prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you." | The hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..." | The dragon's eyes narrowed, his long neck twisting downwards to better see the coin. It was unlike any he'd ever seen, and that was saying something. Small, perfectly round, made of a strange metal - it resembled copper, but pure, more pure than all the plates in the king's castle. Intrigued, the dragon turned his eyes again toward the strange knight, who had removed his helmet to reveal an aging face and wild, white hair.
"That, Anythlix, is a penny," the knight said, "a coin from the far future. I have brought it back through time to you from the year 1985 A.D. There is no other like it in the world."
Anythlix raised a scaly brow. "Why should I believe you? No wizard has skill enough to traverse the strands of time. That power lies with the gods alone."
The knight smirked. "I thought you might say that. Allow me to provide some evidence."
Suddenly, a swift wind, a bang and a flash of light blasted through the cave, shaking the stalactites, toppling coins from their stacks. Anythlix growled, shielding his eyes from the light. Then, as the light faded, he looked up again.
Two strange metal machines stood before him, one blue and covered in runes not even he recognized, and one sleek and oblong, with wheels like a cart, shedding layers of ice in a cold mist.
"What... what trickery is this, knave?" Anythlix asked suspiciously, eyeing the knight with a new sense of awe.
"Oh, no trickery," exclaimed a tall, brown-haired man in a matching coat emerging from the blue machine. "Simply wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff. I'm the Doctor, by the way; I knew you would ask."
"A demonstration of what we from the future can do," spoke the knight once more. "And please, call me Doc."
"So, if you truly are gods from the future..." Anythlix hissed warily, fire springing to his throat, "what need do you have for me?"
"Well, see, we have a bit of a problem in the future - throughout time and space, actually," the Doctor replied. " A certain knight of sorts thinks he's such a big shot, and he's establishing dominance through history. It's only a matter of time until he reaches you - your, ahem, vault contains many of the treasures he covets."
"A fool he is to try to steal my treasure!" Anythlix bellowed.
"Precisely," Doc added, "which is why we'd appreciate any help you may have in, er, destroying him."
"For which we are willing to pay. Have you ever dreamed of a planet made entirely of gold?" the Doctor asked. "It exists. I can take you there."
"So have we a deal?" Doc asked, both men extending their hands.
Anythlix had been taken the moment a planet of gold came up. The orb in his dreams, the one he'd spent a hundred lifetimes searching for... that was it.
"I... accept your proposition." Anythlix, trying to keep his composure, reached out with a giant claw, both men awkwardly shaking it.
"Well, I suppose we'd best be off!" the Doctor cheered. "No time like the present. Err, or would it be the past in this case?" | 2015-10-14T04:03:21 | 2015-10-13T17:45:50 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done? | Hello Gentlemen! Welcome, uh, to Sunrise Mutual! I'm actually just the-
The presentation? What pres-? Yes, um, of course. The presentation. Of course. Right this way.
(Okay, Josh, you got this. They think you're a big-shot, time to take yourself to the top! No more janitor for you!)
Now, as you can see from this slide, we had a rather large 12% gain this past quarter. This is largely due to our new corporate vision of redesigning our personal paradigm in order to synthesize our processes. This has, of course, produced a more holistic outlook and increased customer satisfaction while maintaining a coherent work environment!
Of course, as an upper-manager I know my people! If you choose to... (Shit, what are they here about? A merger I think?)... merge? (Yes! They responded!)... Yeah, merge! If you choose to merge your company with ours I can guarantee you that your people will be choreographed into our regular systematic machinations.
(Keep it together man, you're almost there!)
And of course, as ours is an ever-evolving business in which we strive to provide the best in both singularity and simplicity in our products we would have to facilitate a proper sprucing (pruning? Fuck it, already said it) of the dead branches in both our corporate flowers! (Flowers, really dude?)
Yes, thank you Mr. Krenshaw, I'll have our CEO in touch with you as soon as he's back from vacation!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not sure how well this one went, it's late at night but this prompt caught my attention and I really wanted to get this response written out. Let me know what you think! | "10"
Randall Jackson slid his seatbelt across his lap as the engines began to roar behind him. He looked to his left as he does so, because he wasn't really sure how to get his on and Rod seemed to not have a problem with it. "Why didn't they go through this during the astronaut training," he thought out loud to himself but kind of toward Rod too. Rod looked over and thought "Ha," but didn't let the words escape his brain.
"9"
Randall began wondering if this countdown is like regulation actual time, or if it's kind of just acknowledging a pace toward blast-off. Another thing they had left out of astronaut training. They were kind of heavy on the how to survive space part, but not a lot of guidance in the taking off from Earth part. He knew all the buttons he had to press (and man, there were a lot of them. All kinds.) but it's not like they do blast-off simulations. It's more of just kind of an overview of what to expect when blasting off.
"8"
"Alright, there's 8, as is to be expected," Randall said more toward Rod. Rod ignored it though, thinking that Randall is probably nervous from all the blasting off they're about to do. Rod was pretty focused on the buttons and it seemed like Randall should have been too. Randall wondered if he had forgotten that they're supposed to do something specific right now because it seemed like he had done everything they told him to do, but Rod is going real heavy on these buttons and switches. He began to lift and shut one of those switch cover things while making mouth sounds like he knew what he was up to. Sounds like, "Alright then," and "So that's where that goes, okay cool."
"7"
Rod began asking a question, but Randall cut him off with his own question. "Should I already be wearing my helmet? Like we're not in space yet, so I should be fine. Isn't there oxygen in here?" Rod replied, "Actually that's a fair question, and one that I don't really have the answer to. I imagine we're fine to not have helmets but like... Just wear it to space. That's a good way to save... space..."
"6"
"Okay cool, yeah I kind of thought that was the case, but I just wanted to make sure," Randall said lyingly.
"5"
Those rockets sure were getting noisy. Randall went to cover his ears but the helmet was in the way. He had wondered if there might be some kind of like NASA ear plug giveaway that he missed out on. Probably while he was in training. Training took up most of his time over the last few... months... so if there was any sort of giveaways, he probably missed out. He really wished he had some ear plugs though. Would have come in handy, what with all the rocket noise.
"4"
Randall knew that when he got to space, he'd have to stay mostly clothed for all of the time. Knowing that, he rolled up his sleeve to look at the tattoo on his arm- the signature of his newborn baby. The doctor told him that some babies develop writing skills pretty early, and he didn't really know about childhood development, so he kind of took the doctor's word about it and got the baby's signature on his arm. He let out a quick "I got you right here with me all the time" before going back to the switch flipping.
"3"
"I guess this is it, isn't it boy," Randall said to Rod. "The final 3. The best part of the countdown." Rod said "Sure is, old buddy." Rod and Randall had grown up together and this would be their first time to space together. Someone should have mentioned that earlier. They had been looking forward to this day for several weeks, ever since they found out they'd be on the same space ship.
"2"
The rockets began to start going crazy. Like really loud and there was fire pretty much as far as the eye can see. All good fire though, Randall knows. Definitely not unintentional fire. It began billowing past the windows just like it should. Rod reached over and grabbed Randall's hand. "Get ready for this. It's about to get really spacey. That's a spacey meat-a-ball." Randall closed his eyes and hoped for the best.
"1"
"Oh don't they go on one or.. Wait. What?" Randall didn't seem to be able to finish a thought.
"Blast off!"
Randall and Rod gripped each other's hands so tight as they began soaring up through all those clouds on this particularly cloudy day, never to be seen again. | 2016-02-01T22:50:42 | 2016-02-01T22:49:59 | 41 | 23 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar." | "Next... Next..."
Another group of kids shuffling into a Baltimore club for a heavy metal gig. Another night for some carding and cash.
I rubbed my hands together, urging the friction to do its thing. Wouldn't be enough, though. This January was mighty cold.
I looked up at the line of kids that approached, noting the number above each one. Honest kids, tonight. All 21 or over. I would have managed a smile at the pleasant change if not for the fucking cold.
When the last had filed in, Keith patted my shoulder.
"I'm taking a break, Reader."
I nodded as he walked off, leaving me alone to guard the door. I was always the one they left alone.
"Hey, can we get in, still?"
I turned to look down at a group of three kids, but instantly saw '19' above the talking one's head.
"Scram, dude. It's 21 and up."
"You didn't even card me!"
"I don't need to," I retorted, staring him down.
"Let us in."
I switched my gaze to another one of the street urchins, only to see this one was different. A lump caught in my throat as I opened my mouth to say a word that become lost in a whirlpool of draining thoughts.
The number above this ones head was 8456.
"ID." I managed to choke out.
I never truly saw his face, only his number. I kept staring at it, knowing I had never been wrong before.
His ID revealed he was 22 years old, but my eyes illustrated otherwise.
Out of pure shock, or fear, I let the group in, watching the number as they walked toward the muffled roar of downtuned electric guitars and thunderous drums.
I couldn't help but follow inside, forgetting to ask Keith to keep watch.
The club was dark except for the neon purple and teal lights of the bar. Some local band screeched onstage as I gravitated toward the largest number in the room. Still a distance away, it turned a corner and faded into the restroom. I followed still.
The bathroom glowed a dirty fluorescent green in an attempt to hide the various stains that covered the walls and stalls. The four-numbered man stood in front of the mirror above the sink, pulling his shirt up to reveal a scarred, swollen, bruised, tattooed torso that twisted at odd angles. The lights flickered and the sound of the band was drowned out by the banging and panting of a couple fucking in the stall.
"Still going to try and kick us out?" The man asked, turning to me. I stood, confused, horrified. The old one approached me in the flickering light of the dingy bathroom, the heat and sound of sex amplifying.
He leaned in close, becoming a silhouette before me. I felt the ancient breath on my neck like the hollow winds that blow over the swelling ocean.
"You can read me as much as you want, muscle man. That number will only grow larger," the old one whispered into my ear.
He exited the bathroom and disappeared into the crowd as the door swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the only remnants of the encounter hung in the thick air as a stench of sweat, blood, and piss.
And then it was gone.
| 2017-09-01T22:32:16 | 2017-09-01T20:18:58 | 1,408 | 208 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar." | **July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili! | 2017-09-01T22:32:16 | 2017-09-01T20:21:47 | 1,408 | 13 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | 4 digits. For a moment, my degree in mathematics failed me, as I struggled to count the numbers before me. Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre. There was no mistake, though the existence of such a person...frightened me. My vision had always been right, as evidenced by the guilty looks on the minors' faces when I turned them out of the bar. I'd never had to kick someone out for being overage. But 5746 years was a lot of time, far before Anno Domini 1. Was he immortal? A god? Or some old guy with a superpower? I didn't know, and I definitely didn't trust the 'Age: 30' that his ID proclaimed. Maybe my powers had faltered this time. Maybe...
From behind, I saw another man slowly approach me, his IDs in his hands. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened in fear. I saw him whisper into the 4-digit-old man, with visible shock on both faces. That was when I saw the age of the newcomer. 5746.
I tried my best to suppress my shock, though I failed miserably. 1 was surprising enough, but 2? 2 men that had lived for the exact same time from so long ago? I was about to demand an explanation, but one of them beat me to it.
"Why are you 5746 years old?" he questioned, fear in his eyes. I opened my own wide. Could he read ages too? And was I...that old? No. That couldn't be right. I remembered my childhood, the photographic proof of my birh just 28 years ago. But they didn't seem to be lying, and the mention of that 4-digit number again was chilling. What kind of sick joke was my powers pulling? Or were they the ones pulling my leg?
"We've found another suspect, boss," one said into a walkie-talkie. The other drew a gun from his pocket, training the muzzle on my forehead. "What are you doing? You're-" I tried to explain, but he cut me off. "No more words, time traveller. We've waited long enough to catch you and your gang," he replied, smirking as a group of policemen appeared from the darkness. I felt the cool metal slide around my wrists, as I was forced towards the car. "Move!" one of them shouted. That voice...I seemed to recall. The cold handcuffs. The interrogation. Disjointed images flashes before my eyes, as they slowly became clearer, culminating in...
I knew now. But...why were they doing this? Was it a plot to throw of the police? "James!" I shrieked, to the man I'd once been partners in crime with. He chuckled, though I could tell it wasn't just for effect. I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the signature twinkle he gave when he condemned a foe to death. My other pal Aldrich stood by, his eyes conveying his helplessness. James' face wasn't one of friendliness anymore. It was one of animosity and hatred.
"Good riddance," I saw him mouth, as I was shoved into the car. As we drove off, I could still see him, as he advanced slowly towards Aldrich. I closed my eyes in cowardice, though I knew what would happen. What I had feared when I agreed to sacrifice my memories...it had all occured. There was no way back.
Even inside the driving car, I could hear the terrified screams. The circle of betrayal had been completed. | 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T22:15:29 | 585 | 16 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | >14:00
>Fourteen hours?
"Uh Ma'am you can't bring your baby in here"
"Fuck you cunt! You sound like one of them fucking doctors cunt! I need a fucking drink. I've had five kids and know my body better than them. It's just a bit a bleeding"
>I don't get paid enough for this shit
| **July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili! | 2017-09-01T21:44:55 | 2017-09-01T20:21:47 | 70 | 13 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all. | **July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili! | 2017-09-01T23:43:36 | 2017-09-01T20:21:47 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | Thursday, September 21, 2017 - 21:00
The General's men got straight to work. Their entire military careers, these specially trained operatives were preparing for this moment: a code R'lyeh.
One soldier was tasked with acquiring the texts to summon Cthulhu, while another went to acquire the proper objects for the sacrificial ceremony. Those left began to set up the sacrificial table as the General looked on.
Within the hour everything was prepared. The General opened the Necronomicon to the proper chapter, nodding to one of his subordinates as they began to light candles and spill the sacrificial blood onto the table. The ship was coming closer, and the lights of the anti gravitate engines light up the sky.
He began to read.
By the end of the first verse of the General's words, the ground began to shake of its own accord. In an instant the candle flickered out, and the sacrificial blood of the lamb was sucked into the ground. A roaring fire appeared over the table, in which a text began to appear amidst he flames.
The General and his soldiers blocked their eyes from the bright light and the heat. As they adjusted, they looked into the flames of Cthulhu at their last chance to save earth from the invaders.
"I'm sorry to have missed your message. I'll be out of the office until the next purported end of the world, September 23, 2017. I won't have cell reception nor access to email, so if you need me in the meantime, you can leave a message with my secretary at..."
The soldiers, dumbfounded, looked up to the General. In the distance the alien ship touched down, bringing with it a fierce wave of destruction leveling all in its path.
"Well, fuck."
| John MacGillis saw a lot of shit in his life. First was the ‘nam, as a captain, and then came desert storm as a major. Always on the front, for the greater good of his great nation. Now in his 70’ he was meditating retirement. If his thought were to put into words, after all these years would be something on the line of:
“When everything seem calm, that's when shit hit the fan”
One month later the new president came to office. It was strange, he wanted him to be president but after a while he started to feel exactly the opposite. The only thing that was driving him now was the fatidic date, 1 month from now, were he could leave his office and finally retire.
It was a fine morning walking in the office. His secretary turned him the schedule for the day while he was drinking his coffee.
“Cindy… i can’t begin to fathom what the president wants. I mean, fire and fury? Seriously?”
“Sir, I'm sure the president didn’t mean it like..”
“Oh… I'm sure he didn’t mean, but explain that to who think he did!”
“I have to stay positive, in one month i will be sipping my gin tonic at the Barbados. But damn it! Couldn’t i had another president?”.
But secretly anyway John was happy. I mean, with this shit going on, shit couldn’t get more serious right?
The same morning, right after he finished his coffee, the door of his office slammed open. There are very few thing that can anger a 70’ years old general more than someone slamming open his door. It was major Eugene ‘Gene’ Holowachuk. John began to shout with all his vigor “HOLOWA...” but he couldn’t finish, for the first time in his entire career Holowachuk interrupted the General in command.
“Sir! We just lost the white house! We need to evacuate you to the bunker section of the Pentagon!”.
It was a prank? Other two military police entered the room. No it is not, this is real. He was going to the bunker.
“We just lost contact with Moscow, Pechino, Berlin… all major capital don’t respond. Half of our men are gone. Sir … they are the aliens!”. The bunker was filled with high tech screens and a lot of staff was buzzing around. Tree dark figures were standing in the angle.
“Holowachuk, who are those guys?”, pointing at the men in black. “Sir, they are men in black sir.”.
“Yes, i see they are men in black, but who are they”. Major Eugene shrugged. “I always thought men in black are men in black, like J and K”. The general just waved his hand, he could never understand the reference of Eugene. First, they assesses the situations. It seem huge flying ships are on every major capital, and they are destroying everything.
John consulted with everyone in bunker. Asking for options.
“Use the nukes General, activate them now” was all his collaborators could say.
“But sir… the population… the fallout we will die anyway, everyone of us, and there is no guarantee we can destroy the ships!” The general looked around. “General! The Russian shoot a Satan R-36M on one of the alien ship and…. It did nothing!”.
The general started to felt it. This is it. The shit literally, and irrevocably, hittedthe fan.
This was the moment were one of the men in black stepped forward, speaking to the general in his ear. “There is a better option….”.
After 5 minutes the general nodded his head.
“Fuck it.” The general said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. “Summon Cthulhu”
One mile below the surface of mount Madness, the circle finally finished his chant:
“ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn”
As the last word went spoken a sudden doom filled the air. From the depth of the seas a dark unfathomable figure raised. Unspoken terror stench the air as the alien overlord saw the immeasurable horror filling the sky on the horizon. The aliens ship started to fall like flies, while the unutterable cry of a undying deity creep the air like some sort of fetid ailment.
All it took was one look, and the madness was so great in the heart of each alien that they killed themselves. For this was too much to withstand for the aliens. But not for the humans, for they in their intimacy knew this was their new master. This was the story on how humanity was saved from the alien extermination, at the price of an endless age of slavery . | 2017-09-26T11:47:23 | 2017-09-26T11:43:45 | 168 | 21 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | I weep softly as I watch the news..
"-live coverage of The Pit right now. Only hours earlier earthquakes were detected..."
I gave them Everything
"-traced back to The Pit. Scores of researchers and scientists have submitted queries for comments on our broadcast. We can only air so much so fast, but the ticker below shows more.. the general consensus.."
The bane to my life is Balance... Yet still I had to give them Nothing.
<<THE END HAS COME, CONFESS YOURSELVES TO THE PIT. SOUL, MIND, AND BODY -- LEAP WHILE YOU CAN>>
I used one such balance as a tool... Now vs Then, Sooner vs Later, Before vs After... But the balance has leveled.
"We have visually spotted an object in The Pit! The seismic activity has escalated immensely.. evacuations are now mandatory. Military forces aren't even standing their-"
They gave it their Free Will. They incubated it. They imprinted on it. They showed it pain. They showed it their suffering. I refused to nurture it... And now...
"EMERGING NOW WE ARE FLEEING THE SCENE VIA HELICO-"
Now I get to see the Free Will of The Pit.
Leap while you can Children. | Alex sat at her desk, trying to focus on the work at hand - expense reports had been piling up for weeks now, but there was seemingly not enough time in the work day to keep up with the increased number of reports that had been submitted lately. It was year end, after all, and the company had done extremely well this year.
The trouble was the sheer number of distractions visible from her seat on the 47th floor. Having only been relocated recently from an older building, she wasn't used to such a madhouse of activity. With over three hundred workers confined to each floor, The Plaza was currently the largest office building in the city (although not for long - several more were under construction that were an order of magnitude larger). From her seat in the northeast corner, she could see countless screens pouring information out to the others. Some cubicles had upwards of 6 or 7 monitors! Worse than that, though, were the giant TV projections located between each aisle of desks, each blaring out quarterly projections, news articles, weather, and company stock information.
She stared mindlessly at one of these TV projections, currently showing a news report detailing the preparations undergone by a daredevil before their upcoming attempt to parachute into The Pit, before turning her gaze out the window, to the sea of multi-coloured chutes and tubes that still astonished her so, even weeks after relocating to this floor.
The Pit, as it was referred to, had become a central feature of the city. With immeasurable depth comes immeasurable opportunity, and the corporations and powers that be had jumped at the opportunity to increase their appearance of social responsibility and wealth. For years now, humanity had poured their garbage into The Pit, and to great effect. Entire landfills had been excavated, dumped into The Pit, and turned into prime farmland. Every garbage collection route in the city now ended at a disposal plant that poured a continuous cascade of waste into the depths, an attraction referred to as the 'debrisfall' that spawned a whole industry of Pit-watcher tourism - you could even walk out over the debrisfall on a glass walkway, although Alex couldn't fathom why someone would want to do such a thing. The true spectacle, in her opinion, was located between the numerous gigantic office buildings that lined the rim of The Pit. Jutting out from every floor of every building was a tube, chute, or slide of seemingly random colour and shape that stuck out into the open air, and occasionally shot out a piece of garbage to be sucked down into the void below. As she watched, a trash bag from a floor above her careened down past her floor. She glanced up to to see if more would follow, but with hundreds of floors above her it was impossible to see past the untold number of chutes reflecting multi-coloured light downwards.
Just then, her computer beeped a reminder, and a few of her coworkers excitedly got up and started moving their way over to the window. Today was a Demolition Day, and it was her old office building that was scheduled to fall. In order to keep up with the constant growth of the city, a few of the older office buildings lining the rim of The Pit were being demolished to allow for newer, taller ones to be built. There was a rumble of sound, and she looked out towards the farthest corner of The Pit, where several explosive charges had sent up a huge cloud of particulate. Her old office building, much smaller at only 65 floors, started crumbling before her eyes. More charges exploded, sending concrete and glass in a spray outwards over The Pit. The building started to instead crumble outwards, rather than straight down. Alex felt shaking rise up through her new building while the other tumbled fully into The Pit, leaving behind a minimal amount of debris to be bulldozed in after it.
Alex looked back at her stack of reports and wished she could throw it in after her old building. The Pit was an opportunity, she supposed, a lifeline for a world that had become over-encumbered with waste, trash, and filth. From her vantage point on the 47th floor of a building containing tens of thousands of people working tirelessly, however, it didn't feel so much like one. | 2018-01-13T07:55:10 | 2018-01-13T07:48:15 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | It had been the werewolves, unsurprisingly, that had ended up testing hair conditioners. They sported thick coats that were both coarse and tough enough to turn away a steel blade, so anything that could make their pelts luxuriously soft and sleek would become the next luxury conditioner overnight.
Furthermore, they were the perfect test subjects.
They could consent to the testing, which stopped all the animal cruelty complaints. Even better, their rights as humans and sapient beings were still being debated. While this would generally be a bad thing, the laws regarding human testing conveniently didn't apply to them. As long as the werewolf consented, they could test whatever weird formula they wanted.
That wasn't all though. Any damage from weird formulas would disappear when the transformation reversed in the morning. Next full moon, the werewolves had the exact same coat they did before the testing was performed. Every weird factor that might cause the hair to react in a different way was eliminated in one convenient stroke.
Lastly, it was actually a surprisingly lucrative job for any werewolf to have. Photos of werewolves sexily posed and covered in suds sold really, really well online. One particularly svelte werewolf made upwards of $10,000 a month through their private website.
While it might seem easy to replicate photos of werewolves posing sexily, it was extraordinarily difficult and costly to contain and placate a werewolf during their transformation. The only reason it worked for the hair conditioning companies was that they got much more out of the deal in terms of new products and endorsement deals than it cost them to restrain the werewolf in the first place.
Funnily enough, the vampires had met with much less success in their attempts to find employment. They had tried working with sunscreen manufacturers, but in the end... they got burned. | Kohl took another bullet, this one leaving a deep mark on his chest. Black ooze quickly began to seep out at the entry wound, marking his undershirt and windbreaker with yet another foul smelling stain. It was a nice windbreaker, too. He had received it roughly one hundred and twenty six minutes ago from a pleasant field operator. He would have liked to keep it, maybe to even ask her out for a lunch somewhere in the streets of Poland, and wear it, without the patches of course, to their first date. These are the kinds of things people reflect on while they lie on the ground with half a dozen bullet wounds perforating their flesh. Though, in a bold subversion of the extremely overdone “dying from a lethal gunshot” routine, Kohl ripped himself back up on his feet. He permit his momentum to carry him forward, breaking into a dead sprint for the shooter. He considered zig-zagging, but decided against it as it would merely extend the time necessary to reach his target. Only a few feet away, he went for a flying low-tackle, careening into the masked offender. Now on the ground, Kohl was well within his territory. He flipped the other man, putting them in an immediate chokehold. The man sounded particularly familiar, and likewise particularly feminine. Instead of investigating, Kohl followed his military training, adopting a comforting yet authoritative voice to instruct the hostages - a woman and two kids - huddled in the corner. Without hesitation, they ran past the grappling pair and out the shoddy splintered door that previously happened to get in Kohl’s way. Out in the hallway, another masculine voice could be heard parroting the next set of directions in crude, yet functionable, English. After effectively minimizing his exposure to the foreign language, the soldier once again took his post covering the Western hallway. An ear-piercing whistle resonated throughout the entire facility, followed by a wave of sharp, hushed “Kurwa”s and other such pleasantries. The day’s last exercise was over, yielding many relieved sighs. Though it was fake, nevertheless training on this scale of realism was incredibly stressful, as the gunfire was not at all stifled - only the bullets. Many a cadet would yet spend extensive time at the infirmary with broken ribs, brutal bruises, and a small prospect of internal bleeding from physically traumatic injuries after getting sprayed down by round after round of rubber ammunition.
Kohl, upon hearing the whistle himself, released his serpentine grip and rolled over, full angel, and began the obnoxious procedure of stuffing each bullet hole, cutting gauze bandage to size, and tightly wrapping it, enough to make long lasting impressions in his dehydrated skin. He would have to pay the medic yet another visit after all, even though he had cleared most of the complex with only minor superficial injuries. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and relaxed his muscles completely, having been previously informed that his brain no longer inhibited his physique from self-destructive use. Instantly, he felt a landslide of relief from the painful state of tension his body had been experiencing, a by-product of increased physical reactivity to stress and pain, both of which he went through daily for the past three weeks of training. He turned his head and spoke to his training partner, who had likewise rolled onto her back, and who was breathing heavily.
“Shit, you emptied the entire clip!”, Kohl faked grasping at his medicated perforations in pain.
“I was told I should not hold back. I didn’t realize you would be this injured,” she replied, concern beginning to form in her voice, “anything I can do to help?”
“It still stings like an absolute bitch every time,” He mimed thinking intensely, “and yeah, there are a couple things you could do.”
With a satisfying snap, he removed his GROM patch from his thoroughly peppered jacket and slipped it into his pocket, replacing it with the enforced-wear black-and-gold “U.R.E.” skull and stitch emblem. For the longest time, he cursed that symbol for annihilating any chance he stood of running bases, though more recently he had grown to enjoy the respect it granted him among the many national task forces he was assigned to, but nevertheless the term “Undead Research Experiment” still earned plenty of cringing expressions whenever the haughty scientists monitoring Kohl tried to throw their weight around.
The woman sat up, removed her mask and shook out her shoulder-length brunette hair. Innocently, she queried “Yeah, and what’s that?”
Kohl followed suit, looking into her hazel eyes with his strange, cold, quicksilver ones, “I want a new windbreaker. And I want mutton, and good soup,” he gave her a confident smile, “you know any good places?”
| 2018-08-27T17:13:23 | 2018-08-27T16:55:43 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | It had been the werewolves, unsurprisingly, that had ended up testing hair conditioners. They sported thick coats that were both coarse and tough enough to turn away a steel blade, so anything that could make their pelts luxuriously soft and sleek would become the next luxury conditioner overnight.
Furthermore, they were the perfect test subjects.
They could consent to the testing, which stopped all the animal cruelty complaints. Even better, their rights as humans and sapient beings were still being debated. While this would generally be a bad thing, the laws regarding human testing conveniently didn't apply to them. As long as the werewolf consented, they could test whatever weird formula they wanted.
That wasn't all though. Any damage from weird formulas would disappear when the transformation reversed in the morning. Next full moon, the werewolves had the exact same coat they did before the testing was performed. Every weird factor that might cause the hair to react in a different way was eliminated in one convenient stroke.
Lastly, it was actually a surprisingly lucrative job for any werewolf to have. Photos of werewolves sexily posed and covered in suds sold really, really well online. One particularly svelte werewolf made upwards of $10,000 a month through their private website.
While it might seem easy to replicate photos of werewolves posing sexily, it was extraordinarily difficult and costly to contain and placate a werewolf during their transformation. The only reason it worked for the hair conditioning companies was that they got much more out of the deal in terms of new products and endorsement deals than it cost them to restrain the werewolf in the first place.
Funnily enough, the vampires had met with much less success in their attempts to find employment. They had tried working with sunscreen manufacturers, but in the end... they got burned. | In the beginning finding them jobs other than "executioner" or "bounty hunter" was difficult. Many of em complained that these jobs we're demoralizing and that they "reinforced negative stereotypes" whatever that meant. Eventually the guys at the workforce commission bent and found them new jobs. Now you could have a silk tongued vampire as your lawyer, or a fearsome warewolf on your security detail.
I can't imagine entrusting my life to such an abomination. Monsters like this should've stay in their own realm. Many have not even taken the time to learn our language, and I'll be damned if im expected to learn theirs. The thought of these...things being around my family, around my children, it makes me sick.
A pale, sharp faced man stood at the counter, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence. The words from the sign reading "Career Placement" reflected off of the man's black eyes. His garb devoid of any imperfection. I'm sure he thought himself to good for us mortals.
"Excuse me good sir. I was under the impression that this is where I should go for career placement. Would you be so kind as to assist me?" The vampires words flowed through the air crisply, like an autumn breeze.
My response was simply pointing to the sign posted on the glass.
*Please wait to be assisted, Thank you*
The vampire read it carefully before replying. "Terribly sorry, take your time"
Damn right I would. My eyes shifted back down to the article in my favorite newpaper *Faux News*
*Are warewolves commiting tax fraud with the help of dwarf financial advisors?* The article read.
The vampire stood, waiting patiently until I had finished skimming the text. The atmosphere in the room had grown unpleasant. I didn't want to speak with him; however, the sooner I did the sooner he'd leave.
I glanced up from the paper to the thing on the other side of the counter. "Ok. How can I help you?"
"Yes, well I was looking into career placement opportunities. I would like to go into paralegal work with the disclaimer that I dont possess much willing experience in the mortals realm"
"So. You want a job in law, but you don't have any experience with mortal law?" I cracked a smile at the Vampire.
"Indeed, but I'd like to make myself transparent by stating my class of supernatural being. I am in fact a-"
"Yes a vampire I know. I can tell"
The Vampires deep black eyes stared into mine for a moment. Gears turned in his head as he formulated a response. " You're not a fan of supernaturals, are you?"
"Me? Look I'm not here to judge, I'm here to do a job, but in my free time I can be prejudice towards who I please. None of *your* business"
The man stared for a moment before pulling back his long, dark hair to reveal a pair of pointed ears.
"Not a vampire. Not even the same genus." The atmosphere grew tense
"All the same to me. Now I can offer you a job as a teacher for the supernatural, or population control."
Popluatiom control was the shittiest job we had to offer, and I was sure to pitch it to anyone who came through the doors.
The elf stared in disbelief for a moment before silently turning around and exiting the glass doors. I loved my job. Seeing the misery on their faces when they couldn't steal another job from a hard working human.
I sat reading my paper until my boss entered the building, a burly, stern faced man in tow.
"Hey Jerr, whose this? New guy?"
"Yeah...you could say that. He's here to fill your position" Jerry glanced around the room awkwardly.
"My position? But I already work full shift? Where are ya trying to squeeze him in?"
"You don't understand. This is your replacement Donny, we just received another complaint and this can't continue"
"What?! I've been here 3 years and you're gunna just flat out replace me with an outworlder? Im the best damn worker you've got!"
"All you do is complain and read the paper. Your station generates the least traffic because you have yet to help a single person."
The warewolf by Jerr stared at me, hatred in his eyes.
"It's time to go Donny."
I angrily packed my few possessions and stormed out of the office. This wasn't over. I had a plan. Soon they'd all see that humans could not be pushed around by outworlders.
| 2018-08-27T17:13:23 | 2018-08-27T15:01:41 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | Kohl took another bullet, this one leaving a deep mark on his chest. Black ooze quickly began to seep out at the entry wound, marking his undershirt and windbreaker with yet another foul smelling stain. It was a nice windbreaker, too. He had received it roughly one hundred and twenty six minutes ago from a pleasant field operator. He would have liked to keep it, maybe to even ask her out for a lunch somewhere in the streets of Poland, and wear it, without the patches of course, to their first date. These are the kinds of things people reflect on while they lie on the ground with half a dozen bullet wounds perforating their flesh. Though, in a bold subversion of the extremely overdone “dying from a lethal gunshot” routine, Kohl ripped himself back up on his feet. He permit his momentum to carry him forward, breaking into a dead sprint for the shooter. He considered zig-zagging, but decided against it as it would merely extend the time necessary to reach his target. Only a few feet away, he went for a flying low-tackle, careening into the masked offender. Now on the ground, Kohl was well within his territory. He flipped the other man, putting them in an immediate chokehold. The man sounded particularly familiar, and likewise particularly feminine. Instead of investigating, Kohl followed his military training, adopting a comforting yet authoritative voice to instruct the hostages - a woman and two kids - huddled in the corner. Without hesitation, they ran past the grappling pair and out the shoddy splintered door that previously happened to get in Kohl’s way. Out in the hallway, another masculine voice could be heard parroting the next set of directions in crude, yet functionable, English. After effectively minimizing his exposure to the foreign language, the soldier once again took his post covering the Western hallway. An ear-piercing whistle resonated throughout the entire facility, followed by a wave of sharp, hushed “Kurwa”s and other such pleasantries. The day’s last exercise was over, yielding many relieved sighs. Though it was fake, nevertheless training on this scale of realism was incredibly stressful, as the gunfire was not at all stifled - only the bullets. Many a cadet would yet spend extensive time at the infirmary with broken ribs, brutal bruises, and a small prospect of internal bleeding from physically traumatic injuries after getting sprayed down by round after round of rubber ammunition.
Kohl, upon hearing the whistle himself, released his serpentine grip and rolled over, full angel, and began the obnoxious procedure of stuffing each bullet hole, cutting gauze bandage to size, and tightly wrapping it, enough to make long lasting impressions in his dehydrated skin. He would have to pay the medic yet another visit after all, even though he had cleared most of the complex with only minor superficial injuries. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and relaxed his muscles completely, having been previously informed that his brain no longer inhibited his physique from self-destructive use. Instantly, he felt a landslide of relief from the painful state of tension his body had been experiencing, a by-product of increased physical reactivity to stress and pain, both of which he went through daily for the past three weeks of training. He turned his head and spoke to his training partner, who had likewise rolled onto her back, and who was breathing heavily.
“Shit, you emptied the entire clip!”, Kohl faked grasping at his medicated perforations in pain.
“I was told I should not hold back. I didn’t realize you would be this injured,” she replied, concern beginning to form in her voice, “anything I can do to help?”
“It still stings like an absolute bitch every time,” He mimed thinking intensely, “and yeah, there are a couple things you could do.”
With a satisfying snap, he removed his GROM patch from his thoroughly peppered jacket and slipped it into his pocket, replacing it with the enforced-wear black-and-gold “U.R.E.” skull and stitch emblem. For the longest time, he cursed that symbol for annihilating any chance he stood of running bases, though more recently he had grown to enjoy the respect it granted him among the many national task forces he was assigned to, but nevertheless the term “Undead Research Experiment” still earned plenty of cringing expressions whenever the haughty scientists monitoring Kohl tried to throw their weight around.
The woman sat up, removed her mask and shook out her shoulder-length brunette hair. Innocently, she queried “Yeah, and what’s that?”
Kohl followed suit, looking into her hazel eyes with his strange, cold, quicksilver ones, “I want a new windbreaker. And I want mutton, and good soup,” he gave her a confident smile, “you know any good places?”
| A vast landscape of red and orange sand, sparsely dotted with small withering shrubs was all you could see for miles. Except for the road and the reason I had arrived here. I looked towards the heavily secured building with electrified fences. Guards with strange weapons which made a thunderous sound before seemingly striking a target from half a mile away were posted on every tower and entrance to the facility.
As I walked up to the entrance, the guards never lowered their weapons pointed at my head. When I was about 100 steps away from the gate, I was told to halt and place my hands on my head by a booming voice. Maybe a spell that amplified sound was used to produce this effect. Being new to this 'modern' world gave me many questions for my inquisitive mind. Moments later 6 armed guards in full armor cautiously approached me.
Fear, curiosity, deception, and iron will were the emotions that assaulted my mind as they moved closer.
"If it moves quickly I'll shoot" one man thought. "Is this the guy the inquisitor hired? How did he walk 40 miles in this heat?" Another man pondered. All of their thoughts entered my mind and let me grasp the inner workings of their brains.
"Professor Diht-" one man said before being interrupted by me. "De-ti-ll-e it is pronounced. Not that abomination of pronunciation you were about to sputter from your mouth." The guard's mind sparked with anger but I did not care, I had a job to do and these guards were slowing me down. I scanned each of their minds at once to get a layout of the facility, where this inquisitor was located and any locked doors or traps in place for intruders, or in this case: people trying to escape. Their mouths moved telling me to follow them but in my meditative state they might as well me talking to a wall. If that wall could read minds of course.
After much walking and passing through at least 10 different doors and barricades, all guarded by heavily armed humans, I arrived in a very opulent office with many books lining the wall in phenomenally crafted rare black mahogany bookcases. "I like this human's style." I said aloud.
"Thank you" came from the end of the long table in the center of the room. The voice was slightly sly but had an air of arrogance and confidence in it. "Knowing of your work and your talent I'm sure you've already scanned my mind and know what to do Professor Dihtilli. The prisoner is in the other room the guards will escort you to."
This man was the most interesting of any of the others and he seemed to be completely unarmed compared to the 50+ I passed by on the way in. All of them had a very dark side to them. Almost all the guards had killed many people, the scenes they had in their memory played in my mind. Some stood shoulder to shoulder with their 'brothers' and opened fire with their loud weapons pointed at a horde of sick and disheveled people. The people most of these men killed looked innocent or unarmed. Truly terrible people, but I cared not for morality.
From the few minds I've plumbed in this world I gathered that most of the world was in ruin for common folk. Justice was harsh and swift and those with power held truth and honor among themselves above all else. How much they lied to the poor and unprivileged below them was a different story.
This man before me called the Inquisitor had even more terrible memories. He liked to kill and torture up close. Most of his victims were bound and restrained. After only 5 seconds of picking apart his brain I had witnessed over 200 memories of him killing indiscriminately. I also found that he was truthful and would not skimp me of my pay. He had no thought in his mind to betray me.
After being escorted to yet another room, I finally ended up across a smaller simple table with a man in handcuffs dressed very well on the other side of the table. Also in the room were 6 more guards armed with even more menacing weapons not moving an inch with the minds racing of thoughts of maintaining order in this room at any cost. The last person in the room looked to be a sort of reporter, with their hands poised above a machine with multiple keys with a different inscription on each button.
"I've told them everything already, why do they need to send more interrogators?" The man in the suit said while slowly raising his face up to me. The sight of his face was horrible compared to other humans I've seen. Scars and burns covered almost every inch of his face and his left eye was completely swollen shut with the other barely open to see out of.
Only a few seconds of scouring the depths of his mind and I was already done with the job. I compared the evidence that his captors had against him and of what memories he had in his mind.
"June third you handed off a sort of memory stick containing information about the procedures and workings of your superiors at Elysian Survellience Corp to another man who planned to use it to sabotage the company by another competing company. You were offered 20 million dollars for this top secret information." I started. The reporter started moving their hands furiously, thinking in their mind exactly what I had just said. "You also were the murderer of Henry Wallin; a man who planned to blackmail you if you did not give him half of your pay from the rival corpration." I continued.
As I said aloud this human's every thought and memory, the reporter kept working. This went on for about thirty minutes before a loud voice came from someone not in the room, but out of a sort of machine in the corner of the room. "Professor your work is done. Please follow the guards to your next destination for your reward."
The man in the suit held his face completely still the whole time I had explained to him but his thoughts were of complete perplexion. He thought that it was impossible as some of the things I explained to him were of events that he had done in complete secrecy in the middle of the woods or an abandoned warehouse where no tracking technology was present.
I wasn't done having my fun and as I waved my hand the guards' and reporter's minds went completely blank. They had already been completely still standing so nothing looked amiss from them being completely paralysed. I then placed my hand on my necklace and spoke words in a language that made the man in the suit finally show some emotion on his fearful face. Complete darkness enveloped the room except for a pocket that contained me and the main in the suit across the table. My amulet lit this area with a magical flow so I could show him my face.
His mind thought of escape but he could not do anything but struggle against the manacles that bound him.
Finally as I ran my hand across my face my disguise vanished. I had took the form of a human to not give away my identity but I thought I would have fun with this guilty sinner in his last moments.
"Help! Help! Holy shit what are you!? Don't kill me please!" The man screamed as he saw my true visage.
My pale purple skin shined in the light of my amulet as my hungry tentacles moved toward his face as I leaned over the table. My oriface opened, ready for a succulent meal I had been so patiently waiting for. As my mouth covered the top half of the man's head with screams coming from the completely horrified human, I whispered in his mind one final thought.
"I will be your executioner right here as my rightful payment. Any human who has seen my true form has only given me one name: Mind Flayer."
The screams ended as an audible cracking of his skull originated from inside my maw. | 2018-08-27T16:55:43 | 2018-08-27T16:01:07 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] You're a supervillian. Your power? Making anybody and everybody nearby feel the same emotion you feel except 100x stronger. Mostly you've been using it to force people to donate absolutely all their life's savings into charities. Superheros aren't quite sure how to deal with you. | It’s a bit like picking a string on a harp, you make it vibrate, amplify it, make the resonance affect the world around it. Now anyone can jam on a harp and make an awful lot of noise but I like to think I’m better than that. I can take any old emotion that you happen to be feeling at that moment and make it vibrate, amplify it and allow it to make you change the world around you.
In the beginning I used it to bully people, a quick scare, turn it up to eleven and they just collapsed into a ball and whimpered, turn it up to twelve and they won’t sleep for a week, turn it up much more.... well, let’s say it’s not pretty and leave it at that. It did the trick but the things I did to those people wasn’t sitting well. So I started on a new method, I took the money I had made, lost the scary costume and put on a three piece suit.
I set up great charities that would help the needy and the poor, organize great charity balls and invited high society.
Of course only a few of them were actually charitable, I could feel what motivated them and more than half did not deserve even a tenth of their wealth. Luckily there was one emotion I could always exploit, pride. So once one of them put down a hundred dollar donation and made himself look better than the other, I kicked the envy of his peers up a notch, and then I kept upping the stakes until all their ill-gotten gains were now given to the charity. I skimmed of the top of course, a man needs to eat after all.
But then I messed up, I pushed one of them to far, investment banker, he had been one upping his peers since preschool and I pushed him too far, he grabbed a steak knife of the buffet and donated his organs right then and there. Of course this sort of bullshit gets the league of heroes interested. They were hesitant at first, after all I had donated most of my loot to charity, and they could scarcely prove I had forced anyone to donate that money.
But they deemed me too dangerous to be out and decided I should be locked away for the safety of all mankind.
This would not stand.
After a few days of sitting in a cell in their little base i decided it was time to leave, i took a breath and began screaming. You have to understand this about heroes, they’re compassionate. Dr. Laserface came around the corner and tried to give me a sedative I siezed the opportunity and stopped screaming, deadpanned him and spoke the sentence I spent months crafting; ‘My hovercraft is full of eels.’ His Face screwed up in confusion, I turned it all the way up, twisted it so far the metaphorical knob came of, and all that was left of the great Dr. laserface was a babbling idiot, who would fail to comprehend anything more complicated than breathing.
