-filled command chamber
"Sixteen hit, ma'am, half of our fleet are down. The impure heretics referred to the weapon as *asat* or *nuke*--"
"I don't care about what the heretics call it, I care about what on the Emperor's name is that damned weapon?!"
"O-our priests suggest it is weaponized reactor core, ma'am, attached unto rudimentary ejectors."
"Such rudimentary and primitive weapon! Hah! Analyze it. Make it better. We will fall back for now. Warp back to Injastar."
"We're...running away, ma'am?" Zkarn slammed her arms against the wall, stunning the lieutenant.
"We're *retreating*." Clacking her mandibles audibly, she continued. "And the next time, these primitive rats *will go extinct.*" | 2018-05-16T14:23:36 | 2018-05-16T14:20:05 | 94 | 55 |
[WP] As a child, you found a wishing well. It was a silly wish, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. The coin got stuck on something halfway down. It never reached the bottom, and thus your wish went unfulfilled, until one fateful day 30 years later when something jostled it free. | Cold terror washed down my spine as I stared out the window. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real, and yet, there it is. I felt like something like this would have made the news long before it made it into my backyard.
I couldn't even manage a squeak. My brain had no reference on how to respond to this and it opted to just check out for the day. Fight or flight adrenaline was pumping through me when the darnedest thing happened.
My new pet T-Rex rolled onto it's back and looked expectantly at me, as if ready to play. | They day I found the wishing well was the day my mother passed away. I was five years old, and felt like my entire world had just ended. The well was located on my aunt’s property, or at least I think it was my aunt’s property. I’d run out of the house crying when my grandmother screamed at me to stop acting like a spoiled brat, that others had lost more than me.
I was sitting beneath an old oak tree when the man appeared, seemingly from thin air. He was dressed in ragged clothes, but had a kind face. He knelt in front of me, one hand tucked beneath a scraggly beard. “What’ve we here?” He asked, not unkindly. “Seems you’ve got a lot on your mind, little doll.”
So I told him everything. I told him about my mother, I told him how much she meant to me, and how sad I was that I would never see her again. The man listened to every word I said, never once acting like I was bothering him by spilling my guts. Finally, he took me by the hand and walked me across a meadow of flowers, looking back on it – I should have found that strange, since there was no meadows like that around my aunt’s house.
Instead, I found it magical. When he showed me the well, I was stunned.
“You can make one wish,” The man told me. “Just one, and it will come true.” He pressed a shiny gold coin into my hand and stepped back. I stared down at the coin before I stepped up to the well and let it fall.
I didn’t want to be alone anymore.
In the years that followed – I was often alone. People came and went from my life, discarding me like I was nothing at all. I felt like an idiot for the most part, believing some insane old man I’d met in the middle of nowhere.
Wishes didn’t come true.
I was 36 years old the day I met Ian. Working a dead end job as a waitress, Ian came in one day and ordered a cup of coffee. He sat in the corner booth, watching me work. I didn’t think much of him, because Ian was the sort of guy who would never in a million years take notice of me. He looked like he should be somewhere in Hollywood, not a backwater town like this.
Ian stayed in his booth most of the day, reading. I was surprised to see an actual book in his hands, not a tablet or phone like so many other people used. By the time my shift was drawing to a close, I noticed that Ian had finally left his booth, leaving a generous tip for me.
“April, right?”
I was startled as I stepped out the employee entrance and heard someone say my name. I turned and found Ian standing there. I was alarmed to say the least. My name tag actually listed my name as Joy, a name I preferred over April.
“How did you…”
“When you were six, you made a wish.” Ian continued. “I’m afraid that the coin got caught halfway down the well – there was some trouble with a giant recently and the coin finally made it… I’m sorry, April.” He reached his hand out to me. “Will you accept a very late wish?”
I don’t know what Ian is, whether he’s some sort of Fairy, or some other sort of supernatural being. He’s not human, that much I can tell. He exists – and he’s made sure that I never feel alone in the world. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel alone. | 2018-05-20T08:04:36 | 2018-05-20T07:04:36 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily. | Our people were conquerors. The true law of the cosmos is the same as the law in the primordial seas of every world: eat, or be eaten. We understood this in our very cores. When the first contact with beings from another world happened, we **were** amazed. Not because of their powerful weapons (they didn't have any), or vast technologies. No, we were amazed, because they said they came in peace, and wanted to be friends with us. To learn from us. My ancestors recorded that their flavor was flat, but filled the stomach and made us stronger. And of course, their technology advanced us even further.
Soon, we left our world in ships of our own to meet many other species. Each one fell before us. Some were great warrior races like ours, and fought valiantly before succumbing to the inevitable. These we respect and enshrine in our histories and songs. Though weaker, they showed that they too, understood the Cosmic Law.
So when we found your world, and watched your transmissions, and saw that you too understood, we looked forward to the battles. You would lose of course, even though your weapons were formidable compared to most at your level of advancement. Another century or so before discovery, and we could have faced ourselves at our beginnings. How fortunate, we believed, we found you earlier. We began to prepare.
Had we continued to watch as we got closer, we may have learned of your true power. How your hunger was greater than any other we have seen before, how it eclipses even ours. But we were arrogant after millennia of unbroken conquest. The "generals", if you will, of our forces relied upon tactics that had been honed in a thousand campaigns before. Tried and true, these tactics worked. Of course, we had to meet in battle. You ask why not just bombard your world? We had to give you the chance (however slim) to meet us, to defeat us, and then eat your fill and become stronger like us. We simply don't bombard those who can't defend against it. And I am glad we did not.
After the first planet-fall, our hunger for your kind grew swiftly. You are delicious! Truly, every part of humans has a unique taste, and those early samples and the reports of those who ate them whetted our appetite. So we began killing en masse, so that we could start harvesting as much as we could.
And that was the critical point. When the un-butchered meat in our holds awoke and swarmed our vessels, our shock was profound. Not because the dead rose, no. Many species have warriors that fight even after "death", for awhile. On your world, a dead snake can still bite.
The shock was your hunger. Nothing would stop you from consuming, no weapon, no chemical, not even vacuum itself as you crawled along our hulls to get to us. We wept at the beauty of it! We had arrogantly thought that **we** were the ones who understood the Cosmic Law best, that it was our duty to eat and revel in the life it brings. We were but children thinking we were gods. How fortunate to be wrong!
You even weaponized them, sending chemical rockets jammed with your dead to pierce our vessels and consume us. And how swiftly you learned from our empty vessels. By the time the second wave arrived, you were almost on par with us. We brought the might of thousands of worlds to bear on your little system, but we had already lost, for by then we did not want to end you. We cannot destroy such perfection, that would be a sin our kind could not bear. But to do no less than our best would be an insult to you, so we battled and battled, and every battle, you gained more and more on us.
And thus, I, and the remaining few thousand of us, come before you here, to your home-world. We cannot defeat you, we cannot even offer much more than token resistance at this point. Your understanding of the Cosmic Law is such that you complete its rites instinctively. We are here to engage in the rite of Final Meal. Consume us, and then continue following the Cosmic Law and consume all!
...What do you mean you don't want to eat us?
[edit: a word] | As the advance assault party broke through the decimated checkpoint gates, shredding through the Alliance military and the local Europa Militia members as if they were nothing but a mild inconvenience, the Commander chuckled softly as the gargled, final words of the human general rang through his mind; “Death is only the beginning.” Even while bleeding to death, humans always found time to get the last, meaningless word in before they died. The Commander hoped that the General at least felt some of his boot smashing down on his mouth to get the point across how little he cared about the general’s little ism’s. ‘Death is only the beginning?’ What a load of asinine bullshit. As if killing them was going to incur the wrath of one of their local gods to rain down vengeance upon his men. If only they had spent more time preparing for battle rather than kneeling in front of a carved bit of stone and burning random bits of vegetation, they might have put up enough of a fight to make it worth his time. If only these goddamn humans didn't have their cities shielded from their gunships, they would only have to send men down to clean up the mess. “Sir!” a voice rang out that managed to bring him out of his thoughts. In front of him stood the captain of the advance assault party.
“We have managed to sweep through most of the town without a problem. There might be a few hiding around in there, but it's mostly clear.”
“Well, I would say goo-”
A gunshot rang out from behind as the top of the Captain’s head turned into a fine turquoise mist. The Commander and his men turned around quickly to take a look at the shooter. About 20 meters away stood a figure that none of the men expected. It was the General, dressed in his uniform, with two dark, bloody holes in his chest. One of his arms were torn off, nothing but a bit of shoulder bone and muscle remaining. In the other, he grasped the service pistol with which he had just used to kill the Captain. As he slowly trudged forward, the General attempted to mumble something to the Commander, but the only thing that came out was a small spritz of blood from a hole behind his jaw which was held on to the rest of his face by a single thin muscle. The men frantically pulled out their weapons to stop the General and by the time they managed to kill him with a shot to the head, the General had managed to squeeze two shots off into his men, killing both.
As the Commander stood in disbelief, all around him the Shells began to wake up.
While the early days of the epidemic were nothing more than a wild, wild west of paranoid survivors shooting as many healthy survivors as the walking dead, as things started to settle down the remaining world leaders, if you could even call them that, began to notice a pattern within the infected. It appeared that many children under the age of 7 and elders over the age of 50 seemed immune to the effects of initially coming into contact with the virus and upon death, their bodies, while still aggressive to healthy survivors, became passive while in contact with other infected survivors. While it didn’t completely solve the problem, everyone did agree that it did work well enough for humanity to survive. Upon checking what medical records could be recovered, it was revealed that before the outbreak they were all treated with Necrosite, an experimental WHO Alzheimer's vaccine. When the infection came in contact with Necrosite, the infection was weakened to the point that upon death, rather than decaying the brains of the infected till only the hindbrain functioned properly, the weakened infection only managed to erode most of the victim’s upper-level processing, leaving most of the brain intact.
The result were Shells. Not quite dead, but not quite alive either. They managed to move like everyone else, they managed to do most of the basic tasks as everyone else, but if you got in close, you could tell that they weren’t like everyone else. What gave them away, and scared everyone, were the eyes. While still the vivid colours they were before their death, their eyes had become dim and empty. You know when you look someone in the eyes, you can tell a bit about who they are based on how their eyes shine. There is the traitorous and venomous beam that peaks through snake-like slits, the wide-eyed wonder in the eyes of a child that seems to blind everyone around them with wonder, and the dim yet sharp glow of a wise elder. But the Shells’ eyes never shined. Staring a Shell in the eye felt like you were staring into the lens of a camera. At that moment you know that what you are looking at exists purely for the sake of existing. There are no hopes, no dreams, no life behind those eyes at all. The person you once knew is long gone, and in their place is a Shell that walks around unaware of the world around them. Shells no longer recognize the person they once were nor the people around them. Loved ones become strangers, and anyone who could become one is passed by in a timeless haze. To a Shell, time is not a line, but a foggy road with people and places fading in and out, being registered only during the time they are near them and disappearing as they fade back into the fog. Even if you wanted to ask a Shell what it was like to exist, you wouldn’t get very far. The Shells spoke in broken, half-baked sentences, with reasoning roughly somewhere within the same area code as the topic. The one silent rule everyone knows is that Shells are bodies that forgot were dead. They just get up and resume whatever they did before they died. You just let them be.
While strategically we won the war, we sure as hell lost. As I look out my window as I write this, I find it hard to tell who is who anymore. Everyone these days seem to look as dead as Shells, but I don’t blame them. Half the world was lost to the Shells, with the other half barely holding it together. You turn on the news and all you see is this leader says one stupid thing, and then another joins in until the broadcast becomes nothing more than a playground fistfight as the remaining sane leaders hold their heads in their arms, whispering amongst each other how it could have gotten this got this bad and how we can even begin to fix it. But the worst crime is that no one cares anymore. Before people would be up in arms about these things, demand to see things change, get up and went to make a change. But maybe it's time for me to get off my high horse now because it just feels a hell of a lot easier to roll over and ignore it all. Just tune out the broadcasts, push it aside and then move on with whatever you wanted to do. We might as well let them fight it out, it's not like we have much time left anyway. I’m sure that when everyone else out there hears that we don’t go down so easily, it's only a matter of time before they send someone to take care of us. Well, we might as do what we like as the world crumbles around us. Hell, maybe we could have stopped it all, but it's too late now.
Makes you think, right? Maybe being a fucked-in-the-head Shell isn’t as bad as they say.
I might as well become one since there is nothing much I have left to lose and even less to gain. | 2018-09-29T19:15:40 | 2018-09-29T19:07:14 | 222 | 15 |
[WP] It's 1997 and you're a hacker. Not just any hacker, you're elite. You finally get to meet your hero. Turns out he's a nutbag who tells you the world is a computer simulation and is trying to get you to take random pills. | “The world is a simulation. Nothing is real. It is all run by Microsoft. “ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I met my hero, my idol. The man who inspired me to choose computer science as my major in university. Linus Torvalds and instead of a God I find a lunatic. “These tic tacs frred my mind. Take one dammit and you see the truth.” He thrusts the small mint container in my face again as other patrons of the coffee shop started to stare at us. The men sitting at a table beside us in particular were looking over at us every time Linus shouted with the look of disdain. “NONE OF THEM ARE REAL!! THEY’RE ALL FUCKING NPCS.. “ Linus shouted throwing his cup of coffee across the room and it nearly hitting the teenage waitress in the back of the head.
“Linus, man calm down. Here have some pie.. . “ Before I could slide the piece of pie over to Linus he let out a war and lunged across the table at me screaming, “ YOU’RE ONE OF THEM. YOU’RE AN NPC TOO! “ He had me by the throat in his steel like grip. I felt my mind go numb as scene’s from my childhood replayed in my mind. From learning how to ride my bike, to egging the neighbors house on Halloween with my brother, Paul and his friends to fucking Jessie Singer behind the football bleachers after the homecoming game where I ran 200 yards with the ball. God I loved her pity that she married Paul.
Then suddenly the pressure around my throat was gone. I felt someone propping my head up. “Easy. Take it easy. “ The voice speaking to me belonged to one of the men sitting at the table next to ours. I looked over and Linus was pinned to the ground by his friend and the waitress and another man who worked at the front counter. He was screaming about NPCs still and how none of us were real. I felt bad for poor Linus but there was nothing I could do.
The police arrived shortly and arrested poor Linus and took him to the hospital. It turns out that he mistook his daughter Trinity’s acid stash for tic-tacs, Linus apparently loves tic-tacs and thought nothing of taking the container of them from his daughter’s bedroom. Trinity felt so bad that she told the cops everything and I dropped the assault charges. We corresponded while she was in rehab and we are now married and expecting twins. Neo and Morpheus are cool baby names right?
I got to know the two men who saved me that day. Their names were Bill and Steve. I now work for Bill and rent an apartment from Steve. As for Linus we visit him every second Saturday at the rest home where he lives thinking that he is an penguin named Tux. 250mg of LSD really messed him up. Poor Linus.
| I sighed. “Look, when you say I need random pills because it’s a simulation, you’re basically wasting air and time. You’re talking shit and I really don’t want to hear it”
Bill just furrowed the face. “I said it’s LIKE a simulation because you have the attention span of a gnat and wouldn’t understand or believe the whole story. And by random pill, I meant the world isn’t nearly as random as you think, if you hit a certain level. In fact, it’s so not-random at our level that the old saying ‘nothing is a coincidence’ actually starts to make complete sense. And the whole -not random - messes with your mind. That’s why you need something like a random pill”
I grunted. I still listened but couldn’t be assed saying anything because it still had the ring of bullshit.
“Fred, no shit. You have to trust me on this. Assume nearly everyone you meet is there as a result of non-random, rather, frequently engineered reasons. And what’s more - they are there to try engineer you - your behaviour. Your decisions. When you see someone with a green shirt, they probably want you to think green. When a really damn noisy car goes past you, it’s almost certainly because you did something that really, truely, honestly sent the wrong message. It’s not random. It’s engineered. And YOU and your brain is the target.”
“Bill, you are full of shit. I’m not listening to another word.” I said.
Bill didn’t just furrow this time. He actually spat, sat up in the chair, and slammed his fist on the table. “That’s the problem with you. That’s WHY it’s not random. You refuse to listen to common sense when people talk to you normally. You stonewall. And certainly don’t let them get their message out clearly. And you never take hard action from the advice you get. So, I’m promising you - the shit you think is random absolutely isn’t. The world is trying to get to you bud. And it’s killing me to know that it’s been going on for years and you’re still not paying attention. So, change your habits. Make them - weird. Be fast, and be random enough yourself that you can’t readily be a daily target for mindhackers with orange shirts or freaks on motorbikes or horns that rep themselves. If you see enough random shit in life maybe you’ll learn to distinguish between true random, and people trying to get into your mind operating at the near-edge of random.”
Bill stood up and stormed out of the room. I heard him pissing in the loo. Over the stream of piss I called out “nice random sound champ, that’s really healing to me.” With that I promptly looked back at my book.
He came back in.
“Fred, hey, you won’t forget I just told you all that will you?”
I sighed, annoyed at being disturbed while reading.
“No, Bill, sorry for being a prick about it but it’s just a lot of stories. People don’t just mill about you wearing green T-shirts to hack your mind. I’m a hacker, remember! And they sure as hell don’t beep car horns or drive Harley Davidson motorbikes to annoy you exclusively. It’s random man. I don’t need a random pill dude, it’s you that needs one.”
...
3 years later Bill died. It’s hard. Because it was only a few years after that when i realised everything he told me in that exchange was true. You do hit a point, some people, some times, for certain reasons, where others will blow thousands to millions of dollars just to get a message across. I mean, in hindsight, as an elite hacker, I should have realised I was being hacked IRL. It was just, so - so removed from reality. Because it was reality.
All those people, all those I saw strut. What the fuck. To think many of them were there just for me. Just because they couldn’t get to me. Because they needed me to know, they needed me to realise. But it was impossible for them to actually say anything.
I still blame myself for Bill to this day. He died, and was the only one who actually though to try put the actions of all those around me into words. He deserved better from me. If I had listened, perhaps he might be alive today.
Call it random, call it engineered. Call it a busy day of bustling and everyone doing their thing for themselves or call it all done all just for you. Just remember and know that some people call it god, and I’m not one to disrespect the simplification anymore. I’m committed. I’m now a scientist. I’m going to improve on it.
Because, there is an edge, you see, the edge of random and not random. You’ll only see it sometimes, and some people will never see it. But when you realise how that edge looks, and you think of your past, you’ll also know.
Some need a random pill. Because they are immersed in not-random. The not-random doesn’t realise that random exists, and not-random forgets that it’s not-random and becomes self-sustaining. Like a machine of perfectly evil; a chaos of self-replicating, organised and engineered non-random.
For those about to be trapped, the random pill might work. But randomly, you might want to try a non-random pill.
Message ends. This brain hack took an hour to write, but a lifetime to be made. It’s my first. People have died. Not just Bill. Value my message. Pay attention. Take action. Think. And never assume, but never forget how, by practicing it and testing the results. Search for your answers. Share them. Elite team out. | 2019-03-18T03:16:03 | 2019-03-17T23:38:20 | 36 | 27 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. | "I was just doing my job, it's not like I liked the experiments. I didn't particularly care enough to dislike them either, I guess I would say I'm neutral on the matter.
The creatures weren't sentient after all, just huge animals we were studying from planet xerto-R41. I can pinpoint the moment it all went wrong, one of the pregnant females, a huge, lithe, scaled, creature, died when she was unable to pass her newly matured eggs. They always passed two, but her first egg was unfertilized and much too large to pass. Emergency surgery on the expired female produced the second, and viable, egg.
Dr. Macy, our interstellar zoologist from the exchange program with Earth, took the egg home to finish the last day or so of incubation. I told him it wasn't necessary, that we had more specimens available and that it would be extremely difficult to replicate the females pouch and drops of nutritional liquid that she would have leaked to be absorbed through the hatchling's skin.
Dr. Macy was a brilliant man, but a soft one, he took the egg to his family's living quarters and incubated it. He prepared an artificial pouch with refillable nutrient dispensers. After 36 hours, Dr.Macy arrived home to his wife and 6 year old daughters cuddling the newly hatched creature inside it's artificial pouch, where the male juvenile would remain for the next 6 months, at which point, he would be old and large enough to wean on to the meat based diet of the species. Dr. Macy allowed his daughters to name the creature "Kitty", after a common, though completely unrelated pet on their home planet.
At 11 months of age for the creature, Dr.Macy's stay with our facility was over, and he and his family returned to their home planet after returning their creature to the lab.
I observed higher intelligence in the creature as well as signs of depression and asked our new exchange zoologist, Dr.Lewinski, to perform a series of experiments to compare the results with that of a creature cared for by it's mother. Dr.Lewinski confirmed my observations and concluded that the creature responded positively with humans and had a basic understanding of the English language, including it's given name of "Kitty". He also could recognize the Macy's on video and photographs, and would become agitated in an attempt to find their scent.
A mere month after the Macy's left the facility, the creature escaped from it's enclosure by force, ripped through three sets of security doors, and took up residence in the Macy's abandoned living quarters, he was last observed curling on the play rug in the children's room with a worn blanket that he appeared to be defending aggressively from anyone that isn't human.
It took Dr. Lewinsky's offering sedative laced meat to the creature to calm it enough to be moved back to another enclosure, where it broke free 3 additional times in the next week. Dr. Lewinsky has forbidden the neutralization of the creature under threat of ruining political relations between our planets by way of his brother, President Lewinsky. Dr. Lewinsky is a brilliant but soft man as well and responded to the creature's depression and attachment to human scent in a less that observational way.
That is why you are receiving this package at the Smithsonian institute for Interstellar Animal Studies, Dr. Barret, I find that we are quickly running out of funds to repair the damage it is inflicting on my ship, I formally relinquish custody of this creature to Dr. Macy and your facility, well wishes, Captain Grehori."
Dr. Macy looked up from the video file to smile at his 7 year old daughters curled on the carpet with the 200lb reptilian feline. "Kitty's home."
.
.
.
.
.
Edit- thank you so much everyone! I hardly ever write and have never had one of my stories upvoted this much! I'm truly flattered! | Mick stood on the bridge of the USS Cheesewheel. The first of its kind, large enough to house over ten thousand standard crew, and one human; he felt at home in its colossal rooms and corridors.
“Where’s Duncan now?” he asked his First Officer, Mina.
“Sir, we’ve lost visual. He was last seen near the cargo bay, but all the cameras have been deactivated.” She looked up from her console, and they shared a look that seemed to stretch time as his stomach twisted.
What would kill them first: the beast, if the human couldn’t find it, or a prolonged starvation if their cheese reserves were plundered? Halfway to their destination, with nothing but a seemingly endless sea of empty space for millions of kilometers, they couldn't let the food run out. As a cadet, he'd been in a situation like that before. He shuddered from the memory.
“How many soldiers do we have? We must secure the bay!” Mick rubbed the fur between his ears with a white gloved hand.
“Fifty-seven,” three voices answered at once. Mick looked over to the blind trio who stood against the wall. Though they’d lost their sight long ago—radioactive leakage from a reactor they had prevented from going critical—each had an uncanny understanding of the ship and its personnel. “However, Captain, most of them are protecting the VIPs. Ten beyond the door, guarding the bridge.”
They never should have let the USS Cheesewheel become a quasi-commercial vessel, ferrying tourists from one world to another. If Mick had had his way, they’d still have over a thousand fighting mice on board. But with most of the crew quarters turned into luxury suites, they lacked the room.
“I’ll go myself.” Mick slammed a fist against his console.
“Mick,” Mina’s cheeks blushed. "Captain," she corrected herself.
On the bridge he was Captain and she was First Officer. The familiarity between the two had grown over the past several years. Mick had hoped one day, after retirement, they’d have some kind of future together. Now, the dream seemed like just that—a dream.
“You can’t go alone,” she added, raising from her chair.
“I’ll take five of our best with me,” Mick said as he checked the charge on his blaster. “We’ll find the human”—Mick shook his head—“or that beast he calls Kitty.”
“Let me go with you!” Mina crossed the distance, pulling out her own side blaster.
“No,” he said, wanting to stroke her whiskers, feel the soft tuft of fur on her cheeks. “Someone has to take over command while I’m gone.”
Biting her lip with her two front teeth, Mina nodded. Her hand flew to her forehead. Mick copied the salute. *Goodbye*, he thought, *the USS Cheesewheel will never be in better hands as it is now.*
He broke away before he could change his mind. In her eyes he saw the only future he could ever want that didn’t involve captaining a ship, charting unknown territories. His heart sunk as he crossed the bridge, his every limb feeling weighted down with lead. He felt dozens of eyes on his back, and desired nothing more than to turn and see Mina one last time, but he feared his will would melt like swiss on a hot surface.