I never took more than I needed, I repented for my sins earlier in life, but the arrogant bastards who thought themselves gods, had not even given me the courtesy of a trial.
Now the heroes of this world will pay of their arrogance.
EDIT: someone gave gold, so now i feel obligated to make a second part | Three months ago I had discovered the unimaginable. In a perplexing twist of fate, I had somehow developed the ability to influence the emotions of those who were within a half-mile radius of my presence. I remember the first day I discovered it as I was driving to work and irritated at the driver in front of me. Suddenly, the entire roadway became a war-zone with people succumbing to the most violent fits of road rage I had ever seen. Cars, trucks, semi's all started ramming each other causing a huge pileup on the interstate. Just as soon as they had gotten violently angry they all had become irrationally afraid, just as I had felt as I was side-swiped by the car next to me. It was as if everyone lost their God-damned mind at the same time and the shock of it all suddenly hit them.
I started noticing other "coincidences" over the next few weeks. If I was happy it seemed as everyone around me was euphoric. Being sad became a burden as suicide rates would skyrocket if I felt down. It took some time, but I was able to harness my emotions to ensure that I didn't cause another mass hysteria. The only problem was that I no longer felt like I was able to live my own life. I moved out to a remote location outside of town where I knew that my emotions would have less impact as it would in the city.
It didn't take long, but the lack of contact with other people started to make me have...urges. I don't want to say they were bad, but I just wanted to fit in with the rest of society. I didn't ask for this ability so why should I have to bare the consequences?!?! I always wanted to make the world a better place, and finally I thought of a way that I could do it anonymously. I would take trips to the mall or sporting events where I could influence a lot of people and give them all the urge to charity. Surely that would make it better, or so I had thought...
Two weeks into my experiment there was now a manhunt underway for me. They didn't know who I was, but in my attempt to better this world I had bankrupted thousands of families creating wide-spread chaos. Families could no longer afford to eat as they had given their worldly possessions to charity. People were stealing food, fighting one another just to survive another day and eventually a state of emergency was declared which brought in the military and even the Justice League. One little idea to make the world a better place and now our region is in complete disarray. I've got the fucking Batman looking into this whole thing now. I decided to stock up on goodies and go back to my home where I could stay out of the public eye for a while in hopes that things could calm down. Sleep was hard come by as I suddenly had the military and Justice League breathing down my back. I finally caved in and took some Ambien to help me rest for a change.
When I woke up, I had the feeling that I had slept for days. I was extremely groggy and perhaps it was the Ambien but I didn't even feel like I was in my own home anymore. The room looked completely foreign to me, and as I came to I realized that it was. I was in a bare room with one screen and a communications box underneath.
"You're finally awake, Dr. Chaos." claimed an unknown person through the box. "Who the fuck is Dr. Chaos?" I asked. "It was a name given to you by the media once you were apprehended. Your little game destroyed the lives of tens of thousands of people resulting in thousands of deaths and a fiscal emergency the likes we've never seen. It took me a while to identify you, but thanks to the technology from my Batcave I was able to triangulate your location based off the times and locations of the incidents. I had to keep my distance, but the tranquilizer dart I hit you with rendered you defenseless and we then kept you in a medically-induced coma until we were able to move you to a facility where it could be assured you'd never hurt another person again." The Batman caught me, I couldn't fucking believe it. I guess the guy is a master detective, after all. "So what does that mean for me?" I asked. "You'll be staying in this room for the rest of your life. You were found guilty of 2nd degree murder for over 1,000 people and I have built robots to ensure that your thoughts never affect another human being for as long as you live. You'll be given your meals and your time out of the room, but it's all automated. It'll give you a lot of time to think about what you chose to do." replied Batman.
So here I am, sitting in my own island of loneliness after coming into some stupid powers that I had never asked for. My intentions were not to harm, but that had happened anyway. I had nothing left. I had nobody left. It was just me and the fake humans. Over time I learned to get by without human contact, but I have to admit that I missed the gentle touch of another person. The laugh of someone hearing my jokes, the genuine anger that another person could make you feel.
It was about 3 months into my life sentence when I began to write a letter to society to apologize for all the harm I had done. I never meant to cause any harm, I truly didn't. As I was lamenting on my decisions and what could have been, one of the fauxmens came in to give me my food. Facing my past decisions left me feeling the saddest I have felt in what felt like my entire life, as if a giant black cloud had formed over me and would never leave. As I turned to take the food, I noticed the robot was moving slower than usual and appeared to be off. The robots didn't express emotions, but there was something definitely wrong with this robot. Maybe, just maybe, with enough concentration on my emotions I could end up getting out of this place after all... | 2018-12-17T14:50:10 | 2018-12-17T14:37:03 | 306 | 48 |
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health. | "No no no, you can NOT tell her. I heard humans find it very rude when you point out fading fur." Jeb told the captain. "If anything, we just have to get her to notice herself and go to the medical bay."
"Alright then, your orders are to make sure Clara receives plenty of positive attention! She should naturally wonder what she's doing right and find out herself. I've also noted that her nose is dry. You should lick it. Just act casual."
"Yes! Captain Zap, you always know what to do! She's in the mess hall now. I'll go right away!"
As Clara was making a smoothie in the kitchen, Jeb came running up looking excited. "What's the matter; you wanna go outside?" As she leans down to address him he licks her. "Ok ok, good boy!" | First of hopefully many more and better writings:
"Hark! Are you experiencing Albinifinosith? Our ship's medic can remove it." called out the bald, four-armed four-eyed, humanoid.
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Pfft what was Albinifinosith? It sounded dangerous, but so did everything in space. A couple of months back, as I was choking on some water, they seemed to think I angered some ghost and was possessed. I'd better play it cool--
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"Albini-what now?" I coolly replied rasped. Well, the contents may have shown some ignorance, but my voice sure was cool. Hopefully they wouldn't try doing something dumb.
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"Albinifinosith. In laymen's terms, it's when you're infected with a parasite, Alfinosmith, which slowly consumes your longevity." replied the alien whose name I should've probably learned.
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Just gotta keep cool, keep cool. Why is the disease called 'Albinifinosith' while the parasite is Alfinosmith? No time to worry, aliens are weird with their naming because there are so many. All those languages must've brought over some weird roots and naming conventions... not that English was any better. Man, I'm sure lucky, everybody speaks English. Wait, it sounds sort of like albino...
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"Nope, what makes you say that bud?" Hehe, avoided its name and showed a close bond. The classic.
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"Your hair is losing its pigmentation. That means the Alfinosmith has started to drain your essence." it said.
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Hmm, well it's true I've been on this ship for half a year now, after all space travel takes time, everything is so far away. My hair dye must be fading. The alien seemed to mentioned the medic can remove it, I wonder what the alien procedure is. Might as well ask, one can't be cool all the time.
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"Intriguing, so without this Alfinosmith infecting animate beings, they live longer eh? What's medical procedure consist of?" I inquired.
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"Yes. Imagine giving up 500 years to a parasite. Everyone gets the procedure done immediately. It's simple, we have some leftover anesthetic we can apply and then proceed to extract the parasite." it replied confidently.
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"Myes, sounds pretty interesting. So what happens to the hair color afterwards?" I further asked.
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"Hair color? It is all cut off. Just look at my beautiful head." it replied.
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Oh boy. These aliens and their whacky procedures. If I remember correctly, I saw food dye in the pantry. I bet I could make some hair dye if I dilute it a little bit. Hopefully I can keep doing it for 6 more months... I don't wanna go bald. Does going bald really give them longer lives? It sure doesn't for humans at least. No need to risk it, my hair is great and I'm on cooking duty tonight anyways.
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"Hmm, humans have a top secret way of dealing with the parasite. I'll work on the potion, don't worry about me." I replied coolly. Even the sentence's contents were cool this time.
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"Top secret? What is it?" I could see the curiosity popping out of face as he asked.
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"Wouldn't be top secret if I told you bud." echoed my voice as I walked away. Gotta stay cool all the time, except when it's cold. | 2020-07-05T11:07:37 | 2020-07-05T10:58:38 | 2,154 | 282 |
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller". | "You should have named me Philosopher," said the old dying man.
Across from him Fate nodded, for she did not speak.
"Instead," he continued, "you have given me this ridiculous purpose. I needn't tell you that there are no Gods anymore, if there ever were. I've searched for most my life. Not at first of course. First I fought my destiny, who wouldn't?
"It took me years to realise I had been gifted with the opportunity to become great. Surely this meant I could stop a great evil, find a terrible God, one who caused great suffering and rid the world of them."
Fate lowered her eyes to the body on the floor. That girl could have been great too, The Fencer, instead she would be remembered as The Innocent.
The old man's gaze followed Fate's. Blood was beginning to pool at their feet. His mixed with hers. "A sacrifice, unwilling certainly, but necessary nonetheless. I hadn't expected such resistance I must say.
"After I had accepted my title, I searched for my victim. A God of Disease or War or Famine. Yet all I found were humans. Sick or Corrupt or Greedy. We were still the cause of our own suffering."
The old man lifted his hand from the wound in his torso to glance at his injury. His life would be ending soon, but there would be enough time.
"For a time I wondered whether I would even find a God to slay. It brought me to philosophy, which I would call it the prime of my life were it not so recent. I have pondered over good and evil. I have questioned reality. I have studied with great scholars intent on unraveling life's mysteries.
"Existance is a beatiful picture, where everything has an explanation. The rising of the sun, the falling of the rain, even the growth of life it all fits into the picture of existence."
Fate didn't move, as she hadn't since he'd found her. No one had done that before. How curious, she though, but she remained still.
"Everything can be explained away but you. An appearance before every living soul, one who promises to dictate our future." He grunted in pain as he rose from his chair. "And promises acutely, with perfect precision. I suppose you know what comes next."
Fate lowered herself to her knees. Soon.
"As the Godkiller I had to end you, not such an easy task," his legs moved jerkingly but they carried him forward. "I had to find where you'd be, here delivering destiny. I had to keep you here, waiting for my sacrifice to wake and hear your order."
Fate felt a new emotion as the man raised his knife. Surprise. The girl would live, she would be The Vengeful.
The knife entered her body as though she were any other mortal, although only he could produce such an effect. She had chosen him for this. Immortality alone is a curse, and she had been alone for too long. A smile broke out on her still face and instead of a scream a sigh escaped her lips.
"Thank you" said Fate. And they died together. | **Was god destined to be or is fate one of god’s children?**
If there ever was a question as indelible as time itself, it was this one. If God was indeed the architect of the universe, as the scriptures from antiquity proclaimed, it would follow naturally that he was also the maker of laws within which the universe must exist, including the law of fate which was nothing more than the unwavering will of God.
But as times of antiquity came to pass, so did the unquestioning faith in the scriptures. Fate isn’t a law, one man had infamously claimed, but an invisible atom of which is made every law, object and being. An apple under the influence of gravity must fall – this was the fate of not just the apple, but also of the earthly force acting upon it. Gravity was destined to pull everything and repel nothing, and nothing was destined to be repelled by gravity. As such, the later disgraced gentleman had argued that fate was in fact what established the doing and undoing of everything, including the universe. That god could not have created the universe if he wasn’t destined to, and god wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t at the mercy of fate. If I were to say that the question posed to the reader in the beginning of this short tale has remained unanswered simply because that was its fate, the gentleman would have agreed.
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As fate would have it, the 15th of August, 2020 was a fateful day. It was also Alex’s sixteenth birthday. Unlike other children of his age, Alex wasn’t keen on discovering his calling yet. He had always been a pale, underweight kid with serious confidence deficiencies. He blamed fate for treating him cruelly and wasn’t very optimistic about what she had in store for him. But he was now standing in line to get up on the altar along with other kids who were fresh off fifteen.
The girl before Alex would grow up to be a mother of four, it was revealed. That can’t be sexist then, thought Alex, given the feminine nature of fate. Once he was on the holy podium, the priestess of Fate handed him a small copper plate that Alex would have to dip in the holy water for 10 seconds, before it revealed to him his unalterable truth. The writing would be then read out by the priestess to the gathered crowd of other sixteen year olds and over-enthusiastic parents. However, when the strip of metal emerged from the holy water, the reading aloud of the death sentence of the supreme being was enough to zip out any enthusiasm from the room.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Up in the (*now temporary)* comfort of his heavens, God observed Alex’s ceremony solemnly. He wasn’t surprised that Fate had decided to turn on him, but that she had chosen a being so meek and lacking in will to execute the mightiest creature of all. She wanted to humiliate him. God had known for long now the resentment Fate had for him. He also knew the source of this resentment stemmed from the indelible question. That man would put them both on the same pedestal, and sometimes god on a higher one was unacceptable to Fate.
But God wasn’t one to go down without a fight, even if it meant he had to something unthinkable – something he wasn’t destined to – to make a deal with the devil.
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Hell smelt of the same rotten meat it did when God had created it. As God made his way through the avenues of fire and streams of screams to meet the Devil, he considered one last time what he was about to do. God had guessed, from an eternity of observation and contemplation, that Fate wasn’t absolute. The illusion of destiny, as God called it, was perhaps the most effective tool ever invented in keeping intelligent life forms in check. Much like a horse’s blinkers create an illusion that there is no path but ahead, destiny worked in a similar way, God suspected. And if he could convince the Devil of the same, there was a way out he thought.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Alex was about forty years old when he finally encountered God. He was still lean and droll in every way imaginable. He had a kitchen knife clenched in one hand with which he had decided to stab the almighty’s abdomen. The priestess of fate had revealed to him that the choice of weapon didn’t matter as long as he was the one wielding it. The fact that Alex had chosen a vegetable annihilator spoke of his disinterest in the whole matter. His whole life leading to this moment had been about this moment and he just wanted it to end in a manner that would spark as little glamour as possible.
No words were spoken before Alex plunged the knife into God’s beautifully carved body. The almighty figure fell to his knees so quickly as if the knife were a warrior’s sword. Within seconds, a light from above absorbed the deadly remains. It had been done. Alex had fulfilled his destiny as a Godkiller. God was dead.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Upstairs in hell, the devil had watched the whole thing with somber satisfaction. He heard a knock on his door and God appeared before him, well and alive. Both of them had seen the light of Fate scoop up the body which meant that Fate had accepted God’s demise unquestioningly, without a shadow of suspicion.
24 years ago, when the Devil had happily accepted God’s soul in return to deceive Fate they hatched a very clever plan. A serial killer’s soul that was serving an eternal sentence in the pits of hell was summoned to the devil’s quarters. There, this soul was re-baptized in hell-fire (the only way to rebaptize a soul) and was given the name, ‘God’. The real God then exchanged his body with that of this wretched soul, so as to take no avoid any suspicion. The newly baptised God was then sent back to serve his sentence until he was needed again, 24 years later.
In the end, the heavens were empty, Fate had had its revenge, humans were devoid of holiness, and the Devil had a new assistant. And the indelible question was never to be asked again. | 2020-08-15T04:05:22 | 2020-08-15T00:45:00 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] At 18, your father finally gave you his antique Swiss watch. "The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life", your father always told you. Now at 26, you're celebrating your 1st wedding anniversary. As your wife pours you a glass of wine, the watch stopped. | For 18 years of my life, I heard the watch ticked. It was an irreplaceable sound, one that I knew by my heart. And so, when it stopped, I pointed it out to my father.
He had it on, even though the strap now fit illy on this thin wrist. With surprising deftness, he slipped it off, clasping the watch into my hands.
"The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life."
And surely, I watched his eyes closed for the final time. There was silence for a few seconds, before the watch started up once more.
It ticked and ticked, like the own rhythm of my heart. When I graduated, when I found my first job, when I kissed who I thought was surely the love of my life; when my heart broke, when Flora saved me from wallowing in my sallow pits of despair.
For the 26th year of my life, I stared into the eyes of my lovely wife, and I felt the watch beat softly on my wrist.
"Breaking out the good wine today, Flora?" I asked.
"Of course," she smiled. "A reward. For the beautiful flowers you sent me."
"Was it old-fashioned?"
Her laugh tinkled, setting off a chorus of explosions in my heart.
"It was romantic. Let's hope it's not just because it's the first year, right?"
"This day, one year ago, was the best day of my life," I said; "and it was entirely because of you."
She blushed, red as the glass of wine she poured. Streams of carmine and crimson, her eyes excitedly glowing and radiant with love.
"You were too," she whispered. "What if..."
"What if?"
"Well," she said. "What if there were more than two of us?"
My heart palpitated. It jumped and leapt with joy, as I was sure the corner of my lips did.
I rushed up to her. I held her in my arms, and I swirled her around like the wedding night one year ago.
She squealed with absolute and utter joy. We raised our glasses, and it clinked.
In that moment of quiet, as I put the glass to my lips, the watch stopped.
I was calm. How could I not be? I sipped the wine, feeling it coating the inside of my throat.
Two questions materialized in my head.
Am I seconds away from my death? Likely. Shame I couldn't live as long as my father.
Did I live a good life? It was short, maybe. But it was good. The wine was fine, as well. Fitting for my last drink.
I hugged her tightly. I slipped the watch into her hands.
"The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life," I said.
She stared at me, confused.
"I love you, so, so much," I said.
I felt myself falling to the floor, without so much as an explanation as to why.
But I know, just like 26 years ago, the watch will find new life with her.
And it will bloom splendidly, as will the new life within her, for she was utterly wonderful.
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r/dexdrafts | This is kind of bad but I've been using writing prompts to improve my skills and fall back in love with writing so here goes nothing... enjoy :)
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The warm lights of the front room shone down on her face light the glow of a halo. She was iridescent. The most beautiful woman in town. Ever since our first meeting in high school, she had been easily the most captivatingly gorgeous woman I could imagine. As I looked down at my watch, I remembered the words my father had spoken to me as he passed it down. "Son, this watch will work without fail until the moment before your death, only then will it stop." He had been right up until now, he had passed that watch into my possession on the morning of my 18th birthday, not once had I replaced the batteries until now. The night of my first wedding anniversary, aged 26. In that moment I looked over at my wife and wished that I would never see the hands fall still.
"Darling, what do you say we play that record tonight?" The soothing voice of my love came echoing around the room, running through my ears like silk. We'd been saving that record to play only on the most special occasions. I played it first on the evening I proposed, her smile had lit up the room as she told me she'd love me forever. Our wedding day was the second time, a year ago today, and I knew I would never tire of hearing her voice sing softly along to the words. "Of course honey, dance with me?" It was brave of me to ask, she hated to dance, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes as she nodded. We would do anything for each other, and tonight all I could ask for was love.
The soft melody of the tune enveloped us, drawing us in closer to each other with each note. As my hands caressed her waist, and her eyes bore into mine, everything else disappeared. Standing on her toes, she pressed her lips against my cheek and whispers softly. "Should we open a bottle of wine?" It wasn't often that we'd drink, but when we do, it's always a sweet Italian red wine. A smile crawled up onto my face, it felt infectious. I watched as she made her way into the kitchen, swaying her hips to the slow beat of the song that was still swirling around the house.
As she left my line of sight, I made my way over to the sofa. She'd be back any minute and if I knew her as well as I thought, and I did, I'd soon feel her fingers through my hair as she returned. Looking down at my watch, I heard the telltale clicking as the music faded into silence. Seconds later, I felt her presence behind me, then her fingers running through my hair as she giggled. *Called it.* She placed herself down in front of me, still glowing as she placed the glasses on the coffee table. With a grin, she started pouring our drinks, hers first and then mine. With the last drop of wine, Sarah's smile deafened the room, shutting out everything but the two of us. She could always create a moment to last a lifetime.
As I picked up the glass, the silence set in and I felt my heart skip a beat. Without a thought, I looked down at my watch. Nothing. What felt like hours passed as I realised the hands were no longer moving. The glistening red of the wine sparkled in the light, almost taunting me. *No... no, god, no, surely not... there's no way...* My heart caught in my throat as I looked back over the table, bright blue eyes staring back at me. I placed the glass slowly back onto the table, lifting myself off the sofa. The room spun before my eyes, the pounding of my heart deafening me now, the mockery of it suffocating me. "Darling do you have anything to tell me?" Her eyes widened and then her face fell, I'd never seen a more heart-breaking sight, but right now that wasn't my concern. I knew from what my father had told me that I'd have 5 minutes to change my fate, after that there's no saving me. "Do you have anything to tell me." This time I wasn't asking, I was demanding. "My watch, Sarah. It stopped." Now she knew I was serious, I hadn't used her name in months, I never did unless I was deathly serious. Her eyes pleaded with me, her voice ripping into my heart like poison. "I swear baby, I'd never- I love you more than anything!"
How had this night gone bad so quickly, how had everything good turned to acid, burning the memories scattered around this room? I'd drowned out her begging, pleading with me to understand, she'd "never lay a finger on me". If not her, then what? I have minutes to find out. Spinning around, I searched the room, looking down at my wrist every time I thought I'd found it. My breath caught in my throat as I saw it, in the back of the hallway. Him. Stood, staring down the barrel of the gun, pointed right at me. Without hesitation I reach out, grabbing my wife's arm and throwing her behind me. It happened in seconds. The click of the safety, the echoing bang. Silence.
They say your life flashes before your eyes, playing like a movie before you finally succumb and die. I saw it all, clear as day, meeting her, falling in love. I felt her lips on mine for the very first time, how my heart beat out of my chest. Her fingers lacing with mine as I swayed to the most beautiful song on earth, with the most beautiful woman. Hands running through my hair as we kiss, standing just in the doorway of our first home. And then I saw it, her radiant glow as she played the record, dancing in the living room. I knew in a second she was dancing for me, celebrating my life and everything we had. She'd been alone for a year and hadn't spent a day without my face crossing her mind. Forever in love. | 2020-12-10T12:26:59 | 2020-12-10T11:22:32 | 71 | 24 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | We weren't a rich family. Hell, I don't even know if we even qualified as poor, might not have had enough for that. Father was a coal miner until black lung got him, and mother emptied chamber pots to keep food on the table. Still, somehow we were happy, at least until the day we discovered I had magic.
Magic of course is highly regulated. Can't have any random nutjob running around burning cities to the ground, right? Either you joined the academy, or you were locked up in the tower. Of course mages were an elite class, and wanted to stay that way. The magic doesn't care though, it picks who it wants.
Luckily the king and his council understood that, and by law, the academy was free and open to all.
It didn't stop the mages from trying. Despite the best efforts of the king, they stood firm on the rule that nobody could join the academy without a familiar. Which of course the mages were in charge of raising and selling.
Most of the mages that sold familiars wouldn't even unlock the door when we came around. They told me to "enjoy the tower". I didn't even know what the tower was, but I doubt it was something I was going to enjoy.
Then we finally came to a run-down shack of a store. It was run by a man who must have been a mage, since he was allowed to sell familiars, but was as far from the academy elite as you could get.
He wore old, plain robes, far from the gold embroidery of the academy leaders, even more simple than that of the standard academy uniform.
"Welcome to Marty's Discount Familiars! I'm Marty, obviously."
I didn't say anything at first.
"I'm guessing you're the lucky boy who is going to the academy?" Marty looked at me with warm eyes.
"Only if I can find a familiar. We only have ten coppers." For six months, we'd barely eaten, worn the same unpatched clothing, and generally lived worse than beggars and that's all we could save.
"Don't you worry about that. I see potential in you. More than those overstuffed idiots in the academy ever had. You remind me a bit of myself at your age. I've got the perfect thing for you, and it's only gonna cost you three copper coins."
Marty walks into the back room, spends nearly a half hour rummaging around. I could hear trunks opening and closing, and various boxes being moved and shoved. We were about to leave, when he burst back into the room, "Here it is, can't believe how far down I hid that!"
Marty opens a small wooden box. I place my hand outstretched, as he seemed to want. In my hand, he placed a rock. More a gem, really, rough, but it still seemed to glow faintly as I turned it in my hand.
"Don't you worry my boy. It doesn't look like a lot now, but if you take care of it, you won't regret it." Marty grinned.
It's not like I had much of a choice. It certainly beat the tower. | I stood there, looking between my parents and the man holding out the “pet rock” to me. They couldn’t seriously believe that this thing had any sort of ability to protect me, could they?
“Well, go on then Bernerd, take it!” my mother said, nodding her head at his outstretched hand. I glanced at my father and he too was nodding, his eyes darting between me and the rock.
I reached out tentatively, and grabbed the large stone. It may fit comfortably in the man’s hand, but it was much larger in my palm. The surface was jagged, and the rock, to my surprise was warm. Perhaps the man had been holding it for much longer than I’d realized.
Someone had *lovingly* given it paste on googly eyes, and as I shifted it they lolled in strange ways. There was a crack along the side, and from the eye placement looked like a large and crooked smile.
Father placed a hand on my shoulder, while mother gave the man the few pennies they’d had to spend on my guardian.
My face burned, and I couldn’t believe they’d fallen for this man’s argument. That this rock was more powerful than a gryphon. More powerful than even a dragon. But they’d stood there, listening to his tale, drinking in every word.
All because I’d been accepted to the Academy. A first for my family, and they would have done anything to make sure that I followed the rules and that the Headmaster actually let me in. Even if that meant having a “pet rock” guardian.
They’d already starved themselves to be able to purchase my uniform, and Father was working extra shifts at the smelting house to pay off the loan they’d somehow managed to get for my wand.
It was wrong. All of it was wrong. My sisters at least were older than me, already married out so they didn’t have to suffer along with Mother and Father.
I squeezed my fist tight on the rock, only to be rewarded with several small punctures on my palm from the jagged edges. Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. But they were not just from pain, but also shame.
If I’d never manifested my powers, or if I’d done poorly in school - perhaps I wouldn’t have been accepted to the Academy. *I* hadn’t even enrolled. Mother had enrolled me.
I was excited at first, but as I watched my parents struggle for me, it just left me feeling sick.
We walked briskly back to the house, Mother jabbering on about how I’d have to write her every day, and just how proud of me she was. Father kept squeezing my shoulder, and tousling my hair.
They were proud of me. I knew that, but I was ashamed of myself.
Once we got home, I quietly went to my small room. My new chest filled with my school items sat at the end of my cot, nearly as large as the well worn piece of furniture. Much larger than my small bedside table where I promptly dropped the rock before flinging myself into my bed.
I rolled and looked at the rock, its eyes swinging crazily back and forth as they adjusted to their new, still, position.
It was so strange looking. I now saw there were patches of moss deep in the crevices between the jagged points, the crack which before looked like a smile, now looked like a crazy grin. There were flecks of white, black, and even a small sparkle of gold. Most likely pyrite.
It was a *pretty* rock, I’d give it that.
I leaned back, my head hitting my straw pillow. I’d rest until supper - if there was one tonight.
\---
I woke suddenly, a sharp thud coming from somewhere nearby. It was late, the full moon having risen, and the stars gleaming. But it spilled light in through the small window, directly on to my bed and side table. My *empty* side table.
My heart raced, and my stomach twisted as I sat up, looking around for the rock. Mother and Father would be horrified if I lost it.
But there it was, laying on the ground a few feet away. It must have been what caused the noise. But even as I sat watching, it started to move, and roll away.
I jumped out of bed, chasing after it, but stopped only a moment later. Other rocks were rolling towards the pet rock. Some larger, some smaller, all different shades and types.
As I watched, it seemed to build itself a body. Not large, perhaps up to my knee. My jaw was hanging open loosely, and I stepped forward. The floor gave a loud squeak, and the pet rock turned to face me.
The original rock was the head of the now formed being. The eyes, once again rolling to and fro, seemed to stare at me, and the crack was now open in a gaping grin.
I slid to the floor, wanting to get a better look at the rock, hoping I wouldn’t startle it.
The old man hadn’t been lying. It would be able to protect me.
It was a stone golem. And from what I knew of the elemental golems they could control as much - or as little - of their element as they wanted.
It was still standing there, looking at me. I wasn’t sure what to do. My heart was still racing, and I knew my parents would appear at any moment.
“Hello then, I’m Bernerd. What’s your name?” I don’t know what possessed me. But it felt right.
The golem tipped its head to the side, a few pieces of dirt tumbling off, its eyes once again wobbling crazily.
It didn’t have a name - it was waiting on me. I was sure of it.
“Your name is …” I stopped thinking deeply. Rocky, rock, stone… they all were appropriate, but childish. “Basalt.”
It tipped its head the other way and then stepped forward. It held out its arm - and I was surprised to see that it had formed a small hand. I shook it.
“Basalt,” I repeated, smiling down at the small golem. Perhaps the Academy wouldn’t be so bad.
\---
r/redditserials | 2021-01-06T08:26:28 | 2021-01-06T07:18:17 | 676 | 378 |
[WP] Magic has always been banned inside the walls of your home city. You never knew why until you looked down upon the city from afar and noticed that, framed by the circular outer-wall, all the zig-zagging streets and alleyways actually construct a giant magic seal- one for imprisoning great evil. | I was absolutely stunned that no-one has noticed this before.
People climbed the surrounding mountains every day. It wasn't forbidden, or even particularly difficult. When someone needed privacy, or fresh air, or silence, they climbed the mountains. That was why I came up to begin with.
To be fair, the symbol was highly asymmetric, so it wasn't easy to recognise, even viewing at so shallow an angle as I was; the mountains were relatively low to the ground anyways. Even then, its shape was distinct enough that *some* people should have realised. Well, I wasn't about to cry over that.
The city's winding streets laid out the most powerful seal of ancient spirits right before me. Some featrues were obscured by towers or taller rooves, and the castle, but there was no mistaking it. Thoughts coursed my head at this discovery. It explained so much. Like the ban on practicing spellcasting in town, or why the walls themselves oozed some rather slight, but perceptible magic, or why it was impossible to fly too high too near. If it was meant to protect the secret, it had failed. I had been looking for Rygva'ath for the longest, but I could never get closer than 'in the city'. That had changed now.
A most insidious idea popped into my head. Seals are broken when they are split in two - when a branch doesn't connect to the rest. How could I break the streams? By building across streets, turning them into dead ends. But who would let me do that?
Shop owners, market stall vendors, who would *love* potential customers to have no way of walking around them, that's who. More sales means more taxes, so the noble of the city would for sure let it happen. But this wouldn't get me all the way there. Still, it was a starting point. After making a quick, but critically, somewhat inaccurate sketch of the streets' layout, I returned home to contemplate my next move.
It struck me then: more gates mean more seclusion from the plebeians, and more tolls. Are gates walls? I was going to see it through. Chuckling to myself, just imagining that after so much research, such a long journey, all the actual work was going to be done by someone *else*, and I wouldn't even be around when the destruction started. This was the most fun in being the villain - causing people to willingly, better, *wantintgly* walk into their own deaths, and getting to spectate from too far to be concerned about law, or retribution.
That afternoon, the city council recieved a lengthy letter, signed by multiple respected traders and merchants. Sometime in the evening, a watchful eye might have noticed a lone wanderer going through the mountains with a well-packed mule.
Before you judge - I left a message also for the priests of the local temple. "Pray." | [Part 1 of 2]
“A seal, there’s no mistaking it. The way the northern roads overlap, the thinly constructed alleyways that can barely fit a human, it all makes sense now. Someone constructed this town hoping to seal something, but what could be so powerful that it needs such a large seal?” The hairs on my neck stood up as the thought crossed my mind, hastily scribbling more notes into my diary, trying to copy the symbol.
Three hundred years that rule has been in place. No magic inside the walls of Palat. It was lectured to every child growing up, a reminder passed down through generations, but I had to wonder, did anyone even remember why the rule was in place? Surely someone would have tried to remove whatever was being sealed by now if that were the case. Why leave a dangerous time bomb underneath your city?
As I sketched the symbol down, I made a few lines throughout it, following the strange angles towards the middle, trying to locate where the sealed individual would be. I told myself I was only doing so for curiosity’s sake, but I knew I was lying. I wanted to find this person; This mystery needed to be solved. With the symbol complete, I shut the diary, heading down the overlooking hill, heading back into town.
I kept my head down, trying to avoid drawing anyone’s attention. It’s not like anyone could know what I was up to, but that still didn’t calm my nerves. I might not be breaking the rules, but I was certainly bordering the line of breaking them. If someone caught onto what I was doing, I could end up dead or even joining the sealed individual.
I stopped in an alley, opening my diary to take a quick look at the symbol. “Beside the baker’s home and north of the church.” I followed the sketch with my finger until it landed on an unfortunate destination. “Beside the baker’s home and north of the church.” I repeated, assuring myself there must have been some mistake, but again my finger landed on the same location. The sealing point being my home.
Impossible, there is no way. I would have noticed something like that, wouldn’t I? I felt cold, my stomach turning, forcing me to hunch over against the wall of the alley, fingers gripping the stone wall, stopping myself from being sick. The thought of being that close to danger made me want to curl up and cry.
“Are you alright Eric?” A head poked into the alleyway. The kindly priest moving to my side, giving my back a few soft pats until I stood up once more. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you alright?”
“Yes, thank you, father Robert. I think I have been out in the cold too much; winter here really has a nasty bite.”
“Indeed, it does. Bites harder than any wild dog. If you need a jacket, the church has a few donated ones we could spare. Everyone has to work together to get through the harsh months.”
“That’s a kind offer, but I really need some rest.”
“Right, head off home, then. There’s no place like home, right?” He said with a laugh, turning to leave the alleyway.
“Before you go, father. I was wondering how long my house has been here? Mrs. Alar told me the structure of the town has changed little since it was first built, at least according to her grandparents. Do you know if my home is as old as this town?” I asked, hoping it was only pure coincidence that my house was built on top of the individual, not wanting to entertain the thought that it was intentional.
“Interesting question. Knowing our heritage is important. According to our records, the only houses that have been added since the discovery of the town are the community hall and the markets. They built everything else in the early days of the town’s history. I hope that answers your question.”
“It does father, thank you.” I gave him a wave, letting him leave before returning to my position against the wall. Did I really want to investigate this further? I wanted to ignore it, but the thought of living above such an individual worried me.
It was a slow walk back home, taking my time to make the brief journey. I would distract myself with random birds or frost covered leaves, desperate to put off the inevitable for as long as I could. After an hour of dragging my feet, I found myself back at home, pulling apart my parents’ old room, poking at floorboards and peeking underneath the bed. “Nothing, I can’t find any sign of a person.”
The search continued for hours until only one room remained, my own. I prayed I was just going mad, hoping that this was just a paranoia I had developed from reading books on magic late at night. Maybe I was just overthinking things. Maybe it was a coincidence. I repeated the process once more, only this time the floorboard budged, peeling upwards every so slightly.
The floorboard was trapped beneath the legs of my bed, having to push aside my bed to free it. I pulled the first free, then the other two, peering into the dark hole hidden under my bed. Underneath the bed I could see no source of light, or even how deep the drop was. I grabbed a shirt from my drawer, dropping it into the hole. It descended for a moment before letting out a small smack as it collided with something. It didn’t appear deep and despite my better judgement; I lowered myself into the hole, being enveloped by the darkness.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oiq3nq/wp_magic_has_always_been_banned_inside_the_walls/h4xbc1w/) | 2021-10-17T02:32:38 | 2021-07-12T06:57:23 | 319 | 162 |
[WP] They Hero is defeated by the villian, they expect death or torture. They did not expect to wake up in a guest room with their wounds being treated to. | When I woke up, I found myself in room with a small pool, The Enemy's iconography clearly marking this a temple. A case of mistaken identity perhaps? But before I could think to escape, the dark waters came alive, and The Enemy was before me.
"Hello little one." It took the form a of serpent, draped in shadow. Only its glowing orange eyes pierced the darkness of its form.
"You were quite foolish to take part in a war in heaven, despite being so very mortal. Though I do have a soft spot for fools who think they are doing the right thing." I could feel the water seeping into my wounds, mending them.
"When I am done here, you may go, little warrior. Live your life and do not concern yourself with the politics of the next." At first I did not want to give this monster any satisfaction in whatever horrors I knew would be coming my way, but the simple taunts and lies flared my temper.
I spoke, my own voice so much weaker than I wanted, but my anger came through. "Do not toy with me monster! I am a knight, and I will not demean myself by playing your games, I have seen *exactly* what you do to your prisoners, so get it over with!"
And it was true, for the whole world had seen what The Enemy had done to the guardian angels, twisting them into horrible monstrosities, before tearing heaven itself asunder.
"You may call yourself a Knight, little one, but they have barely begun to atone for their sins. Yet you are innocent." It shifted, coming closer to me, the water still holding me in place. Soon we were face to face. "Do you know what your god and her angels did to me?" The orange eyes of The Enemy burned, perhaps literally, into my soul.
"My sister and I had a small city, no larger than a hundred people, for whom I cared for. I even loved one of them. A *god* in love with a mortal!" It shook its head, as though the very concept of love was ridiculous.
"Your god sent her 13 Knights to destroy my home. My sister gave her life in the fight, but in the end, only myself and my love escaped." I could hear pain in The Enemy's voice.
The last of my wounds had closed, and now the hollow serpent began to slink away. "Our time here is done. Know that my mercy is not infinite, and you will not be spared again. Heaven is no place for mortal, knight."
And with that, I fell through the bottom of the pool, back into the mortal world.
----
----
So I kinda rambled with this one, didn't know where to end once I started. But hopefully it makes enough sense to be worth sharing? | Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer.
This reminds me of the time I fought in the Big Dying Arena for the privilege of speaking to the great armorer in the sky. That is, I'm reminded of that time if you'll permit me to refer to myself as "the Hero", but you seem like an agreeable person, and I seem like a heroic person, so that should all shake out.
The Big Dying Arena is run by the Rakrak people who live at the base of the Very Tall Mountain. They're a literal-minded folk, and they only allow arena winners to speak to the great armorer in the sky. Warriors come from across the disc to fight in the hopes of receiving her armor. Now, I myself am an armorer, and a professional one at that, but back then I was merely a journeyman in need of some direction, and it was therefore the great armorer's advice that I sought.
Thus, I made the journey to the Rakrak capital, aptly named The Capital of the Rakrak People. And, once I'd parsed their language, I signed up to fight in the Big Dying Arena. They told me I was lucky. There was only one other competitor that year, a small woman of no reputation.
Now, I'm a man who calls a spade a spade and a champion a champion, and therefore I can tell you that it was with no ego that I entered the Big Dying Arena with all the pomp and confidence of a pre-acclaimed victor. I didn't know what tricks this woman of no reputation might have up her sleeves, but I knew was Lance Ravenbow, journeyman armorer and all-around badass, and I didn't expect her to put up much of a fight.
The cheers rolled down from the crowd like mist off a morning mountain, and my heart swelled in readiness. I had on my best, thickest, lightest, most wondrous self-made armor, and I had in my hands a two-handed greatsword, also self-made. My only concern was that I might hurt the woman more than I intended.
And there she was coming through the gate opposite me. A tiny woman, mousey of hair and heavy of step, she moved like she wanted to flatten the ground underfoot. And, in a move I considered more than a little insulting, she wore only light chainmail over hardened leather, and for weapons she carried a short sword and an odd, textured ball. No clue what that was. I didn't imagine the Rakrak would allow a combatant to bring in a fuse-bomb, so I more or less wrote the ball off as being of no consequence.
She and I squared off in the middle of the arena while the Rakrak announcer said his spiel. My Rakrak is quite poor, and I picked up only snatches of what he was saying. In the meantime I took in the banked seats of Rakrak spectators, the crystal blue sky, the soft sand underfoot, and the absolute death glare that the woman was giving me. She had her chin jammed forward like a fist, and her eyes pressed on me like two thumbs. "I'm Speedwillow," she said. "Who're you?"
I swished my sword through the air before saying, "I'm Lance Ravenbow, journeyman armorer and all-around --"
"You're soft shit, that's what."
"What's that now?"
Her eyes never let up. "I'm gonna destroy you."
"Um." I'd not once in my life encountered this sort of confidence. At least, not from someone other than me, but in me the confidence involved less comments about soft shit. "Well, we'll see about that."
She grinned and made a squishing sound.
The announcer sounded an enormous horn -- it could only have come from a sea elephant -- and once its echo had faded into the screams of the crowd, Speedwillow was on me.
Have you ever tried to catch a fly with your bare hands? How about a fly that carries a needle, and every time you get close to it, it stabs you in the hand? How about a fly that carries a needle to stab you with, and also, just when you're getting tired from swinging your greatsword, it reveals that the black ball it's been carrying is a densely packed net, and it throws the net over you, tackles your midriff, and proceeds to hack at the fragile lobstered armor protecting your joints, all while you flop on the ground like a flipped turtle?
Has that ever happened to you? Well, that was my fight with Speedwillow. Where her clomping awkwardness went, I had no idea, but from they very outset, our fight was one-sided. It was like I could never see her; I could only see where she'd been.
By the end, I was swinging in random directions, hoping to catch her off-guard, and at that point she netted me, brought me down, and, I'm certain, would have killed me, had the announcer not sounded the horn to end the fight. I must have passed out because the last thing I remember was her leaning down into my face -- those eyes once again deadlocked onto mine -- and saying, quite clearly, "Soft. Shit."
\*
*Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer. It's getting late, and this phenomenal story of mine is going longer than I'd intended. But isn't that just the way of it? I mean, who has a short story about how they met their wife. It's looking like I'll have to sleep and finish this in the morning. In the meantime, why not visit* r/RavenbowsArmory *for more of my true stories?* | 2021-08-09T21:29:01 | 2021-08-09T21:03:37 | 74 | 36 |
[WP] Everyone is granted a familiar when they turn 15. A loyal creature that vastly improves their owner's life. Your familiar is one of the wisest and most powerful of them all. Unfortunately, you're deadly afraid of it's species. | "Now, now, I know you might be afraid, but I assure you, there's no-"
"Get the fuck away from me!" I screamed, throwing a chair. My familiar dodged. Of course it did.
"There's really no reason to be this rude!" It said. "I have feelings too, you know."
"Get out!" I ran out of my room and locked the door.
The cockroach simply crawled underneath it. If I could read its expression, I would swear that it had a pitying look on its face. Maybe just a contemptuous one, actually. From underneath the door, more and more of the wretched bugs began pouring out. My legs gave out and I fell, sobbing, to the floor.
"Listen, I really don't get why you're so upset. We are a top tier familiar, you know."
"I dond gare," I said through my tears.
"Well, we can't leave."
"T-then I will!" I found the strength to run through the hallway, before tripping down the stairs. To my surprise, it didn't hurt.
Upstairs, one cockroach fell dead to the floor, having taken the blow for me.
"Really, the sooner you learn to accept us, the faster we can move on towards doing other things. Useful things. Powerful things." The lead roach said as it crawled down the stairs. It was now sporting a tiny thimble as a hat, a way to distinguish it from the rest. If it wasn't so disgusting, it may have even been cute.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Please," the roach said. "We're going to take over the world." | *Why did it have to be an Owl?!*
Harry thought as he saw his familiar. He would have been okay with a spider, a cockroach, a lizard, hell even a fucking cobra but no the universe looked at Harry and went *fuck you in particular.*
Harry was so shocked when he first saw it that he didn't speak for an hour, thinking that it was just a bad dream. As it turns out, his life wasn't a dream, it was a fucking nightmare.
Out of all the things he wasn't afraid of, which was most, the universe had to pick the one that made him freeze in fear.
~
The familiar said its name was Lily. Just because it has a name of a flower doesn't amke it less forbidding. Every single time it tilted its head, Harry nearly had a heartattack, because those things were creepy. Who the fuck tilts their head like that?
~
Harry ignored the familiar for most age 15 because, like the naive child he was, he thought that if he ignored it then probably it'll go away and he'll get a new one.
But as it turned out, that doesn't happen. It just sat there, and stared. Stared at Harry to talk to it, stared at him to give it an order, just say something, but Harry couldn't look at it without unbearable anxiety and an onset of panic attack.
So he decided ignoring it was the only way.
~
"Look out." Came a soft voice, which Harry would have recognised if hadn't spent over a year ignoring it.
Harry turned just in time to see a car coming towards him at breakneck speed. He dodged it just in time.
He looked up and saw it, still shuddering from the close encounter and looking at it, he mumbled a thank you.
~
One thing he had to hand it to his familiar was that it never nagged him. It was as if it, like him, has accepted that this- Harry- was his destiny.
And somewhere deep down Harry was thankful.
~
Harry lounged in front of the TV absently eating the French fries when a screech broke him out of his reverie. He looked out and saw his familiar fighting with a snake and his mom lying on the ground.
He screamed her name as he ran towards her. She had passed out.
After they reached the hospital, the doctor told him that she passed out fright. The snake never bit her. He let out a sigh of relief and looked, really looked at Lily for the first time.
"Thank you." Was all he could muster. The shame of ignoring Lily, the thankfulness he felt was all wrapped in that thank you he hoped Lily understood that.
Lily said nothing, just hooted softly and Harry felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest.
~
Things changed after that incident. He was still scared but he had started to talk to her if only hellos and byes. His mother on the other hand adored Lily, and rightfully so.
~
He didn't seize up in fear anymore. They were almost friends now. They had conversations, full fledged conversations and he had to say, Lily was kind of awesome.
~
"Honey," His mother's voice was so low and his heart dropped.
"Mom, what happened? Is it dad?" He said running towards his car.
"No, your dad is fine." She said, holding back sobs, "it's Lily, dear."
His racing heart came to a sudden stop, he couldn't hear anything as the phone slipped from his hand, his vision started to blur, his heart had now picked up the speed and was now hammering painfully in his chest.
Not Lily, please god, not Lily, he prayed as he ran to the hospital.
~
He sat beside Lily's bed waiting for to open her eyes. Doctor had said Lily had gotten her in her flight. Lily was coming to meet him and he would have never forgiven himself if something would have happened to her.
"Don't blame yourself." Lily's voice was like a balm on his soul. "I was the idiot who wanted to fly in this weather."
"To meet me!"
"I will fly in any season to meet you, Harry. You are my-" Lily abruptly stopped and Harry felt like shit.
"Friend?"
Lily looked at him like she was guilty of breaking a something very valuable to him.
"You are my friend, Lily." He said and saw Lily's eyes fill with tears. "You're my best friend. | 2022-01-14T13:09:58 | 2022-01-14T09:10:50 | 55 | 40 |
[WP] You have died, and in the afterlife are given the opportunity to see the worst decision you ever made, and the best decision you ever made.
| "Hello Cole."
I had made a mistake.
Here I was an iron-willed atheist, staring into the face of a being that could no doubt be my creator. I was somewhat pleased to find him...her...it... genderless. It spoke with a booming voice, so the old stogeys in the bible got something half-right.
Looking at God was rather comforting. It radiated peace, but a firm, parental aura. It knew it was in charge. Peering deeper into its eyes, I could see a shifting face of people I knew. Friends, family, peers, people I had seen on the street. It was subtle yet I could only stare into the eyes of my ex-boyfriend, my mother, and an old Japanese man. It was starting to hurt my head so I turned away.
"I'm sorry that your idea of the afterlife isn't quite what you had in mind... I tried to take a very subtle approach after my son was born. I didn't kill anyone, I didn't save anyone, y'know, just prevented the apocalypse. Heh, apo-COLE-lypse? Huh? Huh?"
It smiled at me with what I could only see as a shit-eating grin. I was rather shocked that it was making jokes at me, since I just assumed I would go to hell. Atheist, liked men and women, the thousands of pornos... I hoped It wasn't reading my mind. I broke the silence.
"Hah-hah, yeah, good one..." My lack of enthusiasm was fairly evident.
It smiled and scratched the back of it's head. "Sorry, I know you like puns. Probably not the best time though, we have a lot to go through."
I stammered "W-w-what do we have to do?"
"Heaven sign-up, standard questions, then off we go."
My nervousness was replaced with confusion. "Heaven sign-up? You mean I'm not going to hell?"
It looked amused. "I'm not just going to bring evil people up here to tell them they can't get into paradise. That would be cruel!"
"So the angry all-father thing I kept hearing about when I was alive..."
God scoffed. "I wish I could smite the people that do evil in my name... I mean, my only real request is 'don't be a dick.' And you did an excellent job at that."
I felt surprised, and my face showed it too. It was nice to hear you were a good person from your creator.
"So how do I sign-up...?"
It smiled again. "Do you want to go to heaven?"
"What?"
The smile continued. "That wasn't a yes or a no."
"Wh-ah, yes! The answer is yes!"
God hugged me with explosive energy. "You did it, my boy! Welcome to eternal paradise! I hope you enjoy the buffet, we have all of your favorite foods. Try not to miss the people! They are excellent as well." It winked and nudged me with it's elbow.
"By the way..." It added. "Want to find out something interesting?"
"Uh, sure."
It nodded like it was expecting the answer.
"I'll give you the opportunity to see the best *and* the worst decisions of your life. Interested? One catch though, you have to watch them both."
I considered carefully. Seeing my tentative nod, It snapped and a rectangle of light appeared before us, as well as a bowl of popcorn in my lap.
"We'll start with worst."
I suddenly had a heavy feeling in my stomach.
The screen shifted to what I recognized as an application letter sitting on my desk. I saw myself in the background, sleeping buck-naked at two in the afternoon. A true slob. But then something changed. The application gained my signature and sealed itself into an envelope, and flew out the window.
The rectangle began to fast-forward as it showed me going to school, meeting friends, meeting the love of my life, fostering children, loving life, going to work, it was beautiful. The last shot showed me peacefully passing away as I held my loved ones' hands.
My potential wasted.
God patted me on the back, knocking tears down my face. I felt everything I saw. My love, my legacy, my joys in life, all wasted. Even my death was perfect. I died with no one in my life, no children, nothing to keep me warm at night, and my death...
The rectangle changed.
I saw an old friend, a name I barely remember, sitting in her room. With a knife. With pills. With pain and sadness in her eyes. She looked younger.
I saw my childhood best friend, in his early years, swinging alone on the tire that hung on the tree in his backyard, with loneliness in his soul.
I continued to see people. People I knew and had talked to. All of them sad, but all of them looking younger. After seeing dozens of people, I began to see them in their lives. And I understood what I was seeing.
My childhood friend negotiating a truce in a war, the old friend seemingly finding the cure to deadly diseases, another defending an innocent man from being mugged, a teacher bringing joy to his students.
The same compassion, dedication, honour, and joy I had shown to these people.
God spoke, and while I didn't look at him, I think he smiled.
"Due to your actions, you have made the world a better place. You have enriched the lives of your friends and many others by being kind to them and showing them love in times of adversity. Without you, some of them may not be here today. You have given the most basic, yet most essential gift many more times in your short life than others will when they wither and rot. I am proud to see what you have done."
I turned to It. Through my tear-filled eyes, I felt loved. My suicide may have been tragic, but I learned my life was not in vain.
I took the hand of God and smiled genuinely for the first time in years.
Because I learned I had helped others do the same. | "It wasn't the car you know." I looked around in confusion at my surroundings, something felt off as I stared down at my hands. Hadn't I just been somewhere else? My hands looked so soft and plain, almost...as if I'd never worked a day in my life. I looked around quickly to try and figure out where I was, everything was white and sterile, but comforting in a way.
"It wasn't the car." A voice repeated again, a sort of gruff voice that shocked my from my reverie. I turned to look at the owner and found myself looking at an intimidating man with a large full white beard, a receding hairline that had receded years ago, and surprisingly piercing blue eyes full of life. He had an expression on his face that was almost one of kindness, though the bags under his eyes brought a sort of horror, as if he'd seen too much or been blamed for too many things.
"I...what?" I looked at this man in utter confusion, my mind trying to work out what had happened, and where I was. Images flashed in my mind slowly, ones I barely could catch as the quixotic mess randomly tried to sort itself. A street...I was on a street and I had just been waiting for light to change so I could go...there was a noise, a sudden screeching of tires as someone came out of a back alley right into my lane, full speed at me. I had no time to move, no time to serve, and then...whiteness.
"It wasn't the car though that did it, it was sign." Slowly I looked back to this bearded man and he looked back at me with a smile that was almost sad, as if he pitied me for some reason.
"What...who are you?" I managed to say at last to him, worry and confusion in my voice.
"Mr. Tippet...or Phil if you prefer. I supervise this place." As if by some desire to put me more at ease, or maybe to scare me I watched a large two legged reptile slowly creep behind the bearded man. It put one claw up to its mouth as if to keep me silent before it crept along its way and out of sight, however that worked.
"Okay...Phil...I'd like to leave if possible...the pain drugs are working though...wait, are you...an orderly?" Phil gave a great bellyful laugh and shook his head, waving one hand dismissively.
"No drugs sport, I'm afraid that you're dead." I must have looked so amusing to him, always with this confused expression of bewilderment on my face. I was dead‽ No! That wasn't possible! How could I have been dead!
"I...that's not funny Phil, look could you get me a nurse or something?"
"Oof, that's not my department, I stick to the creatures, they always hit their marks." I couldn't tell if Phil was joking, he had such a serious look on his face, one that was laced with just a bit of annoyance.
"I...I want to leave now...or go home...or...something, please Phil. I don't know what's going." The man gave a sigh and suddenly sat down in a large green chair, gesturing for me to do the same thing. I blinked rapidly as I looked at the chair he offered to me. I'm not sure what drove me but I stepped forward and took a seat.
"Look, I've got to show you something before you go on your way. I'm supposed to show you the worst decision you ever made, and the best decision you ever made." He took up a remote and began to fiddle with it, squinting slightly as he peered at it closely. Hitting a few buttons a TV suddenly turned on, one that hung suspended in the air before us. Why didn't that seem odder to me?
"Wait! How...how are you going to show me?"
"Movie magic kid." His eyes twinkled mischievously as he pressed a button and the TV changed to a channel. There I was! I was on TV! It was me and I was sitting at a Cafe drinking a large mocha in a ceramic cup. I was younger then, much younger, my hair hadn't thinned out, my eyes didn't have crows feet around the edges, and I didn't need glasses. I looked at my watch and obviously pondered something to myself. With a resigned nod I stood up and went to the counter.
"Can I get another mocha please, extra whip, to go? Name of...Blaphestga." The Barista looked at me oddly and I shrugged.
"You're not going to write the correct one anyway, might as well make it a challenge." I told her charmingly as I winked. She laughed and wrote something on the cup before going to make it. I moved off to the side and waited for my name to be called. It didn't take long before she called out "Blafsagsta" which I supposed was close enough. Grabbing hold of the cup I turned quickly to go add just a little bit of creamer and fake sugar, but ran into someone soundly and sending my drink everywhere.
"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" I cried as I covered a poor young woman in my delicious beverage. At first she was angry and let out a few noises of frustration as she looked up from all five foot two of her, fire in her eyes. They softened considerably as hers met mine.
"Please, let me uh...buy...you new clothes? and a coffee?" I asked, trying to think of anything to this decidedly beautiful woman who looked both embarrassed, pissed, and intrigued at me.
"I've seen what you do with coffee, but I definitely could go for a new shirt." She said in a musical tone, gesturing to her clothes. I chuckled somewhat nervously and nodded, agreeing to that definitely.
"That was your wife." Phil said suddenly as the screen went blank. I looked at him as if to say 'Well Duh Phil' but of course I would never say that out loud. Not...anymore.
"If you hadn't decided to get another coffee, regardless of to go or not...you two never would have met. That was your best decision." He told me, and that just made smile as I thought about it again. He was right, I dated Cassie for four years, we married, had two kids, and that was it.
"So I guess...you want to show me my worst decision huh? Do...do we have to Phil?" The man gave an almost sympathetic smile as he reached out and patted me on the arm.
"It'll be over quick." He assured me before pressing a button on the remote again. It flickered back to life and showed me standing in my kitchen making something with Cassie.
"Oh shoot, we're out of eggs!" She stamped her tiny foot and looked to me almost expectantly.
"You almost make it sound like it's my fault sweetie." I wasn't mad at her, I could never be, even after all these years.
"I put a note in your pocket to pick some up, you knew I wanted to make a cake for Delilah's birthday. Would you run up to the street and grab some from the store?" Her eyes got wide and she bit her bottom lip, trying to be cute. I caved of course, I always...always caved. Kissing her on the forehead I grabbed my keys and headed to the car. It wasn't a far drive, it wasn't as if I needed to buckle up, like two blocks. I'm pretty sure if a cop saw me he wouldn't pull me over. What's the worst that could happen? After reversing out of the house and getting onto the main street I waited patiently for the light to change. I couldn't wait for Cassie to bake that cake.
There was a Pshing noise and I looked over to Phil, who had cracked open a cold can of beer for himself.
"Y'see, over before you knew it." Phil raised the can to his lips and drank deeply, wiping away with his other hand after a satisfied sigh.
"Really Phil? That was my worst decision?" I asked him as I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at him expectantly.
"Well of course, had you buckled up, you actually wouldn't have died. You went straight through the windshield instead and broke your neck on impact with a sign. Well, more of a pole than anything. Had you taken those few seconds though, you would be able to go back to Cassie and your kids...now though...now you just get to go." Both of us were standing however and he had his hand extended to me, an almost bittersweet smile on his lips.
"Uh...well...thanks Phil..." I shook his hand firmly and nodded as golden light came down from above.
"Oh by the way, if you see Attenborough up there, tell him that I was watching them the whole time, it's not my fault Newman turned off the fence." | 2015-01-13T23:35:22 | 2015-01-13T23:22:41 | 41 | 10 |
[WP] You board an empty midnight train and take a seat. You notice there is a pair of glasses on the opposite bench and pick them up. When you put them on, you realize you're not alone. | "That was a poor choice," I heard a voice behind me say. "Don't take them off."
"I wasn't stealing them!" I cried out as I turned. No one had been there before. I just wanted to try them on! It's always so silly seeing the world warped through someone else's prescription. "I was just testing...."
My protests trailed off as I turned to face the rest of the train car. It had been completely empty just a moment ago, and now every row was full of passengers. They were all staring at me. And it looked like they were all on their way to a costume ball together. One guy wore a breasted suit and top hat with curly mutton-chop sideburns. Another wore a black bowler hat and a flashy tie. One extraordinarily beautiful woman was dressed like she was on her way to Woodstock, complete with a dangling peace sign medallion.
"Who... what..." I didn't know which question to start with.
"You'll find out soon enough," a disgruntled-looking man nearby answered. He was one of the only ones who looked normal; just a plain grey suit and a briefcase. There were dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept well in years.
"Next, he'll be checking the glasses," said a woman in a pleated skirt and pressed white blouse who seemed straight out of Leave It To Beaver, ready to make her way to the local soda shop and meet a swell guy! "That's what everyone does."
I hadn't even though of it. I tilted my head forward, pushed the thin golden frames to the tip of my nose, and peeked over. Everyone vanished. My eyes must have widened in shock, because I heard titters of laughter from the passengers I could no longer see.
"What a surprise!" one of the men remarked sarcastically. "I wasn't expecting that reaction!"
"Leave the boy alone," a deep throaty rumbled remarked from the back of the train. *How could I still hear where the voices were coming from?* "I didn't make fun of *you* when you all did the exact same thing."
I readjusted the glasses, and their faces all reappeared.
"What is going on?" I asked, trying to conceal the high note panic in my own voice.
"Shouldn't have put on the glasses," the old man said from the back. The one who had chided the others. "Old Gypsy curse on those. My own fault, really. And now that you have them on you can never...."
He rolled his eyes as I ripped the glasses off my face. There was a sharp pinch, like a hair being pulled out from the root.
"Never take them off." he finished. I held them in my hands, unsure exactly what he meant by that.
One of the women in the closest row gave a sad, comforting smile. "Don't worry, dear." She was wearing a floral patterned dress like she'd wear on a nice sunday stroll in the park. "We all made the same mistake too."
The glasses slipped out of my hand and back onto the seat. No, not out of my hand: *through* my hand. They landed back on the seat with a slight bounce, then vanished into thin air.
The train pulled into a stop and the door slid open with a soft chime. I tried to leave the train car and was blocked by some invisible barrier.
"It's no use," one of them called out as I hammered against the air.
A passenger from the platform boarded the car, stepped inside and walked down the aisle. He passed *straight through me* and took a seat on top of the man wearing a WWII uniform.
"Well, welcome to the club," the old man remarked. "I was hoping you'd be a bit more patient; we've all been wondering what would happen if someone tried to wear them out of the train and never took them off. No matter, might as well take a seat. It'll be a while till they reappear."
| The train was *bustling*.
I could only *see* the furious movement, but with it came the impression of a sound—like that of a busy shopping mall or an open-air bazaar.
I took the glasses off, and nothing.
There was nothing. The car was as empty as before, with red cloth seats clear of people and bronze overhead railings devoid of luggage.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
The green-tinted glasses in my hands—previously an amusing oddity, found left on the train—had now taken on an air of quiet menace.
I gave them one lingering look, and put them back on.
The glass window would have shattered had I jumped back any farther:
In front of me was a single dead-eyed face.
It looked as if it were made with an odd combination of clays—it was very smooth and I had the distinct impression that there were fingerprints in all those places it’d need to be shaped. The thing’s smile was less a smile and more a rictus, and though it was completely covered in flesh I had the feeling I could see straight through to its skull.
“What are you?”
He spoke, but I couldn’t hear a word.
It was a pity that the maker of the green-tinted glasses never made a pair of green-tinted headphones.
“I can’t hear you,” I said, and the clay man frowned an exaggerated frown, and I feared the putty would fall from his face. But, as if his face had springs, it rebounded to its previous rictus.
It was unsettling, and so I removed the glasses.
Empty train car, as expected.
The only sounds to keep me company were the clatter of the the wheels and the pump of the engine. Out the window was a scene of pure bleak black, as if the SEPTA Regional Train from track 27 had mistakenly took a rail into the space between stars.
It was… *lonely* again.
I put the glasses back on, and Clay Man was waiting for me, still smiling.
“Who are all of you?”
As I asked that simple question he shot up, ramrod straight, and began to walk down the aisle. I followed, trying my best to squeeze between the busy figures. The tall broad ones were busy doing up their sports jackets, tightening their ties, polishing their shoes—and the slender curvy ones held mirrors to their painted faces.
It was rather as if they were all preparing for some kind of party.
As I took a closer look at their faces—all malformed creations, such that a blind sculptor would make if only given the sparsest descriptions of a human mouth, eyes, ears, or the proportions between them—I felt a rush of excitement more than I did fear.
I’d never been invited to a party.
I saw a few polite smiles and I nodded in return, following Clay Man to the head of the car.
At the doors he put his hand up and requested that I stop.
“Why?”
He slowly shook his head, still smiling that perpetual grin of his.
I tried moving forward and saw, to my shock, that his outstretched arm could hold me in place!
I took off the glasses, and found myself standing in the middle of the empty train car, jostling softly in the quiet of the night.
I tried moving forward, and was free. Odd.
I put the glasses back on.
Clay Man was not amused.
He pointed down at the spot I was standing in a rough, herky-jerk motion.
“Alright, fine, I’ll stay here,” I said.
He resumed his usual rictus.
As he walked through the doors I caught the faint glimpse of candlelight in the next car, and grew intensely curious. But I didn’t want to upset my new friend, so I stayed where I was.
After a few moments, an old woman hunched and lurched into the room, clutching a single crutch.
Clay Man smiles at me and the old woman looked at me with a lucid eye. She was put together better than most. In fact… she looked almost human.
I removed the glasses.
Empty train car. A single light on a post zipped past in the windows.
I put them back on.
Old Woman looked at me with half-slit eyes, daring me to do that again. Then she made her way around me, poking me—and I felt it!—here and there, turning me this way and that, until she nodded flatly to the Clay Man and disappeared beyond the doors, back into the candlelight.
Clay Man soon followed her, smiling all the way.
His face was still unsettling. It was as if he could only produce emotions in discrete amounts.
I looked back at the train car, still bustling with people trying to get ready.
As I examined their faces, I realized the same was true of *them.* Their smiles or frowns were static. Furrowed brows stayed that way. Sneering noses remained as they were, curve-lipped mouths retained their dry amusement, and slit eyes stayed suspicious for as long as I watched them.
Ten minutes passed, and I was growing impatient. I couldn’t wait for Clay Man’s return forever. I wanted to see what was in the room filled with candlelight!
There was an easy solution. I’d simply take the glasses off, pass by any obstacles that may be in the next car, hide in a corner, and put them back on!
It was simple enough, and so I did so.
Kneeling in the corner of the next train car over—a big open-spaced car meant for setting out tables for lunch and dinner—I put on the glasses.
For a moment I couldn’t see—such was the crowd gathered there!—but with a few strategic moves I found a nice opening through which to see the festivities. There was some sort of performance!
I wondered what kind. Magic, perhaps? That would’ve been my favorite. Of course it could have just as well been tumblers, or a singer, or perhaps even a mime.
I struggled to get a better view, and then I saw them.
Two chairs.
One held a man dressed in official blues—the conductor.
His eyes were missing. As were strips of flesh from his face and arms, a whole chunk of his ear, and—as I looked with horror at the gash in his belly—what looked to be a whole ream of intestine.
Beside him was a woman, spectral and light. The Old Woman from before placed these pieces of flesh upon her body as she giggled. Just as she was putting on the finishing touch of an ear, I noticed I was being watched.
Clay Man smiled as he always did, with white teeth stark against his gums, the lines around his mouth threatening to swallow his face. On the bridge of his deformed nose was a pair of red-tinted glasses, and in his right hand was a straight razor.
I gulped and threw off my glasses.
He was still there. | 2015-05-01T08:41:22 | 2015-05-01T08:39:41 | 64 | 23 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall." | "Stall."
Oh, yeah. Nailed it. I wave and walk off the stage.
"Good job, Jim!", he doesn't return my high five but I know he's been stressed lately.
"Was I good, Steph?" I must've been incredible because she has that stunned look on her face again.
All of the hard work has led to tonight. I think I'll take out the team and shout them drinks. And people said Ron Burgundy couldn't be President. | **"Stall"**
That's all it said. "Stall." Five little pixelated letters staring back at me as if they'd find a resonant voice and I'd echo something out from the dry screen of my mouth.
"Stall."
I felt my tongue touch each of my teeth in turn, a nervous tick I'd never covered; counting teeth was a saving grace when it came to not letting myself panic. That little ticker going up, my jaw intact, I cleared my throat and did my best impression of a magician who's just found out his hat doesn't have a rabbit in it at all.
"Gentlemen, let me begin by saying how saddened I am to have called you all here, but how thankful I am that you have come. Like gathering a lost family together, we return from our chosen wilds to the log cabin that once we all called home. This bunker, this bulletproof, disasterproof, nuclear proof bunker, that today offers us less protection than any of us dreamed it ever would."
There were murmers of agreement. We all knew what was happening elsewhere, that it was only a matter of time before the doors and walls around us became nothing more than guiding winds to touch the paths of devils.
"These last few days we've seen the signs, what they call, the 'end-times,' come to fruition. The Nay-sayers were cast aside by a plague more biblical than Moses himself crawling from the grave with Lazarus by his heel. Those in rapture at the beginning have found themselves begging for mercy, and those of us who wish to live continue to do so."
Their eyes were all on me. Mine moved to the teleprompter. The static image of that awful word was burning, and then it flickered from existence. The black screen was a promising void, space before Apollo, the sun before Icarus.
*The antidote is now in effect*
"Those of us who wish to live," I smiled to my charmed and eager congregation, "have taken to filling this very room with a fast-acting neuro-toxin. As of now some of you already have headaches and pains setting into your joints, you'll find it quite impossible to put up any reasonable resistance so I suggest you use your remaining moments in a wiser way than a feeble attempt at fighting back."
I was taken aback by the utter silence. My throat was still dry, a dull thump in my head, I began to sweat. No one moved, not one person reacted to the news I had just given them. This was unexpected.
The teleprompter flickered once more.
*Unfortunately, we felt it necessary not to share the antidote with you. Thank you for your service. Welcome home.*
---------------------
"Ladies and gentlemen. We broadcast this evening from a secured bunker, deep in the Nevada mountains. We have gathered here, with our families, to escape that which plagues us as a nation. We have, as of moments ago, enacted a rescue plan. This operation will be detailed in full in just a moment. Let me reassure you, the Government is bringing the situation under control.
"In an unexpected turn of events, I am saddened to announce the death of President O'Dowell. He succumbed to illness shortly after arrival here in Nevada. His sickness was held in secret among his inner circle, in the hopes that you could complete his presidency before he was taken from us. Today, we are, as a nation, one family." | 2015-05-16T18:14:47 | 2015-05-16T16:46:23 | 91 | 39 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them. |
It's been ten years since the last "big" one, Jean-Paul Arseneau. Marseille is still uninhabitable after what happened. Jean-Paul doesn't exist anymore, but neither does Marseille. After the events in Marseille, the UN developed a unit of special forces to combat further incidents like this. They are the worlds greatest trackers. The greatest hunters. The greatest killers. The world knows them as *The Shadows*.
__________________
"ETA 15 minutes, Major," said the pilot.
"Good, the sooner the better." said Brady as he read his intel file.
The file is of Leonard Dwyer. The 100 year old powerless man. He is the world's most sought man. The most hunted man.
Dwyer left the States after the events of Marseille. He knew a witch hunt would follow, and he was right. Every country has a file on him. The US has a fifty million dollar bounty for his head. The KGB want to capture him and weaponize his power. The Chinese, you don't even what to know what they are trying to do.
He is the biggest threat to the world.
__________________
"Welcome to Namibia, Major,"
"Yeah fuck this hellhole of a place, Shadinsky. Lets get in, apprehend him, and get out of here."
"Call me Shade, sir."
"Why the fuck would I call you that?"
Right at that moment, Shade shows Major his power. The major forgot that, these people with him are the world's greatest hunters. They were hand picked for a reason.
"Active camo, heh. Shade it is then. Enough about you, where's our target?"
"He's-"
"No, I know exactly where he is. three kilometers north of here, heading east northeast.
"How...How do you know that?"
"We all have powers," said the Major, grinning like a child. "Lets get this show started, Shadinsky."
__________________
They found tracks pretty quickly. It wasn't long until they were right on his tail. Major noticed something though. Something odd. The sand dunes that they were walking on had vegetation growth, particularly where Dwyer has stepped.
"Abort mission." said Major.
"Sir, he's right there! Why are we aborting?!"
"He's not mankind's worst threat. He's mankind's biggest hope."
"We've been looking for him for ten years. He's part of the reason *The Shadows* exists! We've come too far to let him walk!" Shadinsky said, determined.
"Shadinsky, stand down damnit! I know what you're thinking. Don't fucking do it!"
Shadinsky took off after Dwyer. He climbed over the next sand dune and then paused. He couldn't believe what he saw. It was paradise. That was the the last thing he ever saw. Major pulled the trigger, and down the body tumbled. Major knew that Shadinsky saw wouldn't change anything. He still had the thought in his head.
Major slowly, calmly approached the old man. He could see the fear in Dwyer's eyes.
"Here, take this" as he hands him the rifle that killed Shadinsky. "I mean no harm. I'm going to answer every question you have in your head."
"Ok." said Dwyer, fearfully.
"Yes, we are part of *The Shadows*. No, I'm not going to kill you. Why not? Because you have the greatest power. You can bring life to where it is not. You can end famine, deforestation, climate change. How are we going to clear your name? Well, do you see that guy who was about to kill you? I'm going to take his body and move it a kilometer away. Then I will call an airstrike for that particular coordinate. How would I justify not coming back with him? Easy. He can turn invisible. I'll say he went AWOL. Any questions?"
Nope."
"Ok. I'm leaving now. Oh, and Dwyer, don't try to fucking shoot me as I'm walking away. Because I'll know."
| *I'm late to the party, but loved the prompt. Mostly a lurker here, so below is my noob attempt. FYI I planned to write more but had actual work to do, so please let me know if you all liked it and I may continue!*
___
An old man is found sitting on a park bench, facing out towards the still lake. His eyes strain from the sunlight gleaming off the mirror-like water. His few thin, white strands of hair tussle with the breeze. His hands are full of breadcrumbs, but no bread – the ducks are still eyeing him, waiting for more treats.
A finely dressed man approaches the bench from behind. His feet can be heard slipping on the leaves and grass as he labors up the hill. As he clears his throat to speak…
A “hello, Agent Morris,” is heard from the old man, without adjusting his posture or breaking his lasting gaze at the landscape.
A bit caught off-guard, Morris flashes a nervous smile and returns, “Hello, Simon. Happy birthday. Does 100 feel at all different?”
“If you mean to ask ‘has it happened?’ The answer is a resounding and deflating ‘no.’ 100 feels just as sore and tiresome as 99, Agent Morris. Given that, I’m not sure any sort of super strength or gift of flight would do much good anyhow.”
Morris relaxes a little at this, walks around the bench to face Simon, removes his large-frame sunglasses, and scolds, “We had asked you to stay in Chicago, Simon.”
Simon looks up with squinted eyes and raises a hand to shield them from the sun. Morris reflexively responds by shifting his stance to cast his shadow over Simon’s face and torso. Simon smiles and leans back into the bench, giving out a sigh.
“I was born here, Agent Morris. In a house that once existed on the other side of this lake, just over there.” Simon points to a small floating dock about a third of the way around the lake. Morris doesn’t break eye contact with him. He sighs again, more forced than before, “and I would like to die here, too.”
“Are you dying, Simon?”
“Yes, Agent. My heart is bad and I feel very weak. All of your work to, to catalogue me or whatever, I hope it will all not be in vain. Eh, anyway, if I were to reach the enlightenment even this minute, I fear I would only have days to experience the gift.”
“Not everyone lives long enough to reach the enlightenment, Simon. You know this very well. You were a doctor, after all.”
“Well, whatever my gift, it must have been a doozie, huh?”
“That’s true, Simon. This is why I’m here. But you knew that already as well.” With a smile he took Simon by the arm and helped him from the bench. They walked together around a path that led them by the floating dock, to a black SUV that had just pulled up.
___
Every day for the past two weeks Morris has been taking Simon back to the lake. Together they feed the ducks and talk about a life gone by.
“In all the time you’ve been following me around,” Simon says to Morris, “ you have yet to tell me about your gift.”
Morris, with his hands in his pockets, nods in agreement. He takes Simon by the arm again, steering him onto the leftward path at the fork ahead. He then shares the story of his enlightenment, being beaten by a group of thugs to within an inch of his life before he was able to sense the incoming punches and kicks just before they landed. He mustered the strength to dodge the first, and each subsequent blow became easier and easier to evade.
“The faster the object was moving, the easier I could react to it. Now,” he says to Simon, “I can dodge bullets just as easily as punches.”
“Can people still sneak up on you?”
“Oh, all the time haha! But I’m working on that.”
Simon smirked and said, “Maybe I HAVE received my gift, then. I have the centenarian power to move super slowly. I am your kryptonite, Agent Morris.”
The two laugh quite loudly at this, stirring up the ducks and turning the heads of the accompanying agents. The laughter fails to last too long, however, as Morris watches Simon grab first his right arm with the left, then pull both hands toward his chest and gasps for breath. Morris grabs him around both arms and torso, takes on his body weight, and gently eases him to the ground. Morris holds his hand behind Simon’s head and takes his radio in the other.
“Quickly! Simon is down. I think it’s a heart attack.”
Agents rush in with first aid materials. They begin to administer CPR. A flying man is seen approaching from just over the trees to the north of the lake, carrying a second man with him – an ambulatory crew. The second man is released and rushes to kneel by Simon’s side. He places his hands together, then on his chest, then onto Simon’s chest. Simon breathes deeply, then again. His eyes open for a moment. He grabs Morris’s hand, then collapses.
___
“He’s already in a delicate state. If we simply provide little aid to him now, he’ll naturally pass, and this crisis can be averted.”
“Crisis?! He’s a human being, let alone one with unimaginable potential.”
“Potential… Do you realize what happened the last time someone his age reached the enlightenment? He almost destroyed the planet before being brought down. Anyone with the POTENTIAL to raze cities on a whim needs to be dealt with.”
“And I have DEALT with him, Sira! In the ten years that I have known the man, he has never shown ill will to a single person.”
“You were supposed to get close to him, to HANDLE him, not befriend him. Can you imagine what he’d do to you if he were made aware of your true intentions?”
With a smile, Morris briefly thought of the slowest punch ever coming his way, but quickly let the thought escape.
“Please just send the healer back in, Sira. You know that Clevon is still out there, somewhere. I’ve been waiting for Simon to show me his gift for some time now – what if he is our answer to Clevo…”
Sira interrupts, “And what if that madman convinces Simon to join HIS "cause?" No. No, we dealt with Clevon once before, and we can deal with him again WITHOUT another centenarian in the mix.”
Sira and Morris stare at each other, then turn their gaze through the observation window and onto Simon, whose life support machinery has just started wailing. He lies on a gurney in the middle of a padded chamber. He takes his last breath in a room that doubles as a hospice center and a prisoner’s cell.
| 2015-10-26T11:22:04 | 2015-10-26T10:54:10 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago. | To My Wife of 13 years; the letter I wish I could send you instead of continuing to live this lie.
I've no idea how to properly express the way I've been feeling lately, so I apologise now if this comes across as a ramble, with no real explanation for anything. Truth is, I don't know if I actually have any explanation.
First of all, let me say I love you. I love you to bits. I never want to see you hurt, and I never want to see you suffer. The thing is, I just don't know if I am actually in love anymore. The past few weeks have been great, don't get me wrong, but I still have this emptiness inside that I can't shake off.
When we're together, and I can see you're happy, it makes me happy. When I see you're sad, it makes me sad. You know I'm still attracted to you, but despite that... I don't know. There's just something that isn't there anymore. The only way I can describe it is I am numb to things. Suggestions are made for doing things, and they turn me cold. I find myself sitting there thinking to myself that I don't want to do this or that, I don't want to make those plans or go with those arrangements. Like I said above, I love you. I love you dearly and I truly am sorry for how things have gone, and for feeling the need to say what I've just said... I just have to be honest. Honest with you, and honest with myself.
For the past 2-3 years, maybe even longer, I've felt like I've been living someone else's life. I love the kids, and I wouldn't change having them for the world, but I feel like all I've become is just a provider, a facilitator even, that allows everyone else to have their own lives and never mind my own. I've gone with every suggestion, practically bankrupting myself at times. I've scraped my arse back from the abyss singlehandedly, because no matter what I said or did it was always inferior to what you or anyone else wanted. I am a positive, life-loving individual who can be a bit of an oddball and is a bundle of quirks, but for God knows how long I've not been that person. I've been dragged down.. Turned into a huge mess of negativity.. and been made to conform with everyone else's aspirations & expectations, forsaking my own free will. I've moved house at your request, and done everything I can for that when my head was telling me it was an unnecessary financial burden given that we were rent/mortgage free before. I didn't just change jobs, I changed careers to try to suit you and to work the hours you preferred.
I've been a square peg in a round hole for a long long time, and it is no coincidence that the changes I took it upon myself to make this year are the reason I even have my head straight enough to write this. I took it upon myself to apply for a scholarship to Uni, and I achieved it. 100% funded degree course. No support from you though. No help. I took it upon myself with no support to seek first informal help, & then to progress to full blown counselling for how I was feeling at my lowest, & after some very tough times I've begun to emerge again. Reconnecting with friends, & reigniting old interests is another step, & I've done that alone too.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm done. All the negativity, all the bullshit, all the pretence of being someone I'm not. I'm done. I have single handedly gotten myself facing the right way again after being upside down, inside out and back to front, and now I am ready to take strides to enjoy myself again. The kids will always be the most important thing to me, and I will always be there for them as best I can be. I will always love you, and I will always hold a place in my heart for you as the mother of my children, but I am now at a stage where I think we've just grown too far apart, have different goals, different ideals now. You still clamour for that "forces lifestyle", and talk about "standards", "routine", and "structure". That's not me. It never has been. I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, and a damn good actor for being able to surprises that. Don't get me wrong I can write a list or two, and I can create structure & stability to accomplish things, but I can't live my life that way.
I'm a square peg, and you're a round hole. It's time we both found a better fit.
Sincerely,
Your Husband | 2015-12-05T15:55:07 | 2015-12-05T15:36:40 | 61 | 12 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops. | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Mom,
I know you're just a room away from me, but I probably will never have the courage to tell you this. I'm sad, mom. Everyday. I know I'm the one that always laughs and smiles through anything, but it's been getting pretty hard for me. It's weird though, because there's nothing terribly devastating going on in my life, but it's honestly been really hard for me. Whenever I'm alone, all I want to do is cry for hours, because I feel so, so lonely all the time, but I can't. I know seeing my sad makes you guilty, and I love you too much to hurt you.
I'm really sorry I disappointed you today. I didn't mean to. But mom, I don't know what to do. I'm really trying to listen to you, but sometimes I can't tell what you want from me. Sometimes you demand so much and it just makes me feel like this horrible, useless thing that you take care of only because you feel this sense of responsibility.
Mom, I truly do love you. I want to give you the entire world, but I don't know how. I know how you cry yourself to sleep at night, and I know that you feel miserable and glum all the time, and I know it's because of me. I'm sorry.
I know you're dating someone new. I'm happy for you, but I wish you didn't have to keep it a secret from me. Do you know how devastated I was when I found out? You know how supportive I am about you meeting new people, but couldn't you at least tell me? Couldn't you at least tell the person who's always been by your side through everything?
I really wished I was able to tell you this, but here I am, showing it to everyone but you. It's ironic, isn't it?
I love you, your daughter. | To My Wife of 13 years; the letter I wish I could send you instead of continuing to live this lie.
I've no idea how to properly express the way I've been feeling lately, so I apologise now if this comes across as a ramble, with no real explanation for anything. Truth is, I don't know if I actually have any explanation.
First of all, let me say I love you. I love you to bits. I never want to see you hurt, and I never want to see you suffer. The thing is, I just don't know if I am actually in love anymore. The past few weeks have been great, don't get me wrong, but I still have this emptiness inside that I can't shake off.
When we're together, and I can see you're happy, it makes me happy. When I see you're sad, it makes me sad. You know I'm still attracted to you, but despite that... I don't know. There's just something that isn't there anymore. The only way I can describe it is I am numb to things. Suggestions are made for doing things, and they turn me cold. I find myself sitting there thinking to myself that I don't want to do this or that, I don't want to make those plans or go with those arrangements. Like I said above, I love you. I love you dearly and I truly am sorry for how things have gone, and for feeling the need to say what I've just said... I just have to be honest. Honest with you, and honest with myself.
For the past 2-3 years, maybe even longer, I've felt like I've been living someone else's life. I love the kids, and I wouldn't change having them for the world, but I feel like all I've become is just a provider, a facilitator even, that allows everyone else to have their own lives and never mind my own. I've gone with every suggestion, practically bankrupting myself at times. I've scraped my arse back from the abyss singlehandedly, because no matter what I said or did it was always inferior to what you or anyone else wanted. I am a positive, life-loving individual who can be a bit of an oddball and is a bundle of quirks, but for God knows how long I've not been that person. I've been dragged down.. Turned into a huge mess of negativity.. and been made to conform with everyone else's aspirations & expectations, forsaking my own free will. I've moved house at your request, and done everything I can for that when my head was telling me it was an unnecessary financial burden given that we were rent/mortgage free before. I didn't just change jobs, I changed careers to try to suit you and to work the hours you preferred.
I've been a square peg in a round hole for a long long time, and it is no coincidence that the changes I took it upon myself to make this year are the reason I even have my head straight enough to write this. I took it upon myself to apply for a scholarship to Uni, and I achieved it. 100% funded degree course. No support from you though. No help. I took it upon myself with no support to seek first informal help, & then to progress to full blown counselling for how I was feeling at my lowest, & after some very tough times I've begun to emerge again. Reconnecting with friends, & reigniting old interests is another step, & I've done that alone too.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm done. All the negativity, all the bullshit, all the pretence of being someone I'm not. I'm done. I have single handedly gotten myself facing the right way again after being upside down, inside out and back to front, and now I am ready to take strides to enjoy myself again. The kids will always be the most important thing to me, and I will always be there for them as best I can be. I will always love you, and I will always hold a place in my heart for you as the mother of my children, but I am now at a stage where I think we've just grown too far apart, have different goals, different ideals now. You still clamour for that "forces lifestyle", and talk about "standards", "routine", and "structure". That's not me. It never has been. I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, and a damn good actor for being able to surprises that. Don't get me wrong I can write a list or two, and I can create structure & stability to accomplish things, but I can't live my life that way.
I'm a square peg, and you're a round hole. It's time we both found a better fit.
Sincerely,
Your Husband | 2015-12-05T19:23:33 | 2015-12-05T15:36:40 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Jesus - Your birthday is coming up. YAY! 2015 has been great to me. I finally realized this year that you're not real. Who am I actually addressing this letter to then? Oh well. Thanks for taking up all of my teens and 20s with indoctrinated lies that kept me from many experiences that in retrospect I would have preferred to have had much sooner. Very kind of You. Sincerely - Born Again Deconvert | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T14:47:35 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] Humanity finally reaches the edge of the solar system only to encounter an impassible barrier and a warning not to try and breach it. But is it there to keep us in or to keep something else out? | Alex Isolus tapped his fingers nervously against the console, his eyes fixed on the image floating half an inch above it, a hologrammatic display showing the local region of space. Pluto was far behind them, a distant smudge in the void, and ahead of them lay...nothing.
The scopes simply ceased to penetrate any further. At first he and his crew had believed it to be an error with the system, however the closer they approached, the more wild the gravitational field became, erratic disturbances in the quantum foam and the Wall revealed itself.
A solid field of pure energy, the matter contained within in packed tighter than should have been physically possible. Yet from it emanated a low-level electromagnetic transmission, pulsing steady from beyond the veil on every single wavelength simultaneously. They had needed to filter out the visible light hours ago, the strobing rising in intensity as the ship had approached, seemingly detecting its presence.
Increasing the power of the scanners yielded nothing; the wall was impenetrable and could have been anywhere from thousand of miles thick to barely one atom. It was impossible, a featureless shifting of existence.
It was wrong.
Such a construct could only be artificial, and the endless non-space before them forced itself onto his mind, the impossibility of it ripping out his soul and leaving a bare husk as he failed to make sense of the situation. He tried to remain calm but found nothing inside him that he could reason with.
*You're a scientist, damn it!* he thought to himself, *Get your shit together!*
Watched eagerly by his co-pilot, he brought a tentative hand across the console, swiping a finger downwards to release a survey drone, the system chiming happily in response.
The fibres of the drone ignited a fierce blue as the machine burned its way between the gap, transmitting data back to the ship. On the scanner Alex kept a close eye on the drone, scanning through the rapid influx of data, which was no different to what had already been produced.
The distance closed between the two.
Five kilometres.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
And the data stopped abruptly. The drone ceased to appear on the scope, but the wall showed no signs of damage. There had been no change to the physical space occupied by the drone and no apparent explosion. Had it been absorbed through the wall? Torn to its most basic particles?
There was just...nothing.
More drones showed the same results. He briefly considered the possibility that they had simply passed through, and that there was another side. He would never know...unless.