Instead of the human door, with its sliding of metal, he entered the small hole in the wall, into darkness.
 
*** ***
The six of them—Mick, and his five grunts—stalked the lonely halls. Another announcement blared from the ship's speakers: *Attention guests and crew! Remain in your quarters until the situation has been resolved.*
Mina’s voice put a falter in his step. He took a breath and tightened his grip on the blaster. Mick looked to his left, and then his right. The five he’d chosen for the mission were the type of mice who lived for this kind of thing. Ex-marines gone mercenary, or as their superiors called them: private contractors. Mick should've felt safe in their company. But that would only come when the cargo bay was secure, and the beast dealt with. He only wished they’d all make it back in one piece.
"Finally getting some action," Arnold said. He bumped fists with Trina and George. "This whole tourism thing was growing stale."
“Why’d we even let the human bring the thing on board?” Jerry asked. Built like a brick cheese-house, the muscles in his arms and chest stood out as he lugged the chain-blaster in front of him. The weapon could fire over a thousand slugs a minute, but it weighed several pounds. Mick doubted he himself could even lift it.
“Where’d he even get that monstrosity?” Sally asked as she peeked around the corner up ahead, one eye closed, the other sighting through the scope on her rifle. “Clear,” she said, and then waved them over.
“Picked it up somewhere on the last planet,” Mick said with a shudder. A world full of humans and the dangerous creatures they called ‘pets’. “Duncan said he could keep it confined to his room.” Mick mentally berated himself. What a terrible decision for a "captain" to make.
Sally turned, laying the rifle against her shoulder as they caught up to her. “Humans and their attachments to lesser beings.” She shook her head.
A massive white paw, like a fatal blur, snatched Sally up into the air. Her rifle clattered to the ground.
With barely a squeak, she was gone.
"Shit,” Mick muttered as he and the rest of them raced forward.
Trina, first to reach the corner, took a knee, and fired a rocket propelled grenade over her shoulder. Mick caught up just in time to watch it explode harmlessly above the fleeing Kitty, leaving a black crater in the hallway wall.
The beast stopped. It turned to them with its eyes glowing an awful green, glaring at them.
Rounds from Jerry's chain-blaster punched the ground near the beast. Close and closer they drew as he turned his body, aiming the thing nearer Kitty. Trina knocked him sideways with her shoulder and shoved his weapon down. When Jerry gave her a confused look, She pointed at the beast.
Dangling from its giant maw, Sally fought for freedom, banging fists and kicking her feet. Kitty barely seemed to noticed. It looked at them as if to say: *you're next.*
With a hard click, Trina engaged the bolt on Sally's fallen rifle, but it was too late.
They were gone.
Mick looked around. Saw the terror they were all trying to mask. Even Arnold, for all his bravado, looked shaken. Mick's eyes dropped to linger on a small splash of blood on the ground where Sally had last stood.
Gone in the blink of an eye, he thought.
Now they were five. | 2019-11-21T07:06:02 | 2019-11-21T06:54:39 | 2,512 | 81 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. | A part of me argued that it really wasn't the human's fault. They were newcomers to the galactic stage. They hadn't developed the wealth of experiences that the other races had. Some even argued that their racial naivety was a strength. Freed from the long held grudges and stereotypes that other races held tightly to, humanity beheld the galaxy and all of its inhabitants with fresh eyes.
I wanted to believe that the humans could help us learn more about ourselves. In fact, I was one of the loudest voices in support of the new human crewmember. But even I had underestimated the human's ability to pack bond with inanimate objects and dangerous creatures.
"It's just a kitty!"
"No Human. A Theandraw is not -just- an anything! They are voracious predators who will eat anything that moves."
The human smiled widely at that. Logically, I knew that this was a sign of mirth, likely at my expense. But it was disturbing how such smiles displayed the sharper human canine teeth.
"That is the thing. You can't run from it. Then you are just -begging- to be chased. You have to let it come to you and smell you first. You have to let it know you. Then you can pet it all you like."
They-Jimu shuddered at the humans expression. Any Taldross who had ever gotten close enough for a Theandraw to smell their scent had become it's prey. Few were fortunate to survive such experiences.
They-Jimu had never put too much stock into the tall human stories that had spread through the quadrant. Surely they had to be exxageration or superstition. What species would willingly expose themselves to solar radiation burns on a regular basis because they found their bodies defensive mechanism to it visually appealing? There was another story, however. about humans turning all of their most fearsome predators into pets that was beginning to sound all too likely to be true.
"Theandraw do not allow themselves to be pet. Nor would any Taldross attempt it. The mere idea of it is ludicrous. An attempt at self destruction. These are not creatures that can be tamed! Fortunately, with the planet behind, we are safe. Just be more careful in the future Human."
The human's smile had only somehow grown at that.
"It's perfectly safe and well behaved! Here. I will show you!" The human had taken one of his left arms and lead him towards the cargo bays. The human truly didn't understand proper form at times.
"Show me what Human?" The cargo bay doors had loomed large above them as they approached.
"How well trained the kitty is! It's very smart you know. It does everything I ask." The human opened the cargo bay door and the smell washed out of it. Blood. With its weaker olfactory senses, the human didn't seem to notice.
"By the glories! You brought it with you?!?" They-Jimu scrambled back from the door, out of the human's hold. He scrambled for the doors emergency over-ride when soft thuds sounded nearby. He froze as primitive fear responses over-rode his brain. He could smell the stronger scent of blood with that particular musk all his people knew and feared. He turned to see the human approach the Theandraw. The small figure stood only half as tall as the creature but instead of attacking it merely reached out and pulled the human close. It even started licking the human, grooming it.
Understanding grew within They-Jimu. It really wasn't the human's fault. The alpha predator of the sector appeared to pose no threat to the human. It truly seemed to want to please it.
It was almost as if the "kitty" had claimed the human as it's property, or pet. And now as the human waves and urged They-Jimu to join it. He felt the eyes of death come to rest on him.
The human didn't understand. It really wasn't its fault.
Read more of my work at /r/The_Tales_Of_Jimothy | Mick stood on the bridge of the USS Cheesewheel. The first of its kind, large enough to house over ten thousand standard crew, and one human; he felt at home in its colossal rooms and corridors.
“Where’s Duncan now?” he asked his First Officer, Mina.
“Sir, we’ve lost visual. He was last seen near the cargo bay, but all the cameras have been deactivated.” She looked up from her console, and they shared a look that seemed to stretch time as his stomach twisted.
What would kill them first: the beast, if the human couldn’t find it, or a prolonged starvation if their cheese reserves were plundered? Halfway to their destination, with nothing but a seemingly endless sea of empty space for millions of kilometers, they couldn't let the food run out. As a cadet, he'd been in a situation like that before. He shuddered from the memory.
“How many soldiers do we have? We must secure the bay!” Mick rubbed the fur between his ears with a white gloved hand.
“Fifty-seven,” three voices answered at once. Mick looked over to the blind trio who stood against the wall. Though they’d lost their sight long ago—radioactive leakage from a reactor they had prevented from going critical—each had an uncanny understanding of the ship and its personnel. “However, Captain, most of them are protecting the VIPs. Ten beyond the door, guarding the bridge.”
They never should have let the USS Cheesewheel become a quasi-commercial vessel, ferrying tourists from one world to another. If Mick had had his way, they’d still have over a thousand fighting mice on board. But with most of the crew quarters turned into luxury suites, they lacked the room.
“I’ll go myself.” Mick slammed a fist against his console.
“Mick,” Mina’s cheeks blushed. "Captain," she corrected herself.
On the bridge he was Captain and she was First Officer. The familiarity between the two had grown over the past several years. Mick had hoped one day, after retirement, they’d have some kind of future together. Now, the dream seemed like just that—a dream.
“You can’t go alone,” she added, raising from her chair.
“I’ll take five of our best with me,” Mick said as he checked the charge on his blaster. “We’ll find the human”—Mick shook his head—“or that beast he calls Kitty.”
“Let me go with you!” Mina crossed the distance, pulling out her own side blaster.
“No,” he said, wanting to stroke her whiskers, feel the soft tuft of fur on her cheeks. “Someone has to take over command while I’m gone.”
Biting her lip with her two front teeth, Mina nodded. Her hand flew to her forehead. Mick copied the salute. *Goodbye*, he thought, *the USS Cheesewheel will never be in better hands as it is now.*
He broke away before he could change his mind. In her eyes he saw the only future he could ever want that didn’t involve captaining a ship, charting unknown territories. His heart sunk as he crossed the bridge, his every limb feeling weighted down with lead. He felt dozens of eyes on his back, and desired nothing more than to turn and see Mina one last time, but he feared his will would melt like swiss on a hot surface.
Instead of the human door, with its sliding of metal, he entered the small hole in the wall, into darkness.
 
*** ***
The six of them—Mick, and his five grunts—stalked the lonely halls. Another announcement blared from the ship's speakers: *Attention guests and crew! Remain in your quarters until the situation has been resolved.*
Mina’s voice put a falter in his step. He took a breath and tightened his grip on the blaster. Mick looked to his left, and then his right. The five he’d chosen for the mission were the type of mice who lived for this kind of thing. Ex-marines gone mercenary, or as their superiors called them: private contractors. Mick should've felt safe in their company. But that would only come when the cargo bay was secure, and the beast dealt with. He only wished they’d all make it back in one piece.
"Finally getting some action," Arnold said. He bumped fists with Trina and George. "This whole tourism thing was growing stale."
“Why’d we even let the human bring the thing on board?” Jerry asked. Built like a brick cheese-house, the muscles in his arms and chest stood out as he lugged the chain-blaster in front of him. The weapon could fire over a thousand slugs a minute, but it weighed several pounds. Mick doubted he himself could even lift it.
“Where’d he even get that monstrosity?” Sally asked as she peeked around the corner up ahead, one eye closed, the other sighting through the scope on her rifle. “Clear,” she said, and then waved them over.
“Picked it up somewhere on the last planet,” Mick said with a shudder. A world full of humans and the dangerous creatures they called ‘pets’. “Duncan said he could keep it confined to his room.” Mick mentally berated himself. What a terrible decision for a "captain" to make.
Sally turned, laying the rifle against her shoulder as they caught up to her. “Humans and their attachments to lesser beings.” She shook her head.
A massive white paw, like a fatal blur, snatched Sally up into the air. Her rifle clattered to the ground.
With barely a squeak, she was gone.
"Shit,” Mick muttered as he and the rest of them raced forward.
Trina, first to reach the corner, took a knee, and fired a rocket propelled grenade over her shoulder. Mick caught up just in time to watch it explode harmlessly above the fleeing Kitty, leaving a black crater in the hallway wall.
The beast stopped. It turned to them with its eyes glowing an awful green, glaring at them.
Rounds from Jerry's chain-blaster punched the ground near the beast. Close and closer they drew as he turned his body, aiming the thing nearer Kitty. Trina knocked him sideways with her shoulder and shoved his weapon down. When Jerry gave her a confused look, She pointed at the beast.
Dangling from its giant maw, Sally fought for freedom, banging fists and kicking her feet. Kitty barely seemed to noticed. It looked at them as if to say: *you're next.*
With a hard click, Trina engaged the bolt on Sally's fallen rifle, but it was too late.
They were gone.
Mick looked around. Saw the terror they were all trying to mask. Even Arnold, for all his bravado, looked shaken. Mick's eyes dropped to linger on a small splash of blood on the ground where Sally had last stood.
Gone in the blink of an eye, he thought.
Now they were five. | 2019-11-21T07:23:21 | 2019-11-21T06:54:39 | 2,256 | 81 |
[WP] Life on Earth evolved within an “FTL Dead Zone” a region of space where all known forms of FTL travel were deemed physically impossible. As such, it was quite a shock when an unknown species suddenly appeared from the Dead Zone one day calling themselves “Humanity” Having done the impossible... | Writing this on my phone at work, apologies for any mistakes.
A lovely person (u/blu_ski) has narrated this story: https://youtu.be/ozrQ-fu6nV0
And another lovely person! (u/Spartawolf): https://youtu.be/WjN13TVf238
___________________________________________________
The Atrium was abuzz with chatter, many languages and strange sounds all fighting for dominance, to be heard. The cacophony echoed around the large chamber, resident to the many hundreds of species positioned in boxes adorning the walls. In the centre was a group of 5 astronauts, each looking particularly overwhelmed.
At the sound of a loud bang, the chatter stopped. The representative of the Unified Galactic Systems placed their gavel aside, and spoke:
"Beings from the Dead Zone. We apologise for bringing you here so soon after first contact, but there is much to discuss. Are you aware of the feat you have accomplished?"
Four of the astronauts looked to the fifth, their Commander, who stepped forward.
"Respectfully..."
"You may address me as Speaker."
"...Speaker. There are many feats we have achieved today. First contact with not just one alien species, but an entire galactic community! We are also the first humans to leave our solar system, while simultaneously achieving the fastest speeds any human being has ever traveled before. To which are you referring?"
"We are, of course, referring to your craft. The method of travel in which you arrived here. It is... most peculiar."
"With all due respect, Speaker, surely your methods of faster than light travel are far superior to our own? Ours is but the first working iteration of our technology, after all."
"One would think so, but you see, you have emerged from a section of dead space. An area of the universe from which the usual laws of physics behave in constrained ways. Faster than light travel is simply not possible. Therefore we ask... how are you here?"
The astronauts appeared stunned, and turned to speak to each other. After a short period of time, the commander again stepped forward.
"My apologies, Speaker, but this explains a great many things. Namely, that we were never visited despite our many greetings broadcast into the cosmos. That we struggled to produce a system with the necessary power to propell us vast distances, despite the mathematics saying it was possible."
"Indeed, the dead zone acts as a speed barrier. The power required to pass this barrier would be astronomical, even for ourselves. So how did you do it?"
"We developed a drive that effectively... shifts us. Space is folded around the craft, then we are simply accelerated through the field. As space is folded around the craft, there is nothing to prohibit our acceleration, and no forces are acted upon the craft, allowing us to withstand the speeds."
This caused a stir among the species present, many voices called out, the automatic translators failing to keep up. The Speaker turned to their scientific advisors, of which each was entirely stunned by the sheer amount of science and mathematics required for such an achievement. The Speaker once again lifted the gravel and called for silence.
"How do you propel yourselves without the gravitational forces of space? How do you leave your planet without space to travel through?"
"Our vessels are powered by chemical rocket boosters, which launch us from our planet. The same principles apply in phase space, which can only be used in orbit to avoid warping our planet's own gravitational sphere. Each maneuver is calculated to make effective use of our fuel. Is this not true of the rest of the galaxy?"
With this the multitude of species could not remain silent, and the sounds of the many voices became entirely uncontrollable.
This marked the emergence of Humanity, a species of remarkable engineers, scientists and mathematicians the known galaxy had never seen before. For the galaxy in the living space had never had to produce such technologies, each achieving space flight as simply as they produced the wheel, never requiring the advanced mathematical equations Humanity had needed simply to reach their own moon.
Humanity had crawled from the depths of a dark, restricted space.
They had ventured down the road not travelled.
And they arrived in the light. | “High Admiral Galax! Unidentified spacecraft to our 12 o’clock near the Dead Zone border. Your orders?”
Galax stroked his pale blue chin with the numerous pink tentacles on his right hand. His six eyes zeroed in on the derelict ship hovering near the surface of the imperceptibly large black sphere enclosing the Dead Zone. And as he examined the chipped contours of the rogue spacecraft before him, his mind raced back to his earliest days in the Academy centuries past, back when he was barely a fullborn sitting in Instructor Stomerx’s course on the origins of the Qheqix Empire.
The Juggernox-class *Venator* series. First of the Empire’s spacecraft to achieve FTL travel so many millennia ago. The impetus that jumpstarted the Empire’s heady ascent from an insignificant chiefdom to the undisputed conquerors of the galaxy. Stomerx’s words rang in the admiral’s mind as he continued to stare at the other spaceship in disbelief. Whether he liked it or not, there stood before him a refurbished spacecraft with the distinctively curved contours of the *Venator* series.
“Communicator Fonuox, see if you can establish communications with that ship.”
“Affirmative, sir,” replied the green-skinned alien to the portside as she furiously typed away at the holographic display before her. Galax returned to staring at the unidentified craft, feeling a knot forming in his second stomach as he stood quietly in contemplation. The mere existence of this spacecraft was intriguing enough. But the fact it emerged from within the Dead Zone itself was an alarming development.
The admiral had heard the rumors plenty of times in his lifespan, of a backwater civilization known as ‘humanity’ that eked out its existence in the bowels of the Zone, forever relegated to fifth-world status due to the FTL-negating sphere surrounding them. Many of his colleagues presumed this species to have gone extinct several millenia prior. And yet, there stood a *Venator* spacecraft in all its metallic glory.
“High Admiral, I have a link! Whenever you’re ready, sir,” blurted out Fonuox, interrupting the admiral’s train of thoughts.
Galax walked over to his seat of command and pressed the blue comms button. He took a deep breath to steady his voice before speaking, “This is High Admiral Shalvian Galax of the 3rd Imperial Fleet, faithful servant of Emperor Beax, long may he live. You are currently traveling through Empire territory without your transponder on. Identify yourself and your business at once or we will be forced to assume you are a hostile threat.”
Silence from the other end. Galax cleared his throat and continued, “Identify yourself or we will fire upon you. This is your last warni-”
“Adddmirrrulll.”
The knot in the admiral’s second stomach tightened as he clutched the left armrest of his seat with a white-tentacled grip. And as he scanned the deck, he could see the discomfort that was plainly visible on the other crewmembers’ faces. The voice on the other end was…indescribable, sounding more like an amalgam of individual voices clashing against one another for dominance than a single, unified one. Galax took another breath to steady himself and replied with a raised voice, “I will not warn you again. Identify yourself *now* or we will destroy your spacecraft with impunity!”
“Weee. Arrrr. Huummaaannnnniiiittttyyyyy. Weee. Connnssssuummmee. Allllll. Alllll. Willllll. Beeeee. Ussss.”
Galax slammed the blue comms button, shutting down the link instantaneously as he barked out, “Protector Wutzaax, fire everything we have against the rogue spacecraft. I don’t want to see a trace of it by the time you’re finished.”
“With pleasure, High Admiral,” replied the bulky, red-skinned alien as he punched in an intricate set of combinations on his terminal. The reassuring *hum* sound of the *Shining Opal*’s laser cannons warming up resonated throughout the deck until suddenly, two shots flew out and ripped through the *Venator* spaceship’s hull. Galax let out a relieved sigh as he saw the refurbished craft explode into infinitesimal chunks that flung themselves every which way in space. He stood up from his seat and said, “Good work, Wutzaax. Charter Krurgaux, set a course for Quadrant 184.288. I have a meeting with Admiral Pyr-”
“Sir! Incoming transmission! From…within the Dead Zone, sir,” interrupted Fonuox, tinges of panic audible in her voice.
Galax wordlessly pressed the blue comms button once more with a shaky tentacle. Almost instantaneously, the horrific voice on the other end spoke, “Yuuuuuuuu. Shhhhhoooouuulllldddd. Nnnnoootttttt. Hhaavveee. Donnnneeee. Thhhhaaaaattttttt. Adddmirrrulll. Dieeeeee. Dieeeee. Dieeeeee.”
“Multiple heat signatures, sir! Twelve, sixty-four, five hundred and eight…sir! This is a war armada!” yelled Krurgaux.
“By the Emperor…” muttered the admiral as he stared slack-jawed at the thousands of spacecraft breaching the Dead Zone’s jet-black surface. And as his eyes wandered from one ship to the next, he felt his bowels nearly vacate themselves. The symbols of the former Enu Confederacy and Paisul Kingdom slapped together on one. Three *Thunderbird* series flak cannons slapped onto the chassis of a 2nd-generation *Trident* series warship for another. Galax stood petrified as he took in these horrific amalgams of the Empire’s vanquished foes in all their macabre glory, their weapons slowly glowing brighter in intensity.
“Sir! Sir! What do we do, sir!?” yelled Krurgaux, now having leapt out of his seat as he screamed at the admiral.
Galax let out a resigned sigh and flatly replied, “Fonuox, open an emergency link to the Emperor’s Council.”
The communicator fought back her sobs and did as she was instructed. With one shaky tentacle, the admiral pressed the blue comms button for the last time and spoke, “Emergency clearance, 038184. This is High Admiral Shalvian Galax of the 3rd Imperial Fleet, issuing a Class-1 directive to the Emperor’s Council to prepare immediately for a full-scale invasion of our planetary systems. The Dead Zone has become the staging ground for the civilization known as ‘humanity’ to invade the Empire, and my ship has made first contact. I can only pray we are able to muster our forces before it is too late. May the Emperor watch over us all.”
Galax released the button and closed his eyes as the enemy fleet’s weapons fired and the deck filled with a searing white light.
r/williamk9949 | 2021-01-09T11:57:45 | 2021-01-09T10:37:10 | 2,685 | 195 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night. | I slowly hobble down the stairs, squinting as the sun's rays hit my face.
"Hey bro! You're gonna miss the big Show! Big Bird's already done the intro! It's been so long since I've seen it!"
I see my younger brother slouched on the couch, wearing a carefree smile, far too wide from watching public access TV. He casually spins a navy blue basketball on his finger. I scoff, holding back a remark that he should probably not do his water *tricks* near the TV.
Nicholas was already too carefree for his own good. When he slipped off the ferry last month, the crew (and I) were shocked to discover him being propelled from the deep on a pillar made of water.
Made local news. *Newtown's own Aquaman*. He had to sign up on a government register of 'supers' too.
I shamble into the kitchen. It's a mess, but I expect Nicholas to use his unique gift to its best use. I open the fridge and pull out the leftovers from yesterday.
"Making breakfast? You wouldn't mind cooking something for your friendly neighbourhood hero, would you?"
Nicholas stands in the doorway with a smug smirk on his face. Still spinning his new toy.
My throat is hoarse. I whisper.
"I think I discovered my power too."
Nicholas grabs a tight hold of his *water ball*, and a shocked expression appears on his face. Then it transforms into an excited, beaming smile.
"That's great, Mark! Can I see what..."
I stop him with a raised hand before he goes into an uncontrollable ramble.
I slowly grab one of the knives out of the drawer. His expression shifts from joy to worry in an instant.
"Wait! Don't..."
I plunge the knife into my hand. He screams. He always was so jumpy at horror movies.
I look down and see exactly what I had expected.
The knife *bends* around my hand. It looks more like a sickle than anything. The weird part is that I feel as if the knife has entered my body. Not pain, really. But *something*.
Maybe I'm numb to it.
I lift up the knife and it regains its former shape. I glance to Nicholas, and his face is a curious mix of horror and intense worry. I can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches his ball tightly.
"Hmm. Looks like reality itself won't allow anything to harm me. Maybe I'm your very own *Superman*."
I place the knife down gently on the counter.
"How... How. did you..."
His hands are trembling. The water ball is struggling to maintain its shape.
I sigh.
I lift up my sleeves to show the marks on my wrists. The marks leading all the way up my forearm.
Within a second, I realize Nicholas is clutching me tightly, bursting into tears. The basketball is now a puddle on the floor.
What a mess.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
First go at responding to a prompt. How did I do!! | Another tremor shudders through the structure, metal screaming from every corner as if the building itself was in agony. Long echoing cries of twisted steel from far away, nearby shrieks of tortured metal, the ominous haunting wails of strained supports below...
The floor heaves and pitches under my boots, shattering windows and sending shards of powdered glass drifting through the air like dandelion puffs. I cover my face with my denim jacket and try to stay upright, scrambling for the emergency exit I never thought I'd have to use.
*Bang*
The building trembles again and I hurtle painfully into the railing around the staircase, my stomach surely bruised from the impact. I catch myself, gripping the cold rough steel, before warm but firm hands grip my shoulder and urge me onward.
"Come on come on! No time to lose!" I look into the calm determined face of a co-worker I've barely said a dozen words to. "One of the support beams just snapped and the rest aren't far behind. We have to get out NOW!" I nod quickly and dash down the stairs with him at my side, clutching the rail tightly in case of another tremor.
Aside from one terrifying moment when the building twisted as more support struts collapsed and sent us both tumbling through the air from the fifth floor to the fourth only to land in a painful heap on the landing, we reach the bottom floor with few mishaps. The steel-reinforced stairwell was somehow far sturdier than the metal building encasing it. The man, Liam I think his name is, pushes me toward the door and starts heading back up the stairs.
"Go! I'm gonna check the few floors above for anyone who needs help!" He calls as he takes the stairs two at a time. I open my mouth to protest, putting my hand on the door's warm metal push bar, but he was gone. I press my lips together and vow to buy him a coffee if we both make it out of this. I push the heavy weighed door open, look through to the floor beyond, and errantly wonder if that would even be possible.