Giving a glance to his co-pilot, who acknowledged it with a nod, he eased the control stick forwards, feeling the push of acceleration forcing him backwards, tightening his ribcage and pulling at his face. As they followed the drone, he felt happy, his heart and mind screaming as they plunged nose-first into the unknown.
| "Who said it was impassable?"
For a moment, Pilot Grays could only stare at his captain. Miles was supposed to be the most passive commander of any ship in the Navy. This was the main draw for the pilot to request the posting to her ship, expecting that the routine patrol of Sol would be a simple way to complete his four years of service. Then he would retire from military service, ask out that girl he got a number from that summer before he deployed, and live out his life in beer and debauchery. Grays was a simple man.
A simple officer who just wanted to get through his first week under a new captain. She would not make it easy.
"The warning Captain," the pilot responded. "Anytime we pass within a k'meter of the barrier, we're told not to try and breach it." He did his best to keep his tone even and unassuming. Anything to prevent the captain from adopting a dangerous idea, and Grays was a poor actor. Never again would he try to tell an MP that his sack was full of glass-bottled juice, as the beer bottles clinked together nervously in his bag. They didn't inspect the bag, thank all the Senators of Amca, but he vowed never to try and get away with similar evasions again.
"I don't care pilot. Take us in."
Until now, anyway. Grays cleared his throat and began. "It is against our regulations Captain. We've been ordered by *more* than a super majority of the Senate to stay away from the barrier. The vote was nearly unanimous, and SolFleet Command passed down those orders to every ship commander in the Navy."
"Yes. *Nearly* unanimous," she grinned.
The console began to pool Grays' sweat from his palms. Captain Miles was making the pilot nervous. As any ship commander should. It was part of a time-honored Navy tradition, to serve under the tyrannical rule of a captain, regardless their whimsy or penchant for cruelty. Officers were no less victims than the enlisted members of her crew. Not that she was particularly cruel or mean. No, it was worse.
"Captain, I must insist..."
"Log your defiance or take us to the barrier."
Like hell the pilot would forsake his pension by risking a logged complaint against his superior officer. Even if it meant certain death, how else was he going to buy all that alcohol when he retired? He was a simple man with a vision, a steady pair of hands, and a healthy fear of his commander. Not because she was cruel.
"Setting a course by the barrier ma'am."
Not because she was stupid. Captain Miles was actually brilliant, if the rumors were true.
"*To* the barrier pilot. We're crossing it."
But brilliant in the wrong ways. No, it was worse, the previous pilot warned him.
"Aye aye ma'am," Pilot Grays whined.
She was *adventurous.*
Grays set a course for the barrier. As expected, the familiar warning came up for any pilot who was paying too little attention to their ship's trajectory.
*DO NOT BREACH THE BARRIER.*
The words flashed across the console screen. There was only one other officer on deck to read them, but Lieutenant Bars remained by the captain's seat in a stoic silence. For the whole orientation week Pilot Grays has spent on Miles' ship, Bars had yet to say a word in his presence. In fact, the pilot was fairly sure Bars only spoke through the tinny speakers that coursed through every hall and level. Grays had some choice curses to give Bars, if Navy etiquette did not prevent him from speaking out against Bars' silence to the ridiculous order.
*DO NOT BREACH THE BARRIER.*
"Point seven k'meters from... destination."
"Keep moving."
"Aye aye ma'am." Grays wished he was as confident as he sounded. His console was damp. An arm sleeve swiped it quickly and adjusted ship's speed to slow as much as he could. No matter how much time he gave the captain to countermand her own order, she did not budge. Nor did Bars, to Grays' misery. The ship loomed ever closer to the invisible barrier that only existed in the abrupt warning every ship received.
They were ready to cross.
Grays shut his eyes.
The ship ---
"*HALT!*"
A finger swiped the ship's speed to zero, halting it within... unbelievable.
Point two k'meters from the barrier limit.
Boots clacked against the metal deck of the control room. A gloved hand and a cool scent sat on the pilot's shoulder. "My word is law Grays."
A shaky nod was the most he could give. The pilot did not dare to speak. They skirted a court-martial at the very least. And at worst...
Grays swiped the console dry again. These four years did not look promising. Captain Miles was mad. Lieutenant Bars was quiet. Pilot Grays ran out of the beer he smuggled last night. The barrier was impassable. A dangerous, limiting line that defined the universe of possibilities that existed for mankind.
And she used it to make a damned point!
"Are we keeping him then?"
That low rumble. He turned to see Lieutenant Bars smirking at the pilot.
"Absolutely! That was closer than any pilot we've had before!" Grays couldn't believe it. She was delighted. Then Captain Miles span back to the seated pilot, her face serious with the command of a Navy vessel once more. "Welcome to *The Boralis.*"
Pilot Grays sighed. "A pleasure to be aboard ma'am," he lied.
--------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | 2016-04-19T03:03:06 | 2016-04-19T01:51:13 | 321 | 164 |
[WP] In an alternate reality JK Rowling died writing The Deathly Hallows and requested George RR Martin finish the book. He accepted and takes over at the Battle of Hogwarts with no instruction on how it's supposed to end. | George shifted in his chair, raised his hands over his head and stretched, letting out a grunt of satisfaction as his spine unlocked.
It was done. In the end, it had been a welcome distraction. The ominous pile of notes on White Walkers, dragons and incest glowered at him from the corner of the room. He knew he would have to return to it at some point, but for the time being he could bask in the glow of completion of at least one popular series.
Jo had left extensive notes, and to the most part he had kept to them. True, he had added a couple of crucial revenge scenes, and a smattering of sex, but there had only really been one major alteration. Even George R. R. Martin knew when too far was too far, and the note titled, ‘death of Fred Weasley’ had definitely been too far.
| As far as George was concerned, he had been set forth an impossible task. He had to devise a way that Voldemort could lose. By any metric, the Second Wizarding War was already over. The resistance was concentrated in a single castle in Scotland, and the rest of the island was occupied by the enemy. The enemy had vastly greater numbers, a more powerful leader, and more stable supply lines.
After considering the problem, George noted that the First War had run into the same problem. JK famously solved it by having Harry kill Voldemort the first time, a strategically implausible but thematically moving decapitation strike that he wouldn't dare replicate. After all, he somehow doubted that the cycle of violence was entirely what Rowling had in mind. Whenever George himself found characters faced with impossible odds, he resorted to just calling the cavalry hinted at in previous chapters. There was no such cavalry.
A larger scale issue was that JK had not fleshed out the world to any level worth considering! Despite his earnest efforts to the contrary, George had been unable to find even a single enumeration of the headmasters, let alone an in-depth history with dozens of previous battles from which to learn! It remained an open question as to how Hogwarts even fed itself. . . Oh yes, food.
A week later, George had written a good ten pages describing in arguably maddening detail every pie filling, cooked bird, and crusted desert item available in the entirety of the castle. He noted on a Notablog that he had an extraordinary week.
In less important news, he had finally formulated a winning strategy, and all it had taken was food. Despite his magical brilliance, Voldemort was remarkably easy to outwit. The end of the Siege of Hogwarts ran thusly:
Tom stepped over Potter's twitching form, the boy's face in a rictus of horror. "Now," came the whisper from the pale and shrunken face, "do you appreciate that your madness is the reason your friends lie gasping in pools of their own blood? That your arrogance is why this castle fell in nigh twelve housr?" His voice cut off. The man rose up suddenly and he turned to Lucius.
"Listen carefully. Without delay go and cast the Killing Curse on all the bodies. Take no assistants and trust no one."
"As you say my lord." Lucius raised his wand to cast the first curse on Potter, and then he dropped his wand.
Lucius's face was covered in gore, brains sloughing off his slick cheeks. His eyes were a naked accusation, mad with the last fire of pride. Tom whirled around to block the next knife from Kreacher, and shot a Killing Curse in response. Kreacher fell dead, the mock locket of Regulus the Twice-Traitor clattering to the floor. The doors of the Great Hall shook from a great tremor, and then suddenly burst. Suddenly Voldemort faced hundreds of wizards and dozens of house elves. Harry Potter, whom Tom had just thought slain, now stood alive.
The Elder Wand rose, humming in defiance, as his shields fell to a thousand echoing blasts.
*I had killed him! I had rent his friend the boy to shreds, I had disemboweled his friend the girl and watched as she tried to conjure her insides back into her collapsing abdomen, he's dead he's dead!*
Tom shuddered and fell, as half a hundred gaping wounds rose up on his skin, showing scarlet, and half a hundred more bruises and transfigurations skating across his skin. His scream grew high past the point of human hearing, his last words pleading with his mother not to have died, pleading with his father to have been great. His corpse was like nothing human.
Well, George thought, looking over it with pride, maybe the author of Meathouse Man isn't the right choice for young adult literature. | 2017-09-03T07:42:10 | 2017-09-03T07:37:41 | 491 | 58 |
[WP] How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it. | "How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it."
It was a fragment of a message picked up some ways out from a small blue planet orbiting a small yellow star - apparently inhabited by something called humans. Was it a race of beings? A breakfast drink? A vehicle? No one knew what a humans was.
So a probe was dispatched to recover a human or a humans; whatever the case was.
No one was expecting the probe to return so quickly.
Alarms sounded. A collision warning? What was happening?
Fd'thk ran towards the bridge - it was silent. Everyone simply stared out of the window at what he hoped was simply a planet that hadn't been noticed. He knew it wasn't.
"It materialized, sir ... we received no warning! There are four more behind it in close formation. We're being hailed." His first officer's voice fracked. Each ship was a high million times larger than the scout ship they were using.
A figure appeared on the scream. He was dark and had what appeared to be white hair over the upper and lower part of his face. "Unknown alien vessel. We have tracked a small automated ship to your location. This ship was involved in the abduction of one of our citizens. Please release and return this human to us." The being stopped and the broadcast ended...direct, but not threatening.
"Do we have a human on board?" The captain asked.
"Yes, I'm losing looking into it now. I think we should comply. The human is approximately 8 times larger we are and appears to have ripped open the drone unassisted."
"Get it out of here!"
"It gets worse. Those planetoids are their ships and each one generates more power than our entire civilization."
"What part of 'Get it out of here!' was unclear!?"
[i want to flesh this out more but I am Le Tired. I'll come back to it soon.] | “Look, all I’m saying is-“ “HOW can it be dangerous? It’s been crying in that corner for like 25 minutes!”
I looked over at the sobbing human. He did look rather sad, and I guess we should expect that. We did just steal him. “Why is he crying so much? It’s so IRRITATING!” Jaruta was getting really mad.
“Maybe he’s afraid of us? We aren’t that pleasant...” I was probably understating things, we were downright TERRIFYING! Weird scaly skin, long spiky tail, five eyes...... I probably needed to do something. “How about you let me go talk to it? Maybe I can get him to stop?”
“Sure, ANYTHING to stop that infernal crying.” He walked to the side while I slowly approached the boy.
He looked up at me, and kind of stopped the crying.
“Hey buddy...How are you?” I tried to sound as nice as possible. The boy turned around to face the wall. “Look, I know you’re sad, but you don’t have to cry so much!”
The boy flipped back around and said “I’m not crying because you kidnapped me. I’m crying because you smacked me in the face!”
Oh, I guess that did happen...
“What’s going to happen to me?” He definitely had a lot of fear in his voice. He’s probably not going to like this.
“Well, we’re monsters as you see, and monsters love scaring people, so......” I hoped he’d make the connection, and he did, because he went right back to crying. “Sorry kid, I don’t make the rules.”
“Can I at least have my bag back?” I saw his weird strapped pouch sitting on a stack of crates. I looked back at Jaruta, who nodded. I got it, and placed it down in front of him. The kid sopped up his tears, and opened it.
He took out a weird rectangle thing covered in a wrapper, ripped off the wrapper, and started eating it. It was a weird brown color like Faus. “Um, what IS that?” It was some type of food, but it didn’t look like anything I’d seen before.
He stopped eating and looked at me funnily. “It’s chocolate. You don’t eat chocolate?”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “No, we eat things like deer, raccoons and birds.”
He gave me a funny look and went back to eating his ‘chocolate.’ He finished it rather quickly, then took out a weird white thing. He opened it in the middle, and just looked at it. “What are you doing now?” He looked at me even more funnily.
“Reading. Do you not have that?” I shook my head no. “How do you function?” I shrugged.
“Hey, we’re both two different specimen.” He put his reading thing down.
“Well, what do you do for fun?” This was another thing he wouldn’t like.
“Normally we-“ Jaruta jumped in the boy’s face, and yelled. The boy screamed a little and drew back. Jaruta laughed, and went back to the wall. “Uh, that. We do that.”
The boy’s sadness was turning into anger. “Just leave me alone!”
I walked back over to Jaruta. “So I’m with you now on the ‘how can humans be dangerous’ train. They’re total pushovers!”
“Well yeah, I’m just a kid.” The boy was talking. “There are a lot of bigger humans. Stronger, taller, and some even carry weapons. I’m probably one of the weakest you’ll come across, and there are many more tougher than me.” He went back to read his book while me and Jaruta stare at each other.
“W-Well, that’s not our concern. We only want small ones to scare.” Jaruta walked over to him and snatched his bag and reading thing.
“Hey!” The boy got mad at him, and in response Jaruta snarled at him.
“You’re our prisoner now. You don’t get to keep these. Maybe we’ll feed them to Dirah.” Jaruta nudged me out of the cell, and he slammed the door shut, and locked it. The kid looked sad again.
“Hey, it’s ok. Maybe we’ll get some more and you can make friends!”
“No we’re not.” Jaruta walked away.
“Ok, we’re not. Um....” Jaruta walked away. I took a look at the kid. “See you later kid.” I walked away.
_________
Feedback is appreciated!
EDIT: Formatting and adding a little more. | 2018-02-17T16:41:42 | 2018-02-17T13:54:02 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] On a whim, you start clicking links in your spam email folder. Over the next few days, you are alarmed to find an African prince with a briefcase of money, a lifetime supply of discount medications, and four hot singles from your area showing up at your door. What happens next takes the cake. | Prince Jawara blew another perfect smoke ring from his massive cigar. I usually don't allow smoking in the house, but today, I don't mind.
"Who are these women?" he says suspiciously, as he holds the briefcase tightly at his side on the couch.
The four girls giggle at the prince, all piled on the small sofa and prodding at his royal garments.
"Uh," I'm at a loss for words as the doorbell rings again. "Hot singles?"
"They were not part of our agreement! The money must be kept in your name only!" he's yelling as I make for the door.
"Ya, of course!" I fling the door open, hoping for a normal UPS delivery (I was actually expecting a set of towels today). "What is it—"
A massive, muscular arm reaches out and grips me in the firmest handshake I've ever felt.
"Agent Max Armstrong! Pleased to finally meet you, partner."
In steps what looks like a young mix between Schwarzenegger and Bruce Willis.
*Oh, God. Not that email.*
"I just want to say, that you're one hell of an American. We've been looking for the right man for this job for six months, and not a damn soul has had the gusto to respond to our recruitment emails," he snaps to attention and pops a perfect salute. "On behalf of the president of the United States, I commend you for your sacrifice."
"Uhhh, right," I'm fucked. "Come on in, I suppose."
We make our way down the hall and back into the living room, and the Prince has made himself a bit more comfortable with the singles.
"Whoa," Armstrong halts, and I can only imagine that he's scanning for threats. "You didn't tell us you picked your own team."
"Prince Jawara, at your service!" the prince rises and offers his hand, and Max nods sharply in approval at its firmness.
The girls get up and form a line, giving dainty waves as the pass by the agent.
"Lacy"
"Stacy"
"Tracy"
"And I am Helga," she smacks him hard on the arm. I actually quite like her accent.
"*Ladies,*" Armstrong smirks, and I'm fairly certain he's flexing in his superman pose. "You're all goddamn heroes as far as I'm concerned, now—"
Car doors slam outside, and Max enters some kind exaggerated, alert posture, kneeling low with his arms spread like an eagle.
The doorbell rings again.
"We've got company," Max dives behind the couch, taking Helga and Lacy with him. He emerges with a long-barreled handgun, smashing the lamp on my end-table and training his weapon down the hallway. "I've got you covered, partner!"
"Calm down! I'm just gonna go get the door."
I hear Armstrong mention something to the girls about my steel balls as I head back down the hall, spotting Jawara in the kitchen with two steak knives in hand—he nods maniacally at me as I pass.
The door seems to fly open at me before I even tug at the knob, and one massive man pushes past me as a shorter one shoves me against the wall.
"The American agent is here!" the short one spits at me through his thick accent. "We will protect you, comrade!"
*Oh, God. Please, definitely not that email!*
He drags me down the hall, covering my head protectively with his hand, and into the living room.
"Ruskies!" Max shouts from behind the couch. "Let my partner go, or you'll find the barrel of my weapon cold up your asshole!"
The girls are shrieking; except Helga, she's sort of chuckling.
"Your partner? This is our man, you stupid American pig!"
Armstrong looks into my eyes like a hurt puppy, and his lip quivers as he speaks, "Partner?"
"I..." fuck me. "I just answered some emails..."
Max's muscles tense as he fills with rage, "YOU DOUBLE-CROSSING SON OF A BITCH!"
Prince Jawara lets out an impressive war cry as he explodes out of the kitchen and onto the back of the big Russian.
I hit the deck.
The briefcase is open, and the money is flurrying in the air through bullets, blood, and Helga's laughter.
A bell rings out amidst all the chaos.
*No. I'm definitely not getting that.*
______
**Thanks for reading. Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily hot singles** | If they made a movie about me, they would have to include a disclaimer recommending you do not try this at home. So here is my disclaimer: do not, under any circumstances, go through your spam folder and click on every link you find. If you do, you might just find yourself with a black fellow named Ndjomeni who claims to be a Nigerian prince, a briefcase full of money that may not have legitimate origins, a bunch of discounted Viagra and four hot singles who claim to be from the neighborhood but who I have never before seen. It really doesn't sound like a bad situation, right? In fact, Ndjomeni suggested an orgy after the first couple of women showed up. What's that expression that I'm about to butcher to my convenience? The flesh was willing but the mind was not. My mind was very much not willing because I was busy trying to remember what the other dozen links I clicked were and why these women seemed disturbingly... inhuman.
Ndjomeni really has good intentions. According to him, he comes from a long royal line that reigned over a conglomeration of tribes. Then there was a war and he was imprisoned and the email he sent me was out of desperation - he had seen me on some nightly news rerun after there was a hit and run just outside my house and they interviewed me and he decided my celebrity made me a viable candidate for a ransom operation. I think either my life or the house is collateral for him returning to captivity if I don't pay up in cash. His English is a bit rusty so I didn't quite understand the terms. Either way, he has really been a huge help around the house picking up the slack with chores and cooking uncomfortably spicy dishes. What first made me suspicious of the women though? They didn't even flinch when they ate his hella-spicy soup, or whatever Nigerian name he called it. Spoon to mouth, spoon to bowl, spoon to mouth, and so on. Disturbing consistency and not a drop of water, as if it would ruin their inner workings.
I tried thinking back to the link I had clicked. I searched my inbox and I searched my spam folder and I searched my deleted messages but there was nothing. Maybe, just maybe, I had clicked on one of those links that shows an animated person doing the deed and now they were here? Something about that smelled fishy, and I didn't think it was their private parts. "You sexy?" Ndjomeni asked me during dinner. I had learned that he was not asking me if I was sexy. He was asking me if I had reconsidered his idea of an orgy. I shook my head. These women were creeping me out. I thought about the money in the briefcase and thought that maybe instead of paying off Ndjomeni's captors, maybe I should take it and run. "Is okay," he continued, his pearly white smile wide as always. He was very upbeat for somebody who had seen his family turned into quadruple amputees before being killed. You know what they say - or at least what Ndjomeni says - "When life give you goat, be happy, chop leg off and save rest for later." I think it's sort of the equivalent of that lemon and making lemonade quote we have here in the states.
"Hey, bud," I said absent-mindedly and he looked at me with his beaming smile. I swear those teeth would glow in the dark. Good thing I wasn't about to have me, Ndjomeni and these robot women in the dark. I leaned towards him to whisper and the women's eyes followed us impassively. "Don't they creep you out? They're like robots? Like not human?"
He laughed boisterously. Subtle. "Is not normal white woman?" I looked at him in confusion. Apparently he considered this normal white woman behavior? As far-fetched as it was, it seemed that he had never met a white woman prior to these weirdos I had somehow had delivered to my house.
"No, Ndjomeni... White women act just like black women." He looked at me as if I was playing a prank on him. I nodded to confirm. He turned pale, I would assume. I couldn't tell. He seemed concerned now.
"Ah..." he paused pensively. "So black, but white?" Sure. Black but white. Very inclusive and really going the length to show that we are all the same inside. Except these women. We are not the same as them. "Not normal..." he whispered and he slowly stood from his chair, leaving his soup. The women stood with him. I glanced at the briefcase of money and thought about grabbing it and running. They didn't seem interested in that but I didn't like my chances if the four robot women decided they wanted to eliminate us. "Please, you help me," Ndjomeni hissed at me. He was ready to fight.
"Please you...," the women said in uncanny unison. "We want to please you," they repeated. Walking sex dolls? Had we said the right words to turn them on? This assuaged my concerns but did not help my confusion. Now that Ndjomeni knew this was not normal Caucasian female behavior, he was on the same page as me. He seemed to have a lot more experience dealing with creepy people, probably due to having grown up in the OG turf wars of tribal Africa instead of suburbia, but he didn't seem to quite know what to do with robots.
I thought about the lexicon I would have to use with these robots. "It would please me if you went to the basement," I said carefully and the women did as ordered. Success? It seemed like it. I locked the door behind them.
"Creepy, man," Ndjomeni said to me. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about me. "Women basement, no good, man." He was right. Having four women locked in my basement was really not a good look if the cops came knocking. They had no reason to. That's what most criminals probably think before they're caught though, right?
"Look, bud," I said defensively. "Can you pay your people in pills?" I gestured to the lifetime supply of Viagra. Ndjomeni shrugged and shook his head.
"They offended, they don't need boner pill." I sighed. Of course that would be offensive. Well-endowed stereotypes and whatnot.
"OK fine, we go together," I said after reluctantly. The house would be fine. I would not be if I stayed here. I grabbed as many of the pills as I could and stuffed them into a couple suitcases. Ndjomeni grabbed the briefcase with money.
"Adventure," he said, his smile wide and white as a bleached butthole. "More money, yes?" he asked in broken English and I rolled my eyes and we stopped by an ATM on our way to the airport. "To Africa," he added confidently now that the briefcase was crammed with the money I had received along with my life savings. He forgot his passport apparently. Now I'm somewhere in Africa asking about a defeated prince's tribe and I just realized he swindled me out of my money. I'm contacting you to offer you four hot singles in your area, just head over to my house and check the basement. And if you're interested, I've got a lot of cheap Viagra I'm willing to sell!
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-06-17T11:52:41 | 2019-06-17T11:40:43 | 2,677 | 178 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a tattoo that is a number between 0 and 100 representing a set aptitude of a skill, but it can be linked to things like lifespan or height. Schools test children to figure out what skill they have aptitude for. You are the first ever 0 and cant figure out what it means. | I believe in God, and I know two things about God.
Firstly, I know how God writes their numbers, they use ten numerals 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9, and count in base ten. You might be wondering how I know such an obscure fact about the supreme being in the universe, but I assure you, it's true.
You see, ever since human kind was able to communicate with one another, they have been trying to work out what their numbers mean. God gave everyone a number, and it describes on a scale from 1 to 100, their aptitude in a defining trait. Each culture on Earth has independently pieced together the meaning of these strange glyphs found somewhere on each person's body, eventually making the discovery that they are tied to traits, and then beginning the arduous process of ordering them by grouping people by trait and comparing numbers. Thankfully that is all in the distant past and we now have Universities dedicated to studying the numbers, statistically analysing the population, to map out the precise height of an 87 Tallness trait, or how far a 64 Swimming trait can swim, or the exact IQ of an Intelligence 92. The numbers are understood to the point where a newborn child, with a few physical measurements and a brain scan, can be have their trait predicted with a 95% success rate.
The second thing that I know about God is that they hate me, because regardless of the several millennia of history that would suggest that the scale runs from 1 to 100, God gave me a 0. A big round 0, right on the inside of my left wrist. It would suffice to say that the birth testing did not out-put a result. The entire medical field was baffled, news of the first 0 was leaked to the press and I became an urban legend as soon as I was born. Many people believed I was a hoax, they would grab my wrist and try to rub off any make-up covering up other digits, or search me for my 'real' number, assuming this was just a regular tattoo. All my classmates, even some teachers, would bully me telling me I was the stupidest, weakest, most useless person in all history. Physical harassment continued to worsen also, I would be beaten up, or had my clothes ripped off me, they even shaved my hair once to see if a number hid in my scalp.
The government offered to put me into protection with a new identity in a new town in return for allowing the Numerology departments to test me annually as I grew up. I accepted, and me and my family were relocated, and I was able to live a normal life. As I grew and gained skills and knowledge, I began to realise I wasn't the stupidest, weakest, most useless person to have ever existed, but that I good at some things but not others. But of course, not in the normal way. I was able to do better in a maths test than a 76 Intelligence kid, but I wasn't as good at History, which the statistics suggested was impossible as Intelligence should govern both of these, and you can't be more and less Intelligent than someone, right?
This drove the scientists testing me WILD. They began plotting my data and it would match one aptitude and be completely off on another test. Every time they thought they could predict something, when they checked they were off. My height and weight didn't accurately predict my running speed or strength, my hand eye coordination skills couldn't predict my ability to draw or play music. I am an anomaly.
The first new trait in centuries has been added to the list of all possible traits. It is believed by the greatest minds of the most prestigious Numerology Universities that I have 0 aptitude in 'Conforming to the Number System'.
With this revelation I decided that my number should also represent how much I should care about what people or God themself would label me as, so I got out a marker drew two eyes and a big smile in my 0, and got on with making the best of my life! | They called me "zero" for the longest time. Kids would avoid me at the park and people would whisper about me in public. "How is that even possible" or "I hope our daughter doesn't ever date that boy" they would say. And I've accepted that for most of my life, that their was a decent chance that I wouldn't ever be one of the greats in history. Just a historical anomaly they will say.
Sure some people would say that is the reason I turned out to be a little edgy, and maybe that's a little true. All i ever wanted was to live a simple life where people wouldn't treat me like some sort of benign mythical creature, and I wouldn't probably get that. So I guess I just dressed the part, the dark hair the edgy clothes, and I would have a mean nose ring if it wasn't for my mom.
My mom always says how people might like me more if I didnt dress so scary, i figure I may as well give them what they paid to see. If you ask me life is what you make it and you may as well make a mess doing it. It's not all bad I have a friend that I see after classes, her name is stacy.
Her forehead has a 22 on it, she thinks I'm cool because I'm so unique she says. I really like her, allot.
She has some piercings and she even had her older brother put a tattoo on her thigh. I think she likes me too but she told me she doesnt want to date till after they put all the boys and girls in the same classes for 10th year. Which I totally respect because I want her to think I'm super chill.
But none of that's going to matter after today. You see I'm really bummed out, because, last night I was up late watching tv and happened upon the news. I jumped into a conversation about placement testing and they mentioned me, like I wasn't watching. "Well what do we do if it really means he's just a big fat zero?" They said. It really had me thinking, maybe even slightly panicky.
As I walk to school on this cold morning I fear for the worst. I fear I may just get told to go home or that I have nothing to contribute to our great society. My heart beat louder and faster with every step I take towards the door. I reach out to grab the handle and my stomach sinka. "what if they are all right," I say to myself. My eyes begin to water as I walk to the testing area.
I stand against the wall as the protocol demanded, lowest to highest. Infact the highest 80th percentile of our class didnt even have to show up today. So here I am on the lowest rung of the lowest rung. Lower than anyone else before me....
"You boys know the drill!! we will open one of these three doors. One of us will shout, NEXT!! And the next one of you in line will go to said door. You will be tested on every aspect of your body mind and soul!! And you will not go home until you have completed such. Have I made myself clear to you boys?" Head master Docford announced. "Indeed, sir," we replied. "Absolutely stupendous gentlemen, now let us begin with the first three boys," hesays to us. "And yes mister Tresnal, you will be coming with me through this door here." He tells me.
The two other boys go to the other doors and I slowly make my way to Doc's door. We go inside at first to a office like room. "What are we doing here sir?" I ask him. He tells me, "you see Mr. Tresnal, we actually have been doing allot of testing over the years. What we do know so far is, you are not particularly bad at anything. We originally thought you had issues with social skills and blending in however, recently we noticed some changes in your behavior which could add protest to that hypothesis."
I'm actually very shocked to hear all of this. Its straight up the only encouragement I've ever had. I ask, "So what your saying is I don't have flaws?" "Now I know that sounds really nice, hence I've never once told you before. That isn't a definite answer, a little known fact is in many kids the number on your head could mean something negative. For instance 100 could mean 100 in ugliness or even something as benign as stage fright," he says.
Well what could zero mean? He sat me down and began to ask me questions about various topics some were abstract, and other had more definitive answers. He began measuring every inch of me, and by that I mean no stone was unturned. He asked me questions about my sex life as if I might have one. Things got pretty weird after this.
A man comes in from another room, holding a baseball bat. My heart begins to pound, "has anyone ever told you the joke about the kid who's bone strength was at 100?" he asks. "Well no," I replied reluctantly. Doc replies, "well it's not a joke." The man then proceeded to beat the living piss out of me.
I laid down for a minute and then got up. "How amazing" head master says. "What the fuck man," I say to him. "Well look at you," he says gesturing at me vaguely. I look around myself to notice nothing differant about myself. I reply, "What do they got you on over here dude?"
"Mr. Tresnal, are you familiar with the term, bleeding?" He asks me. "What, yeah... Like I've heard of it," I tell him. "Well Duncan, we found out what's so weird about you," he says, "let me tell you something, most people have the ability to bleed. That in itself is a down fall. You have zero ability to do so." I ask "So can people die if they dont do that?"
Head master laughs at me, "I'm sure not, infact plenty of people have died because of it," he say. He takes me through a door as we continue talking. "Now I'm not yet sure how to explain this part to you. Well you see, I cant let you be in school with these sorts of students any more. now that we know this, and you know this, you are considered dangerous to society," he says.
The door opens and two men grab me by my arms. "I wish nothing but the best for you Mr. Tresnal," the head master says as I'm loaded into a truck. "Where am I going?" I ask. "Nowhere," one of the men replied. I am accompanied by two other boys marked as 100, whom I've never seen.
"Oh my gosh, you are zero," one of them says. "Yup, you could say, there's nothing bad about me," I say as we take off. | 2020-05-01T23:02:12 | 2020-05-01T21:48:57 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Your superpower isn't the flashiest in the academy, but it does come in handy. The more you learn about a different subject the more you gain control over it. Studying physics? Gain control of subatomic particles. History essay? Change events in the timeline. Your next test? Math. | "You have 30 seconds!" yelled the robbers, flailing their rifles in the open bank window. "We'll kill a hostage if you don't get a chopper on the roof!"
"Okay okay don't do anything rash!" replied the cop over the megaphone. "It'll be here in-"
Before he could finish his sentence I snatched the megaphone. "There's no need for that officer." He looked at me confused, and then gritted his teeth. "They're about to kill a hostage! Don't you care?!" he yelled. "Of course I care. I'm a hero, after all." he looked at me, more puzzled than angry.
"20 seconds!" yelled the robbers. The woman being held hostage had tears streaming down her face. "No please! Please don't do this!" her voice was cracking in desperation.
I held the megaphone up to my mouth. "You're not getting that chopper. Surrender quietly and maybe there will be a chance you and your buddies will come out alive." the robber looked at me and laughed. "We're not your normal robbers! We don't get swayed by words!" he said confidently. "10 seconds by the way!"
*"Good grief..."* I thought. *"I always get stupid missions like this."*
"5!" yelled the robber.
"No please! Please!" the woman cried.
*"I should really have a chat with Kevin about this. He's good with delegating assignments."*
"4!"
"Please!" the woman was bawling.
*"Or maybe Trent. Haven't seen him in a while it might be nice to catch up."*
"3!" the robber held his rifle next to the womans head.
The woman cried louder.
*"Maybe Maria..."*
"2!" the robbers finger was on the trigger.
*"Yeah, I'll go with Maria... or maybe...?"*
"1!" *click*
The woman shrieked. Then there was an awkward silence. She looked up to see a confused robber, her eyes puffy.
"What?" the robber was confused. *click click click*
I snapped back to reality. "Oh nooo, did the gun jam? What are the *chances*?" I said sarcastically.
"Whatever!" he pulled out his pistol. *click* "What?!" *click click*
"Oh wow, who saw *THAT* coming." I said as I walked through the rotator, with a book in my hand.
"Open fire on the kid!" yelled the boss (I assume).
His three friends fired on me with their rifles, each shot missing as I calmly walked towards the boss. I walked 10 feet up to him unscathed, the grunts gasping in horror and other hostages looking in awe.
"How did you..." the boss was shaking.
"Oh, it was easy." I replied. I held up my book to his face. "I read up on probability and statistics."
"You're... you're him! The hero... Prodigy!"
"Huh. Never heard that one before. I might take it." I said thoughtfully. "Now, I said you four had a *chance* to get out of here alive." I stared the boss dead in the eyes with a blank expression. "Give up while your chances are good. Or rather, I could change things-"
The robbers dropped their rifles and ran outside with their hands up. "Man, these missions are no fun." I said to no one in particular. I walked to the woman and held her hand. "Hey, I'm sorry I put you through that. Are you okay?"
The woman looked at me and slapped me. She then gave me a tight hug and whispered "Thank you, Prodigy." I hugged her back and untied the other hostages. "I'm definitely keeping that name." I said to them.
After all was said and done I walked back to the Academy.
*"Maybe I'll ask Catherine... she has some good connections. Or maybe..."* | Your studying of geometric figures goes quite well and after some time you start experiencing unexpected things to happen. Your superpower shows itself when you suddenly realise that your globe became a cone. Suddenly... You were expecting this to happen, you indeed were curious what will come. By itself. Because you knew one other thing. When your superpower would activate, you are going to use it.
At first, you stood up and walked towards your coney globe. Indian Ocean looked like an entrance to a teepee tent, guarded by your two failed experiments: Kilwan Democratic Republic (which wasn't neither of those) and Finnish Australia (you still don't understand how saving Constantinople from Turks led to this abomination). However, now you were older and wiser. You tried to open the teepee, but it seemed your knowledge wasn't great enough. Even when you focused on that. Heck! You tried to do something else with that globe. After a short while it became a much less triangular cylinder. You cut its height making it thin as a plate and lenghtened it to be as long as...
aand it broke. Lone pieces shattered around your room, some of them hit you in your face. You took one of them. At least Rome survived into the modern age. As a city-state and led by a Pope-Emperor which wasn't very different from where you started from but still. Your sister, attracted by the weird sound of the globe breaking asked you what happened. "Nothing" - you replied and started clearing everything up. That monster in a body of a four-year-old could come in a minute if she thought she could do some harm to you with it.
And so she came. And some came your parents. And some you went to a doctor to stitch the wound close to your eyebrow. Bloody Romans!
On the next day you decided to first learn everything and only then start playing with your superpowers. You read all the pages in that chapter and even did as much as one task per topic. You knew everything (you needed to pass). You were ready.
You started walking around your room looking for thing to experiment with. And for any ideas of what to do. Looking through your window you saw your first victim: your maths teacher who made you study all of that. Or rather: her car. Oh, she won't see me at school tomorrow. She won't see anyone at school tomorrow. Or so you thought, in fact she could have just taken a bus. Making wheels rectangular wasn't enough for you. You started experimenting with sizes. And (after accidentally destroying a car using it own wheels when trying to create a monster truck) with adding lengh to just a single dimensions of objects. When the parking space looked like a playgroung for infants learing shapes and colours you realised you could make change in multiple objects at once. However, you still haven't learnt the limits of your superpower.
A crazy idea came to your head.
What would happen if I made all the circles in the world become squares?
You focused a bit and used you superpower.
Everything stayed mostly the same. Only after a while you realised that some things started looking a bit "minecrafty". It didn't look as bad. You went back home to maybe check how much has changed.
Your sister ran crying to your parents' bedroom, screaming that her TV stopped working. You walked into her room, interested by what happened. Was it your fault? Indeed, the screen was pitch black and the speaker was just emitting a simple buzz. You scanned her room. Wheels in her strollers have changed, so did a few more elements.
You heard a quiet bang outside.
You walked towards the window but you didn't see anything. It was already getting dark, maybe that's why.
A strong vibration shook your house, leaving no damage but disturbing you mildly. Downstairs your parents were trying to phone the authorities to get to know what happened only to realise that their phones were broken. Confusion in the conversation they were having disturbed you even more. You glanced through the window once more, only to see a bright spark of fire in the distance. At that moment you started realising that you might have fucked up much more than usual. Much more.
And at the next moment you finally realised that Earth was kinda a circle. You started gasping from your freighten. When you finally calmed down you started thinking about how do stop this. Unfortunetely, your superpower had no "undo" button. You've never been more stressed than before. You started thinking that your bones and veins and who knows what else were also geometric figures that had circles inside. At that moment you could have sweared that you were actually dying.
It took you a few other moment to calm down again. You were still alive. It meant that it didn't affect you. And your family. It also gave you some hope that the Earth wasn't going to become a cube. However, a part of you thought that there was so many circles in the Universe that it had to take some time to change everything. Deep down, you never understood your superpower.
The ground shook again, a bit more strongly this time.
You tried to undo everything you just did. Unfortunetely, "making all things that used to be circles circles again" did not work. "Making everything that is changing right now stop changing" did not give you any results. At least such that you could see. You thought about changing things manually. Thing by thing. You restored your big desk to its natural form, you started working on your Legos. But there was too much. You tried to make them normal back in a group, yet your superpower stopped working. You quickly grabbed your booking and started reading this chapter again, checking every few minutes if your powers are back but it didn't help. After few hours of desperate work, you fell asleep.
When you woke up, you realised that everything came back to normal. Your Legos were back, your globe was on its place, your phone was working. You thought that it could have been just a bad dream.
You grabbed your phone and touched yourseld near the eyebrow. It hurt. In that place where you were hit by a part of that globe. But it was still there. Disturbing, you thought. You unlocked your phone and checked the messages someone had sent you. Who sends random people videos? You opened it.
>The Earth has been conquered this night by the Plexaian Species. Our agents destroyed your defense machinery, including the Anti-Alien Shield. Resistance is futile. We will treat our slaves well and so we have fixed all the civilian equipment. Rebellion means death.
After a while one of our spaceships came to your house and took you. Do you remember it now?
\-Does... does it mean that I made you come to Earth?
\-Yes and we are very grateful for that. We knew that giving you superpowers would lead to the destruction of Anti-Alien Shields and let us invade your planet
\-Am I... Am I a traitor?
\-No, you are a count. Which country would you like to rule for us? | 2021-01-12T12:24:46 | 2021-01-12T12:24:17 | 270 | 23 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump. | You don't answer. Instead, you spring for Colossus while he's gloating. He wasn't expecting it; probably expected you to start bursting into tears, judging from that smug little fist-pump. People with no morals and thin egos always seem surprised when those with the former and without the latter don't immediately collapse to histrionics as soon as someone dares question them or their ideals.
You can probably picture the look on the child's face at being ignored, and you don't feel great, but that doesn't matter right now. Nothing matters for now except stopping Colossus. Philosophical debates can wait.
Colossus struggles, but he's at the disadvantage now. You punch him into the ground, wincing a little as it cracks upon contact with the energon bars on his back; that'll take some fixing, and it's probably not going to help you in the minds of those who witnessed this little exchange. But it cracked the energon bars as well, and with each hit, he gets a little weaker. A few more blows, and he's stunned enough to give you time to grab a streetlight and wrap it around him tight. He struggles a bit, but he's weakened enough that he can't break free. He's not going anywhere.
"Didn't answer the question, I see," he croaks, a weak little sneer on his face. "Some heroine you are."
You ignore him. He's not worth it.
Instead, you turn back to someone who is. The child is standing there, staring at you, eyes wide. Clear little tear tracks cut through the dust on her face. Behind her, some of the locals of this neighborhood are warily beginning to clamber out of shelter now that the immediate peril is over. Inspecting the damage, some beginning to clear up. Looking at you. Some grateful. Some wary. Some angry.
"I'm sorry about that," you say to the little girl, crouching down in front of her. In the background, sirens get closer, but for now you make sure she knows she has your full attention. "You asked me a question?"
She looks you in the eyes. She's a brave one, this one, brave and bold. She'll grow up to be a hell of a woman some day unless you miss your guess.
"What makes you better than him?" She asks, only a little quaver in her voice. She can't be more than six or seven. "You both break things."
You give it a moment's thought. It's an easy one to answer, frankly, but she deserves that consideration.
"Lots of things, to be honest," you reply. "But the simplest is this. He breaks things and hurts people because he enjoys it. If you'd asked him that question, he would have laughed at you. He doesn't feel bad about what he's done. But if I break things when I'm fighting him, it's because there's no other way to stop him. And after I break something, I try and fix it if I can. Because I feel bad if I don't."
"But what if you can't fix it?"
"Then I try and find another way of making up for it. And if I can't do that, I try and remember what I did so that I can try and do better next time."
You can't quite tell if she fully understands or not, but there's a shout from your left -- "Captain Athena!" -- and you turn to see a firefighter running up towards you. Behind him, you can see officers of the police department's Powered Containment Unit sealing Colossus into a containment chamber. He meets your eyes as they do, and leers.
What of it. He's nothing, really. Just a cruel, pathetic little man who tries to pull others down to compensate for his own weaknesses. Not worth any more of your attention.
"We've got people trapped in a building down the street," The firefighter says.
You turn back to the girl. "I'm sorry. I must go." Then you turn and speed into the direction that the firefighter is pointing in.
Time to fix things. | "With heroes like these, who needs villains?" Read the largest heading on the Sunday paper. She'd had to walk by it at every newspaper stand on her way to the office this morning, and now her publicist was reading it aloud to her from his cell phone.
"Yeah, I know what it's..." Volcanix tried to cut in. She really did know what it would say; what the hell else would it say? Her publicity agent shot her a look that would have curdled spring water. She shut up.
The little man with the turtle shell spectacles continued reading the article off his phone in his high piping voice which, could fill any auditorium at the slightest prompting of his diaphragm. "This Sunday afternoon during yet another supernatural showdown over the Great Falls skies, alleged 'hero,' by the name of Volcanix punted a young child into the Missouri River." Mr. Tiptup shot her a stern glance, then continued, "Thankfully, due to the opportunistic nature of a grizzly bear and the even more opportunistic nature of a nature photographer, the child survived with a light mauling and a broken femur."
Tiptup took a trembling sip of his tea. A less educated woman might have thought the man was shaking due to nervousness or fear, but Volcanix knew better. She knew she was one wrong word from a very severe ass-kicking. He cleared his throat and continued, refusing to even look at her. All she could do was sit sullenly in her seat like a scorned child.
"If nature photographers and actual bears are more likely to save our citizens than our commissioned heroes, then perhaps it is time we rally as a community to petition the guild of heroes for better representation. For decades, we have lived under the oppressive reign of these villains who hole up in Montana because they think, wrongly, that no one will mind if they have headquarters here. I say it is time we let the president, congress, the governor, and the guild of heroes know and let them know loudly!" Tiptup took a trembling sip of his tea. A less educated woman might have thought the man was shaking due to nervousness or fear, but Volcanix knew better. She knew she was one wrong word from a very severe ass-kicking.