Flames lick their fiery tongues up the walls, dancing across and engulfing unrecognizable pieces of once plush, brightly colored furniture. What was once the gleaming front reception desk is a snarled, monstrous looking piece of bent metal and ashen wood. Smoke made itself the new ceiling and only the faint glimmer of sunlight through the far window convinces me I hadn't stumbled into hell itself.
Tendrils of smoke reach out toward my face and I cover my face again and scream Liam's name until my throat aches. With no reply I quickly grab a charred piece of detritus from the floor and scrawl 'FIRE' across the door before letting it close behind me as I bend beneath the writhing smoke and dash through to the tantalizingly close exit.
It was blocked, because of course it was. I nearly stamp my foot at the cruel injustice of it all before remembering there's a side exit to the left not far from here. I head for it, smoke curling in my lungs as if it found its new favorite home. Coughing and choking in equal measure, I look up through bleary, streaming eyes and see a woman standing in the door before me. Through the haze of smoke and tears I can see her waving me forward, but can't hear her words over the roars of hungry flames and the screeches of the building over my head.
The screeches get louder and she looks up fearfully and so do I, but I see something she can't. Inside and above the door the plaster had crumbled away, leaving bare the support beams keeping the doorway from collapsing. Support beams that were clearly buckling. Unaware of the danger or perhaps in spite of it, she edges in further and reaches out her hand to me. As she does I finally realize it's Lily, my closest friend. Seeing her in danger spurs my tired, aching body forward and I leap toward her, pushing her away just as a horrendous shriek emanates from above and what feels like the hand of God himself smashes my body into the ground and pins me there.
As the dust and smoke clears I look back and see my lower body trapped under a heap of metal. I'm stuck... Despite the ache in my throat, I can't help but laugh dryly at this cosmic joke being played at my expense. *So close*, I think. I can feel the warmth of the burning floor on the soles of my boots and sober quickly. Lily, having risen to her feet, swiftly grabs my hands and plays tug-of-war with the building. To no one's surprise the building wins. With a quick assurance that she'll be back that I wave off with a glib "I'll be here," she runs off to get help.
I'll be here... With every ounce of strength I try to move my legs, making only millimeters of progress. As I strain to get free, I crane my neck to look up at the dizzyingly tall building above me. A strange feeling spreads out from my stomach to the rest of my body that I reason is vertigo. A white-plumed bird flies overhead and I wish desperately that I could be a cat, lithe and agile and, most importantly, small. Suddenly my skin feels tingly and an odd warmth spreads through my body. The weight of the collapsed doorway disappears like the details of a vivid dream. Colors start fading from my vision and I wonder if this is what fainting is like...
That is, until I hit myself with my own fluffy black tail, scare myself, and leap five feet in the air. I landed on my feet, I'm proud to say. What happened to Liam? Turns out our tumble down the stairs gave him power over the air. After seeing my message on the door, he herded the survivors he found to a second story window and deftly created an emergency slide out of thin air, literally. And yes, I did buy him that coffee. | 2021-04-01T06:07:24 | 2021-04-01T04:27:59 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night. | It happened again.
**"THE FUCK HAVE I TOLD YOU BOY?!?"**
One impact after another. Blow after blow. A bottle this time. Jim Beam.
**"FUCKIN LEARN YOU GOOD BOY!!"**
Ben felt something in his chest break. His heart? His ribs?
**"YOU GON LEARN, BOY. OOOOOH YOU GON LEARN TONIGHT, YOU LITTLE SHIT."**
No matter what he'd tried, he couldn't make things better.
**All he wanted in the world was to make his Dad happy, just once.**
Why couldn't he do that? What was WRONG with him??
In his haze, Ben felt like he was floating.
He hit the wall hard enough to crater the drywall.
Ben saw stars.
Ben saw galaxies.
Ben saw universes.
Ben saw through the veil.
Ben saw something ancient.
Something ancient saw Ben.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Ben woke up refreshed, energized, healed, and numb. Gingerly, he levered himself up out of the debris on the floor, expecting agony from a dozen injuries that no longer existed. He felt... intrigued. Curious. Detached. Most mornings... *after,* he'd be sobbing, sore, aching, unable to move. He felt nothing.
He felt *nothing.*
He looked around the shattered wreckage of the living room. Clearly, this had objectively been the worst night yet. There was a substantial amount of blood, it looked like a murder scene. Possibly, for a moment, it had been.
Behind the couch, he found his father.
Catatonic.
He'd soiled himself, in every possible way. The smell was unpleasant. His pores oozed alcohol-infused sweat, his breath still stank of drink. His eyes were open, pupils dilated so wide they were wire-thin brown circles over an empty void.
And he had the biggest smile.
Ben felt a nudge, in the back of his brain. An urge. An impulse. He saw, without using his eyes but some NEW sense, inside his father. Inside his brain. He saw deep down, to a place where a million neurons were firing endlessly, frantically, joyously. He reached out, grasping not with his hand but with his mind. He reached out and grabbed that white-hot burning star in his father's mind, and snuffed it out.
With a gasp, his father jerked back to life. Tears streamed down his face. Tremors wracked his body.
"Ben! Ben, my god. Ben. Please. What was that?? Oh god, please Ben. Why did you do that?! BEN! WHY?! WHY DID YOU MAKE IT STOP??!?"
And Ben's father begged. He pleaded. He promised the moon. Offered anything. Offered everything. It was practically obscene, the extent of it. The degree to which this man debased himself. He would do anything, anything at all, anything Ben asked, he said. Absolutely anything, to *feel that way again.*
And Ben had the biggest smile. | Another tremor shudders through the structure, metal screaming from every corner as if the building itself was in agony. Long echoing cries of twisted steel from far away, nearby shrieks of tortured metal, the ominous haunting wails of strained supports below...
The floor heaves and pitches under my boots, shattering windows and sending shards of powdered glass drifting through the air like dandelion puffs. I cover my face with my denim jacket and try to stay upright, scrambling for the emergency exit I never thought I'd have to use.
*Bang*
The building trembles again and I hurtle painfully into the railing around the staircase, my stomach surely bruised from the impact. I catch myself, gripping the cold rough steel, before warm but firm hands grip my shoulder and urge me onward.
"Come on come on! No time to lose!" I look into the calm determined face of a co-worker I've barely said a dozen words to. "One of the support beams just snapped and the rest aren't far behind. We have to get out NOW!" I nod quickly and dash down the stairs with him at my side, clutching the rail tightly in case of another tremor.
Aside from one terrifying moment when the building twisted as more support struts collapsed and sent us both tumbling through the air from the fifth floor to the fourth only to land in a painful heap on the landing, we reach the bottom floor with few mishaps. The steel-reinforced stairwell was somehow far sturdier than the metal building encasing it. The man, Liam I think his name is, pushes me toward the door and starts heading back up the stairs.
"Go! I'm gonna check the few floors above for anyone who needs help!" He calls as he takes the stairs two at a time. I open my mouth to protest, putting my hand on the door's warm metal push bar, but he was gone. I press my lips together and vow to buy him a coffee if we both make it out of this. I push the heavy weighed door open, look through to the floor beyond, and errantly wonder if that would even be possible.
Flames lick their fiery tongues up the walls, dancing across and engulfing unrecognizable pieces of once plush, brightly colored furniture. What was once the gleaming front reception desk is a snarled, monstrous looking piece of bent metal and ashen wood. Smoke made itself the new ceiling and only the faint glimmer of sunlight through the far window convinces me I hadn't stumbled into hell itself.
Tendrils of smoke reach out toward my face and I cover my face again and scream Liam's name until my throat aches. With no reply I quickly grab a charred piece of detritus from the floor and scrawl 'FIRE' across the door before letting it close behind me as I bend beneath the writhing smoke and dash through to the tantalizingly close exit.
It was blocked, because of course it was. I nearly stamp my foot at the cruel injustice of it all before remembering there's a side exit to the left not far from here. I head for it, smoke curling in my lungs as if it found its new favorite home. Coughing and choking in equal measure, I look up through bleary, streaming eyes and see a woman standing in the door before me. Through the haze of smoke and tears I can see her waving me forward, but can't hear her words over the roars of hungry flames and the screeches of the building over my head.
The screeches get louder and she looks up fearfully and so do I, but I see something she can't. Inside and above the door the plaster had crumbled away, leaving bare the support beams keeping the doorway from collapsing. Support beams that were clearly buckling. Unaware of the danger or perhaps in spite of it, she edges in further and reaches out her hand to me. As she does I finally realize it's Lily, my closest friend. Seeing her in danger spurs my tired, aching body forward and I leap toward her, pushing her away just as a horrendous shriek emanates from above and what feels like the hand of God himself smashes my body into the ground and pins me there.
As the dust and smoke clears I look back and see my lower body trapped under a heap of metal. I'm stuck... Despite the ache in my throat, I can't help but laugh dryly at this cosmic joke being played at my expense. *So close*, I think. I can feel the warmth of the burning floor on the soles of my boots and sober quickly. Lily, having risen to her feet, swiftly grabs my hands and plays tug-of-war with the building. To no one's surprise the building wins. With a quick assurance that she'll be back that I wave off with a glib "I'll be here," she runs off to get help.
I'll be here... With every ounce of strength I try to move my legs, making only millimeters of progress. As I strain to get free, I crane my neck to look up at the dizzyingly tall building above me. A strange feeling spreads out from my stomach to the rest of my body that I reason is vertigo. A white-plumed bird flies overhead and I wish desperately that I could be a cat, lithe and agile and, most importantly, small. Suddenly my skin feels tingly and an odd warmth spreads through my body. The weight of the collapsed doorway disappears like the details of a vivid dream. Colors start fading from my vision and I wonder if this is what fainting is like...
That is, until I hit myself with my own fluffy black tail, scare myself, and leap five feet in the air. I landed on my feet, I'm proud to say. What happened to Liam? Turns out our tumble down the stairs gave him power over the air. After seeing my message on the door, he herded the survivors he found to a second story window and deftly created an emergency slide out of thin air, literally. And yes, I did buy him that coffee. | 2021-04-01T06:11:48 | 2021-04-01T04:27:59 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] For as long as you could remember, you and your city have followed very strict rules: "Never listen to the 7:30 morning show. The real one comes at 8.", "Our city does not have a subway system. If you see an entrance, report it.", and "Don't donate to the beggars on 32nd.", just to tell a few. | "They are rather strange when you think about it," said Absco.
Absco was always saying things like that. He was always trying to make what was normal and acceptable appear monsterous and unbearable, and vice versa. If it were up to him, day would be dark and night would be light; right and left would be reversed; negative numbers would be larger than positives. Of course, these are exaggerations. But they're not too far from the truth. Absco was a contrarian through and through. He was always digging for something "they" were hiding from us. He was always climbing up to strange heights to find an unconsidered "angle" from which he could view and critique the things the rest of us accepted without a second thought.
"What are strange?" I asked, listlessly.
"Some of the rules," he said. "Why allow a radio show to keep running if no one is allowed to listen to it? Why not just raid the place where it's beaming from and arrest the DJs?"
"Why not place the fork on the right side of the setting, and the knife on the left?" I sarcastically rejoined. "There doesn't have to be some deep and mysterious reason for everything. It's simply how things are."
"It's because most people are right-handed," he said. "The knife requires more power than the fork, so the majority of people wield it with the right hand. Placing it on the right side of the setting, then--"
"Fine," I said. "It was a bad example. But you get my point, don't you?"
"All you've proved," he said, "was what I have been claiming all along. There *is* a reason for everything. . .or, if not for everything, then for most things. Accepting customs and rules as if they were brute facts, with no possible explanations regarding their origins and purposes, is the lazy way out. The lamb doesn't bother to ask the butcher why his mother disappeared the week previous. He doesn't ask any questions as he's being led to the slaughterhouse himself. He accepts it all as custom, as right, as the way things are supposed to be."
"And if he did question," I said, "you and I would go hungry, eating meatless stews every night. So it's for the best that he doesn't."
Absco frowned. For all his sophistry and insistence, there were some arguments too solid for him to assail.
\- - -
Doctor Grief sat at the top of the bleachers, eating a ham and cheese sandwich. Occassionally he looked up from his lunch at the occupants of the gym. Row upon row of people, motionless in their makeshift beds: 340 patients in total. When his started his shift this morning, there had been 347. He sighed and watched his colleague make rounds and jot things on his notepad. He watched the nurses, some formally trained, some volunteers, change the IVs and bedpans and clothing of the unresponsive sleepers. One of the nurses, Anna, was climbing up the bleachers to lunch beside him.
"Don't look so glum," she said.
"Tell that to the families," he responded. "Two men and three women. Not that they would be able to hear you."
"At least there were two--"
"Do you like those odds?" asked he doctor. "Two out of seven? Less than a third pulling through?"
"It's better than nothing," said Anna.
"Is it?" asked the doctor. "So they can come back and stand impotently by as they watch the rest of their family, their friends. . .wither? Crossing their fingers that their favourites will be among the lucky ones?"
Doctor Grief watched as one of the nurses signalled another to bring her a black blanket. The second nurse grabbed one and scurried over and together they draped it over the malnourished body of an old man. Soon the trucks would arrive to cart off him and the rest of the day's dead. Transport trucks, already half full by the time they made it to this this makeshift ward.
"Two out of eight," said the doctor. "A quarter. And the numbers are getting worse everyday."
"How can you speak like that?" asked Anna. "How can you think like that? With your own son being. . ."
The doctor shot a quick glance at the young man asleep in the far corner of the gym. His face clouded and he turned to stare blankly at the gym wall, where hung banners, celebrating the school's victories over other sports teams in simpler times.
"I'm sorry," said Anna. "I only mean, it's important to hold out hope."
The doctor grunted. He bit into his sandwich.
\- - - | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Interlude 1: Min Min)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Heroes and villains left... aftermath, when they clashed in earnest.** In some cases, the fallout was more literal—the clash between Plague Doctor and Fission A Barrel had left acres of land in Desmethylway so irradiated that the only reason to go there was for a quick death instead of lingering to die after Plague Doctor's concoction of diseases got you. In other cases, the aftereffects were social; the Unified Sovereignties had taken one look at heroes and villains and promptly snatched up the useful ones and neutralized the rest—useful and useless according to the government's definitions, of course.
And in some cases, the effects of millennia of superpowers coming in contact with each other were stranger. What was left of the Middle Communes was one such case.
Min Min yawned, woke up, blearily disintegrated the delivery man at the door with a tendril of pure shadow, and rubbed her eyes. Her mother had warned her to never open a door for an Aladdin-brand delivery man; as children, they'd simply huddled together until it vanished, but now that Min Min's superpowers had manifested, she'd figured out a faster way to get rid of them.
She rolled out of bed, putting on the only non-fungoid clothes she had left, and realized that she was in hell.
It was a realization that had been building for years, a realization that tugged at her whenever she turned on the news and saw cities where there was only one sun in the sky, where children didn't go missing, or worse, become wraiths that haunted you and never went missing *ever again*, where people paid taxes instead of tithes and wandering "superheroes" didn't burst in and avail themselves of all the scarce resources left because they "deserved it for protecting them from the wilderness." It was a realization that might have shaken someone else to their core.
For Min Min, it was Tuesday.
She walked outside, noting that the same Aladdin delivery man that she'd disintegrated was now knocking at someone else's door. Well, she'd expected as much. She pointed and concentrated; the lashing tendrils of shadow that coiled around her body struck, and the delivery men fell into ash. She scoured the ash with another blast of darkness, until the ash became dust and the dust became nothing, then cleared her throat.
"You can come out now."
And the reasons why Min Min stayed here in hell walked out of their rooms.
Some of them were old. Others were young. Some of them lent helping hands around the compound. Others... could not. She cherished them all anyway.
Because in the middle of a city in the grips of hell, Min Min had forged the closest thing to a safe house that her world had left.
Someone entered from the main door; today's scavenging team. Min Min frowned. They were back early. Had they encountered some enemy too strong for them to handle? Min Min herself had to stay at the hospital they'd converted into a fortress-home more or less 24/7—there were other gangs in the city, some of whom had supers who could plow through anyone except Min Min herself—but she'd assigned some of her best fighters left to harvest what they could from the collapsed Middle Communes. Du Yi, Florence, and a woman who insisted on calling herself Hat Tricks all looked back at her as she waited for an explanation; Du Yi's arms glowed with liquid silver, while Hat Tricks bowed theatrically and took off her eponymous top hat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Hat Tricks announced. Although she spoke in Communal, she had a clear U.S. accent. "I am proud to announce we are all *royally screwed*."
Min Min raised a hand to put a halt to the mutterings around her, internally sighing. The Middle Communes hadn't been kind to foreigners, especially those from the Unified Sovereignties; Min Min suspected that Hat Tricks' boisterous facade had only developed as a self-defense mechanism against the rather nasty policies the Middle Communes had implemented in the years leading up to its fall. "Could you phrase that less... dramatically?" Min Min asked. "Why are you back so early? What did you see out there?" Min Min ushered the two of them in and shut the door; a quick glance at Francis told her that the sentries hadn't reported anything.
"The Unified Sovereignties has landed an exploratory force in the Middle Communes," Hat Tricks said. "They brought Big Guns."
This time, Min Min allowed herself to scowl. She'd seen the youngest and most dedicated of the Unified Sovereignties' military dogs on T.V., and even her ability to instantly kill anyone her shadow-tendrils touched wouldn't be enough to stand against that... thing. "...How far out are they? Can we evacuate?"
"With respect," Du Yi said, "subway entrances have been disgorging shadowlings much more frequently lately, and the False-Faced Beggars are acting up. Most of the forces in the Middle Communes never liked the Unified Sovereignties, and them being here is... agitating them. Indiscriminately. Unless another one of us has manifested abilities—or gotten far, far stronger—we would stand no chance outside the hospital, or another fortified safe spot."
"As I said." Hat Tricks grinned a too-wide smile. "We're all royally screwed."
Children gave each other frightened looks, but none of them cried—parents who could not control their children, or children who could not control themselves, did not last long in the Middle Communes, even under Min Min's aegis. Besides, crying children attracted Nurses. Min Min clenched a fist. If the Unified Sovereignties hadn't been so hell-bent on collecting lethal superhumans, she would at least have a chance if it came to a fight, but Big Guns was as deadly as they came.
Then she paused, a thought slowly coming to life. Hesitantly, she spoke. "...The Unified Sovereignties have something we want. Transport out of here."
Nobody disagreed. This may have been their home, once, but thirty years of warfare had rendered it uninhabitable.
"And we," Min Min continued, "have something they want. Me." Realization flickered across the faces of the people she protected. She almost hoped someone would object to her plan.
But those who lived in the Middle Communes did not have the luxury of throwing away cold, hard logic.
"I will offer them a trade. My servitude, in exchange for your freedom." Min Min stepped out the door. "Du Yi."
Her lieutenant snapped to attention, giving her a grim look. "Ma'am?"
"If I don't come back, you're in charge. And all of you..." Min Min turned back to her people one last time and gestured at the wasteland, an entire civilization brought low by infighting and resource grabs. "Be better than this."
Then Min Min strode off into the depths of hell, to offer her soul to the devil.
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 the rest of the story, and r/bubblewriters for other stories by me. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-06T13:51:10 | 2021-04-06T13:07:57 | 338 | 27 |
[WP] You have the ability to see heart-strings. You can see the connections that people have with each other. Each connection appears to be a colored line running from one person's heart to another. The colors, thickness, and texture of the line determine the strength and type of connection.
Based off of [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/godtiersuperpowers/comments/nn1e36/you_can_see_heartstrings/) thread, where people keep asking me for a writing prompt. | I didn't get home until late that night, and found her asleep on the couch. The TV was on some old sitcom. The flickering lights played across her peaceful face, her familiar snore just barely audible over the laugh track. I walked over to gently wake her up, but something stopped me in my tracks.
One of her strings had grown. I frowned, and looked at it closer. The other ones were all the way I remembered: the light grey spiderweb strands reaching out to various acquaintances, the cozy cream-colored knitted fabric connecting her to her mom, the honey pouring sideways towards her close friends. And of course, the deep red silk thread tying us together.
But here was another one. I didn't recognize it, at first. It looked almost like a friendship, and I almost convinced myself that it was. But the color was a little too deep.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"You're home," she said. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," I said. My chest ached.
She smiled at me, and I looked at our shared heart-string. It was still so strong. I looked at the new line. Maybe it wasn't red. Maybe it was just a deep honey, a deep friendship.
I decided not to look at it again. | “Dinner’s ready,” I called, as I began dishing the pasta onto the four plates. The steam rose up toward the ceiling in hoary ribbons.
I put the pan back on the stove and wiped my hands on the kitchen towel, pouring two glasses of wine. I felt the warm, familiar hands of my wife, Jenny, as she came up from behind and wrapped me in a loving embrace. She leaned her head against my back and took a deep breath.
“Dinner looks great, hon. Thank you.”
I finished pouring the wine and corked the bottle. I turned and handed her one of the glasses.
Looking at her was like taking in pure oxygen, after all these years, it made me dizzy. Her deep blue eyes stared at me from above her petite nose, seeing me clearly as she always had. Ever since we fell in love so long ago.
Our string had never faded, never dulled. I saw it now, quivering between us. A thick crimson pulse, like a healthy flowing artery. Keeping that string alive, that love strong, was not easy and we worked at it every day.
I pulled her close, wrapping one hand around her waist. Her soft blond hair fell forward like bird wings.
“Cheers,” I said, tapping my glass against hers.
“For what?” she asked in her high, sweet voice, biting her lip a little.
“For this,” I said, motioning with my glass around our house. “All of this.”
She let out a little laugh, and I leaned forward and kissed her. Her warm lips opened to mine. She still tasted the same after all these years.
“Gross,” a voice said from the hallway.
We both turned and looked at our daughter, Becky. She walked past us and to the table, sitting down.
“I told James,” she said, grabbing a piece of garlic bread. “But he said he’s not eating tonight.”
I looked at Jenny and she frowned.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go talk to him,” I said, giving her my wine glass and strolling across the house to James’ room. Along the walls was pictures of our children. It wasn’t intentional, but the pictures were almost chronological and everything I stepped through the hallway it was like going back in time. Near his door was a picture of him in overalls, a stuffed rabbit in his hands. He was only a baby. I remember my string being so filled with love for him back then I was afraid it’d strangle him.
I knocked gently, pressing my ear to the door. There was no response. I knocked again, louder.
“What do you want?” the words came through the hollow wooden door with a screech of annoyance.
I opened the door slowly and spoke through the crack. “Hey bud, it’s dinner time.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I pushed the door open a little more, stepping slightly into my James’ room.
The room was dark, the blinds were closed. There was a ghoulish glow pouring down from his monitor, down onto his bed where he was laying, one arm draped over his face, his nose in the pit of his elbow.
“Everything okay?” I asked him, surveying his room, and resisting an urge to talk to him about the mess of clothes and trash.
“I’m just not hungry,” he said.
“Well how about you come and just try and eat something? Alright?”
He looked up at me. His eyes were swollen and red as though he had been crying. In the dark glow I saw the son I remembered from long ago. The child on the wall. The one who wanted nothing more than to climb on my lap and play and wrestle. But the memory was gone, fading away like a dream, replaced again by my teenage son’s stone face. His angry, tortured eyes.
“Fine,” he said, bolting out of bed and stomping past me.
I moved out of the way and let him through. I watched as he moved down the dimly lit hall. The string between us was red—there was love there, always had been—but now great sick patches of black had grown like lesions. And no matter what, I felt like I couldn’t stop them from growing.
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-05-28T17:35:49 | 2021-05-28T16:29:14 | 172 | 61 |
[WP] You've been meowing at your idiot owner all freaking day, and he's just not listening, at all. It's become a test of endurance: Your patience, his willingness to ignore you, the ninja assassin's grip on the ceiling. | “He’s on the ceiling, you, idiot. I swear if you couldn’t open a can of tuna, I would have killed you myself by now. Look up, he’s waiting to drop onto you.” Meowth the orange tabby continued to meow at their owner, trying to get their attention. No matter how loud they meowed, the owner would only give them a sarcastic roll of the eyes, continuing to browse through various cat memes on their computer.
“I’ll feed you later, Meowth. I just need to send Stacy a feels like a Monday gif. Do you think she would prefer a short, furred cat or something with a more luscious coat like yours? Personally, I think the more luscious coat, but I think that could be misleading. Do you think she would consider that flirting?” Tyler tapped away at his keyboard while the ninja nervously tightened his grip, struggling to maintain a hold on the thin star shaped ornament that covered the lightbulb.