"Tiptup, I know that I shouldn't have punted the kid," she began. He looked at her incredulously. "But he shouldn't have been being a smartass when I was at the height of my battle rage! I mean, do these kids even read the comics anymore? Don't they know..."
Evidently, one of those words had been the wrong one.
Before she could finish her sentence, Volcanix was flying through the shattering pane glass of the office window and down three stories to crash into the dust. Her head was ringing, stars fluttered fleeting across her vision, and into her line of sight floated the small little man who functioned as a publicity agent, general manager, regional supervising arch-hero, and human relations senior executive for the Montana branch of the heroes association (In an under-funded state like Montana, management roles had to wear several hats).
About Tiptup glowed a bluish, green glow, and his back had taken the shape of a turtle shell. His pinch little face had morphed into a turtle-like beak, and his skin had adopted a greenish pallor. Volncanix had only seen him take turtle form once... *I've really done it now... this is it, I'm finished. I can't even function in the Montana branch.*
"You would have been better off joining the evil side of things with your abilities." Tiptup's piping little voice had adopted a booming timbre that seemed to shake the very ground. "I said as much to the counsel, but they assured me that even a berserker could be brought into the fold with the proper training. Clearly, the lessons of my tutelage have yet to resonate with you, so today, we will try a new type of anger management."
Volcanix felt lifted into the air once more and slammed back to the dust. Flames licked at the back of her throat, begging to be released, to sear and burn her attacker. She bit them off with all her might. *No! That is what he wants. Show him you've gotten better. Show him your child punting days are over.* Again she was lifted and slammed down, harder this time, as the floating snapping turtle above her continued to lecture; he grew ever more in size as he spoke.
"I have tried the new-age, hands-off approaches of discipline with you. I have tried the softer, psychological methods of training and tempering your erratic disposition, but I have lost all patience with those methods. So today, we will take a course in Tiptup anger management." He raised a clawed flipper which, moments before, had been a nervous little hand and flung her into the distance. That was it, of course. A berserker can only keep her temper in check for so long. A column of flame burst into the sky, a roar of fury echoed in the river valleys below, and in a flash, a bright orange streak of light dashed towards the gargantuan, floating turtle, hurling balls of flame at its undershell. The turtle seemed unphased as the flames burst against his belly and bellowed around him in a blazing inferno, scorching the grass beneath and starting a small grass fire.
The giant turtle blasted a spout of reeking water onto the flaming grass to extinguish the flames and flew to meet the firey form of Volcanix in mid-air. The entirety of the city rang with a resounding crash.
\- - -
Click, click, click, click. Benjamin snapped off pictures in rapid succession, positively giddy with excitement. Ever since he'd picked up this gig from Gertruz Eater of Worlds, he'd been making the front page of the paper consistently. Staking out super-heroes had turned into such a lucrative profession, in fact, that Benjamin had finally been able to purchase the fishing boat he'd coveted since he was in college. *And they said you couldn't make money as a photo-journalist.*
Sure, he was no adventurous photographer who braved African warzones, but he had (allegedly) saved that young child from a grizzly by throwing his day's fishing catch in the other direction. Not before taking a picture, of course, a picture which now had him on contract to catch the two local superheroes brawling in the prairie outside town. Perhaps it was wrong to undermine heroes on the dime of literal, self-proclaimed villains, but as the newspapers read today, what sorts of heroes were these folks really? That bear photo, and the subsequent, only mostly fabricated story which Benjamin had fed to the press had finally put him on the path to easy street. *Isn't that the American dream? Isn't that what we're all out here doing?*
Click, click, click, the camera agreed, happily. Oh yeah, it was gonna be a good year for Benjamin, and possibly for Gertruz Eater of Worlds, if not for anyone else. | 2021-04-18T08:29:08 | 2021-04-18T06:54:17 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | "I was eight when I first developed my ability. It was right at the start of summer, and I accidentally broke Bobby Johnson's arm in a game of tag. None of the other kids would play with me after that. Except Bobby.
But his mom called my mom, who thought she needed to sit me down with her and Dad and give me a lecture about controlling my anger. Except I wasn't angry, and I think they figured that out pretty quick, because I never got in trouble from that.
A couple of months later, after Bobby's mom seemed to forget about the whole thing and she let us play together again, we decided to go to the pond and skip rocks, which in our eyes was a fine way to spend the last few days of summer. Only when I tried skipping my rock, it kept skipping all the way to the other side, and straight through one of Ms. Donovan's back window.
After that, I tried to control it. But I was also a kid going into my first year of middle school, so I showed off occasionally - maybe more than occasionally, but not enough to do any real harm.
Then one night, a few weeks after school had started, my little brother was annoying me in the way only a little brother can. Now I couldn't say what exactly it was, but it got under my skin, and so I turned around and I decked him.
He spent the next week in the hospital, multiple fractures and a pretty bad concussion. I spent that week, and the week after, helping my dad patch up the hole I'd made in the wall between our living room and the garage.
So I started avoiding my ability almost entirely. I only used it occasionally, like when I got that flat out on 316. I had everything I needed but the jack.
That's all. Sometimes I need to move the refrigerator, and it's simple to just pick it up. The same is true for the couch.
So when I'm sitting at home last night, trying out my new recipe, and some strangers burst in, demanding that I come with them immediately? Saying that they've foiled my plan? Yeah, I lost it. Maybe I was a bit too violent. Maybe I should have been actively practicing restraint rather than practically avoiding use altogether. But maybe you guys should learn how to knock, maybe even call ahead first, and maybe stop assuming that just because someone doesn't want to run around at night with their damn underwear on the outside of their pants, stopping crime and marketing for Happy Meal toys, they must be up to no good.
Are we done?"
--
"There you have it," the reporter continued. "HeroCorp has yet to respond to this leaked interrogation of a man now being called 'The People's Hero.'
When we return, we'll hear from 'Hero's' childhood friend, Bobby Johnson." | "Whoa, guys, now wait just a sec", I said while raising my hands in a warding gesture towards the two supes trying to threaten me with their powers.
"No more waiting, Carl", said Josh the Jellyfish. Yes, he picked that name. "Your time's up", added Rocky Rhayle. "Either you spill your secrets now or we spill your guts. Your decision."
I rolled my eyes. "First of all, do you really believe you could 'spill my guts' that easily? Second, Josh, we were flatmates when we were in university. What secrets do you think I'm hiding? Not to mention that about five of your friends already tried to find any evidence that I'm more than I seem to be in the past week alone. This is really getting out of hand and very annoying so please just accept that I'm simply not interested in being a celebrity like you."
"Sure", Rhayle replied. "A man with your abilities would have absolutely no ambition to make the world a better place."
"Look", I said, rubbing my temples with my right hand. "It's more complicated than that. I do have my reasons not to act while terrible things happen, really, I do, but they're not part of any evil plan or something. I just..." I broke off. "I can't tell you. It's too dangerous."
"So there is actually a secret!" Rhayle exclaimed triumphantly and crossed her arms with a very satisfied face.
"Yes, and I have no intention of telling you whatsoever", I said. The next moment, my whole body dissolved into a viscous liquid and I escaped through a crack in the wall behind me. I filled it with stone as soon as I had reached the other side, though that wouldn't stall Rhayle for very long. So I started running, my legs propelling me forward four times faster than normal. I turned some corners to shake off anyone tailing me. Some moments later I saw Rhayle flying past the entrance to the alley I hid in, standing firmly on a disc of rock, Josh clinging to her for dear life as they zipped though the streets.
I waited a minute more, then I exited the alley, walking down the street in the opposite direction of where my would-be pursuers had headed to.
I sighed. I would have to sneak back into my own house again today. Hopefully Rhayle would already be there when I returned so I could dig a tunnel into the cellar. If I could only find someone who was able to create illusions I could start a new life with a new face somewhere else. Or would that be too taxing for them? Also, I would need to stay close by...
I lost myself in those thoughts as I wandered homewards, which was a fatal mistake. I realised that when I was pulled into a doorway suddenly and someone pushed my down to the floor. I hit hard, my backbone protesting loudly. I blinked, attempting to reorient myself. Where was I? And what the heck was going on?
"Hello Carl, old friend," a terribly familiar voice said. "Velu?" I called, rolling over so that I lay flat on by belly. My view landed directly on a pair of dirty old boots. I glanced upwards and saw a young woman staring down at me with a faint smile on her lips.
I groaned. Getting caught by somebody twice a day? It was a new record high. I got up again and, while dusting of my clothing, explained: "Look, I don't really have the time or the patience to deal with you right now, so, you know." I shrugged. Then I tried to find someone with powers that could be useful. And if it was only someone particularly strong - not even supernaturally.
It didn't work. It felt like I had lost a sense, gone blind or deaf.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, darling', my ex-girlfriend sighed, "but none of your powers are going to work - for quite a while, I'm afraid. You see, Crane the Collector here has the remarkable ability to take someone's powers away from them and use them himself. It's quite handy to be honest." She gestured to a hulking man behind her I only now noticed. "What do you feel?" she asked him, but he only furrowed his brows. I groaned on the inside. This was going to start a whole host of problems.
"Well?" Velu asked again.
"I don't... I don't understand...", Crane mumbled. Despite the unpleasant situation I was stuck in a grin split my face. It was actually funny - somehow.
"Perhaps you should stop and try again," I suggested. "Maybe you accidentally suppressed your own powers."
I could hardly believe it, but the idiot really fell for the trick.
As soon as I felt my powers returning - marked by a prickling sensation all over my body - I attacked. I stretched out my feelers for the man's energy source, the one that powered his abilities, and redirected the flow towards myself. I did the same to Velu and everybody else in the building for good measure - though I really tried not to take too much. They were villains, yes, but I didn't want to kill anyone - not as I had done the first few times I had used my powers.
I was out the roof of the building a second later, the wind carrying me away. I landed after only flying a short distance. I didn't want to risk losing the connection and plummeting to my death.
After having recovered from the awful experience of having my own powers turned against me, I went looking for Josh and Rhayle. If someone who could do the same things I could had joined the battlefield, I probably had to step up and put him in his place.
Even though I just hated bloodshed and all that stuff... | 2021-08-16T21:02:11 | 2021-08-16T14:51:45 | 151 | 80 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | I blinked in surprise, turning from the TV in surprise as it rang.
The Red Phone.
They don't bother me lightly. I've made it clear that I value my privacy too much to get involved in every little scuffle between nations. After it leaked that the Heroes Society was trying to recruit me and Doctor Nefarious came after my daughter (and, subsequently, got broken, twice) I made it clear that I just wanted to do my work as a rocket scientist. Unbridled control of all of the fundamental forces made me far too powerful to be fighting super villains in the streets. But, I told the world at that press conference, if an extinction level event threatened I would be there to help.
And so the Red Phone only rings when there is great need. Only when all other options have been tried and failed. Only when the very existence of humanity is at stake.
It's rang twice before. Only twice. The first time nuclear missiles were in the air. All of the nukes. Someone - the leader of some underdeveloped republic in Latin America I think - called and pleaded with me to stop them from landing. Only I, with my great power, could do it. No one else had a chance to save the world. And so, with a sigh, I did it. I made gravity my bitch, compressed time, flew around the world, and converted all the nuclear payloads to lead.
The second time, it was an alien invasion. I know, I know, but for some godforsaken reason these idiots really did fly 487 light years to pick a fight. No, I don't know why. We never did get a chance to communicate with them. Funny thing about black hole drives: screw with one of the universal constants in a narrow field around them and they'll suck in your whole ship. A small tweak to the gravity field and they go flying off along galactic north into the intergalactic void. I didn't even break a sweat. I'd actually been waiting for that call.
And so I go to pick up the phone, wondering what world ending threat they need me to deal with this time.
"Professor Forces speaking."
"Um... um... um... hi."
I blink. This kid can't be a day over seven judging by the voice. She continues.
"They said if no one else can help people call you."
"Yes, that's true. What's going on?"
"I... I need help."
I take a breath. Ok. It's a little kid. But maybe it's still serious.
"What do you need help with?"
"I can't figure out my take aways."
I slowly blink. "Your... take... aways."
"Yeah. I'm gonna get in trouble if I don't finish my math homework, but... but I'm stuck on my take aways."
I let out a breath, and with it the tension that had been building in my chest. It's not a world threatening disaster. It's just a kid who needs help with her homework. I almost laugh, but hold back for fear of hurting her feelings. And together we work through the super confusing world of 2nd grade math.
Just as we finish, I hear a familiar voice in the background. "Patty! What are you doing! Get away from that phone!"
"But daddy, you said he could help!"
I hear the phone being taken away from the child and the voice, almost panicked speaks more clearly. I instantly place it. "Professor Forces, I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have bothered you."
"Mister President, it is fine. Calm down." After a beat, I add, "After all, children are our future, and our future not knowing how to do take aways is, indeed, a grave threat." | "Why, hello there."
He holds the red phone in place by pressing it between his ear and right shoulder as he plays with his personal cellphone, smiling to himself.
"What seems to be the problem?" he continues.
"Sir, we're having trouble-"
"*Tch*, of course you're having trouble!" he cuts off the voice on the other end. He scowls for a moment at this man's idiocy. "Just tell me where and I'll be there."
The voice on the other end lists some random address in Washington D.C.
"Just get the job done," he is told firmly, "...Reaper."
*Click!*
With a sigh, he sets the red phone down on his desk and stands, sliding his cellphone into his pocket as he does so. There's a window next to his desk, curtains drawn back. It's sunny today, and warm, too. Summer break has started, releasing the younger kids into the wild, screaming playfully as they run around. Somewhere downstairs, his sister is making the two of them some lunch.
So much for a relaxing day.
"Keito!" he hears as he steps from his office. "What jam do you want?"
"What do we have?" Keito asks back. He turns away from the stairs and walks down the hallway to his bedroom.
"Grape, strawberry, blackberry, wild berry," his sister rattles off a few more flavors. He's stopped listening.
He opens the door and stares into the dark room. Curtains drawn, with very sparse furniture dotting the interior. There's only one thing he's focused on, however.
Metal glitters as the light of the hallway behind him streams in. The curved blade is attached to an ebony shaft eloquently crafted and carved. The weapon is mounted above his bed at the very back of the room, humming with power.
He steps up onto his bed and, carefully, as if he were conducting a sacred ceremony, unhooks the scythe from its mount. He holds it in front of him in both hands, fingers spread wide as he lets the shaft roll in his palms.
"Keito?" his sister's call is loud and concerned. He stiffens for just a moment.
"What?" he calls back.
"Is everything alright?" she asks.
"Yes, of course."
"...What jam do you want, then?"
He lets out a sigh.
"Make it grape."
"Okay. It'll be ready in five minutes."
He wraps his fingers around the shaft of the scythe.
"I'll be there shortly."
The job shouldn't take any longer than that.
In the blink of an eye, he finds himself standing outside with only his socks providing what little cushioning they can from the hard concrete sidewalk he is now on. The sky is overcast, almost like it's about to storm at any moment. He looks around and reads a few building numbers to confirm he's in the right spot.
He is.
He strides down the sidewalk, twirling the scythe in on hand expertly, as if it were simply an extension of his being. In a way, it is. The place is deserted. All the better for him. No need to do a massive media coverup like the first time, or a covert relocation like the second. If anything, he rather not be out on the street at all.
*Morons*, strikes through his thoughts, and he smiles in amusement. Yes, everyone is a moron. It's his job to dispatch of extremely-out-of-control morons.
He rounds the street corner and just stares. The street is rather torn up. Cars are crushed beyond repair. Buildings nearby have chunks of concrete and glass missing from them. Not too far ahead is some sort of mutant-like monster, an amalgamation of flesh, muscle, teeth, eyes, and entrails that leave bloody streaks along anything they rub up against. It's probably just some experiment that went horribly wrong again.
Keito yawns.
*Morons. All of them.*
One step forward, he's now standing right next to the beast. It smells, but he doesn't care much. He raises his scythe and strikes at one of its legs.
The beast wails as, in another step, Keito brings himself to the safety of the rooftop of a building nearby, where he can watch. The mark he left on the beast should have only felt like a paper cut. Honestly, the cut wasn't even that deep anyways. He just smiles to himself, sits down with his legs danging over the edge of the roof, and waits.
The nightmarish amalgamation of human body parts continues to stomp down the street, tearing out more concrete from the buildings around it, stepping on cars, and whatever else a brainless beast of that size can do.
Ever so slowly, its movements become more slugging and labored. It strikes at the buildings with less ferocity as it once had done seconds before. The beast takes a few more steps before pausing and swaying from side to side.
Keito leans forward. This is the good part.
The best way to describe this next portion of the process is that the beast simply *unravels*. Part by part, its body begins to crumble. Its arms are the first to go, separating and dropping to the pavement with booming thuds. Then its legs give out, and its massive body falls to the ground, crushing anything underneath it. It wails further, more sad than enraged, as bright red seams open up all along its body, and parts of it continue to slide off.
Gorey? Yes.
Fascinating? *Absolutely*.
He takes out his cellphone and snaps a picture as the beast lets out its last dying whimper. Now it's just a pile of rotting human parts in the middle of the road. Harmless, naturally. Some part of him is curious as to how the beast came to be and how it managed to get all the way *here*. However, such information is pretty much useless now, as the beast has been disposed of.
*Eh, the feds can clean it up*, he chuckles, staring down at his new digital photograph. Satisfied, he snaps his fingers, and he's now sitting on his bed, scythe cradled in his lap.
"Keito?" his sister calls from the stairs. "Lunch is ready!"
"Coming!" he calls back. He tosses his cellphone onto his bed, climbs back up on top of it, and remounts his weapon. It shines back at him as he hops down and brushes himself off. It was actually a fun way to pass the time, and he got a picture out of it.
*They should call me more often*, he grins. | 2022-03-29T10:06:36 | 2022-03-29T07:28:35 | 20 | 12 |
[WP]Being immortal has had its perks and its disadvantages. You don't know how you came to be but you don't complain because you are not only immortal but can shapeshift. After 2000 years you shift back into yourself to live another lifetime only to be recognized by someone who uses your birth name. | Alexandra had scavenged for decades, centuries, millennium, an eternity, it seemed; to clean the one stain which plagued her family’s legacy. Several millennia ago, in her arrogance of playing god amongst her scientific peers, she’d created an immortal creature. For the moment, she was proud of her breakthrough. Not only was the creature immortal, it could also change its shape. She named it after her favorite video game and set it free. Believing she invented a phenomenon that would truly change the world. The gods of her time saw this as a challenge to their authority and a violation of humanity’s place in the world.
&#x200B;
With no mercy, they smote every single member of her family. Living or dead. The dead inhibited the soul of hellfire and aimed at the living. Those whose flesh still bound their soul were burned where they stood, enveloped in hellfire and slowly consumed. A cycle which continued in perpetuity. The living burned until their very bones begged for mercy, the dead forever cursed to torture their loved ones.
&#x200B;
The gods punished Alexandra with the immortality that fascinated so. Promising her they would only show mercy to her family when she corrected the folly she brought into the world. Only then would they allow her family to die.
&#x200B;
The screams of her pleading ancestors haunted every fiber of her being throughout the 2000 years she searched for her creation. In those brutal years, she trudged through the cyclical birth and devastation of many a civilization. In each one, she heard the tale of a different god which united their people.
&#x200B;
A god in the shape of a moon, a god in the shape of a racoon, a god in the shape of a river. She alone knew the source of that god, and how it came to be.
&#x200B;
As she tracked its destination through the fiery ruins of past civilization, she rationalized her goal to herself. She’d decided long ago, life’s beauty originated from its ugly destiny. Death. Without death, life could not truly exist.
Therefore, ending the “life” of something that could not naturally die would not make her a murderer. *Do you fancy yourself a killer when you scrap a vehicle?* That was the pep talk she’d given herself throughout those 2000 years, as she steadily built the mental fortitude needed to kill her creation. *No. Not kill, retire*. It’s merely reached the end of its shelf life.
&#x200B;
On November 29, 7019, Alexandra saw it. As an unrelenting downpour of rain engulfed the city streets, she walked towards it. Car horns blared and brakes screeched as she strolled towards her unsuspecting target. A man selling hot dogs called out to her uninitiated ears, shoving a dog in her face. Her nose refused to acknowledge the smell. Her mind, her body, her soul and spirit only recognized the woma—no, creature she was about to engage with. No matter the madness, she would not be distracted.
&#x200B;
She stood three paces away from the unaware creature, admiring its form. Its current appearance was that of a young woman. Golden locks of hair defied the gloomy hailstorm of the rain, blazing a path down to the waist of its back. She could see the edge of its face, and its facial features were a work of art. Truly phenomenal how it could decipher the most appealing features to humanity and assimilate them. A sick pang announced itself to her stomach as she realized she hadn’t changed at all. *Even after all the harm I’ve caused my family, I still can’t help but admire what I brought into this world.*
&#x200B;
She unsheathed a gold-coated dagger and allowed the hum of her blade to fill the night’s air with its tune. Despite the rain, the moment compelled her to remove her hood. She paused, took a deep breath, and whispered. “Relicta.”
&#x200B;
The creature sharply turned in her direction, eyes wide. Alexandra prepared for the attack, clutching the dagger as if it weighed 12 tons. For years, she’d simulated this in her mind. The creature would attack her, desperate to prolong its own life. If nothing else, the creature would force her to retire in self defense.“
&#x200B;
Master!” Relicta said. its voice reverberated through the night and tears formed in the corner of its eyes. “Master, it’s been so long I thought you were dead!”
&#x200B;
Alexandra stood still as Relicta ran towards her and enveloped her in the warmest hug she’d experienced in years. It may have been the warmest she’d ever experience. As if Relicta was sapping her strength away, the firm grip she had on the dagger evaporated. She hugged back as hard as she could as she fought back the tears forming in her own eyes.
&#x200B;
“M-master I have so much to tell you. So many people relied on me. I did my best to make you proud, but I d-don’t know if I was the best pe-person to lead them.
&#x200B;
”Wiping tears from her eyes, Alexandra lifted Relicta’s chin up and whispered. “Tell me all about it.” For that limited portion of time, she didn’t hear the screams of her ancestors. | The building had no elevator. It barely had lighting. It was the sort of grimy cash only hotel with rooms that could be rented by the hour and where you didn't dare walk barefoot on the carpeting without a tetanus shot. A place that served as sort of tombstone for dreams of a better tomorrow. Which meant it was perfect for what I had planned tonight.
I found my room on the third floor. I had booked the room for a week. Which meant, if i was lucky, by the time they decided to check to see if I was still there I would be long gone. I went inside and tossed my bags on the stained mattress.
I quickly drew the curtains and flipped the switch in the bathroom. After a few hesitant buzzing false starts, the light eventually flared to life. I looked into the eyes of Frederick Pascal. It was a face that had served me well for almost 15 years. Then, earlier today, someone recognized the face I was wearing as one from an old news story. Stupid and careless of me. Unfortunately, I hadn't had time to study a new face. Which meant my best option was to do something I had not done in a long time. I had to use my true face.
I quickly stripped off my clothes and kicked them into the corner not even caring what they might land in. Stark naked, I put a rubber dog's chew toy in my mouth and focused on the muscles along my skull. Focused and then, carefully, pulled on one of them until the bone snapped. I bit down hard on the chew toy and screamed. I flexed it into its new position and allowed the healing to begin. One down. Several hundred more to go.
In the movies, human bodies are soft and malleable things that can be stretched and reshaped to form new forms fairly easily. Real shape shifting, or Molding as I have come to think of it, is a slow and agonizing process It takes a lot of energy and it takes hours. My hair was soaked in sweat within minutes even as it fell out. Frederick was dishwater blonde. It had to go as well.
I gripped the sink harder to keep my balance as my legs broke. Frederick was almost six inches taller than I needed to be. So my legs had to reshape themselves too. Everything, from the hair on my hair to the color of my skin, had to be redone. I spat out the dog toy and took a quick shower to wash off the worst of the stench of sweat. I dressed in thrift store clothes I had purchased beforehand and took the cash out of Frederick's wallet. I exited the room planning never to return.
I raced down the stairs and out into the street of the new day. It was still early and thus the streets were still mostly deserted. With luck, I would be several blocks away before -
"Little Hikzan the beggar boy!" a voice said behind me. I froze in place for two reasons. First and foremost, that was a name that no one had spoken since the time when Rome was little more than a modest town on the banks of the Tiber River. The other reason was the person who said it hadn't spoken in English. He had used a language so long dead it was forgotten by modern scholars.
I turned around slowly and did my best to look confused. Not that hard as I truly was. I found myself looking at a tall Asian looking man wearing a dark coat and a pair of green tinted glasses. He was smiling at me. My skin tone and hair would be considered Middle Eastern looking to most modern people and so I tried bluffing my way by speaking Farsi.
"Sorry," I said, "Are you speaking to me?"
"Oh we both know I was," he replied in perfect English, "And you can either drop the act or I will call immigration. Do you have an ID right now?"
I rolled my eyes and, switching to English myself, I said "How do you know my name?"
"I'm hurt, Hikzan," he said, "Don't you recognize me? After all the kickings I gave you!"
That really didn't narrow it down.
"Look," I said, "There is a diner not far from here. I'm starving again. So if you're wanting to kill, blackmail, or threaten me can we at least do it over breakfast?"
"Oh, by all means," he agreed, "I could use a little something myself. I've been standing around here all night waiting for you to emerge.
"All right," I said after we walked most of a block in awkward silence, "I obviously am not going to place you because of your looks or voice. That attitude does seem familiar, though. So you were in my village?"
"The little orphan boy. I should have seen it then."
Saying I was an orphan was a bit of an understatement. That made it sound like my parents had merely died. I wasn't even sure they ever existed. My earliest memory is of exiting the wilderness, apparently seven years old, and walking to the village knowing nothing but my own name. I ended up staying in the village for another ten or so years living off scraps and what little else I could gather.
"So what?" I asked, "Life was harsh then. Many children had their parents die on them."
"Especially when the great plague struck," he agreed.
"What plague?" I asked.
"That was about, oh, seventy years before you arrived? Something like that. Anyway, the people in the town were the grandchildren of the people who survived that. "
I was still confused.
"So why did you bring it up?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. He surprised me.
"Because," he said patiently, "You were not the first lost child wandering in from the forest with no memory of where they came from. You just had the misfortune of arriving during a good year. And being a boy."
This was news to me.
"There was someone else like me?" I asked.
"I told you," he said, "It was a confusing time. Old Valsk simply told people I was a niece."
We arrived at the diner at that moment and, as such, we did not speak about the manner for some time. It was only after I had a plate of waffles in front of me that he spoke again.
"Did you ever try living as the other gender?" he asked as he sipped a mug of coffee.
"Once," I admitted and grimaced, "It wasn't a good time. Until fairly recently, it was not always a good thing to be female."
"Quite," he agreed, "That was my experience as well. Valsk was a . . rough man. Not the sort who should be the charge for a defenseless little girl."
My stomach churned.
"Did he . . .?" I couldn't even finish the question.
He shrugged.
"One day Old Valsk walked into the forest with his niece. The next day he returned saying he had taken her to a neighboring village to live with other family. No one questioned it."
"You Molded yourself after him," I said. It wasn't a question. He smiled at me.
"My first one," he agreed, "I suddenly just knew how to do it one day. I was intimately familiar with his face by then. His entire body, really. Was your first similar?"
I picked up my own drink, orange juice, and sipped it. It was strangely bitter.
"It came to me all at once one night if that is what you mean," I admitted, "A village offered food for soldiers. I needed to look like one. I suddenly realized I could. Who are you?"
"You haven't guessed? I was Truve the Priest."
I was glad I had stopped eating by that point.
"Having you banished was a mistake," he added, "Children were dying and the villagers were looking to blame someone. I had to do something."
"They claimed I was a curse!" I sputtered.
"Oh no, dear Hikzan," Truve said, "You are no curse. You are a blessing. One I have been trying to track down for many years. Don't you see? Now that I have found you, I can continue my research."
"Research?" I asked, stomach twisting once more, "What sort of research?"
"Honestly," he went on, "I was so foolish then. I should have been studying you, not the other children. Waste of poison, really" | 2022-11-12T18:19:35 | 2022-11-12T16:59:33 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] the party watch’s in horror as the orphanage burns. The bard turns to the chaotic good Paladin and says “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?” | Soot rained down upon the eclectic party. Behind them the orphanage burned. It cast their sickly shadows in the snow as the flames danced among the charred wood and blackened stone. Around them, the rest of the world lay silent.
The first to speak up was the Bard. Her purple hands shook with adrenaline as her short legs carried her towards the hulking Paladin. “What the fuck was that!?” Barely contained rage electrfied her words, tears threatening to spill over.
“I did what had to be done.” The Paladin answered vaguely. His face was stoney and voice lacking the familiar warmth the rest of them had come to know.
“What had to- you set fire to an orphanage!” The Rogue bellowed. His pointed ears burned as his brow furrowed in utter confusion. Beside him, the Wizard kneeled and emptied his stomach upon the mixture of ash and snow.
“I can explain. Just not tonight. Please, believe me.” He begged softly.
“If you can explain I suggest you do so now.” The Rogue demanded, unsheathing his blade.
“Fuck explanations!” The Bard shouted, sweeping the Paladin’s legs.
He fell to the ground with a crunch as his armor took the brunt of it. Regaining his footing, the Rogue charged him.
“You don’t understand!” He shouted at the duo, raising his shield to block the elven Rogue.
Finally the Wizard had regained his composure. He stood tall with glowing eyes and lightning crackling at his fingertips. “Then make us.” He growled.
Having shaken off the Rogue the Paladin faced the Wizard, already casting his spell. “They were already dead!”
In an instant the fighting had stopped. The bolt of lightning flew over the Paladin’s shoulder as the Wizard reacted to the proclamation. “They were…?”
“They were already dead.” The Paladin confirmed. “The caretaker, her story didn’t make sense. I came back earlier tonight to ask her more questions. I caught her casting the illusions. The children had already been dead.”
“That can’t be.” The Rogue said. “Why would she-“
“I detected arcane energy throughout the building but I had no idea.” Muttered the Bard.
“Why would she do it?” The Wizard demanded an explanation.
“She took the donations. The food, the coin, all of it.”
“The fire?”
“When I caught her, she fought. I put her down.”
“And that started the fire?” Asked the Bard.
“No, I did that after. I figured the townspeople wouldn’t believe it. They cared deeply for the children, they wouldn’t be able to live with the truth. So I made it look like an accident.” He explained. “Tipped over a lantern. Easier to believe a freak accident than murder.”
“And why should we believe you?” The Rogue spat.
With a deep sigh the Paladin dropped his shield. “I have traveled the world with you people. I’ve saved your lives as many times as you’ve saved mine. If you don’t believe me, I won’t fight you. I just couldn’t die with that atrocity pinned on me.”
The trio exchanged looks. Uncertainty and sorrow clouded their minds. The Rogue stomped towards the defenseless Paladin and raised the blade toward his neck. The Paladin just closed his eyes.
“I beleive you.” Spoke the Wizard.
“As do I.” The Bard agreed.
“Hmph.” The Rogue hummed, withdrawing his blade and turning tail. “We’ll see.” He set off back towards their room in the inn. The Wizard nodded and followed.
The Paladin fell to his knees, gazing toward the dying flames. The Bard approached him wordlessly, wrapping her small arms around him. “He’ll come around.” She softly assured.
The Paladin cried. | Swirling clouds of soot and ash danced on the skyline, now tinged orange by the roaring flames. The wooden structure, now collapsed, emitted a series of pops and cracks as it lay in its death throws. Among the drifting smell of smoke there was an unmistakable tinge of burning hair and flesh.
&#x200B;
Jean looked at the mess, transfixed. His lute late discarded in the soft dirt. Across from him Galrad sat low in the road, eyes fixed forward staring into some point that lay infinitely in the distance.
&#x200B;
"What.. What in the hell was *that?*" Jean finally whispered. He stared at the motionless form of Galrad. His shaking hands formed into fist as he strode toward the larger man. "WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?"
&#x200B;
The smaller bard's voice projected itself far stronger than a man of his stature should be able to conjure. Raising one fist, he slammed it into the side of Galrad's head. Then another. The blows rained down until Sylvera, the ranger, rushed over and restrained the smaller man who struggled and writhed in her grip.
&#x200B;
Galrad took the blows, barely lifting his arm to deflect their impact. However, they did draw him from his shocked state. Tears began to flow from his eyes, their normal ice blue hue more apparent with the thick blood vessels brought to the surface by the smoke and heat.
&#x200B;
"I..." he began, "I was so sure. The All Father, he told me. It *had* to be him. It *HAD* to be!"
&#x200B;
"You blithering.. you blithering oaf! You gullible, insufferable, self-righteous fool!" spat Jean, who had ceased his his struggling and collapsed in a heap with Sylvera.
&#x200B;
The group had been travelling together for years. Faced foes beyond description, dealt with every shade of morality, and had not buckled in the face of the impossible. Only now did they taste the cold and sour tinges of total defeat. Of unyielding and complete failure. For once, they felt sapped of all power - of all life.
&#x200B;
"Galrad, please," whispered Sylvera, "make this make sense. How.. How could this have happened?" She refrained from asking what she truly wanted to. *How did YOU let this happen?*
&#x200B;
"He.. I was assured. I did not see this place as I do now. It was dark, flowing with shadows. I fought through the minions, knowing you were both too far behind to get here in time. They were weak, fragile. I figured the All Father had granted me the strength I needed.. to enact his will." His voice broke as he finished, soft sobs beginning to wash over him.
&#x200B;
"Weak? Oh, truly? Would you say, I don't know... weak like small children, Galrad?" Jean spat.
&#x200B;
Galrad scrambled to his feet, looming over the pair of his companions. Jean leapt from Sykvera's grasp, not backing down from the imposing and armored figure of the deceived paladin.
&#x200B;
"Oh? Do my words not compel you like your blasted All Father? Or is it only when confronted with truth that your faith falters?"
&#x200B;
A mail and plate covered fist crunched against the bard knocking him onto his rear, blood spurting from what was now a decidedly crooked nose.
&#x200B;
Sylvera notched an arrow, pulling the string taught. As she brought the shaft level with her eye and peered at the paladin she had the uncanny feeling of looking into the eyes of a rabid animal, long taken from its senses.
&#x200B;
"Stop! Stop this - look at where we are! What we're doing!" she pleaded.
&#x200B;
Galrad took pause - tears, snot, and ash obscuring his most of his face.
&#x200B;
"I - he is divine! This - you impudent fucking jester!" He growled, extending a finger towards the disoriented figure of Jean. "You dare strike at his name now, as he undoubtedly weeps above! You dare, in the face of his servant, blame *him* for this.. this atrocity?"
&#x200B;
Jean struggled to stand, twin streams of blood leaking from his nose and forming a large smear around his lips.
&#x200B;
"So pious. Even now.." he muttered, sneering. With shaky steps he walked to his discarded instrument and plucked it from the dirt. "I'm sure the town will take great comfort in your holy word when they discover this. In the waning light of the flames, perhaps you can deceive them into thinking the glow cast out is not orange, but the gold of his magnificence. Seven hells - who knows? You might even convince them this was for the good of us all. Not like they have parents to weep over their graves. Not that there's any bodies left."
&#x200B;
"Jean..." Sylvera croaked, lowering her bow. "Please. He was deceived. You know this! We can figure this out, we ca - "
&#x200B;
"No." Jean turned on his heel to walk away from the group. "Here and now. You can choose to walk away from this. We can venture far enough away where they won't remember our faces. The only outstretched fingers of blame will be the ones in our mind. Or.. you can stay. Stay and try to trick everyone, including yourself, that we were ever more than what we appeared. A band of fools, listening to the preaching and theocratic views of a lunatic."
&#x200B;
As he walked, his shadow grew longer and longer in the last light offered by the smoldering wreckage. Moments later, the tall and slender figure of Sylvera followed him into the stretching darkness of the night, and away from the haunting glow of their failings.
&#x200B;
Galrad stood alone in the smoke, haze, and destruction. He went to stare into the smoldering remains once more, waiting for a voice to reassure him. To guide him. In the mind of his once compatriots, he would remain there always. | 2022-11-13T16:25:01 | 2022-11-13T16:03:55 | 537 | 80 |
[WP] This is the prologue (or the first chapter) of the novel you've always wanted to write.
EDIT: Holy crap, you guys are insane. Thank you everybody for your submissions, sorry if I don't thank you personally :)
EDIT 2: What the actual hell. Waking up to find your inbox at fifty - *and counting* - is not healthy. Ya'lls are *machines*!
EDIT 3: Does anybody here know what this "sleep" thing is? Cause I definitely don't. What the christ, people. Chill. | I used to not believe in ghosts.
I also used to love peanut butter.
Now, I believe in ghosts and merely like peanut butter.
I had a neighbor, you see. We went to different colleges, but hung out a lot when off. Not dating or anything, just to make it clear. Might have at some point, but we hadn't broached the subject. A month ago, both our schools had a long weekend. I forget why. Anyway, I stayed at school for the weekend because I was due to graduate soon. Today, in fact. I decided to enjoy my time at school while I could. She went home.
Two days later, I got a call. She had died. Allergic reaction to peanut oil that had been in her lunch. I didn't touch peanut butter for a few days. Eventually, I caved. If you're not allergic to peanuts and don't like peanut butter, I have no words for you.
As I mentioned, I graduated today. My parents and I got home in the evening, and I was too tired to bring any of my stuff up immediately. I decided to take a snack up and just bring my backpack with the electronics for now. I made a peanut butter sandwich. Hey, it's quick.
I opened my door to see her, translucent and very clearly a ghost, on my couch. I'm very glad I was wearing my backpack at the time, because I totally would have dropped it. I had the sandwich in my mouth. Basically, I just walked in on a ghost while holding the murder weapon.
This is going to get worse before it gets better. | It was the lunch rush and the PBJ Cafe was alive with voices. Each table's conversation fed into a swelling sound, joining the hiss of the espresso machine and the tinkle of plates and cups to create an effect that made Patrick think of running water. The stream of noise carried him in nearly constant motion as he wove between tables carrying sandwiches and lattes, and he imagined that he was steering around rocks in river rapids. While he flowed about the restaurant during busy stretches like this hours would pass like minutes, as if the volume of voices and the passage of time were somehow linked.
The noise eventually ebbed as things slowed down, and with the afternoon lull setting in the staff complained about the quiet times. This was the kind of harmless shared suffering that strengthens social ties better than any team building exercise could and everyone joined in the commiserations. They would have complained about the busy times too if they didn't have so many other things to take care of during the rush. But when things slowed down the tips stopped coming, the minutes dragged by, and boredom took hold. Patrick agreed, yet he secretly enjoyed it when the cafe quieted down because the voices at the tables would once again separate into distinct conversations that he could follow. While the other staff were smoking out back or inventing elaborate games in the store room around throwing butter knives into the drywall, Patrick was collecting stories.
Sometimes he felt guilty about eavesdropping, but from the central counter it was possible to hear what was being said almost anywhere in the cafe, and the gap between hearing and listening is so small that we often cross it without realizing. Patrick first began to cross that gap unintentionally because he was worried that the people were talking about him. He was a novice waiter and felt that his inexperience must have been obvious to the customers. However, as he listened in on his tables it eventually sunk in that they were not, in fact, discussing him at all. It turned out that people spent less time thinking about and talking about him than he was prone to imagine. He came to see that paranoia was just as self-centered and deluded as narcissism, without the benefit of confidence. This realization, coupled with his growing competence at the job, helped him to stop worrying that the customers were criticizing him. But not before weeks of eavesdropping had also taught him that people said some interesting things in restaurants.
Granted, people said a lot of very boring things in restaurants. As well as a huge number of things that, lacking context, Patrick couldn't really gauge one way or the other. But there were enough intriguing moments to keep him coming back. The first was a woman with thick, dirty blonde hair discussing her nervous breakdown in such unguarded detail and with so little appeal for sympathy that Patrick fell in love with her a little bit, though she was twice his age. He was in awe of that kind of openness, especially about such a moment of weakness. But the man in glasses seated across from her did not seem impressed. Maybe he'd heard the story before, or maybe this was a first date and he was having second thoughts. He could have been her shrink as well, though he wasn’t taking notes or asking many questions.
Later that same day Patrick overheard a young white guy professing his love to a young black guy with such whispered urgency it seemed he had to keep his voice down so as not to shout. Patrick felt the urge to hug them both, and was only a little afraid that this might mean he was a homosexual. As he set their drinks down in front of them he wanted to tell them that he supported gay marriage, and interracial marriage, and any kind of marriage really if it involved a love such as theirs. All he said, though, was to just let him know if they needed anything else.
From then on he was hooked. When he had down time he would busy himself behind the counter and tune in to the different conversations going on in the restaurant around him. He justified his eavesdropping by thinking that the PBJ Cafe was clearly a public place, so people should expect to be overheard. Sometimes he took things a step further and went the righteous route: if the customers only thought of him as a server and not as a fully formed human being, capable of hearing and maybe even having opinions about what they were saying, then he had every right to listen to them with no qualms. Eavesdropping as a form of social justice was a difficult concept to hold onto on this particular afternoon, though. The problem was: she was cute. | 2015-09-12T12:38:37 | 2015-09-12T11:12:45 | 121 | 23 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | "Really?" I asked in wonder, as I prepared the needle for the latest mark.
"Yep." was the simple response.
I'd wondered for a long time the meaning, but I had no idea why until today.
"Wow," I replied, still shocked, "You must be very talented..." He nodded again as I trailed off.
"Every time. Just gotta get that son of a bitch Mew now, and I've caught them all." | “Here he is again!” Mikey hollers
Becker comes straight in, takes his seat at my station, strips his jacket and waits.
“Again?” I ask
“Again.” Sounds gruff. He nods.
It’s the same procedure. The same routine. I don’t even know the number of lines I’ve
etched into his forearm. The last number I remember? 32.
I stopped counting.
-
“You ever ask him what it’s for? What they mean?”
I’m tellin my girl bout it. “Nope. And I don’t want to.”
She goes rigid next to me. Not satisfied with that answer.
“What if it’s a number of victims? Or babies he’s aborted in his basement?”
“What if it’s the number of tapes he’s forgot to return, baby? Whatever it means it don’t
make any difference for me.”
-
“I just don’t like the way he looks,” Mikey tells me back at the shop.
“I didn’t ask you to fuck him. Let it go.”
-
It is Becker’s seat at my station. His name isn’t etched into it, but it waits for him. I wait for him.
One day I hope he never has to come back.
-
Next time he stops by I’m working with someone else. He waits up front until I’m done.
“’Nother?”
He nods. Sleeve already pulled up.
I finish up and wipe down. He pulls his sleeve down.
“It’s 64 now,” he tells me.
-
“64 ticks he’s had removed from his balls!”
My girl’s laughin now. Cookin.
“64…. 64 times he’s said ‘I love you’ and regretted it.”
She’s on a roll now and I don’t stop her.
“64. The number of times his Grandma made him watch Steel Magnolias.”
I sip my beer.
“When do you think he’ll stop? What’s his lucky number?”
“It ain’t 64,” I answer.
-
“It’s cloudin’ up.” Mikey is at the shop window with his hands on hips lookin like a concerned mama.
“Let it!” I holler from the back.
The bottom drops. One big bucket full.
Shop’s empty.
The entry bell rings.
Mikey watches, alert.
I take my seat at my station.
Becker walks in. Drippin.
His shoes make a sound that sounds like toads being squashed every step he takes.
I want to vomit at the sound of it.
He takes his seat.
“Do it.”
-
“You know what they mean don’t you?”
I’m holdin her and shes holding me. Sheets between us windin like a snake.
“Baby why can’t you tell me? If it’s possible to die from curiosity I surely will.”