That was it! Meowth didn’t need to draw the human’s attention to the intruder, they only needed to ensure that they lost their grip before he turned around. Meowth wasn’t entirely sure why the ninja hadn’t already attacked. Perhaps they needed to confirm Tyler’s identity before the kill? Or maybe it was just a preference? Regardless, Meowth had an opportunity to rescue the can opener.
“What person would consider that flirting? How does that even mark your scent on her?” Meowth said, letting out a few confused meows before jumping onto his owner’s lap, making sure he stayed seated.
“Right, it would be far too flirty. That’s why I asked. It’s like you just understand me.” Tyler dragged his fingers through Meowth’s fur, the cat letting out a long-satisfied purr before jumping from his lap onto the desk, looking back at the ninja, who now had a few drops of sweat pooling near the holes of his mask.
“You understand nothing I say. I have had more intellectually challenging conversations with that stuffed mouse toy. Why would someone even want to kill you? Did you refuse to open their tuna can?” Meowth let out a laugh, which only translated into a series of strange sneezes.
The ninja readjusted his grip, swinging down temporarily, only to pull himself up at the last moment to regain his position, trying his best not to be caught. It was hard to say what he was more afraid of. Being found out or touching the dust coated carpet that Tyler refused to clean.
“You’re really talkative today, aren’t you snugglebutt? Maybe I should get you a friend? Oh, how about a puppy? I heard some cats get along well with dogs. I think I heard about that on some science show called Catdog or was it Dogcat?” At Tyler’s dumb suggestion, Meowth gave him a whack across the face with his paw, reminding the human who was in charge here.
“Keep talking like that and you’re getting a dead bird under your pillow tomorrow. I still don’t get why you humans don’t consider us giving you dead animals a threat. When is that ever a sign of affection? It’s a threat that you idiots don’t listen to.” Meowth kept his attention on the ninja who only had one hand still curled around the ornament, their fingers slowly slipping one by one, until their pinky was the only thing keeping them up.
“I guess I should feed you. It would be cruel to deny you dinner for too long. What do you want? The super protein chicken fluffy mix or the watery, fun fish mix?” Tyler went to push his chair back, getting closer to the ninja’s reach.
Meowth had to act quickly, jumping onto his owner’s head, using it as a springboard, launching himself at the attacker, delivering a powerful scratch to his leg. The ninja dropped from the ceiling, collapsing onto a bookshelf, leaving a large, human sized dent in the wood.
By the time Tyler had turned around to face the commotion, the ninja was already gone, having retreated from the scene, leaving Meowth sitting by the wreckage, head tilted to the side. “So, are we going to eat dinner now?” They meowed, only getting a wiggling finger from their owner as a response. “That’s not an answer. I just saved your life. Hurry and get me dinner.”
Tyler only laughed, walking out of the room, shaking his head. “What will I ever do with you, Meowth? Maybe I should start buying the low-fat cat food options. You must have put on some weight if you left a dent like that.” He said, going to prepare Meowth’s dinner.
“I hate you so much, human. I hope you and your family are cursed forever with an endless despair that can only rival a fraction of the loathing I feel for you right now. I hope your hands bleed whenever you hold a can of tuna, and the can is covered in rust.” Meowth meowed, already planning their revenge bird plot.
The sound of a shaking can came from the kitchen, followed by the squelch of a mess of food falling from a can, clinging against the metallic bowl below. “Dinner is served.” Tyler shouted as Meowth strutted into the kitchen.
“I guess the despair can hold off for until I’m done eating….” Meowth rubbed his head against the ankle of his owner before finding his bowl, rewarding himself with a well-earned meal.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | # A Darker Sort of Kitten
The Emperor’s cat, if such a creature could be called that, stared up into the murky black with luminescent, moon-drenched eyes. Outside the walls of Carythusal, the great keep that housed the world as the saying went, the moon was a full, pregnant thing, and so too were the cat’s silver eyes. Tonight, they could pierce any darkness, and as they looked up into the tall, vaulted ceiling of the imperial bedchambers, that fact chilled Dinae’s blood.
“Send the beast away, my lord,” Dinae whispered, pressing her cheek into the hard planes of the Emperor’s chest. He chuckled, deep and sonorous, the reverberation tingling through her face. He was a large man, and a powerful one. The most dangerous person Dinae had ever met.
The Emperor swatted playfully at her hip. His hand lingered, moving lower. Every inch burned, every molecule of his skin that touched hers. Dinae hated being here, in the bedroom of the Emperor Ikurei, with all the passion she could bring to bear.
“Don’t malign dear Minnaloushe, sweetling,” he said, “you know my love of exotic things.”
“Of course, my lord,” Dinae whispered.
She kissed his chest. It was a presumption, to kiss him without a command, but that was why he called upon her.
Night after night Dinae had been washed and oiled, dressed and perfumed, by this man’s command. Night after night, silks rustling with every step, body rendered unwillingly supple by the eunuchs' ministrations, she had walked here and abased herself before the feet of the man who had enslaved her people, the poor, lost nation of Shigek.
Night after night, without awaiting the command, she made her way up from those sandaled feet, to the promise of continued life that lingered elsewhere in his body, lingered but would not stay, would never stay. Such things were the currency of the harem girls of Emperor Ikurei. Such things were now the currency of her life.
The cat still stared into the dark. He mewled softly, stretching out his long, hardly catlike body.
Minnaloushe had the head of cat, the four limbs and tail, but fur was an ever-changing thing for him, and at times the cat seemed to deem it not even worth the effort. Tonight was one such. When Dinae had arrived he had been orange, the color of the fire in the braziers nearest the Emperor’s bed. Then he’d been black, with silver, piercing eyes, as Dinae had turned to her work. She’d felt his eyes on her arched back, felt his judgment in the moments when her own burned brightest too.
Now he was scaled, all save the head, and the scales rippled with the promise of still later change. His small, lithe pair of wings stretched out, creaking with disuse, and the emperor reached to massage their joints as he knew the cat loved. It mewled louder, staring at him with intense certainty.
It had seen the man clinging desperately to the ceiling.
Dinae hadn’t, of course. Her eyes were mortal, as was her body. She only knew of the plan by what her contact had told her, one of the eunuchs in the harem, this one bound to the service of another, less favored girl. In his youth, he’d said, he had been a prince of Shigek. In his majority, he’d said, he’d see the conqueror’s demise. There were others like them, he’d said. Others well placed, willing to sacrifice themselves for the memory of their lost nation. If she could distract him. If she could provide the opening.
The Emperor could see the man if he chose. It would be child’s play for him, the whisper of a single spell and the rising tide of his world-breaking song that would sweep them all away, till only Minnaloushe lay in his bed, next to the thin line of ash that would once have been called Dinae.
Minnaloushe rose, licking his emperor’s hand, eyes darting back and forth between them.
“What is it, hmmm?” Emperor Ikurei said.
“Perhaps he’s seen a sparrow,” Dinae whispered. She’d crept her way up from the Emperor’s chest to his ear, spoke directly into it. She felt him shiver with the warmth of her breath.
“Perhaps,” he said, stifling a yawn. They got in through the Gods’ door from time to time.
“Sparrows. I’ve never ever understood the love your people have of them,” Dinae said.
“They are fine birds,” said the Emperor.
“But in such a simple way!” Dinae bit her lip, stifling her disgust and fear. She took the Emperor’s head in her hands, turning it towards her, letting the dark torrent of her hair fall across his chest.
“Do you not, my lord, prefer Ravens?” she said, using his small pet name for her.
He laughed again. Outside, the guards would wonder at the emperor’s mirth. He was not a man given to laughter, even here in his private chambers. It was one of the reasons he called her, coupled as it was with youth and with dangerous, shocking presumption.
She presumed to kiss him now. To thread her hands through his hair, to feel his arms wrap her, searching in the flickering firelight, his simple touch leaving bruises in her pale skin.
Minnaloushe mewled, forgotten, and when the Emperor rolled, his back to the vaulted black above, Dinae saw the cat’s silver moon eyes staring at her.
*Let him stare,* Dinae thought, *let them both stare, and let the man in the rafters too for all I care.*
*But let us act, all of us, for the last time.*
The emperor moved, bending towards her, and the assassin fell from the sky.
After, body covered in the quick spray of dark arterial blood, Dinae thought she could remember the entire thing. She thought she could see the emperor above her, whole body screaming with his presence, feel the cat's scale changing to fur against her thigh, feel the cloying, choking warmth of the scented braziers surrounding them, the presence of the thousand thousand men of the imperial guard spread through the palace.
She could see it all, in the moment when the glint of the falling assassin’s blade finally passed in to the circle of firelight surrounding the bed. And it was all washed away in the mad moment when the blade passed through him, punching out in the space between ribs, bits of royal heart flecked along the blade. Its tip only inches from her face.
Dinae sat up on the bed, silks ruined, what little he’d left her to wear. The guards poured in, the assassin made his feeble attempt at battle, died a moment later by her feet. As he eyes went dull, he looked at her, abased there beneath her like she had been, night after night by the feet of the Emperor Ikurei.
The emperor lay beside her, bleeding out. His lifeblood pooled beneath her, shockingly warm.
But it did not burn.
*Why doesn’t it burn?* Dinae wondered. *His touch burned. He scalded me every night, so why doesn’t this burn? He’s all over me, now.*
Dinae brushed blood soaked hair back from her eyes. The guards stood all around, mouths gaping open, unsure what to do. She tied her raven black hair up, wiped her eyes clean of the makeup forced upon her, luxuriated in the perfume washed away by the absolution of blood.
Then she stood, still not burning, and turned to face the cat.
Minnaloushe sat curled on his emperor’s chest, assessing him as if he were a piece of meat. There was no loyalty there, Dinae saw now. Only hunger, only an animal’s base lusts.
She stroked the cat’s head once. She knew that look well, could not begrudge this creature for it.
Then she turned, a traitor’s smile on her face, and accepted her fate with open arms.
*Shigek,* she thought, *I avenge you.*
*I avenge us all.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that, I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-09-01T07:04:20 | 2021-09-01T06:43:02 | 172 | 64 |
[WP] The Society for Continued Galactic Safety strongly recommends against fighting humans, and regulations state that killing humans on worlds not already settled by humans is forbidden. Not because humans are dangerous, but because they're 7 times more likely to produce ghosts than any other race. | Galactic Cartography presents: Human Space, AKA The Great Howling
As many attending this class will no doubt know, the human species is a very isolationist power, with very little trade into their space due to ftl being impossible for the majority of species. What many may not know, is why.
Aprpximately 500 years ago humanity was noticed by members of the galactic community close to them, having grown to small colonies across 5 systems surrounding their cradle system. Normally this wouldn't be an issue, space is vast and resources are plentyful enough that there is no want or need to compete for them. However they happened to be close to the Triflaxians, at the time a militaristic slaver state. The Triflaxians saw the humans slowly growing sphere of occupation as both a potential threat and a potential slave workforce, so they began a hasty war plan before any other local power could object or contact the fledgling species.
This would be their undoing, as their hasty intelligence overlooked significant hazards. Firstly, humans form apparitions across slip space and real space at a much higher rate than average, 7 times higher than the previous highest species. Secondly, humans had been late to develop ftl technology, and so their cradle system was absolutely full to the brim with them, its estimated there were 300 quadrillion humans living across all 4 rocky planets, dozens of moons, hundreds of asteroids, and hundreds of thousands if not millions of ships and space stations. Combined with their plan of detonating the cradle star to destroy and demoralise the human colonies in other systems for invasion and you have a problem.
Namely 300 billion ghost pouring into slips space and real space at near enough the same time, all dying traumatic deaths, all absolutely furious at the ones who killed them. The Great Howling as it is now called spans hundreds of light years around the former cradle system. This area completely engulfed the Triflaxian state almost immediately, with no survivors, as well as 2 other stellar nations completely and 3 partially, of whom there were some survivors. Survivors and those entering The Great Howling more recently report it as "starting quietly, like whispering outside the hull when in ftl, occasionally lights flickering close to it. Then as you get deeper in it gets worse and worse, as if a hurricane were washing over you getting louder and louder, screaming at you with all its malice,rattling the ship like its trying to shake it to pieces. Full apparitions forming inside the ship, doing everything to drive you away. From screaming in the ship internal coms to physically turning the ships wheel hard 'til you're facing out of the maelstrom. And those who do not turn around, they never return."
The only exceptions, are ships containing Triflaxians, and ships containing humans. Any ship carrying a Triflaxian into The Great Howling will be lost with all hands, reportedly drawn in like a whirlpool till its unrecoverable. Human ships seem to be unaffected, able to come and go as they please. Combined with the loss of their cradle they seem content to stay deep in The Great Howling, a place no other can tread. | Have you ever come back to a refrigerator after an absence, and found some little thing you'd forgotten has been utterly overtaken by mold? Gauzy mounds of blue-green, tendrils of white spreading in little clouds over the surface of your forgotten sandwich. The disgust, the displeasure, the sick waste of dropping the whole affair into the garbage. That feeling was transposed into Iks!th, despite their lack of knowledge of sandwiches, refrigeration, and mold. They had been threading their Warren through underspace, diligently sewing their way through the black layer of dark matter underscoring all things. Iks!th was heading to a stone, perfectly positioned in the firmament of a little star named *Apeksesth!oth*. It was the optimal place to drop the brood that had been gnawing on the inside of their Warren for centuries. The children had a riotous culture, built off their own memories of the grand warrens orbiting inside of the nebula cloud from where they'd all come. The sovereign children, those born without gender and with that the right to rule, had finally come to maturity. But, because they were now mature the sovereigns were screaming constantly. Little wars, political disputes, the tension in the Warren would have been tolerable if Iks!th didn't have to subjected to every part of the experience. Every idea, the thoughts making up that idea, the actions making that idea reality and the consequences rendered for each and every one of their children from grub to adolescent to armored adult.
Now they were there, in the system and could finally see the stone, and their hearts sank. It wasn't much; a space elevator, mining tunnels, a couple of Warren domes and orbital craft. Humans, and their directional minds of electricity and wheels. Iks!th disinterestedly prepared a cleansing payload, releasing it from their Warren at +2% speed. That would give it time to hit, for the micro wormhole to develop and suction away their presence. The projectile would strike the elevator at the center of it's ribbon, drawing the colony up and the ships down. As the little piece of themselves accelerated away, a notification stung the back of their neck. By Galactic law Iks!th had to have a shunt implanted in their nerve column with all of the rules, doctrines and regulations. It always seemed to go off after they'd done something, forcing them to into the cumbersome task of winding backwards. They read the notification.
Task-WARNING! *related to* DOCTRINE H-112-777 *Re-inclement nonintelligent species HUMAN* (subsection non-cooperative primates 2-3 A)
SUBJECT-REMOVAL PROCEDURES ERROR
*Due to the simple nature of their Neuro-electric microbrains, humans are a species considered populous into the 7-6 category. Due to the singular nature of each microbrain they consider themselves individuals. This consideration relates to their sense of self, and the afterimage possible if members of the species are terminated. This occurs at a confirmed rate of ~1/10M individuals. When the sense of self is so great, and amplified by the harmonics of the nearby svelves, the Neuro-electric pattern can imprint itself upon the quantum foam. Such imprints are primarily observational and far less inclement than higher order beings that imprint their mind structure onto the quantum foam. However, large concentrations (+/-10B individuals) the rate of imprint can create a society within the imprints capable of disrupting activities. Consider nonlethal or coercive methods to remove humans if the area has a specific use-case. Found useful methods have been- destruction of infrastructure, interruption of resource access, and display of dark matter.*
Iks!th let a rattle form, starting in their gizzard and moving outwards to the keratin plates running along their length. The rattle, anguish and profound annoyance pictured in the clattering was echoed throughout the Warren, it's hollows producing amplifying the sound. Now, they could either abandon the stone, leave it two the paltry 2.5 Trillion monkeys occupying a 132nd of the planetoids area, or risk having to deal with their leftovers irritating the new Warren. As a new leader, afterimages of the raw pre-intelligent monkeys would have doomed them. The question was one they could not easily answer. It pressed into their soft bits, turning over and over. Apeksesth!oth was an important figure in history, and a new colony in his light would be sublime. Could they bargain, reason with the unformed minds and get them to move on their own?
Mary was at the CON of the heavy lift ship *dawn tattoo*, and was the first to see it. First there were the subgravity waves, coloring her viewfinder acid green. Then, a hellmouth formed where the waves were rippling. The prow of something vast, pushing slowly and deliberately from a patch of nothing at all. She immediately patched command into her stream, and the whole of Brewster colony knew that their time had come. Mary had been at the festival when humanity had first encountered an FTL species, two million ships linked to trade and watch a stellar nursery. She had survived the wormhole that had opened, stretching hundreds of thousands of ships into threads a single atom across. The monster didn't even notice the leftovers desperate flight. This was the end of Brewster colony, she knew that, remembered the overwhelming size and casual brutality of the affair.
Isk!th was surprised and more than a little delighted when, skittering like infants, the human colony packed up and left. The domes, disassembled. The mining equipment brought up, the elevator ribbon spooled away. All of it packed into the tiny ships, and away they went. They attempted an ansible link to them, to thank them, but the communication just seemed to slow the progress. Iks!th wondered if they understood how great a reward their sacrifice would create. The new Warren would know them and be built, grub by grub, as an honor to the tiny creatures. And finally, twenty eight grueling centuries after they had mated, Iks!th would be alone. | 2021-10-11T10:08:09 | 2021-10-11T09:05:26 | 209 | 57 |
[WP] What’s more horrifying than a biblically accurate angel shouting “FEAR NOT”? A modernized angel whispering to you “Be very afraid…” | F̸͖̌Ĕ̴̝̍Ả̵̼͎R̶̛̝ ̶͔̕Ṅ̵͇̻̇Ò̵̪͔͛T̵̤̗̃"
But I was fearful. The too many eyes judging me, the golden spheres, the graceful thousands of wings, the burning light, the echo of a voice, voices, too beautiful for my ears. It was hard to be in the presence of such a creation.
Yet it was those eyes of the other. He had only two, beautiful and filled with love. The face kind with a caring smile, two white wings like that of a bird, skin fair and perfect draped in white robes. He held a hand out, a hand like my own, like a kind soul offering to lead me away from the terror of the other.
I feel trapped. Almost helpless.
"Please, come with me." His voice sounded like an old friend, a playful child, a wise elder. "I can help you."
"B̸̨̒Ȅ̶̜ ̴͉͐N̵̟̊O̶̜̐T̵̍͜ ̶͔̐Ǎ̵̢F̶͇̄R̵̨̃Å̷̼Ǐ̸̟D̶͎̓ F̵̲̕O̴̫̿R̷͎͊ ̶̹̅Ì̵̺ ̶̩̔Ḁ̵͗M̶͕͐ ̵͖͑H̷̲̾Ė̷̱R̷͓̋E̸͍͗ ̸̦͝T̵̲̆O̴͖͘ ̵̱͝Ș̷͆A̴̮̓V̷̮̈E̶̘͆ ̸͙̓Ý̸̦O̷̗͠Ṳ̴̈́." The many voices chorused in my head.
I close my eyes, panicked thoughts racing, then took a step.
Burning. It was hot, but not painful.
Step.
The light filled my eyes even closed.
Step.
The beat of many wings felt like a gale.
Step.
I reach out and something grabs me, surrounding me with light and wings. I can feel my sins singeing the purity of the feathers and light around me. I wasn't meant to touch perfection.
I open my eyes but I cannot see, blinded by radiance.
"Y̶̝̼̅̉̚Ọ̷̃͐U̷͈̯͗͝ ̴͉͝C̸̜̊H̸̥͊̽̔Ọ̷̏̈́͠S̵̞̀̊E̵͙̍ ̷͖͙͔̂̇M̷̧̲͗͗͝È̴̠̟?̴̼͋̓͜" The voices, so beautiful, sounded... scared, filled with disbelief. I didn’t know if I could trust my ears but that voice made *sense.*
I swallow, still fearful, curling in on myself to try and reduce my sins ruining this terrifying... no this perfect being.
"We humans.... we have this... thing... called the 'uncanny valley'." | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 2: Mare v.s. Tamulu)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections. That being said, [this story](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmzrng/wp_angels_are_thought_to_be_beautiful_while/) provides some extra context.)
**In Mare's many lifetimes, they had played a thousand roles.** Conqueror and conquered. Deity and faithful. Oppressor and oppressed. It was hard, over a lifespan longer than human civilization, to keep seeing people as people. So many of Mare's kin had fallen to seeing them as props, all the world a stage and them the only actors.
But even the greatest show needed an intermission. A space for the actors to take a sip of water and check on how the show was doing.
Mare stood in an abandoned parking lot beneath a burning, smoky sky. The city of Sacrament had been beautiful, once, before its mayor had been banished and its citizens turned to rioting. Skyscrapers now darkened with soot, unidentifiable or all-too-identifiable stains plastering the floor—Mare had seen worse collapses, but not many.
Mare had come in their rock-star guise. A shock of deliberately shaggy hair spilled over one shoulder, a guitar case still slung over their back. All of it was fake, of course, part of the show; Mare was a shapeshifter, and their body was their will and nothing more.
"You're late," their opposite number said as Mare rounded a corner. The small, colorful bird gave Mare a baleful glare. Not all of Mare's ilk had chosen human form; many of the angels had decided to take the form of an animal this time around. Actors got tired of playing the same role for thousands of years, after all. "Were you doing something?"
"By definition, yes." Mare narrowed their eyes, piercing through the bird's outer form and seeing into their soul. "Tamulu. I thought I'd be rid of you for a century, at least, when Brouhaha collapsed."
"Ah, ah, ah. That's not your line. Let me prompt you." Tamulu rippled, and the bird was not a bird but a white-robed priest, one hand a miasma of burning light. "Avast, demon! I have borne your presence for far too long! Begone with ye, begone!"
Mare rolled their eyes. Fine. If that was the game the angel wanted to play, then the devil would fall into their familiar role all the same. The rockstar's body erupted, expanding into a thing of craggy obsidian and molten beauty. "Do you really want to do this? Here? Now? In the middle of a modern city?"
The priest melted away, becoming a police officer in modern uniform. "No, of course not. That's why I'm here, after all. The old days are no more, Mare. Demons can't go around brawling with angels without getting broadcast on live TV. We have to have a lighter touch."
The obsidian monster vanished, leaving a stern-faced military man in his place. "A lighter touch? You're asking a shapeshifter to have a *lighter touch*? As your superior officer—or someone who looks exactly like them—I command you to shut your ignorant mouth. And maybe fetch me a coffee, while you're at it."
Tamulu's form blurred, becoming a young woman with empathy in her eyes and a smile on her face. "No, I don't think I will. Instead, I'll become a plucky heroine with too many tricks up her sleeve and defy governmental authority over and over again. With a *bit* too much help from her supernatural friend."
Mare inhaled sharply.
Tamulu smiled with another woman's body.
"So that's why you're here," Mare finally said.
"You've been too invested in the world of the mortals," Tamulu confirmed. "The show must go on. You're deviating from your script."
"Spare me your metaphors," Mare said. "They're *people*. Look around, Tamulu. Look at this damn city. They're suffering, *millions* of people suffering, and I have the power to step in and *help*. More than you've ever done. *Angels*, my ass."
"Ephemeral," Tamulu said, dismissive. "Your actions could draw the attention of the mortal world onto us even more than they already have. How do you think the show will fare when its props rise up against it?"
"You know," Mare said pensively, "I do think you're about to find out."
Tamulu froze, staring behind Mare with piercing eyes.
"You can come out now, kids," Mare said.
A group of civilians—people, just *people* living in the ruined hell their city had become—stepped out, armed with guns and knives and kitchen chairs.
And all of them had heard Tamulu ranting about how the *props* were out of line.
"I *am* sorry that I was late to our little meeting," Mare said. "But it took me a while to gather the posse."
"You *imbecile*," Tamulu hissed. "Setting humanity against the angels? Our kind will fall for the first time in milennia—"
"Why do you think I'm doing it?" Mare steepled their fingers. "They don't call me a demon for nothing, you know. I'm no friend of yours."
The angel stood, staring down the seething mob.
And smirked.
"Very well. If conflict is what you wish..." Tamulu's shadow lengthened as they elongated, wings and eyes and too many burning wheels to count expanding from their body. The crowd readied their guns, their modern weapons, to fight a terror of the past.
Then all at once, Tamulu imploded, and they were just a little kid. Just anyone you would see on the street, without a second passing thought.
"Be very afraid," the angel whispered.
Then they leapt into the sky on impossibly powerful legs, gunfire pelting their body like so much summer rain.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is 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 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. | 2022-01-29T09:14:54 | 2022-01-29T07:30:10 | 24 | 15 |
[WP]An old genie grants you three wishes. After granting your first two, you tell him the third. He is horrified, and begs you to reconsider | His words tumbled from his lips like a crowd of hundreds of people trying to squeeze through one small door to get to a Black Friday sale. Crashing into each other, over each other, stumbling blocks for the next one to leap over.
"No, please, no! Take it back! Take it back!" The ancient, fire-filled eyes were filled with something new. Fear. "Don't wish that! Un-wish it, now! Please! I don't have long until I have to grant it but there are a few seconds. Un-wish it now! Now!" The cool, uncaring tone that had filled his voice when he granted me power and money was gone now. Small bolts of lightning flashed around him, filling the air with the smell of ozone.
I was confused. Of all the wishes I could wish I thought this one, this wish, was selfless. I had everything I could possibly want so I thought that the third wish should be something good. Something unselfish. Something freeing.
"Why would you want me to un-wish it?" I asked him. Maybe this was a trick? Genies were said to be tricksters but he had granted my first two wishes flawlessly, why would he try a trick now?
"There's no time," he groaned, "Un-wish now or" his body shook and his voice wrenched forth from within him. "Granted." The earth shook with the power in his voice but I looked at him and noticed that his eyes were still filled with terror, terror and a kind of resigned emptiness.
The genie blinked. He waved his hand. His shackles fell from his arms. His amorphous tail became legs as he settled to the ground, and he became slightly smaller. He blinked. Once, twice. And then he looked at me.
Gone were the fires that were behind his eyes. Gone, the aura of electricity and mystique. Before me stood a man. Not even a particularly powerful-looking man. Just a man.
His gaze met mine as he sank to his knees. I watched as his body shriveled. As his hair grew. His skin first tightened and then wrinkled. He aged before me, growing years in seconds.
His eyes never left mine until the spark of life left his body and it fell to the floor. In seconds more he was nothing but dust and then seconds later not even that.
I never thought, even once, that granting a genie freedom would be anything more than a blessing to it. | "A genie?" The genie questioned in bemusement, his chest rising, strained countenance retreating and eyes rolling to the top right corner of his head as if to diagnose the obvious malfunction of his ears.
"A genie" the man said smugly. Satisfied with his own quick thinking.
"You.. WANT to be a genie?" The genie questioned, his face grimacing as he realised there was nothing wrong with his ears.
"Yes. Why not? Look what you can do! The power you have! The things I could do... the women I could love, the enemies I could smite, the money I could make! I want to be a genie. That is my third wish. I want to be a genie. Now." The man folded his arms and stuck up his nose as if demanding to see a manager in a supermarket.
"But... you don't understand... we aren't like you. Genies serve, we do not have our own lives, we do not feel passion, hatred, love... we do not succumb to the flaws of humanity that make you so... so... unpredictable. We are travelers, granting wishes to those drawn to us... we do not have freedom as you know it. We do not desire it. For thousands of years I have traveled, content to serve when a traveler should find me. My lamp is not just my home, it is my prison" the genie warned. His tone was somber and fearful, yet as he spoke he knew his words could not penetrate the man's growing sense of his own now unlimited potential.
"Perhaps you're just... unimaginative. Benign even. Just like humanity. I see it every day. The drudgery. The malcontent of the masses. It makes me sick. I feel trapped. I won't do it anymore. I demand the power to be something more! I demand my third wish! I demand to be a genie!" The man stomped his foot impatiently with every demand, staring menacingly in to the genie's eyes.
The genie paused and grimaced. What was he to do? The laws had existed for thousands of years. 3 wishes. That's it. No more, no less. The human speaks and the genie delivers. From the sands of Egypt to the aromas of the Orient he had traveled, granting wishes, no matter what they were. He couldn't stop, he couldn't make exceptions even if it went against his better judgement... it was not in his nature. He knew the human didn't understand. But duty often calls for tragic acts. For humans and genies alike.
"Very well". Said the genie, his face now devolving to a somber stare. "But no this, human. I warned you."
A flash. A piercing sound. The man's eyes closed. He fell. He slept.
He woke, painfully. The genie was gone. The stars that had watched their conversation like a million tiny cameras above him had gone. He found himself lying on a bright, tiled floor, a piercing, dazzling light hanging above him.
Once his senses returned he sprang to his feet, excited and ready to wield his mighty new powers.
"I wonder how it works" he thought, looking around him. He was in a peculiarly shaped room, decorated like a Moroccan market. The room was longer than it was wide, with the longer walls poking outwards, curved, fat, and rising upwards until they met in the middle directly above him, forming the roof. All the walls were golden and decorated with colorful fabrics and paintings. But he had little patients for decor, not when he had the power of the universe inside him.
He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to his home. Nothing happened.
Confused, he tried again.
Still, nothing.
"I know", he thought. He tried again, thinking so hard he thought his eyes might pop out of his head, he clicked his fingers.
Still, nothing.
He clapped. He jumped. He shouted. He screamed. He begged. He demanded. He wailed.
Still, nothing.
"The genie lied" he cursed. "I have no power!!".
Once his temper subsided he reexamined the room. Suddenly he recognized its peculiar shape. "A lamp!", he thought. "I'm in a lamp".
His frustration grew. His temper flared. "But if I'm in a lamp then I *must* be a genie." Again he tried with all his power to exercise the mighty powers he *knew* were inside him. But nothing.
Again he cursed the genie that had forsaken him. He began to look for an exit. No doors. No windows. No escape.
He wept.
"My lamp is not just my home, it is my prison", the genie's words rose from his memory like smoke from a fire.
The genie had warned him. But he had not listened.
As the tears rolled down his cheeks he knew his error. Thousands of years, the genie had said. Thousands of years granting wishes to *humans.* Not to themselves.
He had become a genie, yes. But at the price of his freedom. His enemies would not be defeated. The women he loved would not be his. His lot was decided by his own hubris.
A human and a fool he had been. A genie and a trapped fool he had become. | 2014-07-26T14:32:50 | 2014-07-26T13:43:42 | 151 | 56 |
[WP] God decides to create a small group of demi-gods. He selects a few humans and gives each a power and a purpose. You are one of them.
Bonus-points for a demigod of pranks and mischief. | "So let me get this straight, you re going to an inter dimensional god convention and you want to make us gods to keep the peace while you are away?."
"Sigh, no i'm going to make you demigods, you don't have a choice in the matter. You each get control of one act of god to do with as you please."
"So what are our fields going to be?"
"Ben you will be in control of floods, Alicia you get earthquakes, Tyler volcanic eruptions, and Carl you get tornado's."
"Why are we only getting control of devastating effects?"
"Well you are actually getting control of hydrogen carbon helium and oxygen, but i doubt your control will be enough to do anything besides cause those disasters. "
"Well i'm off, don't call me unless all of creation is on fire." | "You young man" God echoed "Are to be a god, like myself but lesser."
"A lesser god huh? I'm not god material." I groan. "Really me a god? No one should be foolish enough to be a god no matter how small of a role they'll play... No offense"
"None taken. I know you mean well by that young one. However I have chosen you for a specific type of godhood." He said Prideful and compassionate
"You really know how to pick them you know that? Any way I didn't sign up for this! I don't wanna be a god!" I shouted from my seat
"Calm yourself child. I know you don't want to, I know entirely, but sometimes someone HAS to step up to the plate. and you said it yourself 'I'm not going to accomplish anything in this life unless I ask for help from some divine being' So I decided to intervene."
"So you picked the bastard child of a saint and a fool?"
"If that's how you see it"
"Can I at least chose my realm?"
He gave me a wry smile "I've chosen the one I think would be best. It's something you know well!" He chuckles
"I'm the new king of the underworld huh?"
"No child. My Right Hand is. But you will be our go between. A two faced god. Young though you may be you will learn the position I've set for you." He sighed heavily A warm glow Coming from his grey eyes.
"I am to be your messenger?"
"All of ours actually. You know all two well to play both side for a better outcome. So you get your own. With the number of other lesser gods." He again gleamed a smile.
"Who says I'll work for you and Lucy huh? What's stopping me from going down to that overgrown prison cell and just fucking shit up?"
"Lucy? That's a new one. I was going to say that you yourself that's the only thing between you and earth and as you say it 'Fucking shit up'" He grinned.
"You and the other Demis have full reign of your own free will. Like everyone on earth. But do not destroy my precious gem. It has taken a lot energy to create all of you. From the smallest amoeba to the largest mammoth." He sat back down in his throne. "I've created Eden, Hell, Heaven, Earth and now Sanctum. I am science and I am Religion, and yet... I grow weary."
"You deserve a rest..." I said dryly "As today we mourn the loss of The Creator."
"What do you mean child?"
"Sleep... A primal need. You deserve some rest. Take some time off for yourself and experience our world from our eyes. Just get some rest before hand. The world... She can take care of herself and I'll watch over her till you're done being human." I smile widely "Trust me a little mortality has yet to kill anyone!" I laugh heartily.
He chuckles."I Like I said you're the only one standing between you and the world. I Entrust you newly crowned God of Masks. You'll know our powers well. Because you know you. In my absence I leave a few of my children to take care of heaven. Thank you child."
"No need to thank me. You knew the outcome all along didn't you?"
"No actually. Seeing the futures is a boring curse that meant no one to have. Not even I know the futures..."
And with that God again walked the Earth. Leaving his children in heaven. His newly formed council of demigods Were left unattended In Sanctum a new plane of existence from which they watched.
We've no idea what's to come next. No one does. But the day The Creator Left Heaven will be remember as we wait for his return. | 2014-12-14T10:22:54 | 2014-12-14T10:18:30 | 44 | 20 |
[WP] You buy your wife a fun DNA home testing kit. The post arrives with her results, which you eagerly tear open to find she's 37% German, 38% Cherokee Indian, and 35% "Unknown and Unidentifiable." Within moments, three black vans pull up outside your house, and there's a knock at your door. | Unknown and unidentifiable. It was everybody's worst nightmare. For years now there had been rumours about this particular fluke, or whatever people want to call it - I saw it for what it truly was; a way to exterminate everything that was different, not human. My blood ran cold as soon as I saw the results. Nerves bubbling in my stomach, I asked her the only question that truly mattered.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked in pain, almost feeling betrayed. "You know I would've protected you no matter what. I would've kept your secret. I love you. I'm so sorry." My voice breaking twice as I tried to get the words out.
She smiled sadly and said, "It doesn't matter anymore now, Josh. I didn't want to put you at risk."
We heard footsteps crush the gravel near the front door. Soon the bell would ring, and all would be lost.
"What do we do?" I whispered. There had to be a way out of this.
"You run. And never return here. Don't look for me." She said in a rushed voice. It was almost hard to catch all the words she was saying.
But I couldn't run. I wouldn't leave her now that she might need me the most. "What are our other options? I won't leave you. Not now, not ever." I hoped, prayed, that she would listen and come up with something.
"Distract them. Let me think." she said, and then she was gone. One moment she was there, the next she was gone. "Go!" she whispered from who knows where.
With lead in my shoes, I walked to the door and opened it before they would break it down. Suddenly, I was staring up in the faces of ten men in black suits that almost looked like a kind of armour. Their faces were covered too, sharing a resemblance to gas masks. Still fearing for my wife, the love of my life, I did the only thing I could and tried to stall them. Holding up my hands to show them I was unarmed and harmless, I said the few words I least expected myself to say.
"You will never have her." They grabbed me by the arms instantaneously and twisted me to the ground. The rest scattered off into the house.
Shit, I thought to myself. Who would've thought stalling was not in my particular skill set.
Apparently it was enough time, though. My wife jumped down the second story window, and while I feared for her life, I was hoping she had a good plan.
She somehow managed to incapacitate the two who were holding me down, and grabbed me. She ran.
No, we ran. We ran fast. Somehow, she had this power to run at incredible speeds. And she was transferring this to me. At that point I couldn't even comprehend the how or why, I just felt overwhelming relief.
After about one hour, we slowed down. Discussing our options, where and how we would try to stay ahead of the hunters, something changed in her. Something fundamental broke in her. Her whole body shivered for a moment, before returning to normal. We had completely stopped now. I was scared. Compared to how I felt when those men were at the door, this was a thousand times worse. I knew what was coming. I knew how this would end. I had read about it.
She looked up to me, and smiled. "I love you," she whispered, as she plunged her hand in my chest and pulled out my heart.
"I'm so sorry, " she said, tears streaming down her beautiful face. "I wish you had never found out. I wish there was another way. I have been programmed to do this."
Those were the last words I heard. The last words I would ever hear.
Everything went black. | I'll never forget her face. Pale white like milk and glass. Her eyes were as wide as I'd ever seen them. Her attention changed from me to the large windows facing the front of the house where several black vehicles came to a skidding halt and sat humming.
'Ca-Ca-' She could barely choke out the words. I grabbed her hands to comfort her and she grabbed me in return ever so tightly and lovingly. I ran my hands slowly through her hair as she buried her head into the nook of my shoulder trying to talk beneath hidden tears 'Carl...what does this mean?'
*What does this mean?* I thought. I didn't voice it. I knew my voice would quiver. I knew it would break like hers was right now. I could feel the fear radiate from her through my hands. I could feel her terror and I to began to become consumed by it the longer I pondered the thought. *What does this mean?*. I looked at the paper again and slowly mouthed the words to my self once more.
There was a loud sound of a latch clanking that instantly drew my gaze from the letter onto the vehicles. Three men were outside now. One standing with a pair of binoculars facing in our direction. Right through the window. *He's looking at us.*. His comrades were unloading a big black bag from the passenger side of one of the vehicles while several other men had now gathered behind them dressed in what could only be perceived as some form of armor. *Swat gear?*. I could see Evelyn was looking to. *She's so scared. I know she is. I'm so scared. Who are these people? What are they doing here?*. I gulped and took Evelyn's moist cheeks into my large hands, bringing her shaking glances to my face. *What is she?* 'It'll be ok.' I managed to speak 'I promise we'll be fine. I don't know what this is all about, but I know it's not good. We've got to get out of here.'
I grabbed her jacket off the kitchen chair and threw it to her. She began putting it on slowly as she looked around in a frantic panic. 'Go!' I remember shouting as I pointed to the back door. She followed the direction of my finger with a nod while I shot a glance back out the window. There were more than a dozen men there now. They were armed with all types of guns and pistols and all of them were aimed directly for our house. I turned to follow her just when they opened fire.
The walls seemed to be turned into Swiss cheese in seconds. Hot lead whistling by inches from my face and lips. Bullets struck and obliterated my appliances through out the kitchen. The microwave imploded and slammed to the floor with an electrical snap and sizzling hiss. I seen my TV turn into a window, the empty smoking frame flying from an adjacent room to land next to me with a deafening crack. On all fours I crawled and managed to get my self out the back door. The endless, deafening pops of gun shots was the only sound present. Ears were filled with the ringing of the metaphoric bell of our inevitable fate. *Where was Evelyn?*
I looked around for her on the back porch which I had just tumbled into. *She should already be here?* It was hard to see through the wisps of bullets kicking up debris and the black smoke growing from inside from a now growing fire. I only had one good eye at this point in my life anyway. An accident earlier in my life had stripped me of the normal 20/20 vision a normal man would have, but I had survived and made due. I would not use my handi-cap as an excuse to let the love of my life die. I could not. I would not. I could not - lose her.
Frantically I searched. Eventually crawling out the back door and landing hard on my stomach outside. Crawling arm over arm I made it through the back side garden just in time to see Evelyn being pulled by two large men in black suits into the back of a van. They drove away before I could even stand. But then a loud roaring drew my attention and up the road, in the distance, I could see a big blue truck rocketing towards the direction of my house, where the men still gathered with their guns.
I seen a shadow then barreling out of the speeding truck. I had observed upon the truck, in the moment of a blur, that the entire back of it was loaded with barrels of some liquid or chemical. The armed men in the front never seen it coming and if they did lacked the time for any type of maneuver to avoid this disaster. There was an explosion. A fireball rose up into the sky, eating the air around it with snarling snaps and pops. Licking flames splashed across the yard, consuming the men in armor melting breaths of fire that seemed spewed from the depths of hell its self. The sound was doom. A rumbling like the hungry belly of a starving giant. Some men screamed and slapped them selves to put out the unquenchable fire that crawled up them like twisting snakes of death, but most men did not, for they lay in pieces and parts and burning remnants of what use to be a person.
I turned slowly to the approaching figure and recognized my aging father immediately. *How did he know to come now? How did he know these men would come?*. He was dripping wet with sweat and shaking. It had been awhile since I'd seen him and now strands of gray ran through his hair as well as the stubble on his chin and face. Blood was smeared all over his clothes and skin. He looked to be as if a man who had just survived some vicious skirmish in war.
'Dad?' I choked out. The emotions at this point were a waterfall. I was so confused, yet so thankful that this man's face, the face of my father, Old Man Rick, was the face before me. 'Evelyn, they....they took her.' I fell to my knees in tears then. The weight of the world and complete horror was upon me. My father took a deep breath and leaned down. He placed both hands on his knees and looked at me. The look is something you don't forget when it comes from a dad. It was stern at first, then caring and filled with love and comfort.
He put a hand on my head and mused my hair like he always use to when I was a little kid. He learned down, his strong grip that I had always remembered firm on my shoulder. 'Carl...' he said cooly. His gaze never left me. 'Get in the fucking house.' | 2016-12-01T13:26:53 | 2016-12-01T11:44:23 | 94 | 35 |
[WP] Your significant other is possessed by a demon. Soon after; you realize you love the demon and not your SO anymore and it's actually mutual. Now the exorcist has arrived. | "Right then," the exorcist, a man in a black suit with a white clerical collar said as he walked in the door, closing it behind him, "Where is it?"
"What?" Ian said.
"Where is the demon? I was summoned here to perform an exorcism."
He looked at Ian a while, who remained silent, before eventually turning to Alex, who lay in the bed in the centre of the room, tied to the bedframe with sheets anchoring each limb.
"Is it her?"
"No, that's my wife. She's fine."
"Then what is she doing tied down like that?"
"She's on a diet."
"A diet?"
"Yes, you know -- it's one of those diets like Oprah Winfrey always goes on about, but instead of padlocking the fridge, she just ties herself up. I help a little of course."
"So you tie your wife down to the bed -- I'm sorry, is there some sort of sex play going on here?"
"No, nothing like that, father!"
"Ah, fuck off priest!" Alex said.
"I beg your pardon!"
"She just gets cranky when she's starving, that's all."
"Okay, so where is it? I mean, am I dealing with a possessed person here, or what?"
"Umm, it's me. The demon's inside me."
"Inside you?"
"Yes, that's right," Ian said as he stammered, "F-flip off f-father!"
The priest glared at Ian a while. "Mr. Pringle, I don't take kindly to having my time wasted. Now, if we're done here, I really should go."
As he turned to leave, Ian reached out and stopped him with his left hand, and then with his right hand he leaned back and slapped the man right across the face. He paused a second, before reaching into his pants pocket where he produced a handkerchief, which he used to dab the corner of his mouth, before placing it back in the pocket. He silently looked at Ian with cold blue eyes.
"Well, what do you think of that then?" Ian said, "Ya fecker!"
The priest put down his briefcase, and walked over to the night stand, where he retrieved a glass of water, while looking at Alex, who struggled slightly, before returning to the foot of the bed.
"Doesn't it have to be holy water?" Ian said.
"Silence, demon! The Lord God almighty commands you!"
While holding the glass of water with one hand, he took out a cross on a chain from around his neck with his other hand, and moved it from side to side on Ian's body, then up and down, and then muttered an unintelligible prayer of sorts, before retracting his hand with the cross, which he put inside the pocket on the inside of his jacket. He then threw the glass of water right in Ian's face.
"Do you feel better?" the priest said.
"Yes, father! It's amazing, I feel completely normal now..."
Before Ian could finish his sentence, he felt a stiff fist connect with his jaw, and he went down like a ton of bricks, and hit the carpeted floor.
"Good," the man said, before walking back over to the night stand, where he placed the empty glass. He picked up his briefcase, and headed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Ian and Alex looked at each other, stunned, as they heard the front door slam.
"Well, you deserved it for that fucking ridiculous diet story," Alex said.
Ian turned his head to look up at the ceiling, as he rested his head on the floor, and closed his eyes, falling into unconsciousness. | "Can't I just clock him? I really bloody want to." The girl holding the pan took a test swing in the hallway. Two kilos of lovely iron-reinforced teflon, with the added bonus of oil that hadn't quite cooled yet. It was dripping on the rug.
"No, Hal, Hal, hey. Hey!"
Mid-swing the pan changed direction and hit the full-length smile of the boy standing behind her. The smile fractured and his whole image quivered with the force of non-stick teflon. Well, seven years' bad luck hardly mattered now. The girl's arm tried to swing around and hit the real version opposite the mirror. Sam ducked a fist while the girl re-gained composure.
"Oh, come on, Anna, give it up," she said, "you've got plenty of other nice boys down there." She heard Anna think some things she'd rather not repeat out loud. How rude.
Poor Sam. Her arm was better at least.
"Did she call me a-"
"Oh yeah. And more. She's complaining there's too much red? And she's not much for the punk aesthetic."
"Huh."
"She's right, to be fair. They do stew in their own culture."
"Well, she should've thought about that before trying to throw out my black hex stuff."
"Oh, She'll be fine, Sam" said Halaratha with a tentative wave that almost turned into a Sam-slap. Oh someone like Anna would find friends. She'd settle down into a bit of debauchery, and red wasn't all that bad. The doorbell rang. It was the priest.
"No, we spoke about this," said Sam. She dropped the bent pan. Fine.
"Okay. But for the record, I could take her on, okay? She's got what, one hand left? Three fingers?" Hal stopped there, tried and failed to cross her arms in anger. She smiled. Demons don't get scared, alright? Get a grip.
Sam opened the door to the thin man. His perfectly black cassock flowed to his perfectly black shoes. He had bibles akimbo, and the kind of rimless glasses with sharp edges you could cut yourself on. Hal winced.
"Please, come this way father. Welcome, welcome." Father Tom was impressed. Real tallow candles. God-fearing neighbourhood. Nice cloth on a real wooden table. Not veneer. This living room had the real stuff, even if there was a shattered mirror in the hallway. He sat, opened his briefcase of holy water and selected a flask.
"So, you're the one afflicted. We're ready for you. Please, sit." Father Tom dimmed the lights and Sam helped a shaking Hal through the door. She shivered, and stumbled to a sofa to grab a sweater, then practically collapsed half-Anna into a seat opposite. Fuck the cold. Her priest just stared from his pair of rimless sermon sweepers. The cute woolen sweater didn't help at all. Just looking at the table felt like an arctic winter. Hal mumbled something to herself. Sam thought it sounded like "well, fuck you too".
The priest took his left bible. He began the prayer and took Anna's hands, then poured holy water, and lit his freezing incense. She couldn't feel anything anymore. Just incense in the cold. And the living room was gone, evaporated to a desolate white that struggled hard to meander into shades of pink and punk. The priest blurred together. Fuck it Sam. Fuck it four ways to hell. Her teeth chattered and she hoped Anna's did too. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't, okay? It seemed to drag on in slow motion. She could only make out his glasses now. Only that and silence. The other girl was back in control. She stared, and waited for the old eternal pain to return. It would come, and her old life would return. The red-grey underworld monotony in full technicolor agony.
"Hmph. Ow!" White punk went black. She opened her eyes to dripping tallow on the floorboards. One arm, then two stuggled to pick her up off the floor. Floorboards turned to wall, then a painting. One of her arms flew through the blizzard helplessly and found a familiar shoulder propping her up. She strained through ice to move her neck. Sam was grinning. The pan lay a little way off.
"Hey, H, are you there honey?"
"Mhmm."
"Hal?"
"Mm, ugh. Yeah, what?"
The tablecloth was gone and lay by the bibles on the floor. Tallow seeped across the bare oak and stopped just short of a chalk outline. It had smudged a little, but the behemoth of demon swearing and interlocked geometry would do. The chair Anna had been sitting on was worse for wear.
"You remember what's next?"
"Mmm, yeah." Halaratha raised one cool hand and pointed it swaying at a paralyzed priest. He was howling his own brand of sacred profanities. Try as he might his arms wouldn't move from the table.
"Haiax, motherfucker." Good. She didn't miss. The white-red call of the underworld strengthened a little as shards of dark magic wound their way around a cassock. The priest's eyes clouded over. He gently lifted both hands up, then collected his things off the floor and started making his way to the door.
"Well, Sam, Anna, I do hope you're both feeling better. You can rest easy now, the darkness has passed. I trust this will mark the end of your absences and we can all move forward". The priest shook his hand. Woodenly.