She’s smiling up at me. I don’t know why.
“I told you I don’t know what they mean. But I got a good guess and it ain’t as dark or as funny as it seems.”
Her brow furrows.
“What’s your guess?”
“He comes in smellin like dog. He ain’t ever happy bout me markin him. I don’t even
think he can hardly stand the pain. Far as I can tell he ain’t got no other tattoos. What he’s doin ain’t for me. I don’t even think it’s for him.”
She rests against me.
“Maybe it’s so he won’t forget.”
I pull her close. “That sounds right to me.”
| 2016-07-09T18:17:55 | 2016-07-09T15:42:33 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] In this world, if humans get bitten 100 times by a given animal, they gain some of the animal's superhuman traits. Mosquito, cat, and spider powers are common, but the animal you got your traits from is definitely unusual.
This is a world were many people are technically The Tick or Spiderman. Up to you if powers stack, or if the most recent animal bites supersede previous powers. Feel free to add in physical mutations too, if ya want to get freaky. | Part 2... ( Find Part 1 in previous post, probably down below this one)
Time went on, and I definitely got to know him. Now, if the waitress forgets the coasters, he does not remind them politely. I feel quite ashamed and embarrassed about the way he treats those waitresses now. He's violent, and often exhibits bursts of rage. He refuses to leave a tip, and I find myself sneaking away to the bathroom after dinner to hand the waitress a 20, and explain to her his new affliction. That my husband, once a very kind man, had hit the 100 bite mark with the lion cubs.
It was in his nature, now. In his blood. He even had the certification from his physician stating so... Just in case he was ever brought to court for any outbursts or acts of violence. Luckily, he hasn't gotten into any legal trouble yet... But if he did, this diagnosis would lessen, or even completely throw out any criminal punishment in court. He could pounce on a man in the middle of street and tear him to shreds, essentially murdering him.... And would be let off with just a year of mandatory therapy and house arrest. He goes to therapy twice a week, and is on lots of anti-anxiety meds... But apparently, nature's will is strong, and they just slightly ease his symptoms.
I love him very much. I would do anything to help heal him, but I know that that's just not possible. Every day I grow weaker and weaker from his punishments, as he grows stronger and stronger with rage and resentment. I tried my best to remember him how he used to be, but that night... The night that I left the watermark from the glass on the table... I had hit my limit. Enough was enough, and I made a phone call to a good friend.
Marissa Jenkins was an old friend of mine from college. My best friend, actually. We both worked with animals. I was studying to become a vet, but only made it as far as a veterinarian's assistant. The circumstances in my marriage have led to me needing to put my education on hold to take care of the home. Marissa went on to be a successful entomologist/arachnologist. Studying every different type of insect, reptile and spider imaginable. She creates the anti-venom that saves lives when bitten by venomous snakes, or spiders. She loves her job, so I knew that asking her to possibly put it in jeopardy was going to be a far reach.
She had been terribly scared for me, and even offered to take me into her home as a place to stay until I could get out of this marriage safely. I always refused, but that never stopped her from trying every time I called her crying. This time when I called, I wasn't crying. I was on a mission. Possibly, a life or death one. When I told her what I needed to do, she didn't even think twice. She told me to come in and see her the very next day.
When I got to Marissa's laboratory, she handed me a large paper bag, filled with small vials, and syringes. Then, she handed me the box. She said, "Be extremely careful with these. I gave you four. That should be enough. Do not let them get out".
I went home, and locked myself in the bathroom. I took one tiny package out of the box she'd given me and opened it up. There it was. My life or death. All sitting in a tiny black widow spider.
What a name. The black widow spider. Killing their mate without thinking twice after the act of sex. I stuck my finger into the container and let it crawl up my arm. Then, it bit me. I immediately administered my first vile of anti-venom, just like Marissa had taught me to. I opened up the 100 day calendar I had put together, and put a big X over DAY 1.
100 days later:
It's 12 minutes until "that time" of day. I am standing by the front door of the house with a nice dress on, hair and make up fully done. Today is the first day in a long time that I will not be afraid, I will not cower, and I will not suffer. I am not scared or shaking. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. Tonight.... I am calm... And, driven by the pure primal instinct, that now courses vibrantly through my veins... I am horny as hell. | Part 1 (part 2 in next post)
I was terrified. It was "that time" of day again. Just after 5pm. I scurried feverishly around the house, checking every surface and crevice to be sure that everything was just right. "Remember, Jules: A place for everything, and everything in it's place", was one of Richard's favorite idioms.
At the beginning of our marriage, he said it in a cute and quirky way. After about six months, I realized that this was more than just an idiom. It was a demand. He'd come home from work, and seem to "inspect" our house for imperfections. For every speck of dirt or clutter he discovered, his yells would increase one notch in volume, and anger.
On day 247 of our marriage, it hit it's ultimate worst...He had me so well-trained, that I hadn't heard as much as a snicker from him in three whole days. He had been so proud of me... And sickeningly enough, I got off on this praise. I felt like I had finally done something right. He had abused me into thinking that I deserved this. In the height of my glee, I glanced at my phone's clock, realizing it was about to be "that time".... The small confidence that I had gained over the last three days, suddenly spiraled down into a panicky hell. Although I had just "scurried feverishly around the house, checking every surface and crevice to be sure that everything was just right", I was still horrifically paranoid that maybe I'd missed something.
I calmed my nerves, reminding myself that I hadn't done anything all day except for clean, cook, and follow through with household chores. With approximately 12 minutes before I knew Richard was due home, I sat down to have a glass of water, and take a deep breath. "It's okay, Julie. Everything is done. Everything is in it's place". Everything except for me, of course. Yes, even I had a place when Richard arrived home. It was standing by the front door, in a nice outfit, hair and makeup done, waiting for him to come inside, so that I could take his briefcase and thank him for working that day. I now had 11 minutes to spare before I had to take my designated post. I closed my eyes, and whispered reassuring phrases to myself to keep calm. Mustn't let him see I'm anxious... Then HE gets anxious, and accuses me of horrible things, thinking I've obviously done something wrong while he was gone.
Breathe in for 5, hold for 10, breathe out for 5, 4, 3, 2- OH SHIT. I heard the front door unlocking. I looked at the clock. He's early! He's six minutes fucking early! Oh my god. I stood up, grabbed my glass of water, and threw it behind the recliner. Glasses don't belong on the counter. Glasses belong clean, and in the cabinet. I didn't have time to run to the front door. I just leaped in front of the coffee table and stood still, praying. He swung open the door and stared at the ground where my feet were usually planted. Although he could see me perfectly out of the corner of his eye, he still exclaimed aloud, "My goodness, where has my lovely wife gone? Is she out flinging her tits into some lucky man's face"?
"Of course not, my love", I said as calmly as I could, with my heart beating 300 miles a minute. I hurried towards him to grab his briefcase, and plant a kiss on him. As I went for his lips, he moved his face away. He sternly asked, "What have you been doing all day"?
I told him that I had cooked him a wonderful pot roast, finished my chores and had just steam-vacuumed the area where I normally stand, which is why I had chosen to wait near the table this time. I knew this was a safe answer, as he couldn't possibly check to see if the carpet was damp. The thought of a random, cold wetness on the bottom of his foot would make him cringe in a full out OCD panic.
He asked, "Is that so?", as he wandered near the coffee table where I was. I remained silent, as my stomach churned... I saw it about 2 seconds before he did... The watermark from the glass on the table. He always forced the use of coasters on anyone in the house, but in my pathetic attempt of rebellion, I would never use them while he was at work... But you could be damn sure that I would wipe the watermark off the table well before he was home.
"And what the fuck do we have here?", his voice raising in a deliberate crescendo. "Who the fuck did you have over here?!", he yelled as he burst forward into my face. "No one", I cowered. "I just forgot to-"
"Shut your lying, bitch face!", he interrupted. "MY wife did not leave this mark on the table, because MY WIFE knows that we use coasters in this house, and MY WIFE would not forget something like that, because last time I checked, I didn't marry a stupid fucking indigent".
I was speechless. Just standing there like a scared animal. Then, like a Predator to it's prey, he lunged towards me, forcing his hand around my neck, shoving me against the wall. What followed was just like all the rest of the times. It all just kinda blurs together for me in a foggy daze, as a result of the lack of oxygen, and the lack of ever wanting to remember what had happened.
Why do you live like this? Why do you put up with it? Why don't you just leave? Those questions arise from many, I'm sure...including myself. The answer is simple... Because I love him, and it's not his fault.
I'll start with a little backstory. We seemed right for each other from the very beginning. We both share an extreme love of animals, and that is what led us to meet. It was my first day volunteering at a wildlife refugee, when I saw him feeding and handling a pair of abandoned lion cubs. He looked so sweet, so docile. So loving. Nothing like who he was today. I guess he hadn't been bitten 100 times yet. By the cubs, at least. It did become very obvious, even on our first date, that there WAS something different about him. He had put paper towels under our glasses on the table, because the waitress hadn't brought any coasters. He very politely asked the waitress to bring some, as he was getting up to go wash his hands for the seventh time that evening. When he returned, he knew he needed to explain his odd behavior. He spoke in a shy, almost ashamed manner, and explained... He used to work a lot with horses. As a result, he was constantly being bit by flies. The number of bites reached 100, and apparently he was afflicted by the fly's nature to obsessively and compulsively keep things clean.
I assured him that it was OK with me. I could sympathize, as I'd been bitten by a certain animal 100 times, too. He wasn't the first person I've seen with 100 fly bites, and it wouldn't stop me from wanting to get to know him.
To be continued in next post
| 2016-11-28T13:55:08 | 2016-11-28T13:03:45 | 49 | 25 |
[WP] "Shark Tank" but instead of an entrepreneur pitching inventions, it's villains pitching diabolical plots. | I walked into the cold, dimly lit room, nervous about what I was about to do, these men and women were the most evil beings history had to offer, and what I had to bring surely wasn't worthy of them, but I figured "what the hell, I've come this far."
as I walked further in, I saw Genghis Khan, sitting upon a throne, with a pair of women at his feet, eating a large piece of meat with his left hand, right hand holding a large flagon with what I assume is some type of beer.
to the Khan's left, was a face few would recognise, but all had heard of, Jack the Ripper, in a fine coat, with a rather large hat sitting next to his chair. he seemed to be looking at the girls at the Khan's feet with a look of deliberation, or was it simply his being bored?
the next seat in the line was filled with the imposing figure of Joseph Stalin, who seemed to be pouring himself a drink from a glass tumbler, filled with some red liquid, that I only hoped wasn't blood.
In the final chair, was the one I'd been expecting, with the iconic moustache, was Adolf Hitler himself. he was the only one looking my way, and he was holding a sketch pad of some type, probably to take down notes, or possibly to try his hand at art again.
whatever their behaviours, they all stopped as I timidly began my presentation.
"Ahem, gentlemen, I am here with a plan, simple it may be, but I promise it will cause outrage for years to come."
at this, Stalin's thick eyebrows raised, Hitler's sketch pad lowered, and Jack's attention seemed to shift to me, which i found quite disconcerting.
Hitler interrupted me, saying "I've heard this all before, mass outrage this, global panic that, what makes your idea so different?"
at this, I turned to the board I had prepared for this pitch, and turned it to the first slide.
as the four despots of evil perused my plan, I could see the fear in their eyes, as they began to wonder what type of man I was.
even the great Khan seemed to be shaking in his chair after having the translated pitch given to him.
I eyed the four men in the room before continuing my speech.
"I am looking for a simple hundred million dollars, for a ten percent equity in my company"
---
after the bloodshed had concluded, surprisingly, Hitler stood alone among the three corpses of his fellow sharks, bloody pencil in his hands.
As we made eye contact with each other, it was evident that this man, the murderer of six million, was terrified at the evil of my plan.
Adolf said in a respectful voice "please, do go on with the pitch, I'm in, but I'd like to see what else you have for me"
At his words, I resumed my pitch, now confident that histories greatest villains had nothing in comparison to me.
"And so, this is my plan for Star Wars Battlefront II" | "Next!" One of the judges yelled from the panel.
I was the last contestant, so i felt like the world was weighing down on me. I walked through the double doors into a sort of science-y secret lab with monitors and screens and lights everywhere.
Five people sat at the table. A Cartel leader, an African warlord, Kim jong Un, a Saudi Prince, and an Unfortunately well known American politician who honestly didn't surprise me. They were all wearing the same Pantsuit except the Prince.
"Yes, yes hurry. I haven't got all day!" The warlord said with a thick pidgin accent.
"So, what do you have for us today? What makes your plan stand out?" The Cartel said in surprisingly good english.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been a long time villain with years of experience. I am dedicated to my craft more than any other evil doer! My inventions are one of a kind!"
"Ah, so you're an evil scientist?" Asked the Warlord again.
"Well, erm, technically I guess. I prefer Evil INVENTOR, but i-it's ok it's ok I don't mind."
"Uh-huh...well, what have you got for us today?" The Warlord questioned.
I asked for a drum roll that nobody seemed to follow and removed the draped cover off of my invention with a magician like skill and exclaimed: "Tah-dah!"
The look of bewilderment washed over the panel.
"This is my silence-inator inator! It causes all cellphones to go on silent mode and not even so much as to vibrate!"
The look of confusion still plagued the panel.
"I know what you're saying. "What is so evil about that? Seems like a mild annoyance at best." Well, it also causes TV remotes to randomly mute the TV and the only way to fix it is to turn the TV off and back on again! As for the silencing of cellphones, it becomes easier to lose your phone easier! What if you miss an important job interview? What if your Mama calls to tell you you have to clean the dishes? What if a warrant is put out for you failing to show up for jury duty from not answering your silenced phone and you miss the call telling you about your predicament? You would have to pay a fine or go through the annoying hassle of going down to the police station and settling things out! People will become so enraged over the junky phones that they will switch back to landline which is totally uncool! No more annoying children walking around all uncaring with their face buried into their smartphone. I, however, will have the ONLY unsilenced cellphone in the entire Tri-State Area! Making ME the cool guy all the kids are jealous of!" I threw my arms up in the air in a spectacular fashion waiting for some feedback.
A sole clap was given by Kim Jong Un. Everyone else was still confused, and now rather annoyed.
"So, your big 'plan' is to silence cellphones to make people think you're cool?" The Cartel asked.
"I AM cool!" I shouted in a concerned ,yet, reassuring manner.
"Right...well, we unfortunately have to see a demonstration." The Warlord said as he sat his cellphone on the table. "Go on." He said.
I pointed the ray gun at the phone and blasted it. It appeared to have no physical change and still remained the same as it looked.
"Is it done?" The Warlord asked.
"Go on! Try it out!" I said, giddy with excitement.
The Warlord unlocked his phone to check and see if anything had been damaged. As he was doing so, I instructed another member of the panel to call it.
"Ow!" The Warlord said getting shocked by the phone. "What is this!? What are you trying to do to me!? Are you a spy!?" He said with the panel growing restless.
"But it's silent, right!?" I asked nervously.
"Yes, but it shocked me! And all of my emails are deleted!" The Warlord said with anger in his voice.
"Emails!?" The American perked up with interest.
"Before I lose my temper, I'm going to call for a vote." The Warlord said as he tried to keep his cool.
"Al-abibzi, you first." He asked, going down the line.
The Saudi shook his head.
"That's ok, not everybody will be happy." I said.
"Mr. Guzman?" The Warlord asked.
"No. Our business relies on cellphones many times. It's useless." The Cartel retorted.
I became nervous.
"And you?" The Warlord asked as he motioned his hand toward the American.
"The only thing I liked was something that wasn't supposed to be the function of the machine. Sorry, not impressed." They said.
"Um, I-I guess." I said, trying to keep my composure.
"Kim?" The Warlord hesitantly asked.
"I love it! It will make Korea the perfect phone-less nation!" He said with excitement
I became excited again, until the Warlord spoke again.
"Kim, your citizens don't have phones to begin with. You don't even have enough money for this...'thing' anyways. Why are you even here?" The Warlord, clearly annoyed.
"I guess it's a no..." Kim said.
"Yeah, um, this...this is the worst invention i have ever seen. It's a no." He said, expectingly.
"To be fair, i deal with an arch nemesis! He probably tampered with it!" I said as I scrambled to save face.
"A nemesis? Who? The CIA? The FBI?" The Warlord asked.
"Perry the Platypus! That guy is so intrusive!" I said, thinking i had it in the bag.
There was a pause before an eruption of laughter from the panelists.
"We-We're sorry Mr. *subdued laughing* Mr. ... Doofenshmirtz...." the laughing continued as i shamefully wheeled my invention back out of the door,
Every single time... | 2017-11-15T00:50:46 | 2017-11-15T00:49:58 | 43 | 12 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose. | "Why?"
The man gazed long into the reaper's cowl, but no matter how much he tried to gauge Death's reaction, he couldn't. He was confused as to why he continued to flee victory, to let the long-lived man win over and over, no matter how horrible he answered the cloaked figure's questions, how much he lied, or questions he avoided.
"You are old, Michael. Very old. You have lived a long life, seen more horrors than others and despite this... You are blind to what you have been missing."
"... Blind? To what?"
"You have been alive for over a century. You have seen each and every person you've loved be stripped of life; every person you have ever known is *dead*. You went to war and fought for your country... You killed over fifty people."
"After your wife and children died in a car crash, you became... Apathetic. You did not care if you lived or not... In a way, you died a long time ago. You're not the person you once were, Michael. I can see it."
"When your family died in that accident, which was when you were young, yo-"
"I was twenty-eight."
"... That's my point, Michael. You were stripped of your essence, of your will. You have spent the past eighty-two years going from day-to-day, on auto-pilot. As time passed and more of your loved ones passed away, you lost sight of yourself."
Death ceased talking before looking directly at the man.
"You *survived* your life... You didn't live it."
Michael stared at Death for a moment before sighing. He was right. Michael spent his whole life just doing a routine, waking up and doing the same damn thing every day. He tried to kill himself multiple times, only for them to play trivia game and each and every time, Death won.
"Then why let me win? Why let me live, when you know all I want is to *fucking* die already?!" Michael screamed at the reaper, anger quickly swallowing his mind.
"... When was the last time you had a conversation with someone besides me?"
"W-What?"
"When was the last time you had a friend? Someone to spend time with? Can you answer me, Michael?"
A solitary tear slithered from Michael's eyes when he realized what he was saying; He hasn't had a friend in over thirty years, he's just been... There, alone, spending his only life sitting in his own house, his own personal hell.
"... Thirty-three... T-Thirty-three years." He answered.
"You have had one of the worst lives I've witnessed in many centuries, Michael."
"I just wanted you to have a friend." | I set down my rook.
“Checkmate.”
“DAMN. I THOUGHT I HAD YOU. EXCELLENT PLAY, MICHELLE.”
“Thank you. Tomorrow, then, Death?”
“AS ALWAYS.” He began to disappear. As I looked at the board, I noticed something off about the play.
“Death, wait.”
“YES? WHAT IS IT?”
“You could have easily blocked my move. I’m no grandmaster, and you’ve had years of experience at this point. Far more than me.”
“YOUR POINT?”
“You... you haven’t been losing to me on purpose, have you?” I looked up into his skeletal face. It was always a grin, as it was a skull, but I could swear he was smiling.
“YOU FIGURED IT OUT, HM? I ASSUME YOU HAVE QUESTIONS.”
“Yes. Why?” Death sat down.
“IT WAS NEVER YOUR TIME. YOU PASSED TOO SOON. WHEN YOUR BODY WAS PULLED FROM THE WRECKAGE, WHEN YOU SACRIFICED TO SAVE YOUR HUSBAND, I WAS MOVED. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO SIMPLY LET SOMEONE LIVE AFTER THEY HAVE PASSED. BUT THERE IS A LOOPHOLE.”
“If you make a deal, and you lose...”
“I DO NOT HAVE TO CLAIM YOUR SOUL. CORRECT.”
“But... why me? I’m hardly the most heroic person in the world.”
“I DO NOT HAVE DOMAIN OVER EVERY SOUL. THE GODS THAT BE DECREED YOUR LIFE OF LITTLE VALUE, AND AS I AM A LOW RANKING REAPER, ASSIGNED YOU TO ME. SOLDIERS, EMERGENCY WORKERS, POLICEMEN, THOSE THAT SURVIVE IN THE LINE OF DUTY FOR THE SAKE OF OTHERS, THOSE LIVES HAVE BEEN DECREED HIGH VALUE.”
“But why me? Why am I low value?”
“YOU MARRIED, YOU HAD CHILDREN. YOUR LIFE WAS NOT OF MUCH SIGNIFICANCE. YOU WERE NOT FAMOUS, YOU WERE NOT POPULAR, YOU WERE NOT A HERO. NOT UNTIL THE DAY YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED.”
“So you saved me.”
“BECAUSE YOU BECAME HIGH VALUE. YOU BECAME A HERO. THE GODS THAT BE CANNOT SEE THE FUTURE; THEY CANNOT SEE WHO ALL WILL LIVE OUT THEIR VALUE. THE COWARDLY SOLDIERS. THE DIRTY CELEBRITIES. THE-“
“Heroic masses.”
“...YES, IF YOU WANT TO PUT IT LIKE THAT. BESIDES ALL THAT, HOWEVER, THERE IS ONE MORE REASON.”
“What is it?”
“DEATHS CAN DIE. WE ARE NOT HARBRINGERS OF DEATH, OR MANIFESTATIONS OF SOULS OR THE AFTERLIFE. WE ARE SIMPLY... HOW SHOULD I PUT THIS? WE ARE LIKE THE... HOW YOU SAY, UBER OF THE AFTERLIFE. WE HELP YOUR SOUL TRAVEL TO ITS PLACE OF REST, ITS ETERNAL HOME. BUT WE MUST BE COMPASSIONATE. FAR TOO MANY DEATHS COME FROM THOSE WHO WISH TO INFLICT PAIN ON SOULS FOR THEIR OWN AMUSEMENT.”
“Wait, Deaths come from souls?”
“WHEN PARTICULARLY STRONG SOULS DIE, THEY CAN BECOME A REAPER, YES. I MYSELF DIED IN WORLD WAR TWO.”
“Fascinating...”
“IF IT IS YOUR WISH, I WOULD LIKE YOU TO REPLACE ME.”
“Replace you?”
“YES. YOU ARE THE LAST SOUL TETHERING ME TO EXISTENCE.”
“I’m... i...”
“IF YOU ACCEPT, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GAMBLE WITH ME ANY LONGER TO LIVE. I WILL NOT HAVE TO APPEAR TO YOU ANY LONGER, AND WHEN YOU DIE, YOU WILL COME TO ME, AND TAKE MY PLACE IN THE AFTERLIFE.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“I WILL CONTINUE TO APPEAR, AND YOU CAN CONTINUE TO GAMBLE YOUR LIFE WITH ME, AS WE HAVE. YOU CAN TAKE TIME TO THINK ON IT, IF YOU WISH.”
“And what about my husband and children?”
“IF THEY WISH TO ACCOMPANY YOU ONCE THEY PASS, THEY MAY DO SO, WITH ALL OF THEIR MEMORIES INTACT.”
“...Sounds like a win-win.”
“WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE?”
“...” I sat, and thought for a moment. Then I nodded, and stood, facing him.
“I accept. I will replace you, upon my death.”
“EXCELLENT.”
“Under one condition.”
“WHAT IS IT?”
“I still want to speak with you, about death and the afterlife.”
“AS YOU WISH.” He faded away, and I put the chessboard away.
“Michelle, honey?”
“Yes?”
“Who were you speaking to?”
“Oh, just a friend.” My husband came into the room, and kissed me.
“Sounded serious.”
“It was. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“If you say so. I still will, though.”
“I know. How’s Bobby sleeping?”
“Peacefully, thanks to you.” I smiled.
“Let’s not wake him yet. He’s got a long life ahead of him.”
As we left the room, I could almost feel His presence. He may be a reaper, but for me...
He was a guardian angel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Check out r/SwordsumoStories for more (although I don’t update often, ripperoni) | 2018-03-21T10:32:24 | 2018-03-21T08:35:33 | 137 | 23 |
[WP] They had been preparing the humans for first contact for millennia. Rabies, plague, polio, chicken pox, even the common cold were gradually introduced to make survival with others possible. One more to go, hopefully the humans are ready for it. | "Today's the day."
Yep, it was the big day. Everyone had been waiting for this day for nearly a cycle. The tests showed that the oncoming affects were being brandished off quite respectably, and again they had endured. The little blue orb was going to make it. The latest and final addition had nearly swarmed the experiment dead, but the little working creatures inside had pulled through and kicked its butt, numbers were on the rise again and it seemed as if all were healthy enough now to begin mass production.
"Can you believe?"
"No, no. If you had told me a few trial cycles ago that we would have made this much progress, I would have thought you daft."
"Genius, though, right?"
"Genius."
"I was a little worried there, especially when we introduced the bubonic plague, thought we were going to lose the little feller. And when the toxins riled its atmosphere."
"Oh right, right. The big C02 problem. I actually can't believe it overcame that."
"Well, we did give it a little nudge. Introducing volatility and heat into the experiment and that caused them to go into some sort of overdrive to clean it all up."
"I'm just glad it worked out."
"Me, too."
The two gazed at the small wonder in the dish, its marbled blue surface reflected the depth of its intricacies, suspended in perpetual vacuum.
"Brilliant how you managed to create an energy source for the little bugger out of hydrogen and helium fusion."
"Yeah, it took some bit of finessing though, getting them in the right distance and all. Out of the trillions of planets, only this one made it. Soon. Soon, we'll be able to inject millions of these tiny blue planets into our blood streams and they'll overtake our own immunity system."
"So what are you going to call it?"
"Earth." | The event was to be broadcasted across the entire confederacy. It was a huge deal. A new sentient species introduced to join the universal confederacy. The joy! The enrichment of all. Adding their unique experience and interpretation of the universe. It was really quite an achievement.
&#x200B;
It had always been a very fine balancing act for the scientist at the department of isolated species, sub-unit of the Planetary Integration Agency. The motto had always been ”Don’t interfere, you might catch something.”
&#x200B;
Yet through the aeons they’d gotten pretty good at locating and slowly introducing new planetary systems into the confederacy. By now the process had been almost formalized.
&#x200B;
Once a species managed to harness enough energy and increase the output to a certain level, the scanners would notify the council of planetary relations. A probe would be sent with automated androids. If a civilization had emerged and reached a certain point of global connectedness the protocol called for the highest level of non-interference. Less evolved civilization could be approached and give certain technology. In case they started worship the androids, mostly likely the other civilizations on the planet would think they were insane.
&#x200B;
As a planet progress the scientist had found that they would in most cases start jeopardizing their own survival due to sheer stupidity and parochialism. This is not good. Life is rare, and every little bit of life helps to understand the universe’s intention. So a new protocol was developed that would minimize the trauma of contact from the confederacy, but at the same time allow for integration and assistance against geocide.
&#x200B;
The procedure mandated inoculations being the cornerstone to ensure both species survival. Some bacteria for them to get healthier, and some bacteria for the universally dangerous bacteria to be neutralized. A slow process but necessary.
&#x200B;
The process had re-occuring obstacles. Religions being one of them. It was widely considered within the confederacy that religion was probably the dumbest thing a civilization could believe while still maintaining itself. It slowed down many processes but overall seemed to be something that would be fade as time went on. No one could imagine post-nuclear civilizations being dafter than that.
&#x200B;
The last process was to introduce a virus which spread reproductively and caused a complete immune system collapse, thus letting all diseases propagate in the individual. The idea was to offset rampant population growth as planets tend to develop unevenly and thus certain boons where not checked by proper institutions developing.
&#x200B;
And now, the cure had been secretly implanted. It was the universal cure for all diseases. Once mastered sickness and death from it would be a distant memory.
&#x200B;
The speaker of the council was ready to give the big speech billions were on their toes in anticipation. It really was quite the big deal!
&#x200B;
A slight woman with silvery hair approaches the podium. Set in front of the confederacy’s emblem.
&#x200B;
”My fellow citizens. Today we introduce a new species into our common heritage which is the confederacy. The humans will be the 412th species to join. A beautiful race with humor and fairly sharp intellects. At the push of this button their telecommunications will be tuned to our live streams and….”
&#x200B;
A jolted man runs up to the podium and whispers something in the speakers ear.
&#x200B;
”What? Why not?”
&#x200B;
Confusion stirs.
&#x200B;
”What do you mean didn’t use the cure? It’s quite simple and considering the past cures they should know that”
&#x200B;
More whispers.
&#x200B;
”What do you mean stopped taking the cures? House-wifes? ADHD?”
&#x200B;
Irritation starts creeping in over the woman’s eyebrows.
&#x200B;
”Anti-vaxxers? How can anyone be that stupid?”
&#x200B;
More mumbles and embarrassed looks from the little man.
&#x200B;
”Flat-earth?!”
&#x200B;
The woman composes herself and looks into the camera.
&#x200B;
”It seems like for the first time in known history. A species have radically altered their collective intelligence in a pejorative way. The humans, it seems, have not take the cure and followed the protocol. I am sad to say that they will not be joining the confederacy. May the universe have empathy and lets all hope they make it through the next 100 years” | 2018-11-29T07:40:00 | 2018-11-29T07:32:01 | 260 | 43 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | "Warmongering, sadistic, savage. These are only a few words I could use to describe these monsters. The revel in war and wish to impose it upon all who do not fit in their civilization. They power they wield is unfathomable, rendering us incapable of defense, a mere child before the wolf. I record this message to serve as a warning in hopes that if you are another species, one fortunate enough to have never of crossed paths with them. My name is Hemenphotek, leader of the Halet, a species rendered almost extinct from barbarous humans." Hemenphotek to a moment to gather himself. Dressed in a blue gown that was laced in gold. His golden necklace was an anchor on his chest, exhausting him. He and his cohort had been on the run for several years, so many that he has lost track, never settling down enough to get his barrings, always on the defensive. He his feathers tattered and falling out after so much conflict. He took a deep breath, ready to continue.
"When the humans took their astral step, we greeted them with open arms, we wanted to show them the way of our Empire, built on peace and understanding. This Empire, we shared it with two other races, the Anloy and the Fornin, both extinct." Hemenphotek paused, holding back tears. Being the former leader of the Halet, he had knew plenty of Anloy and Fornin, and cared for them, his friends, driven from their homes and hunted to the edges of the galaxy, corned like animals, until they quenched from existence. He fought back tears and clenched his beak, resolute to continue his warning.
"Avoid humans at all cost" He continued. "Our initial dialogue with them started off promising, until we learn of how they reach out into the stars. Humans do not possess magical abilities like the other species we have encountered. Instead, they rely on innovation of the mind, to a deadly degree. With this grasping of technology that we had no need for led them to create fast "machines" of war, capable of death on a grand scale, that, I have unfortunately bared witness to." Hemenphotek clenched his scepter, trying to quell the anger that arose inside of him. He gazed at it, taking in its master crafted beauty. It was passed down to each Pharaoh, and had been for thousands of years, and yet still looked as though it were fresh from the forge. He be the last to wield it.
"When we met with them, they spoke in a strange tongue, but with our magic we were able to decipher their speech, and at first, they seemed friendly. They said their species had always dreamed for touching the cosmos, and seemingly unobtainable goal. But they advanced fast, and with that spread far and wide, until they encountered us. Their Empire scattered the stars, and rivaled ours, and for horrible reasons. One species, with an Empire almost the size of ours of three species, for what reason? Resources. Their death machines required "fuel" as they said. We told them we were a peaceful civilization, with one major conflict, that being between the Anloy and Halet on first contact, but was quickly resolved. We had no need to fight, so, our magic was tailored to utility rather than combat." He reflected on that last sentence, realizing that he was referring to his species in the past tense. He let out a small chuckle, as he knew the end was near.
"We asked them about their history. It is plagued with war, death, and destruction. A horrifying realization. War is ingrained into them, they perceive others than themselves as hostile, and act accordingly. Not long after, they demanded we bow down to them, of face annihilation. They were determined to either gain control of our planets willingly or to conquer them. And conquer them they did. The power they wield...insurmountable. Their war machines unleashed a cacophony of destruction, their soldiers unleashing death from afar. Fast ships rained hellfire fire from the sky. There was nothing we could do." The ground shook as a distant explosion reverberated the room Hemenphotek was in. A sound all too familiar with him. The humans had found their last bastion.
"Our time has come to an end" Hemenphotek remained calm, he had accepted the death of his people long ago, it was only a matter of time. He continued with his message. "In our fight against a Britannica Empire, thought outmatched us in every way, we had one advantage, teleportation. I have sealed this message with magic, and with it the location of all of our portals that allowed us to traverse faster than them. They have yet to be able to figure out how to decipher runes, although they are impervious to some magic. They have ways around invisibility, suits that are fire resistant, impervious suits of giant armor, and much more. I have made note of everything they are able to counter in hopes that one day another civilization may take our place and usurp these demons. The humans are here, and I am ready to meet our God Alashee in paradise. May your efforts not be in vein like ours were." | Part 1/?
My agent forwarded me the latest stack of TV interview requests, speaking engagements, book deals. There were also various requests to appear at middle schools and high schools to support "Women in STEM" efforts. Diane Widener, trailblazer in modern science, blah blah blah. Not even a "doctor" in front of my name. I never got that far.
I never considered myself good at math. It really is the weak spot of my abilities. If my math score had matched my verbal score on the SATs, I would have been admitted into a top-tier university. The math side was slightly above average- together enough to get me into a decent regional school with a scholarship. Now, part of this was my anxiety disorder (diagnosed late in my undergrad years). Part of this was the shitty teachers and environment in my high school. And part of it was that I didn't have the focus I should have, because I was rarely challenged, and there is only so far you can challenge *yourself.* So when I showed up for freshman orientation and was asked to take a math placement test, I was very nervous.
They filled a roomful of test takers in the computer lab. I took a deep breath and started answering the questions. I worked slowly, methodically. I hadn't even taken a math class my senior year of high school, so I had to dredge up things. People started leaving the room a few minutes later, finished. *Shit,* I thought to myself. I forced myself to focus and kept working. More people left. *Well, this is demoralizing,* I thought to myself. I kept going. Another wave left; the cute guy I was developing a crush on waved at me as he left. I felt mortified. There were only a few of us left. The questions started going too far into left field for me, and the test stopped. I stopped at the desk outside, as they instructed us.
"Last name Widener..." the TA mused. "Ahh. Here you are. Good job; you made it into engineering track."
"Er, great, but I'm going to major in business," I said. "I'm not that good at math."
"That first wave that left were the ed majors and the business majors. You sure you want to go that route?"
"Does the engineering track mean I can knock out my requirements in fewer courses?"
"Well, yeah...you're skipping some pre-reqs."
"Great! Let's rip this fucking band-aid off, then!" I signed up for analytic geometry.
Admittedly, this wasn't my best move ever. It led me to some unhealthy coping mechanisms. Going to a school in the middle of the cornfields meant there was little to do except for two things: drink or fuck. And since I had no plans on becoming a mother at 19, that only left the one thing. And you know what? Calculus comes easier after knocking back a couple of Heinekens. Don't give me that look. I was on a student budget, ok?
Well, turns out I found electrodynamics easier to fathom than accounting. And ballistic flight math is honestly cool. I changed the business major to a minor and ended up taking more classes in the engineering building. Engineers and musicians are crowds that often overlap, so I joined a music group or two and collected more dubious influences. But I had to keep a certain grade point average to maintain my scholarship. The academic pressure was mounting and I cracked under the strain.
Remember the cute guy from freshman orientation? Matt was his name. And we ended up being in some classes together. The crush was never requited, but we had friends in common. A couple days before finals, I was at a party at the music fraternity. "Okay, that's it," I announced. "Time for me to go...I have to finish studying for my physics exam."
"Diane, stay a while longer," Matt spoke up. "You always study too much and make yourself mad with worry." A few of our friends chuckled.
"I still have to worry about grades for grad school," I pointed out. "Mommy and Daddy aren't paying for me beyond undergrad."
"You won't get anywhere worrying yourself to death," Matt said. "Stay and have another beer."
I rose. "Well *everything's* easy for you," I shot back. "Some of us have to work at it."
Matt rummaged around the beer cooler. "Hey, there's a Raging Bitch left here! Sure you don't want it?"
I hesitated. It was tempting. "Nope, had enough beer," I said. "Thanks anyway." Matt sighed, turned around, and rummaged through a candy tray, unwrapping a chocolate. He turned back toward me. "Well, a little boost to mental health," he said, and made as if to pop the chocolate into my mouth. This much I accepted, and I started munch away...until I noticed something odd. "Matt, I think you left the paper liner on..." I carefully extricated it from chewed chocolate. It was tiny, and had a picture printed on it. I eyed this, and realization dawned.
"You did *not* just give me LSD," I said flatly.
"You need the serotonin boost," Matt said with a grin. "Relax. It'll be fun. Let your hair down a bit." I paled.
Anya, one of our classmates, spoke next. "You gave Little Miss Ball of Nerves *acid?"* She shook her head. "She's not gonna react the same way you do, Matt. She's wired different." I was already seeing colors start to shift.
"Matt, you make me glad I never went on a date with you," I growled. I knew he didn't mean anything *bad* by it. Matt epitomized High INT, Low WIS. "Uh....colors aren't supposed to have noise..."
The rest of the night I spent terrified. I rarely let myself average beyond two drinks in public, much less doing drugs. Anya stayed with me. Eventually she dragged me back to my room and I got a (little) sleep. Five minutes later my roommate Liz was shaking me awake.
"Diane!" she hissed. "Wake up! You have an exam this morning!"
"Mrrrh...Tuesday..." I mumbled and rolled over.
"MONDAY," she said, waving my printed weekly calendar in front of me. I stared at her blearily. "Did you get plastic surgery? They didn't do a very good job..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Liz breathed. "Anya told me about last night. Look. Just GO. You have some padding with your grade so far; they won't let you take it late." She handed me a Starbucks Doubleshot and kicked my shoes at me. "Go go go...just don't think about it too hard. You'll be fine!" she said with forced Minnesotan cheer. A few minutes later I stumbled off to the engineering building for my astrophysics exam. The grass was still so fucking *green...*
I made my way inside, trying to stay low key. I stared at my exam. It made as much sense to me as the math placement exam my freshman year, and I felt the same dread. I took a deep breath, then looked for an easy question to establish a foothold and momentum...then I started drawing pictures, and diagrams...and asked for more scratch paper. I felt that familiar sense of "flow" I usually only felt when doing music or writing a philosophy paper... I was definitely the last one to leave the exam. The professor seemed to have given me an unofficial extension on time, which I took as a kindness. I avoided eye contact as I handed in my papers and skittered off....
I was screwed. I just knew it. I went back to my room to hide from the world. I crammed the rest of my exams and slogged through the week. On Friday I got an email “asking” me to attend a meeting with my physics professor and the head of the honors college. I pondered a shot of whiskey before I went. I decided I would meet my fate sober. I went with feet dragging.
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | 2019-01-18T11:52:53 | 2019-01-18T11:27:40 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] The zombie outbreak is largely contained. Now your job is to stop edgy "zombie hunters" from breaking into the quarantined area. | The zombie "outbreak" was not as big as we figured it would be. Especially since these former humans weren't as dangerous as one would think. Their bites don't infect and they are so insanely slow, because the deceased brains fail to retain any significant motor functions. But functioning brains also meant functioning pain receptors, so a cattle prod worked wonders.
So we had to deal with what are basically aggressive toddlers.
All in all the mass panic killed more people than the zombies did.
It's been a couple of years and life did change, just not as much as we thought. Gotta make sure people stay dead, one of those cattle pins worked great. Even religion worked it in, last rites involved destroying the brain now.
But the worst thing are so called Zombie hunters. People who are stuck in the classic zombie movie vibe, hunting down the warriors of satan or whatever. They keep trying to enter the quarantine zones. Zombies aren't all that dangerous, but they are very territorial creatures and can become quite aggressive if disturbed.
My job is to halt these mall ninjas from getting in, usually it is quite easy, but occasionally you get a serious group, ex marines or navy.
Now another one of those ex soldier groups got in, dropped in from a helicopter of all things. So we geared up and went in by foot. Didn't take long before we found them congratulating themselves while standing on a pile of corpses.
We observed from a distance. These guys were marked. The zombies had their scent or whatever they used to track their prey.
The murmuring start slowly, then louder and louder and then the screams.
zombies didn't have to be fast or dexterous. They had numbers and one of the worst things no one else could have prepared us for. They fucking talked, shouted, whispered. anything to make their prey feel safe.
So when the group of soldiers got surrounded they were uneasy. We figured they knew, until one of them shouted: "They are keeping humans here, what the fuck man, they look sick. But they're human. Fuck the government man lying ba-"
That was the last thing he said, when the zombies attacked. Still capable of short bursts of speed, no one was really prepared.
We waited until the zombies were done. I fired a shot, the zombies scattered. we picked up the remains and walked back out.
I know I called them zombies, but mimic is a better term. The crying and help cries keep me up at night, but don't get me wrong, they're predators and a lot smarter than your average underprepared college kid. | I remembered my days as a game warden when I first started out in the park, protecting wildlife from unauthorized hunters. Then the great outbreak came and I barely made it out.
Now, I'm just a quarantine guard for the CDC. And it changed from unauthorized hunters to dumb teens and college kids trying to break in to the deadzone. I already seen dozens of them die or get infected forcing me to kill them. The only thing that has changed is that I'm now protecting the hunters from what was in the quarantine. Apparently the electrified fence isn't enough and I avoid BBQ because it reminds me of dead trespassers and zombies.
Just as I was about to end my shift for the night, a black SUV full of college aged kids showed up.
I went up to the drivers window from my post and tapped the window.
"You got any authorization, kid?"
"Nah, man. We're just here to relieve the thrill of the outbreak," said the driver with sunglasses and a red flannel shirt.
"Of course," I uttered to myself as I wondered why anyone would wear sunglasses at night.
"Since you kids aren't authorized to go in, I have to tell you that you must leave."
"Killing those walkers is thrilling, and you won't get in our way old man!" cried a female voice at the back.
"Kids, I have seen a dozen idiots who broke in the past and were killed or worst, infected and I was forced to shoot them. These zombies aren't ordinary and if you survive, I could have you all arrested," I said to them impatiently. "And I am authorized to shoot people who try to break in so don't try anything. We don't live in the outbreak anymore and I don't long for those days."
Then I heard a click.
"You know, I was planning to use this. But I never thought I would use it on you, bub," angrily stated the co-driver. He then pulled his Glock pistol.
Shit.
I dashed towards the rock for cover from the pistol, barely avoiding his shots.
"Ram the gate!"
I immediately pulled out my S&W Model 686 and fired back. I then pulled my radio out.
"This is Samuel to central, four teenagers are breaking into the quarantine! One of them has even tried to kill me!"
"Copy Samuel. Backup is in their way," radioed central.
*Thud*
The SUV kept going back and forth. I fired a couple shots at the SUV but was forced to take cover when the jock with the Glock fired back.
Then finally, the gate lock was broken. The power was now cut off
"Hit the pedal!" shouted the female of the group. The tires screeching, the SUV was then away in a flash.
"Fucking idiots," I muttered to myself. Now I had to go in.
Since the road was dirt, I figured out where the SUV went. I had to move quickly, since the zombies in this area aren't ordinary. Running along the tracks quickly, I then found out that the teens crashed into a tree.
"I have seen this in movies a thousand times," I thought to myself.
Fortunately, they were all inside, injured but alive and conscious. Then I heard a high pitched moan.
"Kids, you're still well right?" I asked of them.
"Beat it, old man," groaned the driver.
All the teens then opened their doors and fell out.