"Absolutely. Yeah, um, and cheers again for coming. I think we're both feeling much better," said Sam. The cold was fading. She could just about stand on her own. They gave the black robe a wave down the driveway.
"Take care Father Thomas. I feel much more at ease now. Bye! Bye for now! All the best!" She gave the priest a wink and another Haiax for good measure. He wouldn't remember even if he bathed in holy water. They closed the door. Damn, her shoulder hurt. She looked to Sam. She didn't care and hugged him anyway.
"Are we gonna have to go to A and E with that?"
Sam heard a muffled "don't care." Her voice wavered.
"Hey, I only missed the chair by a little." She nodded. It didn't matter now. The cow was gone forever. And demons don't cry, okay? | 2017-10-10T02:15:25 | 2017-10-09T14:52:53 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] Your significant other is possessed by a demon. Soon after; you realize you love the demon and not your SO anymore and it's actually mutual. Now the exorcist has arrived. | Arthur knocked on the door, and waited.
This case was right up his alley. Woman reported a sudden change of personality on her husband, started seeing lights around the house and was sure she heard the man speaking tongues. She was worried he had been replaced , and wanted an investigator to come take a look.
Of course, rest of the folks on the PD laughed it off. Arthur didn't blame them. He was, as far as he knew, the only one on the precinct aware of the existence of the supernatural. Also, the only one who could summon and control thunderstorms. And fly.
That usually helped.
These sorts of calls were usually pranks. But Arthur knew what to look for when it was the real thing. Her statement was too coherent, the traits clear. That was either demonic possession by a being from the Abyss or a very drawn out stroke.
The door opened.
The man who opened it was not himself.
To the untrained human eye there was nothing wrong with him, other than the pornstache and the vest. But to Arthur's inhuman eyes, the deep thrumming of a not insignificantly powered demon's energy formed arches around the man's figure.
Arthur immediately outstretched his arm, pointing it directly at the demon's face. The air crackled with electricity, and energy arced through his fingers.
"This idiot won't be able to take all that, Conduit" the demon said.
"Sorry if I'm a bit overkill. Not keen on you and yours getting too near me".
"If you would please point that thing somewhere else, I imagine you'd be engrossed by my tale."
"As if I could forget. The woman is terrified, mate. You should be back at the Abyss. I know what happens to a human's soul after prolonged demon exposure. Is he even still there? Or you've had your fill?"
"He's not leaving" a third voice said.
The woman was young, pretty, and directed a terrifying glare to Arthur. She quickly put herself between the two of them, directly in front of a gigawatt of energy. Her aura was interacting most strangely with the demon's when they touched each other.
*Great, I'll have to call Rhea to wipe her* Arthur thought.
"Ma'am, your husband is about as dead as he can be. This one here is taking his body on a ride. You should probably back away."
"I know" she said " and please, if you see the ghost of Andrei, tell him to stick it. Bastard was going to kill me and claim insurance, before Azlral took his body. He saved me."
"If it's anything, I didn't get in him voluntarily" the demon said. "He was rummaging through the attic.and touched my soulstone. It wasn't my design. And me and Lily are getting quite close now that I've saved her."
"I tried to kill him" she said " and it turns out he... Enjoys that. After the third time I stabbed him I just thought to myself 'you know what, why not just talk to him'. We have a lot of common interests. And he's better than Andrei ever was at almost anything. He is NOT hurting anyone. Don't take him away" she added, voice cracking the fearless facade, "Please".
"You're marked" Arthur said, lowering his arm. "I'll be back for a deeper chat. Wait for me tonight at the rooftop, demon. There is enough trouble on this city."
"Yes, I could quite see that. The Night Queen, is that how she calls herself? We'll see what can be done."
Arthur grunted, and left.
This could be interesting. | "Can't I just clock him? I really bloody want to." The girl holding the pan took a test swing in the hallway. Two kilos of lovely iron-reinforced teflon, with the added bonus of oil that hadn't quite cooled yet. It was dripping on the rug.
"No, Hal, Hal, hey. Hey!"
Mid-swing the pan changed direction and hit the full-length smile of the boy standing behind her. The smile fractured and his whole image quivered with the force of non-stick teflon. Well, seven years' bad luck hardly mattered now. The girl's arm tried to swing around and hit the real version opposite the mirror. Sam ducked a fist while the girl re-gained composure.
"Oh, come on, Anna, give it up," she said, "you've got plenty of other nice boys down there." She heard Anna think some things she'd rather not repeat out loud. How rude.
Poor Sam. Her arm was better at least.
"Did she call me a-"
"Oh yeah. And more. She's complaining there's too much red? And she's not much for the punk aesthetic."
"Huh."
"She's right, to be fair. They do stew in their own culture."
"Well, she should've thought about that before trying to throw out my black hex stuff."
"Oh, She'll be fine, Sam" said Halaratha with a tentative wave that almost turned into a Sam-slap. Oh someone like Anna would find friends. She'd settle down into a bit of debauchery, and red wasn't all that bad. The doorbell rang. It was the priest.
"No, we spoke about this," said Sam. She dropped the bent pan. Fine.
"Okay. But for the record, I could take her on, okay? She's got what, one hand left? Three fingers?" Hal stopped there, tried and failed to cross her arms in anger. She smiled. Demons don't get scared, alright? Get a grip.
Sam opened the door to the thin man. His perfectly black cassock flowed to his perfectly black shoes. He had bibles akimbo, and the kind of rimless glasses with sharp edges you could cut yourself on. Hal winced.
"Please, come this way father. Welcome, welcome." Father Tom was impressed. Real tallow candles. God-fearing neighbourhood. Nice cloth on a real wooden table. Not veneer. This living room had the real stuff, even if there was a shattered mirror in the hallway. He sat, opened his briefcase of holy water and selected a flask.
"So, you're the one afflicted. We're ready for you. Please, sit." Father Tom dimmed the lights and Sam helped a shaking Hal through the door. She shivered, and stumbled to a sofa to grab a sweater, then practically collapsed half-Anna into a seat opposite. Fuck the cold. Her priest just stared from his pair of rimless sermon sweepers. The cute woolen sweater didn't help at all. Just looking at the table felt like an arctic winter. Hal mumbled something to herself. Sam thought it sounded like "well, fuck you too".
The priest took his left bible. He began the prayer and took Anna's hands, then poured holy water, and lit his freezing incense. She couldn't feel anything anymore. Just incense in the cold. And the living room was gone, evaporated to a desolate white that struggled hard to meander into shades of pink and punk. The priest blurred together. Fuck it Sam. Fuck it four ways to hell. Her teeth chattered and she hoped Anna's did too. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't, okay? It seemed to drag on in slow motion. She could only make out his glasses now. Only that and silence. The other girl was back in control. She stared, and waited for the old eternal pain to return. It would come, and her old life would return. The red-grey underworld monotony in full technicolor agony.
"Hmph. Ow!" White punk went black. She opened her eyes to dripping tallow on the floorboards. One arm, then two stuggled to pick her up off the floor. Floorboards turned to wall, then a painting. One of her arms flew through the blizzard helplessly and found a familiar shoulder propping her up. She strained through ice to move her neck. Sam was grinning. The pan lay a little way off.
"Hey, H, are you there honey?"
"Mhmm."
"Hal?"
"Mm, ugh. Yeah, what?"
The tablecloth was gone and lay by the bibles on the floor. Tallow seeped across the bare oak and stopped just short of a chalk outline. It had smudged a little, but the behemoth of demon swearing and interlocked geometry would do. The chair Anna had been sitting on was worse for wear.
"You remember what's next?"
"Mmm, yeah." Halaratha raised one cool hand and pointed it swaying at a paralyzed priest. He was howling his own brand of sacred profanities. Try as he might his arms wouldn't move from the table.
"Haiax, motherfucker." Good. She didn't miss. The white-red call of the underworld strengthened a little as shards of dark magic wound their way around a cassock. The priest's eyes clouded over. He gently lifted both hands up, then collected his things off the floor and started making his way to the door.
"Well, Sam, Anna, I do hope you're both feeling better. You can rest easy now, the darkness has passed. I trust this will mark the end of your absences and we can all move forward". The priest shook his hand. Woodenly.
"Absolutely. Yeah, um, and cheers again for coming. I think we're both feeling much better," said Sam. The cold was fading. She could just about stand on her own. They gave the black robe a wave down the driveway.
"Take care Father Thomas. I feel much more at ease now. Bye! Bye for now! All the best!" She gave the priest a wink and another Haiax for good measure. He wouldn't remember even if he bathed in holy water. They closed the door. Damn, her shoulder hurt. She looked to Sam. She didn't care and hugged him anyway.
"Are we gonna have to go to A and E with that?"
Sam heard a muffled "don't care." Her voice wavered.
"Hey, I only missed the chair by a little." She nodded. It didn't matter now. The cow was gone forever. And demons don't cry, okay? | 2017-10-09T15:40:03 | 2017-10-09T14:52:53 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear friend,
Oh dear friend. If only I could just step back for just one day and talk to you about all that has occurred since we last saw each other. I’m so thankful that we were able to spend the time in life together that we did.
I miss that little sigh of excitement that would rise up from my chest and escape my mouth every time you’d call or anytime I’d see you walking toward me with that little mischievous grin on your face. You were the best part of my days and for that I am forever grateful to you. I want you to know that. I’m so grateful.
The hours we spent on the phone talking about everything and anything and nothing at all. Sometimes talking about nothing at all can mean the world to someone and make all the difference. I just want you to know it made all the difference to me.
I want you to know that you taught me to love in a time that I felt nothing was worth loving.
I want you to know that you taught me my worth in a time of my life that I felt like I had no value and like my life wasn’t worth living. You made breathing exciting. You made laughing and crying together something to live for. I want you to know I’m so thankful for that.
If ever a miracle brings you to this letter, I just want you to know you are forever imprinted on my heart and every once in awhile I feel your mischievous grin creep across my face.
Stay golden | I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter. | 2017-11-05T23:44:56 | 2017-11-05T22:26:46 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] You joined a mob. The boss asks you to prove your loyalty by killing your girlfriend. Failure to prove your loyalty will result in your loved ones dying. You look around the room at all the pictures and notice, you're dating daughter of the mafia boss. | “Now go.” The boss grumbled, leaning back in his slick arm chair.
“But sir,” I️ tried to protest, twiddling my thumbs and glancing at one particular photo of his daughter, it was one of my favorites. “Sir you have a very beautiful daughter.”
“I️ know.”
“It would be awful if you were to lose her.”
He pressed his palms into the desk and leaned forward. “Are you threatening me boy?”
That came out wrong didn’t it. “No sir, it’s just that-“
“Cause if you are-“
“Sir, I’m dating your daughter.”
The room went so quiet, you could almost hear the mice in the basement gnawing at the pipes.
“Sir?”
“How long?” His expression was mute.
“A month or so, we met the first time I️ came in, she was sitting out in the hall waiting for you to finish up.” I️ tried my best to swallow but my throat was sticking to itself.
“Well. I️’ve got a new job for you then.”
I️ nodded blankly, unsure of what to expect.
“Don’t let any harm come to her, or else-“
“My loved ones all die?”
“Exactly.” His face was still fairly neutral, but unless it was just my imagination, there was the smallest hint of a smile.
“Yes sir.”
| Dimitri's eyes absentmindedly scanned the room as he flipped a silver coin over his knuckles. His lazy gait carried him to the worn leather chair which was placed oddly far from the large mahogany desk in the center of the study.
Smoke billowed, choking the air. A sickly yellow light did little to brighten the room, making the face of the man behind the desk difficult to examine.
"Hullo, Dimitri." The raspy, deep voice addressed him in English.
Dimitri bowed his head and stood beside the chair. He deposited the coin in his pocket and took a long drag off his cigarette, adding to the smoke in the room.
"Sir."
"Please, sit." A meaty hand with more rings than wrinkles suggestively gestured at the chair.
Dimitri glanced at the brown monstrosity, momentarily debating whether it was a demand or request before deciding it didn't matter. He pulled up his pant legs before relaxing back in the chair.
"Do you know why I called you here, boy?" The man held his hands together over his rotund stomach, a cigar wedged between his fingers.
Dimitri cleared his throat, his eyes casually assessing the two overgrown men that flanked the desk on either side before he shook his head slowly.
"I have job for you. It is time you prove your worth. Your... loyalty."
Dimitri was silent for several moments before he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his dark hair falling to cover half his face.
"Nikolai, may I ask why you think my loyalty is in question?"
The man leaned forward, smashing out his cigar in a yellowing glass ashtray. He placed his hands on the desk and sighed.
"Do you want to die, Dimitri?"
The meathead to the left of the desk shifted, straightening his back. His hands were in rigid fists on either side of him. The man to the right adjusted the automatic rifle he cradled against his shoulder, just enough for Dimitri to take notice.
"Of course not, Nikolai. What can I do?"
Nikolai stood, running his hands along the desk as he walked slowly around to the other side. He leaned back against it once he was in full view of the man he once trusted.
"Kill the woman you love. You do this. For me. And I will let you live."
It took everything in him to not react. His heart raced, he could feel his eyebrows relaxing back to the position they were in when he carelessly walked into this meeting.
He couldn't speak.
"Will you do this for me?"
"I..." but the words were stuck.
"You have eight hours. You leave now."
Dimitri stood, bowing his head stiffly. He walked out the door and left the house, throwing his cigarette into the gravel drive way and began cursing.
Pulling out his phone, he tapped in a phone number from memory. His part-time lover answered, her voice coated in honey.
"Hey baby... I haven't seen you in days. Come make it up to me."
"Tasha, he knows." Dimitri said through gritted teeth. He lit another cigarette as he got into his car.
"What the fuck! How can you be sure?" The sultry vixen was gone and in its place a raging hellcat appeared.
"He wants me to prove my loyalty by killing you."
He had to pull the phone away from his ear as she raged, glass broke as a stream of angry Russian poured out of the phone before it went dead.
He sighed as he put the car into gear and peeled out of the driveway, throwing gravel into the fountain. From a window above, the curtain fell closed as Nikolai smirked with amusement before an end table went flying out of another room and crashed into the hedges below.
Edit: For Vanity r/WhimsyWrites
Edit: [Part 2: Direction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WhimsyWrites/comments/7hvcbh/direction/)
Edit AGAIN!: [Part 3: Promises](https://www.reddit.com/r/WhimsyWrites/comments/7lvmlq/promises/) | 2017-12-02T19:22:11 | 2017-12-02T19:13:25 | 512 | 296 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all.
"Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?"
Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win.
"Have you heard of The Game?" | Death wasn't at all what Johnathan had pictured him to be. slicked-back hair and well fit suit reminded him a lot more of a Wall Street trader rather than the immortal reaper of souls. As he spied the somewhat overweight man in front of him, his mind worked to formulate a plan.
"Any game?" Johnathan asked, to ensure that he understood just how far the rules could bend.
"Any game," responded Death, matter of factly.
"Well I used to play a lot of games as a kid. Have you every heard of Dungeons and Drag-?" probed Johnathan.
"That's ... cooperative storytelling. Not a game. Gygax tried that on me to. If I didn't let him get away with it, I certainly wouldn't let you"
"So not any game then," quipped Johnathan.
"Yes, any game. Where, a game is defined as a structured engagement based on a before-hand agreed on framework of rules, which ends with one party being successful and the other not."
Johnathan thought for a moment. He could work with this. "Then I request that we play, 'The Campaign for North Africa'."
"I've never heard of it, but that would be acceptable. We shall start right now."
...
Around the 32nd day, Death was getting very tired of the inane rules which "The Campaign for North Africa" demanded at every turn.
[52.6] The Italian Pasta Rule
"The Italians, needing water to cook their pasta rations, must receive an additional 1 point of water when store are distributed. Any battalion-sized unit that does not receive their Pasta Point that have a Cohesion Level of -10 or worse immediately become Disorganized, as if they had reached -26"
[49.3] Evaporation and Spillage
"From Sept., 1940 until the last Game-Turn in August , 1941, the Commonwealth spillage and evaporation rate is 9 percent per Game-turn. This is due to poorly constructed containers used by the British; It wasn't until the British copied that German "jerry can" that their rate was reduced."
[55.4] AXIS COASTAL SHIPPING
"The Axis had a small fleet of boats that they used for coastal transfer of small amounts of supplies. These were old shipping boats and aging tramp steamers that could ill afford to venture too far from land. They have a limited capacity."
"Isn't there some way we can speed this up? I'm missing so many appointments," pleaded Death. With all of Death's time occupied on this game, people were living much longer than they should. The boss would not be happy.
"Well, according to rule 23.5.1b," cited Johnathan as he flipped widely through one of the myriad immense volumes of rules, "in order to finish the game, we either play until the final day of the war, which could be just another 4 years, or one of us could forfeit"
Death looked down at the battleship pieces that he had secreted into his lap, thinking that Johnathan wouldn't see his deft slight-of-hand. Johnathan was just one life. Sometimes, his clients won, it was an occupational hazard. But he would much rather give 10 more years of life than shirk his other occupational responsibilities. "Fine," growled Death.
"I forfeit, you win." | 2018-03-07T07:43:55 | 2018-03-07T07:43:27 | 251 | 39 |
[WP] The longer you charge an attack, the more powerful it becomes. SWAT charges a punch for 30 seconds to break down a door. You’ve been charging for the last three days. | Games make it look so easy. Just hold your arm in one place for a few seconds, screw up your face in concentration, then punch forward and release. Simple, right?
That's what Sam thought too, a few months back. When the discovery of charge attacks became worldwide, every kid in his class tried it. It was honestly hilarious, to see a whole group of middle-schoolers stand out in the yard during breaktime, holding and punching in the hopes of releasing a shockwave, like the guy on Youtube had done.
A few occasionally managed a small blast, enough to blow someone's hair back. One in particularly actually managed to knock the girl in front of her off her feet. Emma, was that her name? Sam couldn't be bothered, really. She'd been one of the quiet ones, the girls that aren't part of a gaggle and just don't attract attention to themselves. Even the loner boys desperate for female attention hardly noticed her. She wasn't noticeable, not even to Sam.
When she knocked another girl off her feet, she briefly became the center of attention. Everyone begged her to do it again, and so she did. Nothing happened, though. No more shock-wave, just a fluke. If she hadn't been standing at the back they probably would've turned to the one behind her instead, believing her result to be fake, even though they now knew for sure that the newly-dubbed 'Shock-Punch' was real.
They still didn't have a clue what made it happen, though, and the guy on Youtube that had released it (anonymously, which was very clever of him) had not posted a tutorial video or anything.
Sam knew. It had taken a few days of meticulous experimentation in his back yard, but that's what he'd always been: Meticulous.
So much so, in fact, that he tended to notice things everyone else looked past. The kids in his class, the teachers in the staff room during break, the school director, they were all terrible at noticing the small details. Even if they caused it.
He'd noticed, Sam had. Noticed the slow but steady rate at which his pay was falling behind the rest of the teachers'. Noticed how he always ended the day with the most bothersome classes. The ones that wouldn't listen or even attempt to sit quietly for so much as the minute or two it took to give homework. The ones where he had to resort to his specially-tuned dog whistle, just audible to teenage ears. And even that only shut them up on good days. On bad days they just made more noise still.
So Sam had sacrificed a few sick-days to the new opportunity. The trick, when he realized, was so incredibly simple. It wasn't about how you held your arm at all. Nor was it about how you moved it. What you really had to do was keep your muscles tensed in the *exact* same position for at least 10 seconds. Sounds easy, right? Go ahead, tense all the muscles in your arm. Now, don't shake that arm. No, even those little tremors will mess it up, you have to keep it *perfectly* still. And when you're ready to release, it has to be one smooth motion. Oh, and good luck keeping that up for more than a few minutes. Hope you're not afraid of a little acid in your muscles.
When he started delving into the reasons for how it worked, Sam discovered something else. The more muscles you tensed this way, the stronger the blast and the faster it grew. That explained how some kids could manage weak shock-waves despite their trembling arms. If you keep just one muscle steady for 30 seconds, you get a noticeable shock-wave.
After his sick days ran out, Sam returned to work, with his arm in a sling. A few basic "get well soon's" from his coworkers, as if they hadn't noticed how he'd fallen from grace in the eyes of the director, for no particular reason. A few simple lessons, punctuated by lots of shouting and random gusts of air every break, and often in the few minutes between lessons too.
Then, the final class. D3, the class of the rebounds. The kids who couldn't give a damn about their grades but still weren't expelled, because by the laws of a decade ago you couldn't expel a kid for anything other than a very select list of serious offenses. Otherwise, you had to keep them on while enrolled until they left of their own volition.
Sam walked into the classroom to the usual ruckus, except now there were some gusts of winds flying everywhere. Knowing how his future at the school would go, and deciding it was completely worth it, Sam removed his sling with his right hand.
He looked across the chaos of the classroom, searching for the one face he knew would be turned in his direction. He still wasn't sure why Emma had ended up in this class last semester, but it must've been because her grades had prevented her from advancing.
Now, he caught her eye, held it for a few moments, then looked straight ahead.
With a single flawless arc, his left arm flew towards the windows on the outside of the school building. The resulting shock-wave blew out the windows in a shatter of glass shards so small they might as well be raindrops, then continued into the woods at the edge of the school grounds, shredding the first few layers of trees at the edge.
In the stunned silence of the first few seconds following that move, he cleared his throat. "Now, shut the FUCK up and listen". As he began his new lesson, the fire alarm went off, and the rest of the school plunged into the chaos of panic usually reserved for bomb threats.
For once, class D3 was the quietest in the whole building.
​
Let me know what you thought of it. If enough people want me to, I might write a sequel (in a day or two)
EDIT: Due to almost exclusively positive response (the remainder being neutral), I'll be writing more. Now to just find a time and place. Also edited tiny inconsistency (thanks, /u/SanityContagion)
The story continues in /r/IvainirCreation. It's not done yet, but I want the first 'true' chapter to be at least 2000 words long (twice as long as this one). | At first it started out as just a joke, but eventually it became an obsession. I think that's what ruins everything in the end, when it spirals out of control and suddenly something you were doing so you could laugh about, becomes something that destroys everything that you care about. Since all stories that I've read start with a backstory, even when its a sequel to a best selling novel, I'll include mine for anyone that cares to read it. Everyone in the world that I live in knows that you can charge an attack to make it stronger, but you had to be careful about how long you did it, which is why we didn't have kids very often, they destroyed absolutely everything. I didn't get to grow up with my parents, as they lived in a wooden house, with wooden furniture, I would have turned that place into splinters, and I would have killed myself. Yeah, you can charge up any attack you want to make it more powerful, but then you deal with the consequences. A swat officer can charge up for thirty seconds to smash down a front door, but only people who undergo bone augmentations are allowed to do that job after criminals started reinforcing their doors with metal so it would shatter the persons arm. That was why almost no one had children anymore, because your kid would kill himself if you left him alone for more than a few seconds, because you didn't have to willfully charge the attack. A child might see someone do something, and then hold up their arm in preparation to learn how to do it, and once they hold it up and charge it for several minutes before they figure out how to actually swing their arm like they wanted to, it's enough to kill them.
So children did not grow up with their parents, and I did not grow up with mine. I grew up inside a machine, that prevented me from holding my muscles in any attack position, and it kept me from not killing myself but it kept me from also being free. When I reached the age of six, I was deemed capable of understanding the dangers, and earned limited freedom until I was eleven, and then finally I was introduced to the rest of the kids. Education was the most important part, and before I was released, I was shown a series of videos that showed kids killing their friends with a charged attack, not understanding just how important it was to never charge an attack. However, no level of education was ever enough to combat the stupidity of youth, we are supposed to learn from doing. As we grew up together we started to create stupid games, charging up jumps to see who could time the charge perfectly to slap a bullseye on a wall. Eventually, we reached a game that balanced stupidity with fun, and a twinge of danger that made it so enticing. We called it "Mercy" and it was played very simply. Two of us would stand facing each other, and then prepare a slap. The first person to cry mercy would lose and then both people would release their slap and we would take the hit. The only thing that really made the game safe as the way that we would slap. We would move our hand as slow as possible and instead of trying to impact the face, we wanted to just rest our hand on the face. This reduced the initial amount of force that was built up, and so we could charge for a few seconds and it would just be a hard punch and not a lethal blow.
We were hanging out at my house, bored as usual, when we decided to play the game. We didn't play it that often, but one of the kids was having a rough time at home so we decide to play it to blow off some steam. I was currently in the lead, having called mercy once while making two other people call mercy, and was facing down the last guy in the group for all the marbles. I was eager to win the game, and so I cheated by bringing up my hand right before someone said to go. This was an effective cheat because the other person knew that his slap would always be weaker, so I would automatically last longer. This would have sealed my victory, but then before my friend said go, my mom called up the stairs, "Matt, there is a girl on the phone for you." We all froze in the room, and looked at each other, and my friends began to plot just the best method to tease me, and so I called downstairs, "Which girl?" There was a lapse while my mom asked and then yelled back, "Sarah." There was a chorus of laughter throughout the room, Sarah was a girl that I had a major crush on. Then Eric started to cry, and we all looked at him, and then looked at my hand. It was still in the air, ready for the slap that I had completely forgotten about. Everyone panicked and Eric backed away from me, how long had I been holding the slap? A minute maybe? No one knew for sure, and so we didn't know what to do. I should have just slapped the wall then, might have lost my arm, but that would have been the end of it. Instead, my friends rushed down the stairs and yelled at my parents, who couldn't understand them in all the chaos, and by the time that they figured it out, I had been standing here for more than ten minutes now. My parents panicked as well, knowing that I was going to lose my arm, and called the police to find out what the correct procedure to use was, because I might take down the house if I hit something now. The person on 911 misunderstood and thought someone was threatening them with a charged attack and told them to wait while they sent a squad car over. Thirty minutes later, the police arrived on the scene, and then ten minutes after that they came up to talk to me. They evacuated the entire area, but I had been holding the attack for three hours by the time that they cleared the area, and so they called back to ask for an attack specialist to evaluate the impact of the damage.
I didn't learn this until now, but up until this point, the longest prepared attack was five hours and forty three minutes. It was a suicide attacker, who charged up a stomp for as long as he could hold it, and then released it. He leveled more than three football fields worth of the city with that attack. I reached that point as the specialist was asking me to remember if my hand had moved at all during the first minute of the charge, so he could estimate the base level of the charge, then some specialists from the hospital came in around the seven hour mark and put my hand into a cast to prevent it from moving. When you hold a charged attack, you can't move your hand out of the attack until it's finished, and so my entire arm was on fire, having been forced to hold it perfectly in the air for so many hours, but the sling did nothing to help it. Even though it couldn't actually move anymore, my muscles still burned like I held it up. A doctor stayed with me through the night, while I cried on and off, unable to sleep, in nothing more than agony. The next day several experts were there, asking me over and over again to tell them about the attack that I was charging, they had used the phone call records to estimate when the whole thing had started. A kind soul put a tv in front of me, hoping that it would distract me, but that just allowed me to listen to the news as they talked about me. There was a huge debate across the internet, as people suggested just shooting me in the head so I could not kill the entire planet. That's what the debate had reached by the end of the second night, if I carried out my attack at this point, would it shatter the planet, and if so, should they kill me to prevent it? I asked a doctor straight up if they would kill me, and he balked and told me that there was a huge debate amongst the scientific community while they tried to figure out if killing me would release the stored energy anyways, since it had to go somewhere. By the early hours of the third day, my arm has moved past pain, into something else and I manage to sleep for a few hours. No one but my parents talk to me anymore, the scientists are busy crunching numbers to determine if they can kill me, or put me in a coma.
On the fourth morning the scientists come to tell me the plan, and my parents are in the room. They are going to build a ship to send me deep into space, where hopefully my slap won't be able to affect other planets. My parents are crying now, and I feel like I am being sentenced for my crime. It had started off as a simple joke, a fun way to pass the time, and now my parents weep while the scientist explains that due to the time it will take to build the ship, and the time that it will take for me to leave, I will have to make the choice on when to make the attack. The longer that I hold it, the more likely I am to end the entire universe, but the quicker that I release it, the more likely the shockwave will kill humanity. My mind goes back to the video's they showed us before they released us back into the public, and smile an ironic smile. At least no kids in the future will play a game of Mercy.
*****
You can always catch more of my writing at /r/iruleatants | 2018-10-02T15:29:39 | 2018-10-02T15:20:01 | 3,397 | 72 |
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING. | "Wait wait let me get this straight. What do you mean your average at rocket science and neurosurgery?"
"Yep", Ambrose replied nonchalantly. "Pass me the screwdriver" as he busily fiddled with the car engine.
"Right, that should about do it. Your plumbing needs fixing as well right? I'm pretty average at that as well, but I'm sure I can slap it up running in a couple hours"
Charlie shook his head in disbelief, here he was a self proclaimed "average" person who could do anything.
"My friend" he sighed. "This makes you the least average of all".
| Anthony Vander Ghal was considered funny, but not hysterical. A nice guy to be around, but not all the time. He drove to work in a 2011 Golf, it had a few war wounds and erroneous knocking sounds - that sounded like an actual golf ball loose in the back - but it served its purpose. He parked in the same spot as he had done for the last fifteen years and dressed in clothes older than both his children combined.
Anthony walked into *Advize Accounting*, his black briefcase swinging without care. And later he would wonder - why oh why did my sandwich lose its top?
'Is that him?' A small voice whispered.
'Shhh.' Glenda from sales crouched beside her daughter and pressed a finger to her lips.
Anthony smiled at them both and continued to reception.
'Samatha don't!' Glenda called out.
A small hand tugged at the back of Anothy's suit jacket. He stopped, turned and faced the child. She looked up at him with wide, saucer eyes and was momentarily lost for words.
'I'm so sorry.' Glenda said and lifted little Samantha into her arms.
'It's fine. She's curious.' Anthony said and tapped Sam lightly on the nose.
'Are yoo really a hooman calculator?' Sam said.
'In a way,' Anthony lifted the little girl's finger and guided it to his nose. 'pretend it's a button!'
Samatha giggled and squashed his nose. She yanked her hand back.
'Now tell me some numbers.'
'Oh, she doesn't know any numbers.' Glenda said.
'I doo!' Samatha kicked in her mum's arms and leant across to tap Anthony's nose. With each press of his nose, Anthony let out *BEEPs* and *BOOPs*.
'One,' Samatha said. 'Free, foor, seffen.'
Anthony vibrated his throat in a computing rumble. And then, like a robot, he announced the answer. 'Three-point-seven-five.’
Samatha compressed her, already small, features and looked at Glenda. 'He's right.' Glenda said.
'But how do you knooow?' Samatha pressed.
'Because Anthony isn't wrong about these things.'
'Your mum is right,' Anthony said. 'remember? I'm the *hooman* calculator.'
Glenda leant across and whispered to Anthony. 'Thanks for playing along. She doesn't know what averages are.'
Glenda was right. Little Samantha had no clue what Anthony had done with the numbers, yet, admiration twinkled in her eyes. To her, the man in the suit was a superhero of numbers, and perhaps it was her lack of understanding that made her awestruck or perhaps it was the man's charm.
'One more! One more!' Samatha pleaded.
Glenda gave Antony an apologetic look, but he was smiling and allowed a repeat demonstration. This time, Samatha shouted numbers until her cheeks were red.
'Five.' Anothy said.
Samatha turned to her mother, who nodded and then switched back to Anthony with mild annoyance. 'I thot yoor head would esplode.' Samatha said.
'Samatha!' Glenda said and whisked her daughter away.
Anthony couldn't help but laugh and waved at the flailing little girl. A strange feeling overcame Anthony Vander Ghal. It felt weird, like a slow trickle of honey. He had a feeling that for the first time, his day would be above average.
---
/r/WrittenThought | 2018-10-24T07:25:40 | 2018-10-24T07:20:17 | 680 | 177 |
[WP] You are an immortal that got sentenced to permanent burial over 1000 years ago. Today a team of archaeologists just dug you up. | Most people don't consider the small problems that come with immortality. It's always about how you'll end up knowing so much, or that you're pretty much guaranteed that you'll end up buried alive, but nobody really thinks about the annoying stuff.
Sure, being buried alive sucks and you run out of ways to amuse yourself after a few short decades, but the worst thing you have to deal with isn't watching years go by with nothing but your thoughts.
The worst part, the most annoying thing, is when you finally escape.
The people who dug me up seem to be some kind of scholars. It looks like they're writing down notes on everything they find and they're using some kind of complex machine to catalog everything.
The advancements in the sciences that you've missed is the first big annoyance. From what I can gather, they've managed to harness lightning in some fashion and combined that with very tiny mechanical pieces similar to what I read of Archimedes' work. The metallurgy seems heavily advanced from what I knew as well.
The next big annoyance is the absolute worst - languages. No one seems to speak any of the languages I know except for one man who speaks something that sounds like the uneducated dialects spoken in a pauper's district. I can only understand every third word or so, but we've been making progress.
The last big annoyance is the only one that I derive any sort of pleasure from. As they begin to realize what I am, they always have the same reaction of wanting to study me so that they can become what I am.
The horror on their faces as they realize just how far from human I have become is the only good thing about all of this. | I've been thinking. Have I been thinking? Have I been dreaming? I barely exist. But... I do exist. In this darkness, this eternal darkness, I still exist. And I've been thinking, or dreaming. I dreamt a man with a life, who existed in time, with light. For me, there is no time, no light. There is only this eternal darkness. In my dream, about a man, in the light, he's seeking something. He's looking for something that will make more people see him. I don't understand. It's cloudy. He wants... recognition. He thinks nobody sees him. IDIOT! No one sees me, in this timeless darkness. But I do exist. I begin to exist... more, when I dream this man. When I stop dreaming him, I think about him. When I dream about him, I whisper to him, with my invisible voice, I whisper to him that we are the same. Both of us, we barely exist. A stiff wind would snuff us out. I can help him. We can both be seen! As I'm telling him that we can both be seen, I develop a strange sensation. I begin to feel my body. But more importantly, I begin to feel HIS body. He is sweating. I can feel that he is scared. I can feel a drop of sweat slide into my... no, into HIS eye. I brush it away with the back of my hand.
I dream of him again. I awake, into the dream, the dream of the man. He's sweating again. He stinks! His disgusting flesh smells of stale sweat! I think I hate him. I don't know how such an insect, such a putrid, vile, ridiculous person could appear in my dreams. But he's digging. I move his hands, and he continues to dig. His mouth is sour. I think he's vomited a few times. Most of his fingernails have been torn away, but I hate him, so I make him dig faster. I've begun to understand some things. His world is strange. Digging is what he does. Usually with tools though. Row upon row of picks and brushes and tiny trowels. These things were nonsense at first, but the images of them are beginning to refine themselves in my mind. They are beginning to become real things, things I can grasp, with my mind, and his hands. But he's close, so I don't need him to use them. For this, I'll use his hands. This man, this idiot that interrupted my sleep, that made me dream of him, I'll make him use his disgusting hands to dig, and I'll help him get what he wants. What WE want.
We awake again. We must have passed out, because I stopped dreaming him. His hands are in terrible pain. Bruised, no fingernails left, and he's vomited again. I can feel how weak he is. I think he will die soon. But I force him to get to his knees. He even tries to protest a little bit, but I'm stronger than he is. I don't even think he wants to be seen anymore, he just wants me to let him be. But I won't. With his hands, I feel my way along the stone. There is a gap that his bloody fingers will just barely fit into. I brace his feet against the mounds of dirt that we've scooped from this muddy hole, and using every bit of his strength, and a considerable amount of mine, I pull the stone slab up from a groove, and out, sliding it back across the ground. He cries out, and we feel a searing pain in his ankle, as the slab grinds to a halt only halfway opening the way. I clamp his jaw shut from the ridiculous squeals, and force him to crawl forward. To look into the opening... and we see. We see MY body.
Oh, finally, I am really awake! I leap out of the tomb, snatching the disgusting little man off his knees, and look into his little sweaty face. Into his little piggy eyes. He sees me, and I SEE him! He's terrified, but I don't feel it anymore. I'm awake, alive, I EXIST! I pitch his wretched body into the tomb, and push the stone back into place with my heel. Now he can rot in this stinking hole! I have a new world to explore... But first, there are other "diggers" here. The ones he wanted to see him. Not as pathetic or young as he was. But wretched people, people who wallow in the dirt to find old things. Well, they found ME! | 2019-10-26T00:08:22 | 2019-10-25T23:29:43 | 260 | 64 |
[WP] In your world, magic is wielded by astrologists who form pacts with distant stars. Every star grants a unique power. Upon forming a pact with a star, you gain a glimpse of its worlds and your soul will be pulled to one when your pact ends. You are the first to form a pact with a black hole. | "So I'm with a red Supergiant. I gained powers of mass manipulation, heavy metals, that sort of thing. You?"
"I tamed a G-type main sequence, with three life bearing planets. I work with water and life, mostly. Sometimes the solar maximums give me electromagnetics, but that's few and far between. How 'bout you, Jane?"
"Black hole. Supermassive."
"What? But...that's not possible. The Council outlawed anything above the Chandrasekhar Limit centuries ago. The last time somebody tried to form a pact with even a neutron star they immediately died from trying to comprehend degenerate matter. Their death caused an explosion that destroyed half a continent. How did you manage to tame-"
"I didn't tame it. It tamed me."
"...What?"
"When I tried to summon it, I did die. But Black holes aren't stars. They're the eldritch collectives of their corpses, incomprehensible and anathema to all other stars, with the True Void at the singularities."
"Jane...exactly what did you try to summon?"
"Sagittarius A\*. I'm a necromancer now, with the combined experience and knowledge of all the others who have attempted to tame black holes before me. I'm THE Necromancer now." | In hopes of understanding more of our power, we started to study the stars and the vast void between them.
Astrology is the study of the magic given to us by the stars. But, the first of these truly rigorous fields of studies is heliology, the study of our own sun. Those that contracted this star is among the most powerful, for it is the closest star.
I’d say the heliomancers are like plants. Taking in sunlight and photosynthesizing them into magic.
Anyways, then came astronomy, the study of stars farther away. Then cosmology, then astrophysics, and so on. Because of our abilities, we came to a deep understanding of the place beyond our cradling planet…
The fact that there are different kinds of stars mean that there are different sources of magic. In the excitement of this discovery, people attempted to contract our planet. It was a success, and they are our geomancers and builders today.
We soon learnt that any celestial body can become a practical magic source. Note I said practical. While experiments show that magic can be gained by contracting small objects, they produce so little magic that it’s useless…
Now, you who contracted a black hole… You are the first. How does it feel? How does the power of a million or even billion stars feel?
“……… Lonely”
Lonely? Why so?
“Black holes are the darkest stars… So dark that we can’t see it on it’s own… We can only see it because of it’s accretion disc… A disc formed when a hapless star falls into it”
……… True, true, but remember just you is equal to a million or billion of us. Tell me, why do you refuse to be our king?
“Because it’s a power that only functions when destroying something! Don’t you understand?! I didn’t want this power!”
In order to build, you must destroy. What you see around you didn’t come from nowhere. These stone used to build the walls surrounding us are from quarries that are destroying a mountain. This chair is made from wood from a tree.
In fact, from astrophysics, we know stars shine because of nuclear fusion. What difference does it make when a star is used as a material?
“……… Stars are alive”
What?
“Why do you think we go to their planetary systems when we die? They need us to seed their planets with life! Black holes rob them of that opportunity!”
……… We need a moment to discuss. What do you think Grand Magistrate?
……… What eats must know what they are eating was alive at some point… If what he saying is true, then black holes must be alive as well… We know black holes are massive and nothing can escape once something enters their maws… That must mean they are apex predators, if we compare stars to life. Furthermore…
……… We need to sacrifice people for it to give us its blessings…
Hm… I don’t like this……… I kind of know how he feels now.
So what do we do?
……… We can still make use of him. Black holes are longest “living” stars after all.
We have decided… You shall be our king.
“What?! Weren’t you listening?! This power is unholy!”
Yes, but that doesn’t mean that we will sacrifice stars to it… We cannot do anything about the ones that are already eating, but they take a long time to eat. As such, we don’t need to sacrifice stars for a long time…
Hahaha, like we can even do that.
……… With his power, we might be able to.
Did you say something?
Ah, nothing, was just talking to myself.
Well, anyways… Are you okay with that arrangement?
“I’m not fully onboard, but… This is the lesser evil, so I can’t really argue”
***
15th day of Askentr Month, 198 AM
A new king is crowned, His Royal Highness Pierre Laplace von Alastair, the most powerful king in history.
In his reign, technology advanced by leaps and bounds. In his 50th year of rule, humanity is now expanding throughout space, giving people a chance to meet their stars.
The King meets his, and from there, the dark ages begun. | 2020-02-21T05:29:11 | 2020-02-21T04:48:57 | 49 | 17 |
[WP] In your world, magic is wielded by astrologists who form pacts with distant stars. Every star grants a unique power. Upon forming a pact with a star, you gain a glimpse of its worlds and your soul will be pulled to one when your pact ends. You are the first to form a pact with a black hole. | "So I'm with a red Supergiant. I gained powers of mass manipulation, heavy metals, that sort of thing. You?"
"I tamed a G-type main sequence, with three life bearing planets. I work with water and life, mostly. Sometimes the solar maximums give me electromagnetics, but that's few and far between. How 'bout you, Jane?"
"Black hole. Supermassive."
"What? But...that's not possible. The Council outlawed anything above the Chandrasekhar Limit centuries ago. The last time somebody tried to form a pact with even a neutron star they immediately died from trying to comprehend degenerate matter. Their death caused an explosion that destroyed half a continent. How did you manage to tame-"
"I didn't tame it. It tamed me."
"...What?"
"When I tried to summon it, I did die. But Black holes aren't stars. They're the eldritch collectives of their corpses, incomprehensible and anathema to all other stars, with the True Void at the singularities."
"Jane...exactly what did you try to summon?"
"Sagittarius A\*. I'm a necromancer now, with the combined experience and knowledge of all the others who have attempted to tame black holes before me. I'm THE Necromancer now." | Chaos, that was what it was. Bloodshed and devastation. But it hadn't always been that way; the first few times that people had been blessed by the stars, we had celebrated. The powers that the Heavens had distilled upon us were unconditional, not bound by the same rules and limits as those of the Mages.
We developed all sorts of abilities—flight, weather manipulation, petrification by eye contact—you name it. By tethering your soul to a star, you claimed its power, and to ensure that no two people shared the same power, no two people could share the same star. It was a glorious thing. People all over the world started Tethering, and developing magic of their own.
Of course, so did I. I was young and naive, hopeful and excitable. The moment I turned 22, I went out in my backyard and threw my head to the sky. Countless stars dotted the night sky, and thousands were already Tethered. We didn't know how we knew, we just *did*. It was my first and only chance to Tether, and I wanted it to be special, so I wanted the star to be special.
I must have spent hours raking the sky for what I thought was a worthy star, and finally, I found it. That was when it all went wrong. I did as they told us to do: pray to the star, form a connection. And it worked. I felt it happen. I *saw* it happen.
The tells weren't usually very distinctive, but this tell, definitely was. The star began to grow brighter, and larger in the sky. I could see people in my neighbourhood coming out to gawk at it. Then other stars began to disappear—I still don't know what happened to the people whose souls were tethered to them, and truth be told, I don't want to.
The star continued to grow, which made even more stars disappear, and then finally, it went black. It was no longer a bright mass of burning gas, it was an enormous rip in the fabric of space—a black hole.
People had noticed me doing my Tethering that night, and began to question whether I'd done something to the star. Impossible of course, but when you're scared you'll think anything. Soon after the police were involved, and then the Mages came. Their magic told them that the star was corrupted, and that it was possible for others to be corrupted as well. They didn't know how that would affect the Starborn—those who had Tethered—but they didn't want to find out. They demanded that all Starborn be handed over, and that people stopped Tethering. Naturally, we refused. The Mages were jealous, we had said, bitter. And so the war began.
For seven years we've warred, and it was all my fault....
"Luke? Luke!" a voice hissed in my ear, tearing me from my thoughts.
"What?" I said, confused. Then I saw the face staring down at me. "Oh, Kenny." Kenny was an old man, with several feet of bushy grey hair and a matching beard. His eyes were blue, and held a hint of insanity—well, slightly more that a hint. He was stocky for his age, and smiled quite often, despite losing so much in the war. "What is it, Ken?"
"Ariya an' Tarif are back. They got something," he said, grinning slyly.
I pushed myself off of the ground, not bothering to brush off—what was the point? My clothes were aged and torn, and looked as though they had been washed in dirt. I followed Kenny through the long, narrow corridor that lead to our base of operations, which was really just an old, demolished high school.
He lead me into what was left of the Chemistry lab, where I found the entire group—minus those who were keeping watch—standing in a circle.
"Go on," Kenny urged me. They made a slight part in the circle to admit me, and I saw another old man, bound in chains. He was sturdy like Kenny, and he wore a brown cloak, with a drawing of the planet on his chest.
"An Earth Mage," I said contemptuously. | 2020-02-21T05:29:11 | 2020-02-21T04:09:32 | 49 | 16 |
[WP] You’re in the mafia and the boss has ordered you to kill your girlfriend to show your loyalty. You look around the room and see the pictures only to find out you’re dating the mafia boss’s daughter. | "Uh Boss, listen this might be a bit awkward..."
He looked at me, his face barely visible behind the smoke of his cigarette and then he said in a raspy voice
"What are you too chicken to do it? You know that this will only end with a dead body, whether it will be you or her is the only thing in question."
I started sweating even more, seems like I am dead either way, well... Might as well get it over with now.
"So... This girlfriend of mine she's uh..."
"What are you scared of her?"
"I am dating your daughter."
His cigarette dropped on the floor, he sat there, his mouth open in shock.
"Come again?"
"Your daughter, she's my girlfriend."
He just looked at me for a second, then he bent down, picked up his cigarette and poured himself a drink.
"Yeah I guess I wouldn't want you to kill her. Oh and don't worry, my daughter can date whoever she wants but mind you, if you hurt her in any way, you are a dead man. Anyway, to the killing business, your mother it is then."
I won't lie to you, my mother has never been good to me ever since my father died when I was young. I mean sure, she is still my mother, so it won't really be easy but well... At least doable, plus she was already almost on her deathbed. And that's when I noticed another photo... It showed the boss and my mother, now mind you, she wasn't his wife, maybe they had an affair some time ago but still there it was, him and my mother...
This just couldn't get any better... | The smell of cigar, whiskey and cologne clung to the air like the tension when Boss asked me to do my girlfriend in to show loyalty to the mob. The tension swelled within the room, as every boot-licker around me grew more and more interested in what I had to say. The 2 second limit of 'yes, boss!', 'right away, boss' was over, and now I felt like I was standing on a floating rock in a pond surrounded by crocodiles. They knew something was about to happen, the ambiance shifted: the jukebox went quiet, the cards were put down (no mo' games - as they say) and only the big dogs didn't put out their cigarettes. All eyes were on me.
After the first kill, you've sold your soul, pretty much. Why stop now? Why bother? We are all going to the same place. Might as well band together and enjoy what life has to offer. That's how you join the group. We were thick as thieves, but there's no honor among us at the end of the run. The weakest link has never had a place, they remind you time and again. In their husky voice, they growl the same words "Ain't no squares be in our circle, skipper". I don't know where *skipper* came from, but I'm assuming its because I'm the young one with a hop in my step that shows promise. Right now, that promise was draining like the color in my face.
The sunlight cut through the smoke from the basement window, as a cloud shifted, it illuminated a framed photo on Boss' heavy mahogany desk. A brown-eyed angel smiled back, that was a smile of a person that had never known regret. My heart crushed like a piece of paper scrunched up into a ball. Ironically, her name is exactly who she is-Angelica...oh yes, the big boss loves his one and only daughter. She's the apple of his eye. His dirty money might have given her every wonderful opportunity under the sun--fashion school in Paris, yoga retreat in India, 21st birthday in London, shopping spree with the girlfriends in Milan--but he never let the dirty business touch her. Everything he was, he wanted the opposite for her, to never let anything touch her pure soul. He truly loves her. Trouble is, I truly love her too...
So, *skipper,* what are my options: refuse and drop out of the mob (read: sign my own death certificate), break up with Angelica and murder her in cold blood and psychologically traumatize the living shit out of myself, lie and agree and find a way out, tell the truth and shoot myself in the foot (they provide the guns, thank you) *or...*time to manipulate.
"Boss, you took the words right outta my mouth. That bitch has been seeing Ronny. I didn't want to tarnish our brotherhood, but him-", I turn around and point at the skinniest loser I can think of (sorry Ron, good times buddy), "I caught him seeing my girl at the Frank's cafe at 2 AM"
Poor guy swallowed a lump in his throat. He'd rather choke on it right now than eat the Boss' lead. Literally, a Hollywood movie was about to break out right now, and I was the magician. *I love you Angelica, but your Dad is a tit. Just steal his money and lets get the fuck out of her.* Back to Ronny, who was perspiring a little, as heavy pairs of eyes settled on him. He knows he's fucked because he's looking at me. He tries to plead with his eyes, his arms slowly raising by themselves in surrender. Wow, grow a spine, man.