"Look, we have to get out of here now. These zombies aren't your run of the mill slow pokes," I pleaded.
I then felt a drool on my face and some growling. I looked up to see the hunchback "Hunter" on a branch. With his flayed face and exposed rotting muscle, I could only stand in shock.
"Kids, you better start running," I ordered.
"Wait why?" asked the girl. She then turned to see the "Hunter". "Uh boys, let's get the FUCK out of here!"
The three young men then saw him slowly making his way down from the tree. As he stood up, the Hunter let out a moan, as if he was to give chase.
The driver and the jock screamed like girls.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
"Follow me you idiots!" I shouted as I began running. The College students quickly followed.
"Do not look back and keep running!"
I then heard more high-pitched moans. This was not good.
The hunter was now joined by his fellow hunchback hunters. I could only think making it out alive with the kids so they could be taught a valuable lesson.
The jock then decided to stupidly stop and use his Glock to kill them. He was overwhelmed and became supper for the hunters.
"Patrick!" cried the girl. She was about to go in a futile attempt to rescue him, but backseat kid with the huge glasses tried to stop her. She broke free and joined Patrick.
Nearing the gate I noticed that my backup arrived. "Don't close the gate yet!" I desperately shouted out.
I barely made it out with the remaining kids. Backup closed the gate behind me and restored the power to the gate. A couple hunters got fried to a crisp.
"Sam, I thought you were a meal now for the hunters," said my co-worker Elsa.
"Trust me, I dealt with those things during the outbreak," I assured her. There were plenty of armored vehicles around the gate that were prepared to contain a potential new outbreak.
I then made my way to the students.
"You two are now under arrest for trespassing." | 2019-11-11T10:37:07 | 2019-11-11T07:17:54 | 102 | 37 |
[WP] Gordon Ramsey died. His ghost remains on earth, doomed to possess the bodies of people right after their greatest cooking screw-ups. Compulsively, he fixes what they've done and insults them through their own mouth. | Finally. Sweet, sweet death. You'd welcome death too, if you had lived your life with a name that was practically Gordon Ramsay. The only thing that distinguished my name from that of the celebrity chef was that my name was spelt 'Ramsey' - with an 'e', not an 'a'.
When I'd lived, people always asked me to do Gordon Ramsay impressions. But I was nothing like him. Despite my similar British accent, I was meek, polite and hated confrontation.
"Your toast could use some improvement," I'd say, trying my best to channel him at parties. "Great try, really good effort, but it just needs to be a little bit more brown."
Having a similar name to him only highlighted to the world how unassertive and passive I really was. But in truth, I was more like Gordon Ramsay than I was ever able to show people. Inside, I burned with anger. I burned with a sense that my life had been unfair, having been given practically the same name as an aggressive celebrity chef. I dreamed up brilliant, stinging insults to throw at all those who laughed at my name. I just never had the courage to deliver them.
Until I was dead, that is. It's the weirdest thing. Who'd have thought I'd be able to inhabit people's bodies momentarily when I was dead? And now I'm dead, and completely invisible when I inhabit the bodies of others, my confidence is through the roof. Finally, I've found the opportunity to let out my inner Gordon Ramsay.
This girl Barb, who would always make fun of me? The other day she was making scrambled eggs, so I thought I'd take over the show for a second.
"I always liked that dead guy Gordon Ramsey, spelt with an 'e'," she found herself saying as she was finishing off the eggs. "But it's a good thing I'm single. These scrambled eggs are paler and oilier than the cheeks of a butt-ugly, redheaded teenager with acne. I'd rather eat the used handkerchief of someone with tuberculosis, you incompetent c#&-. If I'm the one who cooked this horrifying piece of sh#& I deserve to never speak to another human being in my life. I'd be doing them a great f/#&ing favour, honestly."
Barb was a bit confused. I left her with her plate of pallid scrambled eggs, allowing her to reflect on these new insights about herself.
I love my new existence as a dead person. I insult people through their own mouths all day long. I insult everyone who's ever wronged me. I insult celebrities. Politicians. Male models. Yakuza bosses. I'm finally free to be who I always secretly wanted to be: Gordon Ramsay, with a f***ing 'a'. |
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.... GO! Good luck and waste no time! These are the words with which the 128th Episode of the renowned cooking show “212°”, hosted and judged by famous tv cook Norman Ryan, begin. The show is named after the boiling point of water. Why they chose that as the name and not 32°, 160°or 145°, all just as relevant to the art of cooking as 212 is, Jake never understood. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? All that matters in this moment is that he doesn’t fuck up. The countless applications he made for the show, the hours he spent preparing, day and night, and the cooking classes he took couldn’t have been for nothing. He just HAS to win this.
Jake grabs the cutting board, ignoring the cheers of the probably hundreds of people sitting all around him. Brushing off the thoughts of the millions of people watching from home. Refusing to think about the harshest jury in the country. He picks up the knife and almost drops it. It’s a *Messermeister.* One of the best brands out there, and most certainly out of his price range. Jake catches focus again, right as the announcer sais: “28 Minutes left, 2 already gone” Shit, he hasn’t done anything yet. He finishes cutting up the meat. It’s a different kind from what he usually uses for his chili. Better quality. He carefully puts the knife away, grabs the pepper.
“Look what Sophia is doing over there, I can smell it all the way to my juries table”
Jake throws a quick glance over to his competition while peppering the meat. He feels his mouth and tongue move. He hears a voice come out. But it’s not his own. It kind of sounds like.... Gordon Ramsay?
“Stop staring at the girl like a fucking caveman seeing light for first time! You’ve got bloody cumin in your hand, not pepper!”
Jake stops dead in his tracks. Partially because he just heard Gordon Ramsay speak through him, but mostly because... he was right. He *has* Cumin in his hand. Shit, that’s doesn’t mix well. Nobody else seemed to notice his switch of character, so maybe he was hallucinating. Whatever the case, he has to move on.
Only 23 minutes left.
He floods the meat with an ensemble of Pepper, actually this time, Salt, Paprika, chilli, Oregano, Curry and-
“Curry? Are fucking joking right now? You are making chili not tikka masala”
Jake almost responds “It’s the secret ingredient” but catches himself. What is going on? This time, people have noticed and are staring at him in confusion. He’s not hallucinating.
Jake throws the meat in the pot and let’s it sizzle for a bit, contemplating this weird situation.
“It’s turning black you moron, what are you doing? I’ve had farts that could cook better than this”
All eyes are upon Jake now, as this last sentence went straight into the microphone that was just put in front of him. The producers must have heard his earlier... whatever they were and thought it was too funny not to present to everyone.
Jake, sweating furiously, grabs the bowls of corn, peas, beans and fish in front of him and throws them in the pot.
“Stop rolling up your arsehair collection into a blunt, dipping it in diarrhea and smoking it through the nose you moron! You just put tuna into your chili. Let me fix this for you, idiot! I’ve seen enough.”
Jake loses control over everything. It feels like that one time he had sleep paralysis, that time when the creepy shape sat on his bed, just watching him, laughing and joking about his inability to control his body. Thinking about it now, the shape kinda resembled Gordon.
Jakes hands move all on their own, grabbing spices he had never seen before, (the show really went the extra mile with what the contestants have at their disposal) Grabbing tools he’s only seen once in textbooks before and making movements and throwing ingredients in the pot that can’t possibly mix well. Or can they? Whatever it is that he – or rather: his hand - is mixing up in the pot smells really good! Not to say, great. Outstanding.
“I know it’s good, I cooked It, you fuckwit. Do me a favor and think quiter, your three braincells are annoying me.”
He doesn’t know why, but Jake feels himself thinking less, getting into a kind of meditative state, because whatever this is, it’s working!
“Aaaand we are done here both contestants drop your spoons now!”
Jake feels himself adding the last touches of what has the potential to be an award-winning dish.
“The time is over, sir stop cooking right now.”
Jake senses the response and starts sweating again.
“Calm your buttox you chromosome-lacking excuse for a cook, my show always had triple the views anyway.”
Jake wants to squeeze his eyes together, afraid of the response, but to his surprise, Norman laughs.
“I quite like this ‘Gordan Ramsay’ Impersonation you got going on there!” Now it’s time to taste. I am thrilled to see what you have made me here!”
Some Tv-guys bring over the dishes, probably the same ones that put the damn microphone in front of him. Norman puts the spoon of chili in his mouth. Silence. His face sais nothing.
“I love it! The curry ads an amazing touch” | 2020-05-23T16:30:13 | 2020-05-23T12:51:19 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] In a world where people receive mystical pets upon 16 yrs of age, you are judged based on how powerful they are. Today on your 16th birthday, you finally got yours. But instead of the common faun or fairy you expected, a commoner like you got a dragon. | It was Pendra's 61st birthday, which in dragon law meant she was now legally allowed to smoke pitayas. But not before the coming of age ceremony. The Summoning.
Pendra put on a smile for her parents as they nuzzled their farewell. She shrugged shyly when the gathered fauns and fairies asked where she thought she'd end up.
But Pendra knew. As did her parents, and the harpies, even the pea-brained trolls. She was a dragon. And she would be summoned by a king or queen and she would lounge in treasure troves of gold and smoke all the pitayas. Call it dragon privilege.
She eyed Aidan perched at the front of the auditorium with the griffins. His spined-tail wished and little plumes of fire puffed around his fangs as he babbled.
"What if I get summoned by a peasant boy. The humble Aidan the Great, soaring his liege to the greatest heights," he said, waving his claws through the air.
The griffin groupies hopped as they chirped. "They'd put your name in the Hall of Underdragons!"
Pendra rolled her eyes. How original. If the peasant boy gets a dragon story was special there wouldn't be a whole hall of them.
"Pendra!"
Pendra stood up at the voice of the Seer. The Seer was a diminutive fairy, even by fairy standards, and blind, as all good seers were. But her shrill voice hushed all the bleatings and flutterings in the room.
As Pendra strode to the central podium, hundreds of eyes stared, most belonging to Harry the spider. Pendra gave him a wave. Harry had a habit of weaving worded webs when he was drunk. Silken graffiti. And Pendra wondered how his artistry would look under the influence of pitaya. She added him to her after-party invite list.
The Seer began to chant and swirls of magical runes encircled Pendra. The iridescence balled around her, forming into a wall of light. Pendra shut her eyes.
Her stomach churned as she felt her body wink from existence and back.
She blinked.
It was afternoon here as well, and lazy rays streamed into a smaller but equally packed hall. On each cramped level, human eyes stared in shocked silence.
In front of her stood a boy barely taller than a river stalk and almost as thin. A patchy, too-big shirt enveloped his limbs, closer to a sack than ceremony finery. Pendra stood.
"What the-"
"-fuck," the boy finished.
Pendra spun around. A wizard stood behind them. Pendra knew this because the man had a long grey beard, wore a pointy hat, and they were not at a birthday party.
She pointed to the boy. "There's no way this kid summoned me."
The boy frowned at the wizard and pointed at her. "There's no way I summoned this."
"What? *You're* disappointed?" Pendra hissed.
"I wanted a unicorn."
"A unicorn," Pendra spluttered, "A horse with a stick on its head barely counts as magical."
"Yeah well, can a dragon drive a plow?"
"Of fucking course you're a farm boy. What's next you're going on an adventure to kill the king?"
"What? No way, it's harvest season. And I'm going to be the best farmer in the world."
"Says the poor orphan with big dreams?"
"My parents are right there."
They turned to the stunned crowd. A middle-aged couple in their Sunday finest slowly waved.
The boy turned back to the dragon. "And my dreams ain't as big as you. I ain't got enough to feed your fatass."
Pendra roared and reared her head, throat aglow as flames broiled in her gullet.
The wizard broke out of his stupor and rushed to the stage.
"By Merlin's beard. That's me by the way, I'm Merlin. The prophecies are true! You are the pair that will bring peace to the broken kingdom!"
Master and familiar turned their glare to the wizard. Pendra unleashed her flames at the interferer until only ash remained under the pointy hat.
The boy smirked. "Nice."
Pendra sighed as she sat. "What did you say your name was?"
"Arthur."
"Of course it is. I'm Pendra."
Arthur dug into his pocket and fished out a pitaya.
"Here, I think a unicorn would like it more, but pa always said to take care of your animals."
"I'm not an animal but...this might work."
r/bobotheturtle | I was wondering what it was like to get a pet. some said theirs just appeared, others said they watched theirs come. My 16th birthday was the next day, and i struggled to sleep from the excitement, maybe id get a cat, or a faun, maybe a wolf or fairy if i was lucky.
at noon, i was sitting in the field outside of town. i was born about 12:05, so it would come any minute now. after a few minutes, i heard wings flapping. at first i thought it was a falcon, maybe a greatfae, winged creatures were reserved for the more powerful, so it could be. the elders made sure nothing was near the field so that i would know when it was coming. i kept my eyes closed, waited for it to approach me.
And it did. I opened my eyes in shock upon feeling scales, and saw it before me. a small blue dragon nuzzled up against me. had to only be a few years old, but still something i could never dream of. the only other person to have a dragon was the old king Azui, 200 years ago. most of the royal family only had Chimeras at best, Giant serpents at worse.
I idly stroked the dragons head. Kulu was a good name. I knew the royal police would be coming soon. theres no way we could keep everyone from talking about Kulu, there might have been people who saw them on the way, unless she just appeared.
I started to head home, and Kulu followed. i was hoping i wouldnt be seen, but i was stopped. It was Kiri, because why wouldnt she take the chance to harass me.
"Ha! Look at you Lumi, trying to sneak home alone! What a-
What the hell is that thing?"
I bent over to pick up Kulu, must have fell behind.
"Oh, you mean Kulu?"
"Answer me you pathetic welp, what. is. it."
Her catfish hid behind her and hissed. makes sense it would get whats going on before her.
"Kulu here is a blue dragon? are you that dense?"
She looked at me with fear in her eyes before running off without a word.
"Sorry for leaving you bud"
I said as i pet their head. i went back to heading home, and nobody else stopped me, i hoped because its because they didnt see me.
By now, i was sure this wasnt a mistake, if Kulu wasnt mine, i would be dead by now. I wasnt one to pray, but i did, i prayed that Kulu would be safe. but i didnt pray for myself. it wouldnt matter anyway.
I was getting ready for bed as i heard a knock on the door. When i answered, it was the royal police. Kiri must have tipped them off. I didnt bother fighting with them because i didnt want Kulu to be afraid and attack. the last thing i wanted was 4 murder charges.
I was taken to the castle. nobody spoke during the ride. wether it was orders or fear doesnt matter, because i didnt try to talk either. That night i spent with Kulu in a cell. It was more comfortable than my own bed, but it was still a cell.
In the morning some tests were performed on me, before i was taken back to the cell. still quiet. too quiet. the quiet hurt. i started to feel afraid, i couldnt take it. Kulu licked my face to comfort me, a small gesture but an important one. I would die to protect Kulu, i knew it.
That night, i decided to check the lock on the door. it was unlocked. there was a paper on the door with letters on it, not like it was any use to me, as i couldnt read it. I looked to Kulu and made a silent gesture for them to stay quiet.
I managed to get out of the hall by going the way they took me to testing. there were labels i couldnt read, probably to mark the halls. i decided to go left, my cell was on the left of the hall and had a window, so left had to take me out.
it didnt.
a room at least 3 times as big as my house was before me. there was a door on the other side, so we started to head there. just as i reached towards the handle, i felt a tug on my sleeve. Kulu was trying to pull me towards a smaller side door. just as i stepped away, i heard the commotion on the other side. We managed to close the door as the other door opened.
"What do you mean the girl escaped! she was in maximum security!"
"Come on, we might be able to cut her off, shes probably gone to the throne room!"
after a minute, we dared move. we evidently were in a closet, so we had to go the direction the guards came from. it was too risky to head back.
The next few halls we went through were no help, but eventually we found a way out. I ran ahead, only to find it was a balcony, a balcony WAY high off the ground. I locked up in fear before looking to Kulu. at this point, they were the size of a donkey, and they havent flew, so it wasnt likely they could fly us out.
Suddenly, she lept to the sky and looked around. after a moment she dived down and came back up with a rope. it didnt go all the way down, but after tying it to the balcony it went down to a standable surface.
We were still too high. one slip and it could all end. Kulu guided me to the next balcony after gnawing the rope off the last one. the rope was shorter, but if i landed right, i would only fall roughly 4 feet. I was sliding down as i heard the guards shouting above. I had only a little time until they saw either the rope or Kulu. I started swinging as the shouting resumed. swearing. they must have missed the rope. they must have not seen Kulu. after a few seconds, i had enough momentum to land safely on the next roof.
Then i heard footsteps. I managed to hide as they got to the balcony. my rope was still there.
"Theres no way they landed safely, the ropes are a red herring!"
"The kids legs would have broke from a fall like this, its impossible they escaped."
"Commander to floor, Secure the perimiter, the kid is still on grounds. i repeat. Secure the perimiter, the kid is still on grounds, over."
at that last statement, guards started to appear around. how did he do that?
I looked at my surroundings to see what i had. there was an exit 50 ft from me. all i had to do was get down and run. there were some crates i could climb down, but id have to go out of my way to get to them.
It was my only option.
I jumped down the crates and started to run. I was so close to freedom.
"Halt or i will shoot!"
I turned around to see a guard with a spell readied, likely a missile spell. I couldnt go back though, I just couldnt. I took a defensive position and they fired. the spell didnt go back to them, it just... fizzled out. then the guard fell over.
I used this chance to run. and i made it out.
i then realized i had no clue where we were. Kulu looked at me and chirped in a concerned way.
"I hope we get home buddy, i just dont know where it is." | 2020-05-24T01:01:02 | 2020-05-24T00:53:28 | 281 | 57 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach. | Adam cooed under his breath as he scritched between the eyes of the squid-like creature on the table before him. Its slimy exterior shimmered from the tub of water it had crawled out of, approaching him in a manner belying the natural curiosity the species was known for, amongst other things.
"This is the terrifying, ship-destroying space-squid you guys keep going on about?" He asked the being standing behind him, a few meters away from the table.
The being chittered in annoyance before slowly stepping up to the table.
"I told you, Adam." the being clicked its small mandibles in a manner closely resembling human speech. "This is an infant, only a few weeks old. At this point in its growth cycle, they are mainly just annoying, feeding off several by-products of docked ships."
"An infant, why do you guys have an infant?" Adam continued to run his hand over the creature. Several of its tentacles held onto his hand and arm loosely. The creature murmured as its milky eyes seemed to study him.
"As an infant, it's more controllable. We can study and experiment on the species better in this state. As its capabilities scale according to age and size, we can develop strategies from this stage and scale them appropriately."
Adam's blood ran cold as he froze. He turned his head at the insect-like creature beside him.
"Define 'experiment', please. B'tlilk." Adam said slowly. The creature's tentacles stop moving as it sensed his unease. The creature cooed as if trying to soothe him.
"Well, we have never successfully captured an older specimen. Infants, we have captured hundreds, a handful of older adolescents, but no adults. We have thousands of incident reports, but even corpses we've only recovered a few partials. It's difficult to develop weapons without understanding the biology of the creature." B'tlilk chittered away, not noticing the icy glare Adam was giving him.
Adam shook his head as he turned his gaze back to the creature. Its tentacles resumed their movement, squeezing and releasing along his arms. He locked eyes with it, and saw the fear in its eyes, alongside a slight glimmer of hope. And he understood what he needed to do.
"Come on, Adam. This specimen needs to be stored again. It's not scheduled for examination until tomorrow, but we aren't supposed to interact with it. " B'tlilk reached one of its four arms and patted his shoulder. "Imagine it as a three hundred meter monster, wrapping itself around your ship. You humans are too compassionate towards the non-sapient. It's extremely confusing."
"Fine, give me a second." Adam scooped up the small creature. Its eyes widened, and it squirmed for a moment before Adam scratched it between its two eyes and spoke softly to it. "It's alright little guy, just time to go back for now."
B'tlilk chittered again behind Adam as the man slowly placed the creature back into the tub of water on the table and activated the tub's automated top.
"Now your all wet." B'tlilk stated his mandible clicking in annoyance. "We will have to stop by your quarters before dinner with the Trade Queen."
"Nope," Adam chuckled, "Give it a minute. Our clothes have hydrophobic properties. I'll dry in a few minutes, with no smell or stain."
"Fascinating, I'm sure An'am will be interested in these fabrics. I'll be sure to mention them." B'tlilk took Adam's arm and led him out of the lab. The two stopped at the door as Adam turned back, watching the room's robotic assistant pick up the tub and return it to the wall of tub lockers on the far side. Adam shook his head in disa\[appointment before stepping through the room's bulkhead door.
\---------
A few hours later, Adam tossed and turned in his quarters. He couldn't help but see the small, pitiful creature every time he closed his eyes. He growled in annoyance as he pulled himself out of the small bed, taking a stance in the center of the room's space. It wasn't much but gave him enough space to run through enough of a workout to produce a sheen of sweat on his ebony skin. He moved, hoping to work the strange energy coursing through his body.
After a while, he grabbed a towel hanging on one wall and began wiping the sweat off his body. After tossing the towel back on its rack, he sat down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. His mind raced, all his thought focused on a small creature. Despite the success of his dinner with the leading authority of trade for this cluster of the galaxy, Adam couldn't help but feel frustrated with his trip. Part of him begged him to act. The other part urged caution. The purpose of his visit had been accomplished. He secured a line of carefully negotiated trade routes that humanity desperately needed to further explore this edge of space.
But still, those small, milk eyes haunted him. And he knew he had to act. He would never be able to forgive himself if he didn't.
"Fuck it, " He finally said, after thinking for what seemed hours." Looks like I'm rescuing a space-squid baby." | FADE IN:
INT. THE SECRET HALL OF GALAXY-CENTRIC WORRYING
*A dozen creatures of various species sit around a large table. One of them – something that resembles an eight-foot-tall Möbius strip crossed with a large slug – begins to speak. This is YARLGH.*
**YARLGH:** I call this session of galaxy-centric worrying to order.
*Another individual (who looks a bit like a lobster) raises a claw. This is FF'TFT'AT.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** If we're going to use English this time, can we *please* come up with another name?
*An enormous pile of fur shifts in place. This is KHCHK.*
**KHCHK:** Why? We *do* worry. We worry about things that might affect the galaxy.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Yeah, well, "worry" makes it sound like we don't actually *do* anything.
**KHCHK:** It makes us sound like we worry. That's something.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Anyone can worry. You don't need to be on a council in order to worry.
**KHCHK:** I'm sure the galaxy's citizens appreciate us worrying on their behalf.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sure, sure... until they start worrying that we aren't worrying enough, right?
**YARLGH:** (*Shouting*) Enough!
*Everyone turns to look at Yarlgh.*
**YARLGH:** We have more-pressing concerns!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Oh, fantastic. Now we're "concerned."
**YARLGH:** As well we should be! The human problem has become untenable.
**KHCHK:** Yes. The humans *are* worrying.
**FF'TFT'AT:** Great! Let them get on with it! Less work for us!
**KHCHK:** I meant that they're *causing* worries. You know, like, "worrying" as in "bothering."
**FF'TFT'AT:** This is just more evidence that the name is stupid.
**KHCHK:** The *humans* are stupid!
*Yarlgh bends in a way that resembles nodding.*
**YARLGH:** That's putting it mildly. I've asked a representative of Earth to explain.
*All eyes (and eye-like organs) move to stare at a human man. This is DAVE.*
**DAVE:** Hm? Me?
**YARLGH:** Yes, you.
**DAVE:** Sorry, am I supposed to worry or worry?
**KHCHK:** ... What?
**DAVE:** Are we using "worry" in the sense of "to be concerned" or "to bother?"
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*Muttering*) Both, apparently.
*Yarlgh growls at Ff'Tft'At, then turns his attention back to Dave.*
**YARLGH:** Just tell us about your... allies.
**DAVE:** Isn't that you guys? Sorry, I don't really read the news.
**KHCHK:** We would *like* to be your allies, but your... friendships... are giving us pause.
**DAVE:** You don't *look* like you have paws.
*Everyone appears confused.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Sorry, even I didn't get that one.
**DAVE:** Furball there said that I was giving you paws.
**KHCHK:** I said "pause!"
**FF'TFT'AT:** I told you that English was stupid!
**YARLGH:** It is tradition to use the guest's native tongue!
**DAVE:** I'd rather keep my mouth intact, if it's all the same to you.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Talk about the scary things! Do it *right now!*
*Dave looks around at the assembled councilpersons, all of whom seem to glare.*
**DAVE:** I mean, to be honest, a lot of you look pretty scary to me.
**KHCHK:** (*Shouting*) Racism!
**YARLGH:** We are *obviously* describing the unspeakable abominations with which you consort!
**DAVE:** You guys are being too hard on yourselves.
**KHCHK:** How dare you compare us to those monstrosities?!
**DAVE:** (*Sarcastically*) Oh, right, *I'm* the racist one. Seriously, none of this makes sense.
*Yarlgh stretches to his full, impressive height.*
**YARLGH:** Then let us speak plainly!
**FF'TFT'AT:** (*To himself*) Good luck.
**YARLGH:** You have cut through the fabric of spacetime and made contact with... with...
**KHCHK:** Demons!
**YARLGH:** Yes! They are unknowable entities that drive sentient minds mad.
**DAVE:** Oh, *those* guys? Come on.
**KHCHK:** They've impacted entire solar systems!
**DAVE:** They said they were sorry. Besides, they're hardly *demons*. They're just a bit... you know, impish.
**YARLGH:** "Impish?" Their machinations literally strip sanity from all who encounter them!
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, it's not as if they're actually hurting anyone.
*Murmurs spread through the council.*
**KHCHK:** How can you say that? Do humans not value their brains?
**DAVE:** (*Shrugging*) We're not really using them, you know?
**FF'TFT'AT:** I concur.
**YARLGH:** (*To Ff'Tft'At*) Shut up! (*To Dave*) Explain yourself!
**DAVE:** Look, all I'm saying is that nobody ever accomplished anything by being sane.
**KHCHK:** Name one thing that insanity has accomplished!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Worrying.
**KHCHK and YARLGH:** Shut up!
**FF'TFT'AT:** Why? Am I *worrying* you?
*Khchk launches himself across the table at Ff'Tft'At. The two of them roll out of sight, fighting.*
**YARLGH:** Stop it! Stop this madness at once! I *will* put you both in the naughty corner!
*The two councilpersons rise and sulkily return to their chairs.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** He started it.
**KHCHK:** Did not.
**YARLGH:** (*Roaring*) *Shut! Up!* Honestly, it's like you've both gone...
*The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished. Everyone slowly turns their attention to Dave.*
**DAVE:** What?
**YARLGH:** (*Aghast*) Did you bring them here with you?
**DAVE:** Who?
**KHCHK:** The demons! Are they here?!
**DAVE:** Where?
*Ff'Tft'At audibly giggles, then clamps his claws over his mouth.*
**YARLGH:** Did you, human, bring the demons to this council chamber?
**DAVE:** Oh. No, I came here alone.
**KHCHK:** Then why are we all going bonkers?!
**DAVE:** Hey, don't blame *me*.
**YARLGH:** You *are* to blame! You opened the way for those eldritch horrors!
**DAVE:** I keep telling you, they aren't horrors! Hell, they were *boring* before they met us.
**KHCHK:** ... Before they met you?
*Dave glances around.*
**DAVE:** Oh. *Oh*.
*Several seconds of silence pass. All of the assembled creatures look anxious.*
**FF'TFT'AT:** Well, *now* I'm worried.
*Everyone launches themselves at each other at once.*
CUT TO BLACK. | 2021-04-07T21:52:28 | 2021-04-07T17:45:17 | 300 | 186 |
[WP] There's a door with a single key hole - it will open regardless of what key is used. All keys open this door, but what's on the other side, however, entirely depends on the key. | The door was as much myth as legend.
As the stories went, it was deep in a cave, which was itself deep in the woods that were deep in the mountains. The door would accept any key, and take you to wherever the key opened, or so the legend said. Given that one had to have the key in the first place, it would for most people just be a quick trip back home, and so it wasn't exactly useful for most. After all, you can't exactly use it to steal the king's treasury, because even if you had the key you'd still have to get out the old fashioned way!
None of that mattered to me, though. From a very young age, I'd had a fascination with the door. Who had made it? Where had it come from? And more importantly...
From the age of 12 I'd apprenticed myself to the best locksmith I could find. I learned how the locks worked, how to make them, and how to subvert them. Instead of spending my free time playing with other kids my age, I spent my time reading more about my chosen craft, though my master would have been furious had he known my real intentions.
At the age of 16, I went to the local tavern and, after several weeks, made friends with some local ne'er-do-wells, who taught me things my master would never have approved of. I purchased tools from them, and began my final preparations, gathering supplies for the journey ahead.
And so it came to be that, in early Autumn, I found myself deep in the woods, deep in the mountains, far from home, with limited supplies, sitting at the entrance to a cave. I lit my lamp, ducked my head, and began the final leg of my journey. The dim light cast long shadows in the dark, and the sound of dripping water echoed strangely around the rocks. I found myself quite glad that at least a few people had come before me, as the way forward was clearly marked by white chalk arrows.
At last, after two hours of travel through the dark and quiet, I arrived at the door. It was made of rough wood and bound with iron bands, with a large iron lock on the right. At first I tested it with the key to my father's house. The door swung open towards me and I saw the entrance to our humble home. This was it!
I closed the door and set down my lamp, then brought out my lock picks, and got to work. | [Part 1 of 2]
A door that will lead you to an unknown destination. Many scholars spoke about its magic, but I never believed the tales. I was a man of science and science rarely mixes well with farfetched tales, yet the shimmering glow of its golden doorframe was unmistakable, a keyhole awaiting a key, beckoning me to unlock it.
I hesitated, constantly looking over my shoulder, grimacing as the hot pain swirled through my stomach, the markings of a deep knife wound cut into my shirt. What option did I have? I needed to run or get slaughtered. My pursuers would be after me soon. Whatever remained on the other side had to be more friendly than the angry soldiers. Still, I couldn’t believe it. The legends were true.
My hand rested on the frame, feeling the intense power running throughout, showing itself in small vibrations that teased my hand. “The door finds those who can use its services.” That never made sense to me. Surely anyone has a key. What other requirement is there to use the door? My awe of the door vanished as heavy footsteps descended into my basement.
“What the bloody hell is that? A magic door? Told you he was working with the witches.” The soldier readied his blade, the men at his side pausing, experiencing that same awe I had felt recently.
“I am a man of science; I don’t believe in magic.” It felt stupid to say such a thing. Magic was the only word I could use to describe the door. I was just so used to screaming that phrase in my defense as they chased me down the streets. Saying anything different felt wrong.
As I spoke, my fingers searched for a key, finding my house key in my pocket. Inserting it into the keyhole, twisting it. When the door opened, the heavy footsteps thumped down the remaining stairs, nearly catching me, missing me by a moment as I pushed through the golden abyss. As my body passed through the door, the area behind me shut, leaving me in darkness for a moment before a room flashed into existence.
“Ah, dearest nephew, you look terrible, how goes your studies? Your mother did mention you were becoming famous, clearly famous enough that someone tried to take a piece of you with them.” He gestured to the cut, flashing me a smile.
The room appeared to be a study, rather clean, with only a few odd books disturbing its sterile look. Its wooden furniture far from dated, looking as modern as one could find. The bookshelves towered over me, looming in the study's background. As much as I would have loved to take in the sights, I already felt faint, pulling myself onto one of the nearby chairs, slouching into it.
“Nephew? I don’t think we have met. How would I know someone that lives in a magical door?” My hands pushed against the wound, applying pressure as best I could, watching the man snap a book shut, standing from his chair.
He had a skip in his step, looking happy to have some company, wandering over to my side, dressed like a peasant trying to disguise themselves as nobility. Their clothing matching the extravagant red and blues without having that same defining quality.
“Lives in a magical door? No one lives in the door; it simply sends you to a location based on several variants. I don’t fully understand it, but my current theory is that it works based on memories and bloodlines. You must have some memory of being safe here, that would explain why the door chose this in your time of need.”
“Impossible. I don’t even know who you are. My parents would have mentioned a strange uncle if I had one. You are telling me I have been here before? I remember none of it.”
He held his chest, faking a wound of his own. “You wound me, dear nephew. I understand I was distant, but we had some good times together. Do you want some help with that nasty wound of yours? I believe I have a bandage lying around somewhere.”
“A bandage won’t do anything. How can a man with so many books not know something so simple? Help me to a doctor or someone that can help me.”
“You appear in my house and insult me. You are just like your father; It was a joke. A jest to lighten the mood. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Forgive me for being excited.”
Before I could speak, he leaned in close, gripping the area around my wound, his fingers turning blue as he pulled the skin closed, the pain excruciating, causing me to kick at him, but no matter how many times my boot hit his chin, he refused to budge until finally releasing it as the wound shut, leaving me to fall off the chair, onto the floor.
“I would have caught you if you didn’t kick me. I might be the one that needs a doctor now.” He rubbed his fingers over his stubbled chin, wiping away the various dirt marks.
“C-could have warned me.” It was hard to speak. I felt winded, like I had lost all the air in my lungs only to then be repeatedly stomped after it.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nwk8t4/wp_theres_a_door_with_a_single_key_hole_it_will/h19smbq/) | 2021-06-10T07:24:29 | 2021-06-10T05:21:09 | 44 | 33 |
[WP] You're a superhero who just found out that your supervillain arch-nemesis is secretly your roommate. But being a hero doesn't pay well, and you can't afford rent without them... | I casually stroll past my roommate sitting at the breakfast table on my way to the pantry to grab a box of Millville Cocoa Rice, the cheaper, and in my opinion, superior alternative to Cocoa Krispies. This story is sponsored by ALDI.
I whistle as I walk to assure my roommate that nothing is out of the ordinary and I'm certainly not newly aware he is, in fact, my super evil arch-nemesis.
Upon opening the pantry door, I see that my box of Cocoa Rice is absent from its usual position snuggly nestled between the box of Millville Shredded Bite Size Wheat and Clancy's Big Dipper Tortilla Chips, that go great paired with Specially Selected Medium Four Pepper Salsa. He's eating my cereal again. Does this man's evil know no bounds?!
I slam the door shut with such force that entire pantry explodes into a mess of product placement and cheap wood. Then I turn to face my roommate with fury on my face and salsa on my bathrobe. We angrily stare at one another as ominous music begins to play in the background, indicating the imminence of battle.
"You've eaten your last spoonful of cereal.", I say as I rudely point towards him. Now is no time for the manners of a superhero.
He just stares at me as he dips the empty spoon into the bowl and lifts it back up, now full with milk and kidnapped crispy rice morsels, then he proceeds to consume another spoonful of cereal to villainously invalidate my previous statement.
I fly across the room in rage, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him against the kitchen wall so hard that we end up in the living room. Now standing on a platform that used to be our wall-mounted flatscreen television, I continue to hold him up by the neck as the sounds of crushing glass and electronics crackle beneath my feet.
He double front kicks my chest propelling me back into the kitchen through the him-shaped doorway we freshly created just seconds ago. I make contact with the ground just past the kitchen table, performing a back summersault and slamming my back up against the fridge, followed by my head, which bounces off the polished steel covered in handprints and ends resting tilted forward, aiming my vision at the floor.
As I lift my head and bring my gaze back towards the destructed drywall, I see my roommate charging toward me like a bull towards a clown. I have no time to react as he slams his shoulder into my chest, blasting both us and the fridge through the exterior wall of our building and onto the street below.
We land in an empty parking spot between both of our cars. He begins pummeling my chest with his blurring fists, forcing the wind out of my chest and my chest into the fridge. The cold would feel refreshing on my back during this hotly humid day if it weren't for the 200-pound jackhammer attempting to rearrange my insides.
As he rears his fist back for a powerful punch headed straight for my face, I take advantage of this momentary break from being broken by slamming a knee right into his tailbone, knocking him forward and into Bill's oncoming Mercury sedan as he was attempting to leave for work. Looks like Bill is going to be tardy today.
I dig myself out of the fridge and look upon my staggered roommate lying in front of the banged up blue vehicle. With the last bit of remaining strength I have left, I lift my roommate's car and slam it down on his cereal-stealing ass. Ripping off that ridiculous new spoiler he just added for good measure.
Or, at least, that's what I would have done if I didn't desperately need his half of the rent in this impossible-to-find-a-roommate town. Instead, I gently closed the pantry door, grab a bowl, sit at the breakfast table, then shake the remaining crumbs of Cocoa Rice into my bowl.
"Morning."
"Morning." | I think my roommate is a superhero. Now, I know it sounds insane but hear me out.
I really think I might be into something with this one, I know one or two things about heroes, after all, I am one.
See, I was living alone in an apartment in the outskirts of the city but as you may guess villains like to strike downtown, so I would have to get on a subway, with the costume and all, to fight crime. Fed up with public transport I decided to move downtown, but as crime fighting doesn't pay the bills, my Starbucks career could only afford a downtown apartment if I found a roommate.
I met Philip at the bank while I was doing a little undercover patrol since I knew about a millionaire who had just put all his money here. It was basically an invite for the villains of the city to come and rob the bank. Philip was right in front of me while I was in a line to seem more natural looking around. I listened to him explaining desperately to the clerk that he was new in town and desperately needed a loan to rent a house. It was a sign! I stopped my patrol and immediately asked him if he would like to be my roommate.
Now Philip is a pretty private guy. Like don't ever come into my room or I'll cut your throat private. I mean dude had a goddamn password locked steel door just to keep me out. But there is one thing no superhero can hide. It's the injuries.
Days later our encounter at the bank Evilguy attempted to rob the very bank I met him. I ran to the bank to stop him but before I could Powerdude was already there. Like a knight in shining armor he fought Evilguy. I must say I helped a bit, seeing his injured arm I threw a blade to Evilguy who took it to his shoulder. Powerdude then successfully tied him up so seeing he got the situation handled I ran home. But Evilguy somehow managed to escape. Then began their story. Evildude and Powerguy became sworn enemies and their fight almost as interesting as mine, Mightygal vs Octopushead.
Philip came home holding his arm, blood dripping to the carpet and with tears in his eyes. I asked:
- Hey what's up with that arm Philbo?
- Philbo? What kind of a lame-ass nickname is that?
- Deal with it. Now tell me what's up with that arm?
- I ugh...
- You what?
- I cut it.
- I can see that, the question is how.
- Well being a reporter isn't always easy. Shit happens when you interview gangsters. What about your leg? Your thigh has the biggest bandage imaginable.
- I work at a coffee show with dumbfucks who don't even know how to handle hot milk.
I answered immediately. See I had thought about my excuse on the way home.
- Cool. I'll just grab a bandaid and take care of this.
- Do you want he-
- NO. Don't come into my room.
- Ok Philbo.
- And stop calling me Philbo!
- Sure whatever you say Philbo. Goodnight!
He slammed the door with so much power that I knew he was Powerdude.
He is getting better at making excuses though. Just the other day he had a broken nose -From an Evilguy punch I guess- and when asked he answere,d almost doing a good job faking a laugh:
"Oh this? I was walking in the office and bam! Didn't see the new glass door, walked right into it... And for the love of god, stop calling me Philbo!"
Another good one was when he had broken a leg:
"The new intern is a goddamn idiot I swear, he was running upstairs to tell the boss he had just learned that Kim Kardashian got her nudes leaked and stumbled onto me, making us both fall one full staircase...
- Oh that's unfortunate. Say, have you heard the news about Powerguy getting seriously injured last night?
- I am a reporter Alyssa. I obviously know. That dumbfuck is everywhere anyways.
Aww, he is even insulting himself not to raise suspicion! He really is getting better at this whole thing.
- Anyways why are you limping?
- Dislocated hip. Starbucks has shit insurance. Can't get it fixed.
- Cool.
Tonight though I need him more than ever. I fucked up. Hard. I was chasing Octopushead and he was, as usual, trying to rob something. He was after some industrial glue and I got to it before him. Now here is the fuck up. I effectively glued myself to the floor. And who do I see at the corner of my eye? Fucking Evilguy. His eyes shine bright. He just hit jackpot. Mightygal will be no more soon. He approached me with a grin on his face, a knife in his hand. But suddenly Powerdude, who was chasing him, caught up and pulled him away. After about 10 minutes of fighting Powerdude fell to the floor, exhausted. Evilguy approached me kneeled down right besides my poor glued body and held up his knife ready to stab me. Powerdude you need to save me! Panicked, I screamed.
- PHILBO HELP!!
Evilguy looked at me his mouth open in surprise and yelled:
- WHY DID YOU SAY THAT NAME!?
He gasped.
- I only know one dumbfuck who would call their roomate that way.
Roommate!? I thought as he tore my mask apart.
- Alyssa! It's really you! Oh my god!
He said smiling. He took the knife and cut me out of my mold.
- Wha...
- It's me, Philip! Man I would of never guessed, here take my hand. Wait did you thought I was Powerdude?
- Well... Yeah... Wait aren't you gonna kill me?
- Naaah! I'd never kill my roommate! Where would I find a great roommate like you anywhere else? You covered the rent for me when I was new at this whole super villain thing. Honestly I could never thank you enough.
- But why are you a villain? Like you are a nice dude and all...
- Yeah thats why I rob millionaires and give the money to charity. Poetic justice if you will. We can even be a dynamic duo from now on!
- Don't you FUCKING dare!
I said holding my gun.
- What the...
Said Philip terrorised. I didnt hesitate. I shot my gun. I hit my target right in the middle of his eyes. Powerdude fell to the floor, holding a knife.
- No one kills MY roommate.
After an awkward silence Philip said.
- Do you want to buy some extra shampoo on the way home?
- Yes, I have no idea how to get this glue out.
I answered. | 2021-08-03T07:07:13 | 2021-08-03T06:33:58 | 120 | 83 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process. | Julia looked over the array of suspects. Twelve babies and a goat.
"Careful, one of them is a serial killer," she said to the nurses and the farmer. "I've been chasing The Cycle Killer through four lives."
What she did not say was that it was her fault that they had escaped again. Five minutes without being watched, and Cycle had managed to die, just to be reincarnated to do it all over again.
It had taken the spooks three months to narrow down these suspects. Julia understood that the babies were all born at the right time, and near one of the reincarnation nexus points that aligned with Cycle's death. The goat was a less likely suspect, but just the sort of thing they might try.
The first baby grabbed her finger when she looked into its eyes. The second baby tried to eat her entire hand. Julia wasn't sure if that was latent cannibalism or just normal baby stuff. The third baby ignored her, trying to find it's rattle hidden under its blanket. On down the line she went, examining each one.
The nurses thought it was the eighth baby, who had never cried. It had been born to a rich family, just the sort of target that the Cycle Killer looked for. Most of the rest had poor families.
The farmer thought it was the goat. Julia was pretty sure he just wanted to be able to sell the goat to her.
In the end she decided to keep the eighth baby and the goat for further observation. If one of them proved to be the killer, they would spend the next two decades in a rehabilitation and therapy clinic. The rest could go home for occasional checkups.
The nurses started handing babies back to relieved parents. The first baby was sleeping now. The second baby was still trying to eat every hand. The third had found its rattle.
She turned to leave when it struck her. The third had found its rattle, hidden under the blanket. She ran after that family.
A three month old had been looking for something that it could not see, and object permanence did not normally develop until around eight months.
She took the baby. As she looked into its eyes she said, "Got you, motherfucker!" | Personal reasons long ceased to matter, we were now killing for the sport of it, basically.
I distinctly remember being caught for the first time, a triple murder of a family down the main road in North Avenue.
How dumb the look on the faces of the guards must have been when they found me dead in my cell, suicide by hanging.