"Ron, I should skin you alive, but, sadly, we need you to get us through to the docks. I dunno how you do it, but your harmless disposition and a few greens gets those watchdogs to turn into tame pups. Haha!"
A roar of laughter spread like a wave. Strategy #18: end your argument with a joke, if people laugh, everything will be accepted. And so it came to be, that Ronny did not get the chef's blade tonight. We non-verbally agreed that he's an important part of the team. And the betrayal is between the two boys involved who can work it out"
A revolver clicks back into safety, Phew. *Skipper*. You're pretty good. *How else you think I got the boss' daughter. Can't believe I had to join the fucking mob for this. Oh, Angelica.* | 2020-07-02T08:43:29 | 2020-07-02T08:11:08 | 64 | 44 |
[WP] You’re in the mafia and the boss has ordered you to kill your girlfriend to show your loyalty. You look around the room and see the pictures only to find out you’re dating the mafia boss’s daughter. | "Uh Boss, listen this might be a bit awkward..."
He looked at me, his face barely visible behind the smoke of his cigarette and then he said in a raspy voice
"What are you too chicken to do it? You know that this will only end with a dead body, whether it will be you or her is the only thing in question."
I started sweating even more, seems like I am dead either way, well... Might as well get it over with now.
"So... This girlfriend of mine she's uh..."
"What are you scared of her?"
"I am dating your daughter."
His cigarette dropped on the floor, he sat there, his mouth open in shock.
"Come again?"
"Your daughter, she's my girlfriend."
He just looked at me for a second, then he bent down, picked up his cigarette and poured himself a drink.
"Yeah I guess I wouldn't want you to kill her. Oh and don't worry, my daughter can date whoever she wants but mind you, if you hurt her in any way, you are a dead man. Anyway, to the killing business, your mother it is then."
I won't lie to you, my mother has never been good to me ever since my father died when I was young. I mean sure, she is still my mother, so it won't really be easy but well... At least doable, plus she was already almost on her deathbed. And that's when I noticed another photo... It showed the boss and my mother, now mind you, she wasn't his wife, maybe they had an affair some time ago but still there it was, him and my mother...
This just couldn't get any better... | I sat on the rugged couch, illuminated by the hungry line of cold light from the television. I rustled in my loose pockets for a few seconds while looking up at the broken asbestos ceiling. My fingers touched a firm paper texture, and I yanked out a card. I looked at the card *he* gave me. Its decorative edges lying on the bleak paper. “To show your loyalty, kill the one whom you love most – and deliver me their heart.” it read, attached to it stood out the dried ink with the signature “Al Capone” – I put my hand on my wrinkled red forehead, staring into the black nothingness, the hurrying flash of color I wasn’t even sure was there, as if I was in the depths of the coal mine, burning, my body weighing a thousand tons.
A loud knock came from the hallway, I thrust the card pack into my pockets and got up to look through the eyehole. “Who is it?” I shouted from the end of the couch, approaching the door. The keys in my left pocket jingling. “It’s Brook!” said a muffled tender voice. My shoulders dropped and I chuckled to myself a little, just so it could be heard through the door. I got to the end of it and looked through the eye hole, no one else was there. I pulled out a key from my left pocket and put it in the door, the clinks and clunks emphasizing the opening. I opened the door and a swift breeze brushed in. Her attire was died down, but her curves, her seamless skin, and her curled up hair proved her beautiful enough for any man.
“You said we had to go somewhere baby, where are you planning to go?”
“Ah, it’s nothing, we’re just going to visit a museum that opened” I scoffed. “Let’s go to the car. We gotta hurry.” I grabbed her hand. We went out, my neck protruding from my tank top felt the cool breeze of New York City. The countless almond and peach lights hitting every corner of the scene – embalmed with the horns and reeving of cars.
We scuttered towards my car, slammed the door, and turned the key. The lights lit up in front of us, a man in a suit and a fedora appeared, just coldly standing there. The engine stuttered until I could put my feet on the pedal. I turned out of the parking lot, bumping through the concrete slabs.
“Who the hell was that James?” Brook asked. Her hands were gripping at the door handle, trying to pull herself closer to the edge.
“Just a business associate” I replied, my hands sweating and burning from the rubber on the wheel. We turned onto the Brooklyn Bridge, now followed by 2 police cars. “Fuck.” I muttered. The cops started shooting at our tires and the windows. Brook pressed to the seat when one of the bulled grazed her ears.Evading all traffic we arrived at a mansion, just on the outskirts of New York, I stopped the car, burst out the door and rushed to Brook, got her out of the car, and went to the door. I opened the large door. He was sitting at the end of the hall. He got up with open arms.
“Dad!” Brook went to Capone, “You didn’t tell me it was going to be such a ride!” She said while hugging.
“Oh, Brook. You didn’t get hurt did you?” he asked brushing her hair.
“Not at all.”
He stopped hugging Brook and started towards me.
“You didn’t deliver me the heart young boy” he pointed at me, his voice was crooked and low. I switched my stare between him and Brook, not being able to process what just happened. *What the hell*. *Was she set up from the beginning?*
“Oh don’t be so shocked, did you really think I was going to let you kill a stranger?” He said squinting his eyes.
I cleared my throat. “No” I paused – “did I fail?”
“Well, you did deliver me this sweet-heart so I’ll let you go this time,” he said looking back at her.
I was relieved beyond belief, I gathered my strength for one more question “Why?”
“Why?” he repeated the question, his face became rigid and serious. He stood over me, looking down. Then he broke the silence with “Come on! It was fun!”, He even chuckled to himself. “And you also proved you can save someone from the cops, so get ready for doing a favor for one of our associates” he laughed to himself and patted me on the back.
Hope it's good! | 2020-07-02T08:43:29 | 2020-07-02T06:47:27 | 64 | 40 |
[WP]You’re the god of small luck, you make the bus late, make pennies appear. You receive a prayer from a homeless man, “Please, I want to get on my feet. A stable job, a wife, some kids.” Normally, you’d forward his prayer to the god of success. Now, you decide to take on the case yourself. | Maybe you've seen me out of the corner of your eye, walking down the street. I'm there when you win a round of cards or snag the last ticket to a concert. I'm there when you sneak into a meeting right on time or have just enough ingredients to finish your recipe. But ultimately, I'm a pencil-pusher. A nobody.
I wish there was more I could do, but too much luck would toss the universe off-balance.
My heart ached when I heard the homeless man's prayer. I'd heard so many like it. The god of success - his real name is Dennis, by the way - is fickle, random, and awfully judgmental. So in other words, typical upper management.
I'm not supposed to take on individual cases like this - those are for the "big guns." But I couldn't help myself. I withdrew 100 bucks from an ATM using my human bank account and dropped them in the homeless man's cup. Is that bending the rules? Sure. But maybe it was luck that I happened to cross his path.
Within moments of my action, I received an angry email from Dennis.
"Stay in your league, Fortune Boy," it said. "There's a natural order to things. Those who lack money, a home, and a family don't want them badly enough. They're moochers. You give one a chance and he'll go down in flames."
The homeless man's name is Gerald. A veteran. Married once, divorced. As soon as I dropped the $100 in his cup, he made his way to the city library and used the money to pay the application fee for a local community college. He told his story, eloquently and movingly. I had no way to influence the essay readers - he was persuasive enough on his own.
Dennis's angry emails kept coming.
"You're finished. Do you understand? As soon as I can quash this case of yours you're done."
I typed an answer calmly. "I haven't broken any rules."
Dennis started to place obstacles in Gerald's way, and in mine. He messed with the college's financial aid qualifications, leaving Gerald scrambling to pay for books and public transit. He nudged people in Gerald's direction who berated him for his learning difficulties, his demeanor, the smell of his clothes.
But Gerald pressed on. Dennis wrote to me in the middle of the night once Gerald received his first "A" at the end of the semester.
"You are hereby terminated from your position as God of Small Luck. Your office must be vacated by 5pm tomorrow.
P.S. Good riddance."
I'm not sure where I'm going to go from here. There aren't exactly a lot of open positions for people in my line of work.
But Gerald gives me hope. Every so often I'll wander onto the college campus to see how he's doing. Each day his smile gets a little wider, his confidence a little stronger.
If I've changed one life, it will have been worth it. | (BANG BANG BANG) “Order! Order!”
Unfurling their majestic feathery wings, the council took there seats at the front of the court house.
Angles and Demi’s of the Jury, this is a Celestial Case. An incident took place early this morning, where as the God of Luck has failed to carry out his duty, and report the poor soul #01000010 01110010 01101111, to the proper god. The penalty being stripped of your power and rank. Do you understand the charges?
“Yes your honor” I’m trembling in my Sandals.
“And I understand you will be representing yourself today is that correct?” The smug smile on her face showed me I’m in way over my halo.
“Yes that is correct” I glance over at the far right to the god of success, he hasn’t taken his eyes off me since we began.
“And how do you plea?” The room falls quiet.
“Not guilty” the room roars with arguments.
“ORDER ORDER!” The council seemed in shock of my response.
“It’s just, I think I might have maybe made a mistake?” That didn’t seem to help the roaring.
“ORDER! Will the defendant please proceed with your opening statement?”
I thought back to the homeless man I heard that morning. The sun had not risen yet, I was helping a jogger realize the mess they where about to step in when I heard him.
“Please, I want to get on my feet. A stable job, a wife, some kids”
I am luck for all, I provide that small detail that can change tides. I put that nickel on the floor that gave you exact change, I made the buss late so you met the love of your life. I’ve shifted the powers in wars and made sure that you where closer to grass when you fell down hard that one time. I’ve been content with my job till this one moment.
Ignoring the jogger with now smelly shoes I phased over to the homeless man.
He was as you’d except, oversized cloths, hardly any shelter, and a sign that wasn’t even readable anymore, down on his luck. This man had given up, had I not seen him before? I’m sure I have, this is #01000010 01110010 01101111. Yes I’m sure of it the boy who I helped in 10th grade, track and field, I had to keep his shoe from slipping off, he would always forget to tie them, no matter how much he wanted to be top in his class he always fell a little behind. I manifest into physical form.
“Hey bud, not doing so hot hu?” I put a 5$ in his tin can.
“Life’s To Hard, and I’ve got zero luck, I just wish I could have things work out like everyone els, but luck doesn’t exist.”
Clearly offended I state “you know sometimes you just have to look around luck is out there trust me” I do exist after all. It didn’t mattter though, the man went back into his daze.
“I didn’t report him your honor because I don’t believe I’ve done him justice. I would like a second attempt at his happiness before handing him off to the God of success.”
“And are you okay with this” she looks over at the God of Success who still hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
“If he thinks he can make the soul happy who am I to stand in the way of his success.” The look on his face wasn’t offended, more intrigued.
“Well then god of luck, you are granted your request and this case is closed until further notice.”
So I began, it started with him finding a Rolex watch that he pawned off for 500$ the most I’d ever let someone find. He’d been used to starving so he was able to really stretch his money and make it last. I then put him in front of a store that was hiring. Luckily he was they’re first & only applicant. The others weren’t as lucky. I couldn’t wait for the big finally, I found a girl who loves track and field stories and can’t wait to have kids. I’ve never given someone so much luck it felt wonderful, I couldn’t wait to introduce them by an accidental (I’ll go left you go right) cute scenario I’ve been working on for a month. It was all going to be perfect..
But when I got back to the store, he wasn’t there.. I searched and couldn’t find him, about another month went by and I heard him. “Please, I just want to get on my feet, I want a stable job and a wife and some kids”
I couldn’t bare myself to face him. I unfurled my wings and like a rocket burst through the clouds and presented myself to Success. “Why?”
He looked me in the eyes with that same look he gave me in the court room.
“And what’s with that look! Did you know this would happen! Why didn’t you say anything? You just stood and watched me fail!”
“You can’t fail at something that’s not in your control” His words felt heavy, “success doesn’t come from what you get in life, or how lucky you are”
“Then how will you give him success?” I asked confused and tired
“I will give him success, but that is not to say he will be successful” he looked through the clouds onto the billions of souls we try to guide. “I can give him success on what he chooses to do, if he chooses to sit and place blame and ask for money I will give him the success in doing so. You and I will hand success & luck to the world. But it’s up to them to choose what they do with it”
FIN.
It’s my first time so be nice! I’m not a writer or reader my grammar sucks, I just like to go off in my head sometimes and this one seemed like fun. | 2020-10-02T09:35:37 | 2020-10-02T09:19:13 | 377 | 136 |
[WP] Your mother died ten years ago. You saw her collapse, went to her funeral, paid for her cremation. Her ashes should be sitting in the living room right now. So you're not entirely sure why she's waving frantically at you from the window. | "Mom?" She sees me mouth through the glass.
"Yes!" I hear her muffled scream through the glass of my ground floor apartment window. My heart skips a beat. My. Mom. Is. Alive!
Oh fuck, my mom is alive. 10 years ago I paid to have that bitch killed. 10 years ago I paid a professional hitman to kill her. In front of me. In a way that I was present but couldn't be traced back to me... *oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck*
"Hi Mom" I mouth with a little two finger wave.
"Are you going to let me in or not?" She screams in reply. *Numbly* I open the door. The guy I hired to kill her follows her into my apartment.
"Am I..." going to get killed I weakly try to finish as my knees give out and I collapse into a bean bag. "Happy that you introduced me to your mother?" the assassin I hired to kill my mom finishes my sentence and then winks at me. That is when I pass out.
"He is always like this." I hear my mom say. "A week constitution, he gets it from is biological father."
"Mom?"
"Yes dear?"
*I look at the assassin* "I thought I paid to have you..."
"Take care of your mom?" Says the killer that didn't. "I did!"
"Are you two... together?"
"Yes" They joyfully decree. | I saw my mother today. Only, she died ten years ago.
I’d seen my mom many times in the decade since her death—I’d hear a woman with her laugh on the bus, or I’d notice a teller who’s eyes wrinkled just so as she smiled at my polite joke. One time, shortly after her funeral, I’d even run across a quad at my university because I saw a woman wearing the same floral print shawl she was prone to wear when visiting me on campus. I broke down crying when I realized she wasn’t my mother, and felt ridiculous, but this woman gave me a big hug and said, “It’s going to be okay, sweet boy. Our pains are but temporary.” I was shaken because this is exactly what my mother would have told me in this situation.
In a way, my mother lived on through these brief, fragmented glimmers I observed in my day to day. It comforted me to know that pieces of her were still in the world, as though she’d had an indelible impact on the fabric of reality—I liked to think that perhaps when I’d spread her ashes, I released into the world pieces of her goodness to be gained and shared by other women still on this plane. I believed all of that because it felt like a better explanation for seeing her anywhere I went than simply saying: I’m sad and am reminded of my mother wherever I go.
Only, today was different—she wasn’t a trace reminder, or a resemblance in the corner of my eye—she was corporeal and waving at me from outside my window. She was frenetic and her beautiful red hair was not in her trademark bun, but instead was down and flowing in the early evening breeze.
“David, my sweet boy, what have you done?”
I was a bit shocked; not so much as a hello from my mother who’s been dead for a decade? “Uh, hey ma. I’m not sure what you’re talking about…or if this is even happening.” *I really should stop smoking weed.*
“Oh David, I’m filled with such regret that I did not share this with you. It is truly my fault, but I never imagined you would spread my ashes as you have.”
“Wait, what? What did you keep from me?”
“Well, sweet boy, you see, my maiden name is a bit different than what I told you. My name isn’t Bonnie Dean, it’s actually Bona Dea.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that I’m speaking with my reanimated mother. Let me play some catch up here. You came back from the dead to tell me you lied about your name by a couple letters? Is the afterlife that boring?”
“No, David, you misunderstand. I am Bona Dea, the Roman Goddess of fertility.”
“You’re a goddess?! But I watched you die, I spoke at your funeral, I spread your ashes!” David began to tap his foot quickly, as if it was a metronome on the fritz.
“Now, don’t get angry, my sweet boy. Your father and I decided that you needed to have as normal of a human experience as possible, and part of that was mourning death. So, we kept this one fact from you. Our essence is eternal, our bodies are not. Haven’t you wondered why you’ve been seeing me everywhere? It’s because you cast off latent pieces of me into the breeze when you spread my ashes.”
“Dad was a god? I feel like you just breezed past that little fact there, mom! Do you mean to tell me that I actually *have* been seeing you?”
“Yes, my sweet boy. I can’t stay much longer and explain too much more, other than to make an ask of you—my time is short.”
“Anything, ma. What do you need me to do?”
“You must regather my essence and return it to me. The essence of a goddess floating in the wind could cause inestimable damage to the fabric of this realm.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that? That sounds impossible! Like finding a needle in a haystack thousands of times over.”
“Well…sweet boy…it’s nothing a god can’t do…”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/IML_42 | 2020-12-10T19:12:41 | 2020-12-10T17:54:57 | 185 | 130 |
[WP] Turns out hell is real. This was made known once demons and devils came to Earth. However things quickly got awkward and confusing once people heard them mutter, "If Heaven won't fix this shit hole, we might as well do it ourselves." | "You're joking."
"Nope, boss' orders. She said to restructure the world governments so that there would no longer be poverty, although humans are competitive so she's letting some amount of capitalism stay. I don't understand how you all work but she always saw the bigger picture."
"And your boss is?" Brandon asked.
"Lucifer. You couldn't tell by my horns and the glowing red eyes? Who else would my boss be?"
Brandom had a dumbfounded face. "Why in the hell would Lucifer help *us.* Lucifer hates humans."
Now the demon was the one with a dumbfounded face. "Why would you think Lucifer hates humans? She always tried to help you. Even before she was cast out."
"Then why did she complain about how humans were made, and she tricked adam and eve into eating the fruit which got them banished out the garden."
The demon thought about how to explain this concisely. Humans are pretty dumb sometimes and fail to see the obvious. "So you know god is omniscient right?"
"Now that I know one exists, I would assume so."
"Anyway..so when god created adam and eve he would have known that the way he created them and the things he told them would lead to that conclusion."
"What about the free will thing?"
"Free will literally can't exist with omniscience." The demon slapped brandon in the back of the head. "Use your head, damn."
Brandon rubbed his head and thought about his idiocy, until a beautiful blonde woman seemed to appear out of thin air behind the demon. Although her voice was...not so heavenly. She grabbed the demon by the scruff and began to scream.
"I told you not to hurt the humans that don't deserve it! We won't play father's game or story any longer. Now get back to work. You know how short human lives are. It wont take you long to explain things to him."
She dropped him onto the ground unceremoniously and waved before disappearing into a pillar of fire.
Brandon gawked at where she once was. "Was that...."
"Lucifer. Yes."
"I'd give anything to stay in her presence forever. Wow."
The demon rolled his eyes. "We don't really accept souls as payment. That was just a joke. Just call for her. She answers prayers and she's almost as powerful as Yahweh. Well....it would appear that way to a human anyway. You would think she was god if you weren't told otherwise."
"Wait, back up. How was Lucifer *helping* humans when she was insulting our very form when adam was made?"
The demon once again rolled his eyes. Humans really were dumb. "You're telling me an omnipotent being couldn't do better than this weak frail body, and sub century life expectancy? Lucifer was mad at how you were being made with extreme flaws at conception. Like some fucked up science project. We're going to try our best to help with that as well. Like I said our Queen is very powerful herself."
"If god really does just see us as a science project why would he let Lucifer do this?"
This time the demon was sad, as it pat brandon on the head. "Do you really think Yahweh cares? This is just one planet out of an infinite amount of universes. He wanted to see how some of your story played out, then he got bored. Lucifer could kill you all for all god cares. Luckily god just gave her bad pr here so she's not actually like you think she is." | Mrs. Barnacles has been the nicest lady all her life. The same couldn't be said about her husband though. He was mean, grumpy man who used to trouble her wife a lot. Maybe this was the reason Mrs. Barnacles understood the true meaning of empathy and care. After her husband died in a car crash and left Mrs. Barnacles little fortune and a very big building in the bustling area of the city, Mrs. Barnacles decided to continue owning the building and turned it into a rental living space for students and people struggling with income. She charged just enough to get through the month, keeping her profitability minimal.
Over the years however, she had turned more paranoid and somewhat delusional. And people near her understood this. Years of trauma and abuse by her husband had ought to do something mentally, even if it was no visible physically.
For the past few months, she had been having these odd complaints, of having a tenant who she doesn't remember giving the space to live. But that guy had all the right documents to prove otherwise. He had the rent receipts, the rent agreement and knew a lot about Mrs. Barnacles, as he said Mrs. Barnacles occasionally had long chats with him.
The problem started when he started having long meeting in his apartment, with a few of his so called colleagues. They always had discussion in groups of 7, and were very strict about not being disturbed while in his apartment. The guy was not running an local business so it seemed odd having meetings in his apartment. And their had being occasional complaints of neighbours regarding late night loud noises and screams from the apartment.
Mrs. Barnacles had sought out the help of a man she helped in his tough time. Marc had become a police officer now, and would regularly pay Mrs. Barnacles visit to get to know about her health and if she needed any help. The woman was in her 80's now, and it was hard time for her getting out for grocery and other needs. Luckily for her, her tenants took care of her as if she was part of their family.
Marc however always said that he never ever saw the guy having a meeting in his apartment. Many a times he had immediately responded to Mrs. Barnacles phone call to check out the apartment of interest, but never found more that 3 people inside, who were just having a pizza party. But the complaints of Mrs. Barnacles increased over time, with she growing more paranoid by the day. She used to say she had seen some weird creatures near the apartment and winged men with dark silhouettes waiting outside, but all the other tenants had stopped complaining about the guy.
Marc couldn't see Mrs. Barnacles in such a situation, and introduced her to his psychiatrist friend, who after a few meeting under the pretext of being friend, concluded that it was Mrs. Barnacles years of abuse and trauma by her husband troubling her mind in old age. But Marc felt differently. It was weird that Mrs. Barnacles always had great details to discuss about the guy in apartment, even though her old mind couldn't remember day to day other details.
When the complaints to Marc didn't help much, Mrs. Barnacles decided to mend to these things for herself. She decided that his time she would have some solid proof to show to Marc and get that weird tenant evicted. She was behaving out of normal how she used.
One night, when Mrs. Barnacles woke up noise in the galley, she put on her night robe, picked up the old magnetic tape recorder from her side table, and decided to eavesdrop on the GUY. She took her cane from the side stand, and very carefully walked out of her apartment. After she made sure the winged figures were not in the gallery, guarding the GUYs apartment, she quietly moved across and stopped just outside the GUYs apartment.
The voices from inside were clearly audible, and there were definitely more that 3 people inside.
'I don't understand what is taking you guys so long to sort this thing out. It feels we are stuck in a management limbo with you guys deciding not to interfere and putting sanctions on us if we decide to do something,' said a man with a deep demonic voice.
'The council has not come to a conclusion yet. They had left his place to take care of itself for a reason. There was no point of leaving this place if you want to interfere again and again,' said another man in a soothing soft angelic voice.
'But you are forgetting this is the passage between our words. If this place gets messed up, eventually it's going to come and bite us all in the back,' the demon said hurriedly.
'For that the council is doing a meeting as we speak,' replied the angel.
'And conclude what? They had been doing meeting for several hours now. And mind you if you are forgetting it, that means a thousand millennia's in terms of human life.'
Mrs. Barnacles was confused. Were there really demons and angels inside the room?
'You know how it is, the council is disturbed by the fact that the humans had divided them into different forms. Makes their task difficult now that each council member thinks they are God in different cultures.'
'Fine, if you guys have a long list of excuses, we would have to do something. It might not be troubling you that much, as less humans are passing through the gates of heaven, but it surely is making a life lot messier for us down there. We have long list of waiting people and even we are sometimes ashamed for the things some humans are sent down for. But I think we have something urgent at our hands now, Bertha has heard a significant amount of the plan,' said a familiar voice.
Mrs. Barnacles moved back from the door in surprise. She hadn't heard that voice in years. Before she could turn around and walk away in the dark galley, lit with only a few bulbs, the door of the apartment opened and a massive figure stood before her. Nothing except the red glowing eyes seemed abnormal about the person, but his face.. his face took Mrs. Barnacles down a memory lane and she stood frozen to her place.
"Ohh dear Bertha. It has been so long I saw you. I hope this forsaken world has been good to you all these years. Why don't you step inside? And Yama will take care of you.'
Mrs. Barnacles walked inside without thinking anything, leaving her cane behind. It's not daily you see your dead husband. She saw the dark figure of Yama, with golden wings and bright eyes, who had extended his hand, with a faint soothing smile on his face as the door closed behind her. | 2021-04-29T21:34:09 | 2021-04-29T21:20:33 | 38 | 15 |
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