Just like that, I was transported back into new flesh and bones, a body which had proven to be far superior to my old one.
I could talk from the moment I escaped my mother's nether regions, but I chose to remain silent as to avoid detection. The agents stationed at the nursery were looking for me - and others who commited similar heinous crimes - but their methods weren't all that reliable.
They couldn't extract information from a baby; they couldn't exactly torture a neonate, could they? And what else did they have going for them? One couldn't differentiate a normal baby from one that had just reincarnated.
Funny thing was, when it became public knowledge that the Budhhists were right all along, the government tried to step in by prohibiting the act of copulation.
But people fucked anyways and that's one of the reasons why I could continue my rampage. The third reincarnation was the most fun of them all; an illegal birth, so the police didn't even have a trace on me.
They started to put prisoners in padded rooms, ''white rooms'' they called them, so they couldn't kill themselves.
However, that didn't work out as planned - one time, a famous prisoner whose name I won't mention killed himself by snatching the feeding tube they had attached to him and piercing his esophagus with the feeding port made out of plastic.
That was a fun headline for sure.
Anyways, I've killed over 200 people in the span of seven lives and it's getting a bit boring. The odds are heavily stacked on our side, a bit too heavy for my tastes.
I always liked even money, a coin toss, that's the type of thing right up my alley.
So, I decided to turn myself in and help the meek inherit the earth.
I showed up at a police station as a five-year old boy and with a faint voice, barely perceptible to the adult ear, said: ''I'm Maen Luger, responsible for the murder of over 100 people.''
They didn't really have to know about the other one-hundred, they would find out soon enough.
The front desk said something along the lines of 'wait just a moment please' with an expretionless face, which was a bit weird since I was someone worthy of recogition.
Just as I was about to turn around and head back to my hiding place, manacles found their way to my hands.
Startled, I looked up to see a police officer in uniform, four heads taller than me, towering over my entire little world.
''I came here to help you!'' I said in an indignant tone.
''We already have multiple agents on the inside,'' the unnamed policeman smirked, ''We don't need the help of scum.''
''What do you mean by this?''
''What I mean is exactly what you hear, the FBI, NSA, CIA and the DEA all have agents that have killed themselves in order to track down killer babies.''
''You can't do that,'' I interjected, ''that's against the law!'' Spittle was building up on the edges of my mouth.
''A baby interrogating a baby is hardly an issue, as far as we see it.'' He stifled a giggle.
I see now, they were going to arrest babies with the help of babies? This was getting ridiculous.
''I can still be of use, now get these cuffs away from me!'' I was practically shouting or at least it seemed like that in my own mind.
''No, you and I are going to a room you're going to love!'' The policeman smirked and went to grab me by the nape.
I knew I had just one chance, so I quickly started banging my head against the floor, but it was of no use, the policeman was faster.
I was still trashing around in his grip, but when backup came into the scene, I gave up.
They sent me to one of the previously mentioned white room, telling me that my lawyer would soon arrive.
He was my only chance of getting away scot-free.
I had nothing better to do but plan my eventual escape. Some time had passed or a lot of time, I'm not sure, but what had woken me up was an explosion or earthquake near me.
It felt like the ground was swallowing itself from within.
The door to my room opened and in front of me, a figure I had previously wounded, but not fatally, to my chagrin:
''Come with me Maen, we need to put a stop to this madness.''
Apparently, murder victims were becoming killers themselves and the whole world was plunging into chaos.
There were now more murderers than normal people and apparently, this fall of civilization
somehow concerned me.
Well, beats seeing white all day, that's for sure.
--------
For more stories, visit /r/innerknightmare | 2021-10-08T08:55:06 | 2021-10-08T08:03:17 | 151 | 48 |
[WP] Aliens have finally discovered Earth - but they're not hostile. They've tasted human food, and they think it's so astonishingly good that Earth is becoming an alien tourist hotspot. | Imagine, for a moment, that some superintelligence had access to your entire being. Something that could read your brain, manipulate your senses. Something that knew everything about you and could feed you a stream of information, could hack your nerves, to create the most mathematically pleasing sensation possible to you. The most beautiful scenery, the most rapturous soundscape, the most attractive mate.
That is what human food is.
All carbon based lifeforms share similar traits. Evolution took separate paths on our separate planets, but we all have things in common. In particular, we all had similar tastes. No matter what planet you’re on, glucose or other sugars will be a valuable source of energy. Sodium will always be a necessity, so savory foods will always be delicious. But for all our species, we turned our intelligence towards providing the necessary nutrients for ourselves. Humanity turned theirs towards hacking the senses.
They read their own tastebuds and developed artificial sweetners that fit better than sugar. They crammed different flavors together to explode in the mouth. They created combinations that would never had existed in theirs, or any, ancestral environment. And because of our similar evolutionary paths, they hacked our senses too.
___
This is my first time writing here, please give advice and criticism | "Commander Blarg," barked the bulbous green commandant, "we have arrived at Earth, sir."
Blarg swivelled his eye stalks over to his adjutant and made a contented squelching noise.
"Very good, Commandant, very good. Commence with orbit. Open communications with the - what was it? - oh yes, United Nations Space Embassy."
The underling wobbled affirmitively and pressed a few blinking computer buttons with flagellant appendages. The computer binked and bonged happily for a few moments. A face then materialised on the main viewscreen. It was disturbing - a sort of fleshy ruddy colour, quite opaque, topped in a mop of stringy stuff. Blarg and his bridge staff gallantly hid their cringing revulsion at the bizarre alien.
"Hi, guys!" the Earthling tooted. "What's up? Quite the space ship you have there!"
Blarg bristled, but held himself in check.
"Hail Earthling! We travel to you for, uh, the purposes of commercial negotiation."
"Oh, how nice," replied the human. "What commercial outfit would that be?"
"ZacZonaldz, of course! And in our fabulpus flagship, the Death Star!" announced Blarg. His feigning of glee and cheer was very convincing for an amorphous mega-single-celled entity. He waved around with his pseudopodia and, with a gesture, impelled an orderly dustbin robot to quickly send a Space-Mail to the human negotiator.
The human raised its eyebrows (disgusting!) and received the letter with glee, holding it aloft in bizarre bony manipulators.
"Ooh," it cooed, "a leaflet! The 'Death Star Orbital Space Drive-Thru', finest of Galactic eateries. Coming soon to a star system near you!'. Well, that's tremendous, I'm sure. But what would our humble gastronomic tradition have to offer you?"
The human went through an embarassing account of literally stellar cuisine - everything from cajun fries to Siberian jellied ice fish - all of which was so completely delicious and fresh that damn near every sentient and sapient creature the Galaxy across was flocking to this backwater blue ball. And, Blarg glowered, taking a vast chunk out of the Galactic fast-food market in the so doing.
"Yes, yes," chuckled Blarg, interrupting the human with a certain edge of desperate embarassment, "all very good! Very good indeed. And that's why we're here!"
Blarg coughed (as far as a pseudo macro-unicellular organism can) and signalled towards a new hologram that shimmered up beside him, rather like a newscast. He pointed eagerly towards it.
"Behold, Earthling! Our plan for the greatest culinary takeover - er, I mean, partnership - in Galactic history!"
Blarg patiently explained the options described in the hologram. The human received them with increasing levels of incredulity. Mashed Cat, Fried Grass, Chicken Lollipop, and Iceberg Soup really didn't sound terribly pleasant.
But, then again, these are the experienced professionals, aren't they? The human mulled Blarg's propositions. Well, it'd be jolly unfriendly not to let them have a go at some of this food.
"Alright," said the UN negotiator. "Sounds fine to me! Probably can't legally fry cats, I'm afraid, but the icebergs, grass, and chicken ones should be fine. Garlic Smoothie should be quite the pungent hit!"
And, with that, the UN signed off on a deal eagerly embraced by the galactic fast-food conglomerates - to their horrendous disaster, as their new menus proved so apallingly vile as to drive them all out of business forever. So grievously offensive were their ideas that the Padishah Emperor of the Galaxy, Zoggam XI, declared galactic fast-food illegal.
The Galaxy flourished for a thousand years under the guidance of true Earthling cuisine, and all concerned ultimately lived happily ever after. | 2022-06-10T09:06:32 | 2022-06-10T08:49:21 | 98 | 52 |
[WP] Aliens have finally discovered Earth - but they're not hostile. They've tasted human food, and they think it's so astonishingly good that Earth is becoming an alien tourist hotspot. | "Guzul? Is that you?"
"Hey, Kuli. Good to perceive you. What are you doing here?"
"Checking out the local eats, like you. These humans don't know how good they've got it. Over there, is that ... ?"
"Yeah, that's ol' Reedle. Wolfing down the usual combo."
"And ... " [pointing across]
"Yup. Zilzabo. Looks like they're going for the all-day breakfast this time."
"How many of us are there in here?"
[looks around] "Probably a dozen or so. Those two over there appear to be locals, though."
"Doesn't it strike you as a bit weird that it's mostly us in here, and hardly any actual humans?"
[decent imitation of a human shrug] "Honestly, it's probably the only thing keeping most of these places open. According to the humans, this place isn't particularly good food, but like they say, 'I'm lovin' it'" | "Commander Blarg," barked the bulbous green commandant, "we have arrived at Earth, sir."
Blarg swivelled his eye stalks over to his adjutant and made a contented squelching noise.
"Very good, Commandant, very good. Commence with orbit. Open communications with the - what was it? - oh yes, United Nations Space Embassy."
The underling wobbled affirmitively and pressed a few blinking computer buttons with flagellant appendages. The computer binked and bonged happily for a few moments. A face then materialised on the main viewscreen. It was disturbing - a sort of fleshy ruddy colour, quite opaque, topped in a mop of stringy stuff. Blarg and his bridge staff gallantly hid their cringing revulsion at the bizarre alien.
"Hi, guys!" the Earthling tooted. "What's up? Quite the space ship you have there!"
Blarg bristled, but held himself in check.
"Hail Earthling! We travel to you for, uh, the purposes of commercial negotiation."
"Oh, how nice," replied the human. "What commercial outfit would that be?"
"ZacZonaldz, of course! And in our fabulpus flagship, the Death Star!" announced Blarg. His feigning of glee and cheer was very convincing for an amorphous mega-single-celled entity. He waved around with his pseudopodia and, with a gesture, impelled an orderly dustbin robot to quickly send a Space-Mail to the human negotiator.
The human raised its eyebrows (disgusting!) and received the letter with glee, holding it aloft in bizarre bony manipulators.
"Ooh," it cooed, "a leaflet! The 'Death Star Orbital Space Drive-Thru', finest of Galactic eateries. Coming soon to a star system near you!'. Well, that's tremendous, I'm sure. But what would our humble gastronomic tradition have to offer you?"
The human went through an embarassing account of literally stellar cuisine - everything from cajun fries to Siberian jellied ice fish - all of which was so completely delicious and fresh that damn near every sentient and sapient creature the Galaxy across was flocking to this backwater blue ball. And, Blarg glowered, taking a vast chunk out of the Galactic fast-food market in the so doing.
"Yes, yes," chuckled Blarg, interrupting the human with a certain edge of desperate embarassment, "all very good! Very good indeed. And that's why we're here!"
Blarg coughed (as far as a pseudo macro-unicellular organism can) and signalled towards a new hologram that shimmered up beside him, rather like a newscast. He pointed eagerly towards it.
"Behold, Earthling! Our plan for the greatest culinary takeover - er, I mean, partnership - in Galactic history!"
Blarg patiently explained the options described in the hologram. The human received them with increasing levels of incredulity. Mashed Cat, Fried Grass, Chicken Lollipop, and Iceberg Soup really didn't sound terribly pleasant.
But, then again, these are the experienced professionals, aren't they? The human mulled Blarg's propositions. Well, it'd be jolly unfriendly not to let them have a go at some of this food.
"Alright," said the UN negotiator. "Sounds fine to me! Probably can't legally fry cats, I'm afraid, but the icebergs, grass, and chicken ones should be fine. Garlic Smoothie should be quite the pungent hit!"
And, with that, the UN signed off on a deal eagerly embraced by the galactic fast-food conglomerates - to their horrendous disaster, as their new menus proved so apallingly vile as to drive them all out of business forever. So grievously offensive were their ideas that the Padishah Emperor of the Galaxy, Zoggam XI, declared galactic fast-food illegal.
The Galaxy flourished for a thousand years under the guidance of true Earthling cuisine, and all concerned ultimately lived happily ever after. | 2022-06-10T09:21:33 | 2022-06-10T08:49:21 | 96 | 52 |
[WP] When two people fall in love, they receive an object that is the physical embodiment of that love. It changes as their feelings change towards each other and destroying it can have drastic consequences. How does this change the nature of relationships? | On the first date by the sea, our love was a ring. A normal look for these types of things.
It hugs my finger so well, this is the love I needed. I can tell.
At the first kiss it was a boat. Roped at the docks where our love first took float.
Our first anniversary was a beautiful tale, and our hearts boat sprung a beautiful sail.
She held my hand through 5 years of seas but the boat and sail stayed strong through these.
A ring, a boat, a sail, now an anchor. Though the seas became rougher, for her love I always thanked her.
She took to land and left for her other lovers town. The boat and sail and ring vanished, and with the anchor I drowned. | We walked up the the government building. Holding hands together. We had just realized that yes, we were in fact deeply in love after just three weeks being together. And as the law goes we had to get our Article, the one thing that would guide and lead us through the years together. Oliver smiled as he opened the door for me, I smiled back naturally.
---------------------------------------
We sat in the waiting room, happy couples in love all around us, one couple was with child, waiting to see the Oracle of Children. Another had their Article in a small box, meaning it had became a ring and that they were to be married today by the Oracle of Marriage.
We sat anxious, ready to start our new life together.
"Gemma and Oliver," the muffled intercom said quietly, "Please report to the Oracle of Blessings office."
We received our blessing and the Article of love issued to new couples.
"Do not ever lose your Article, don't destroy your article, take care and love your article as much as you love each other," The Oracle of Blessing bowed and wrapped both me and Oliver's hands around our article. It pulsated with heat.
"We have but only each other, and love," We repeated the mantra that we had been taught all our lives, the one that we would repeat all of our lives.
---------------------------------------
Me and Oliver were set up to live together in three days time. The Article sat upon a stand by the door, glowing a light blue color. We sat together on the couch, the light from the Article changing to a deep pink glow as Oliver placed his hand on my lower back. I looked at Oliver and he stared back at me. We had both received the packet, deep pink meant... well... you could guess what it means.
---------------------------------------
I stared at the Article in disbelief as I placed my keys upon the table.
It's shape had changed into a pacifier; I was pregnant with Oliver's baby. It glowed white, meaning that the sex was undetermined.
I was so happy.
"We only have but each other, love and our child," I said quietly to Oliver that night.
---------------------------------------
We went to the Oracle of Children. It was unusual that we were with child before marriage but it was what the Article had guided us to.
The Oracle gave me helpful suggestions and tips to insure the babies heath. I was having two children, one boy and one girl child.
The Oracle gave us a list of Government approved names and we chose to. Justin and Polly, they were to take Oliver's last name.
We repeated the Mantra together, Oliver placing his ear to my stomach.
"We only have but each other, love and our children"
----------------------------------------
It was Justin and Polly's seventh birthday. Me and Oliver had been married for five years and were very happy together when it happened.
The Article broke.
We hadn't bumped it or moved it, it wasn't our faults. It just broke in two one day, maybe it was because we hadn't been paying attention to it. Maybe it was because we hadn't repeated the Mantra enough times.
I found out later that Oliver had been the one who fell out of love. He was having an affair with another woman.
----------------------------------------
Oliver moved out. Our children were put in child care and I was branded as unlovable.
I had my half of the Article, but nothing else to my name. Oliver was no better off than me, not able to get a job, or keep the house.
----------------------------------------
I moved into another district, changed my name. But I never did get another partner, in respect that I never did stop loving that no good man.
Life for me, was always hard, hiding my half of the Article, hiding a love that no one wanted.
Edit* spelling | 2014-05-03T15:00:16 | 2014-05-03T14:27:45 | 124 | 63 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face | The doctors hand the little ball of blankets that apparently holds a child in them. Though their smiles are wide, their eyes lie. I look down at this small child with brilliantly brown hair. I brush the hair to the side to observe the dark birthmark...death and murder. I'm confused. My family has always been writers and philosophers. We have never had any murders in the family but somehow there the mark was.
I let out a small scream, something I was advised not to do due to the complications of my pregnancy. I feel a small rip in my abdomen. The pain is unbearable and my daughter's mark lightens and starts to disappear...as they do when the mark's duty has been completed. The doctors rush in and take the child away, they start screaming things..."get a crash cart, I need adrenaline stat, she needs to be intubated." The light starts to dim but I smile slightly, I was my child's murder. | From the moment Hannah was born, we gave up hope of her following in our footsteps- you know med school, top of the class, private practice, and a comfortable life that never lets anything as trivial as money stand in the way of a valuable existential experience. Honestly, I didn't aknowledge her as mine until the DNA results came in. I figured her mother had suffered an indiscretion, and this murderous retch was the result.
I never gave her a chance.
I told my partners at the practice she was born still. I denied my mother the visit to the OB unit she had dreamt of for 30 years. I always felt deep down inside that the signs are never wrong. I know people write books every year claiming that ones destiny can be changed, but just like movies they are a fantasy created for cold hard cash. I debated adopting her out. My dear sweet dull wife would've crumbled under the weight of that. I thought about snuffing the life out her myself, but my mark is blue. Blues heal, reds kill. I knew I would never have the balls to snatch my infant daughter, and smother her to death.
The justice system only just started "pre-convicitons" after years of appeals in the interest of human rights. The general populous only started accepting the marks as "certainty and legally unchangeable" in last couple years. Politicians were arguing about pre-convictions like they used to argue about global warming or net neutrality back when our country was young at the turn of the 21st. Nearing the end of the 23rd now though the future was really here, and citizens were really scared. They could receive a death sentence,now, for something they might not do for 30 or 50 more years.
I wasn't proud of my daughter when she was born, but I didn't want her to die, or be caught up in a pre-conviction in ten years. I did the only sensible thing I could think of, I hid her.
My wife is sobbing, "it's been 12 years." As if I need the reminder. Our marriage has been absolute shit since we brought Hannah home. Typically, she takes care of Hannah while I work. I come home and she's already drunk, ignoring our daughter she is supposed to be homeschooling. I have never been the super masculine male that I think she always wanted. I respect and love her, no matter how drunk she gets, and no matter how hard she hits me I won't hit her back. God I have dreamt of it, but I couldn't ever do it. I wonder sometimes if Hannah gets it from her mom like I do. Hannah is too quiet and uncomfortable around me, we just share a television and DNA, not much else.
I sometimes wonder if she is going to kill her mom?
I wonder if shes a killer because the mark is making her one, keeping her prisoner and shaping her whole world. I kind of hope she would. Her mother is a drunken waste, and although quiet and uneasy around me, I feel her life of solitude has granted her a character of granite. I think she has the resolve to not kill. I can't believe I am thinking this again. God these marks can't be changed.
I'm getting tired now, the suicide cocktail I took must be taking hold.
I hope that her mother holds her well, while I am gone.
I feel like I'm drowning now, must be close to my sweet release.
Aahh! Calm blackness.
Whose there? I hear you, I hear you. Yes I hear you. I'm trying.
My eyes won't open, I can't help it. I'm on my way out. God! Sternal rubs hurt. God it's bright!! My god!, Hannah, your mark, its green! HOW? What is...
| 2014-05-11T02:45:16 | 2014-05-10T23:56:37 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] Twist a nursery rhyme into something sinister. | Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,
kissed the girls and made them cry.
But when one girl walked home that day,
Georgie took her home to stay.
Georgie Porgie, candy and cream,
thought that Bess was his true dream.
And many days Georgie would spend
whipping her to call him "boyfriend."
Georgie Porgie, apple to core,
decided he wanted Bess no more.
So Georgie Porgie, muffins and tea,
threw her down into the sea.
Georgie Porgie, ice cream and cake,
one day made a big mistake.
Laura trusted her own head,
and when he came she shot him dead.
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie;
this is where his body lies.
If forbidden treats are delights to you,
you'll soon join Georgie Porgie too! | Michael Upton let out an angry sigh.
"Calm down, baby, God. You already have all this stuff, what do you care if you get any more?"
He looked at his newly-wed wife - easily the best looking woman he had ever been with. She was young, charismatic and beautiful... but her personality was frequently not what one might call, tolerable.
"Daddy, I want it. Get it for me."
Most people were shocked with the fact that she called him 'daddy'... him, too, when it first started happening - despite the playful irony in their age difference. Yet, with time, he had come to find it perversely irresistible.
"Listen, baby," he tried to reason. "I've already gotten you absolutely *everything* you've asked for.
"First you wanted that Northern Mockingbird. I found it cute, until I realized how bloody *rare* these things are. Oh but no, you wouldn't budge! So I spent a small fortune on getting it for you, despite the fact that it is even *illegal*. You let the damn thing starve in the first week you had it." Merely by remembering the fact, his blood pressure started to rise.
"*Then,*" he heaved, "you got it in your head that the most important thing on the whole damn universe, is diamonds. Couldn't you have picked brass, you greedy woman? And I got you the biggest diamond ring that money can buy. I haven't seen you wear it *once!*" He looked at her accusingly. She merely humphed and looked over her shoulder.
"Next on this record of materialistic malice," Michael continued, "you happened to see some random, grandiose Victorian mirror in one of your favorite turkish soaps, you obviously *had* to have it. I had to track it down through most of Southern Europe, baby. Have you ever dealt business with men of their culture, baby?" he asked rhetorically. She almost answered, when he cut her off fiercely, "Of course you haven't. It's a nightmare. And what do you do, almost straight off the bat? Of course, you break it." She didn't speak.
"Going down on this wonderful list, we have nothing other than no-nonsense animal cruelty. No need to mention, an expensive cat was just *too ordinary*. Your favorite Hollywood actor, fucking what's-his-name, he gets a goat? He is fucking crazy, baby, that's why he gets to get a goat. You, on the other hand, are simply *spoiled*. The poor thing couldn't have survived you if it tried.
"And who can forget the Lamborghini. Aventador, newest model. To think I was worried sick, thinking you might have been hurt in the crash... " He eyed her dangerously.
"But you know what got to me most? It was Rover, baby. The god damn dog." In the heat of emotion, he welled up. "I never thought I could connect with an animal, until you demanded Rover. That stupid-faced mutt..." He fleetingly look down at his feet.
"How could you strangle him, baby? I'll never forgive you for that..." He turned to her with his heart open, waiting for her to speak.
She was looking at her nails. She absently lifted her head when she realized she was being addressed.
"Daddy, I hated that dog. All it did was bite and snarl at me. I had to show it how things are."
"You monstrous fucking *bitch*," he barked. "And now you ask for a horse? You need a fucking horse?! Is your search for innocent souls to stain never-fucking-ending?"
"Daddy, I need it. Get it for me."
Michael couldn't help himself. In a flash of rage, he grabbed her neck and pushed his thumbs in it.
She gasped and flailed. She looked at him with sheer surprise. She tried to speak.
"Hush, now, baby. Don't say a word." | 2014-08-26T11:17:31 | 2014-08-26T11:11:14 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Test your research skills, have your character explore a place you've never been before using only the knowledge you can find on the Internet. Locals, tell them how they did.
Get as detailed as possible, the sights, the sounds, the people, the food, the smells, build the world as accurately as you can. | We felt like we have been driving for hours. We had to do something to break the monotony.
"Hey, wanna play the alphabet game?"
"Sure..."
"Spot something that starts with an A."
"I don't see anything that starts with an A."
"Neither do I, one point for you."
"Something that starts with a B."
"Not seeing anything that starts with a B."
"Me neither, I guess we're tied."
"Spot something that starts with a C."
"Cornfield. Why are we even trying, this is useless because all there is is cornfields, literally just cornfield after cornfield. I don't think it's even a state. It's just a cornfield with towns. "
"Yeah I guess you're right, I guess we'll try again once we get out of Nebraska." | The 5 to the 80 is the longer drive, but that's the way he goes, and I wonder if there's an ulterior motive for this.
"Remember this from my weekend?" he asks, and shows me the Battle Born album art on his new iPhone. We listen to Brandon singing the whole way through the desert, interrupted a few times when he has to check emails from the partners.
The sun is setting when we turn on North Virginia, under the neon archway. There's no valet outside Harrah's but we can park around back, where three Mexicans in sauce-stained white jackets are smoking and talking Spanish.
"Is guest parking okay here?" he asks them.
"I dunno, but you wanna buy some weed?" one of them asks.
"Maybe later," he says, grabbing his roller off the leather seats and handing me my backpack.
We check in and he gives me a key card for the room.
"Craps first?" he asks.
"You're a fucking degen," I tease.
The pit is all purple and burnt sienna and symmetrical flower petals on the carpet, with the clangs and chimes and whistles from slots and the quarters falling into metal bins. Four women in their seventies are lined up beside each other in pastel blouses, pushing on machines styled after Sex and the City.
"Hey where's the craps?" he asks a waitress in a black sport coat, with a little freckled cleavage sticking out.
"That way and turn left," she says, pointing further in.
"It's his thirtieth birthday," he tells her. She smiles and touches my shoulder. Behind her, there's a woman in a fanny pack sticking her finger at a thin and stoic looking Latino guy with a buttoned up plaid shirt and two forearm tattoos.
The table is empty except for the dealers. I buy in for fifty and he goes for three hundred.
"Play some of my stack," he says.
"I'm good," I tell him.
"Come on."
"Fuck off, Brian, I'll play my own money, okay?"
"Fine, calm down, I just want you to have a good time, okay?"
"It's okay. Sorry. You know what, I need to get some fresh air. I'll meet you in the room in an hour, ok?"
I stuff my chips in my pocket and start searching for the exit, which takes me too long to find, but soon the thin desert air hits me, as two white vans and a cop car pass by.
Down the block from the hotel is all motels and pawn shops. A black woman in fishnets calls me baby and says something I don't understand, but ignore.
"Hey is there a McDonald's nearby?" I ask an old man in an Army tee shirt.
"No idea, but I think I saw a Burger King," he says.
A couple minutes later my knee is sore again, so I go into the ~~Nugget~~ Sands and fall down in one of the puke green lobby chairs.
"You look how I feel," the girl next to me says, "What has you in the biggest little city in the fucking world?"
"It's my birthday," I tell her.
"Well fuck your life too!" she says, "I'm here for my little sister's bachelorette and the guy I was seeing apparently just isn't answering texts anymore."
"My brother's back at Harrah's," I tell her, chuckling for the first time in a while.
"Here she says," handing me a plastic water bottle, "it's vodka."
She pulls out a second one and we cheers as best we can.
"What are we toasting?" I ask.
"To being second best, here in the land of second best," she says.
| 2015-12-10T19:44:23 | 2015-12-10T17:17:22 | 38 | 28 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "So...*uh*...nice throne?"
***THANK YOU IT IS MADE OF SKULLS HONORED TO BE BUILT INTO MY SKULL THRONE!!!***
"Got a nice view of that red, steaming lake there, I see."
***YES THE LAKE OF BLOOD MADE FROM THE BLOOD DRAWN AND SHED BY MY FAITHFUL BERZERKERS IS QUITE POSSIBLY MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT MY REALM!!!***
"Neat."
***QUITE.***
"..."
***...***
"So why exactly am I her-"
***DO YOU WANT TO BE A MASSIVE BEING OF UNYIELDING METAL AND FLESH RENDING THE MEAT OF THE WEAK AND UNWORTHY IN A SCREAMING ORGY OF HATE AND VIOLENCE FOREVER MORE?!***
***"FUCK YES PRAISE THE BLOOD GOD!!!!"*** | Baxter walked down the long tunnel of light. It grew brighter and brighter until his eyes began to water. Finally, the light abated and he found himself at the ticketing counter at O'Hare.
He took a couple shuffling steps toward the counter.
"Umm, hello?"
A rather short man climbed his way up onto the counter.
"Greetings, young traveler," the man said in a vice much deeper than his stature suggested. "Welcome to your Terminal Destination."
Baxter looked around at the empty ticket lines. "Are you saying I'm dead?"
"Well, of course you are. Traffic doesn't stop in Chicago."
"I'm dead?" Baxter repeated.
"Yes and unless you want to miss your flight, you'll need to get your ticket."
Baxter blinked at the short man on the counter. "I'm sorry, this doesn't sound at all like what Sunday School told me. Where's St. Peter? The Pearly Gates?"
The short man shook his head. "I hate to ask, but I need to see your ID."
Baxter instinctively pulled out his wallet and handed his ID over. The little man hopped down from the counter and started punching the keys of his computer terminal.
"Let's see here... Baxter T. Jeffries. Age 43. Hmm, looks like you're booked on Methodist Airline departing for Heaven in a little while, but they've marked here that you have to check in at the gate."
Baxter shrugged an took the ticket from the man. "I travelled plenty in my life, which way to security?"
The little man laughed. "Security? What are you going to re-kill people? Hijack a flight to Heaven and take it to Valhalla? Get outta here you kooky corpse."
Baxter watched as the little man walked toward the office door, still shaking with laughter.
"Okay. That was the weirdest thing ever."
Baxter walked down the terminal until he found a familiar cross with flame symbol. It'd been years since he stopped going to church, but he still recognized the Methodist symbol. He gripped his ticket, took a deep breath and walked to the gate counter.
"Um, hi. I'm Baxter Jeffries, I have a ticket to Heaven?" He said to the blue clad angel running the desk.
The angel took his ticket and started punching codes into the computer. "Mr. Jeffries, you were raised Methodist, correct?"
"Yes, sir, it is."
"But you left the church at the age of sixteen. Because you, let me see here, ah here it is you quote were too old to believe in stupid fairy tales anymore. End quote."
Baxter felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Yeah, well, I was a rebellious youth."
"Yes, but you continued to live your life as an atheist until you were struck by a food truck and died."
"Well, I guess so."
The angel smiled at Baxter. "I'm, sorry sir, but your ticket to Heaven is hereby revoked." The angel ripped the ticket up.
"Wait, you can't do that! Where am I supposed to go now?"
The angel pointed over to a group of men in suits begging sitting in the middle of the food court. Baxter walked over to the men.
One of them looked up as he approached. "Spare some change, mister?" Baxter just shook his head and sat down with them.
As he sat down, a woman and a small child were walking past, each with tickets. The child stopped and was about to say something, but the mother shooed him on.
"Don't talk to them Joey."
"What are they, mommy?"
"Atheists."
"What are atheists?"
"People that are all dressed up with nowhere to go." They hurried on to their gate.
***
***You can find more of my work at /r/thestormcellar hope you enjoy!*** | 2016-03-07T17:04:48 | 2016-03-07T16:17:57 | 469 | 84 |
[WP] It's been almost two years since people stopped dying, and five months since we started to burn the ones that should.
*Edit: This prompt is originally inspired by Jose Saramago's "Death with Interruptions," though I don't remembered any burning in that book. This is in no way intended to be related to any Torchwood plot, a show I've never watched.* | I still heard people around me, even if I couldn't react. For a long time, I heard the people telling my family how lucky they were that I had my accident *after* Death had died. I never felt lucky, though.
After a while, no one came around at all. Death or no Death, I was lost to them.
It'd been -- months...? Maybe years? -- since I'd moved. The doctors knew I was still *there* -- they picked up on my brain activity, and all my necessary functions were chugging along just fine. I couldn't see anymore, though I'd heard I still had my eyes. I suppose that was lucky, given the extent of my burns.
The fire may not have taken my eyes, but it certainly broke something. My skin screamed in constant, droning agony, occasionally amplified by a touch from a nurse. In a way, I was glad it'd been so long since I'd seen my mother -- she had loved to touch me, and I had had no way to tell her that it made my pain so much worse.
I was hopeful. Some untold length of time ago, I was listed for disposal. And today was the day. I had heard it happened with fire. Fitting, I thought.
I heard the crew come in and I felt something I hadn't felt in several eternities -- I was happy. My skin shrieked a beautiful, horrible pain, and soon I was burning. I was ecstatic.
I could feel my flesh melting away from my bones, and I waited blissfully for consciousness to fade away.
But it never did. The pain is so much worse, and I can feel myself scattered and stretched, disintegrated into countless millions of ashes. Of course, they assumed the fire would *truly* kill me, send me out of this world and into the next, but that was foolish. Death is dead, and no one can die. | I washed onto the shore of Alcatraz a little less than 2 years ago.
I planned it perfectly. I avoided the suicide nets and just fell right from the Golden Gate to the bay. The force should have killed me or at least knocked me out and let me drown peacefully. All that remains of that attempt is the slight limp from my knee. Because I didn't die, I healed. I was fortunate, I suppose, in that existential way. At least that's what the doctors told me.
But here I am. Again. At the near the foot of the bridge, at The Pyre that had been burning for months. Fire was how we finally ended up dying.
You could tell why almost everyone was here. A lot of cancer, mostly. Grotesque extra appendages poking out of the t-shirts. Inflamed testicles. One lady had a bit of material erupting from her ear that, on first glance, looked like hair. It was a tumor.
But the other ones, like me, stood there with nothing wrong.
The line for The Pyre was long. There was a concrete causeway poured onto the when the news reports finally came through that there was a way to end the lives of those that shouldn't be. There were, of course, videos from all over the world at vast flame pits and people running and jumping into them or being dumped from stretchers or wheelchairs.
The Pyre was not a wooden fire (at this location), but a complicated setup of jets and propellent and pumps to clean out ashes. And this was an orderly place. In Britain, they queued up. They wore suits and dresses. Bespoke tailors in London were booming. But this was America, so we also stood on line to die. If it wasn't a hospital gown it was t-shirt and jeans or, often, sweatpants. Also, because this was America, there was also bureaucracy.
At the front of the line, with a heat-shield of some clear substance behind her, was an attendant. She took names and proof of identification.
"Social security number. Name. Purpose of death. Cause of purpose."
These were the four pieces of data required. She typed them in diligently.
You would have thought that there would be clergy and other people all up and down the beach, exhorting those to re-think their actions, or to convert, or to make a last will and testament change. Some laws were passed and judgements passed down from an increasingly pared down Supreme Court (6 members, all pared down from the original 9 due to calls of "tradition" for one reason or another). The clergy and lawyers and protesters were kept at least 500 yards from a given municipal or private-enterprise pyre.
This one was a city-ran pyre.
The attendant asked the person before me asked their information.
After her social security number, she continued "Anita Howard,' she answered. "To end suffering. Cancer." She passed her ID and death passport.
That was all.
"Thank you. Good luck on your journey."
That was all. That was the legally required last statement to the soon-to-be-departed. No eye contact was allowed. And, given that there were thousands on the line here, all empathy was quickly drained from any statement, like a cashier asking cordially about the day of the customer. There was no feeling there. All rote.
The woman walked around the barrier (aerogel, the name came to mind). She took a breath and walked faster and faster and entered the pyre. A switch came on and it ignited. A few seconds later she was gone. A pump trickled water from the bay across the concrete, sweeping the ashes into a container. A pipe lead off into the distance. The end-result of the ashes were only known to civil engineers and the curious, of which I was neither.
She asked me her query. I gave her my number and name. I passed her the ID and death passport. "Purpose?"
"Suicide."
"Cause of purpose."
I had prepared a statement. By law they were only to be 25 words, maximum. But her voice was hoarse and it sounded dead. It didn't matter.
"Heartbreak."
"Thank you. Good luck on your journey," she said. I walked around the barrier to the pyre. To the right was The Pyre itself. To the left was a path up and out of this place, where the next of kin and attendants and post-hospice nurses walked. Also the second-thoughts.
I looked at The Pyre. The washing pump's dripped water in a small stream that had already stained the surface of the concrete with rust.
I looked at the path, twin grooves where wheelchairs and stretchers were pushed.
I made my decision. | 2016-05-02T07:12:48 | 2016-05-02T06:52:40 | 75 | 37 |
[WP] scientists have invented a serum that allows animals to speak. Your dog was recently given the serum, but it appears the treatment has not worked. Your cousin, whom you haven't seen since your youth, comes to town to visit. As the door opens, your dog suddenly whispers in your ear: "run." | "What did you say?" I asked.
Travis's deep brown eyes filled with worry, he sniffed the air deeply and gazed out the window in alarm before trotting back to where I sat, "I said run. Get out of here. Your cousin is crazy and she's come to kill you! She has a terrible weapon of UNSPEAKABLE POWER. Go! I'll slow her down!"
So I ran.
Let me tell you, life on the run is no picnic. A man can't disappear as he once could. These days disappering means not seeing a doctor, never renting or owning a home. It means never taking work and never leaving a trace. In that moment I ceased living and started surviving.
The years take a toll, and hard years take that much more. By the time I was fifty, alcohol, drugs and the other ways people escape unavoidable fates began to wear on me.
I was at death's door, my first visit in 30 years to a doctor became my last. I was placed in the palliative care ward, under instructions that I be "made comfortable" but nothing could prepare me for my last day. The pain had become unbearable when the door opened and in stepped my murderous cousin, who had banished me from my life all those years hence.
She could have passed for my daughter, despite being my age exactly. We said pleasantries, and I watched her hands, searching for the weapon of unspeakable power I'd been warned about.
But subtlety is for people who are not at death's door.
"Remember when you came to see me and brought a weapon? What did you mean to do with it?" I asked.
"Weapon?" She asked. "Last time I saw you... Oh, I remember! I stopped over to bring you that old vaccuum cleaner, and you were gone. So I vaccuumed for you. Your dog about tore the thing apart, by the way." | "Gibbon, come here boy!"
My black and white Sheltie came bounding out of the living room, jumping up at my knees and pawing affectionately. I ruffled his fur before he skipped away, returning with his leash. Somehow he *knew* that I'd planned for us to take a walk.
It had been almost a month since the drug YX-217 had entered Phase 2 clinical trials. Millions of people had 'volunteered' their dogs for it, and I been one of the fortunate few thousand selected. I hadn't been worried - Phase 1 had observed no side effects in any of the pooches, with a remarkable 85% gaining some form of verbal communicative ability. Though it seemed I was in the 15% minority, I swore that Gibbon had become brighter and more responsive - it was as if he could anticipate my thoughts.
"Alright, hold on boy! I'm going to get..." I took two steps before Gibbon bolted to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water clutched between his teeth. I took it gingerly, kneeling down and staring at my Sheltie's wide, piercing black eyes. "Gibbon, how did you know?" I asked him.
In response, he barked softly and licked my face. I shook my head a bit, as much to clear it as to avoid drowning in saliva. Attaching the leash, I patted Gibbon affectionately. "Come on, you furry Nostradamus," I chided. "Let's get you some exercise."
The day was warm and sunny, with a cool breeze nipping the air in just the right spots. Gibbon lead the way from our duplex's yard, down the sloping cul de sac and into the main thoroughfare. We took a right, heading toward Princess Park half a kilometer away. I chuckled to myself, enjoying the feeling that I was perhaps the one being taken for a walk.
I nodded at a few passerby, while Gibbon bounded ahead heedless of their presence. As we approached the split trail leading from the sidewalk to the park's entrance, Gibbon stopped abruptly, staring ahead. I followed his gaze, but could make out only a few distant figures. "Come on, boy," I said, tugging slightly at his leash.
He let out a long, menacing howl, unlike anything I've heard or would have thought capable of a Sheltie. It stretched and wailed in the air for what seemed like minutes, before Gibbon jerked his head and began pulling me with an extraordinary strength in the opposite direction. "Gibbon! What's wrong champ?" I yelped, trying to control his leash yet finding myself slowly pulled away.
Gibbon stopped and turned to me, his eyes glowing, I swear, *glowing* with a pink hue that bordered on possession. He barked madly, angrily, nipping at the air in front of us. *Shit,* I thought, *maybe this drug does have side effects*. I berated myself for allowing my best friend to be a guinea pig, "It's okay boy," I said, taking a knee, frustrated enough to be largely indifferent to perhaps having my face bitten off. "Let's get you home, buddy."
Gibbon whined loudly before breaking free and bolting back toward the park. I turned around and saw a dozen dogs all running toward us, their owners in various states of pursuit. An image unfolded of an army of canines, perched respectfully on their haunches in a loose semi-circle around Gibbon, panting while he let out another shorter, but no less severe howl.
And then they took off, out of the park and across various streets, oblivious to oncoming traffic and only occasionally looking back and barking at the empty-leashed horde running after them, as if to say, "Are you coming, or what?"
Gibbon was then at my side, biting my ankles and circling in a tizzy, barking madly and beckoning me forward. As if in a lifelike dream I followed, walking briskly and keeping behind, only to graduate to a jog and then finally a full blown marathon-like sprint as Gibbon sped ahead, turning and barking every few seconds to confirm my presence.
We reached the bottom of our cul de sac and I held my knees, glancing up at our duplex and watching Gibbon. He had stopped now, and seemed to have relaxed. Our eyes locked, and he gingerly gripped my shirt sleeve, leading me up the slight hill. As we reached the top, I took a knee and met his gaze. "Gibbon, I..."
A loud thud hammered in the distance, localized from where we had come. I looked over and could see clouds of grey smoke billowing and then fading into the air. Turning back, I noticed Gibbon was laying prone on the asphalt, his muzzle buried in his paws and tears matting his furry cheek. I had never seen a sadder face. | 2016-08-31T20:36:14 | 2016-08-31T20:25:48 | 1,110 | 28 |
[WP] A burglar enters a home by forcing the window open. Upon stepping through the window frame, heavy steel curtains cover all windows and doors leading to the outside, lights turn on, and the words "Player 2 has entered the game" echo around the house. | Grant stopped in his tracks. *This didn't bode well.*
He walked to the steel curtains, feeling them with his hands. Solid steel. He looked closer... were those scratch marks?
The house was massive, part of the reason why he chose to rob it. Surely there must be a way out? It was a really unsettling security system, he couldn't deny that.
He walked through the narrow corridors. He felt so claustrophobic, so trapped. He was deeply unsettled.
Time drifted on. The more he thought about it, the more he came to terms with the fact that he was going to prison. He was caught. It's not like it hadn't happened before.
The scratch marks though. They were everywhere. What could that mean?
Eventually, he reached the third story of the house. There seemed to be a crumpled figure on the floor. It wasn't moving. Why did it look so human-like?
He crept towards it, turning the body around with care.
He puked.
*****
Some months later, a burglar stepped through the window of the house. Suddenly, heavy steel curtains slammed shut, covering all the windows and doors leading outside.
Spotlights illuminated the room, causing him to squint against the light.
He could hear the crackle of a speaker. "Player 3 has entered the game" echoed through the house.
He looked at the walls.
The steel curtains were covered in deep, thick scratches. | The curtains flung pass behind me. They wouldn't open, either. So I slammed down with my fist, and came out with a throbbing fist. That wasn't going to work either. I looked around, for some other entrance. I may be a burglar, but I know bad decisions, when they kick me from behind, drag me to the floor, and proceed to smash my brains out. I looked around, at book shelfs, at a table, at a chair, at laptops, and some very nice iPads. Sooner I was out of this weird place, sooner I could sell some stuff, and get some bosh. Sooner I could get some bosh, sooner I could give some bribes. Sooner I could give some bribes, sooner I could steal some stuff. Go back to the start. It was a very nice closed cycle. Unfortunately, it seemed I was going to have some trouble.
I saw a thing flash past. The door was wide open, by the way, and the lights very much lit. I peered out, into a long, carpeted hallway, and I saw a mirror. Or, at least, I thought a mirror. He was wearing black top, blue jeans, and what looked like parts of broken trainers. When my shadow moved, I could tell that he was not such the case.
I lifted up my knife. Ive always thought that guns were just to messy, and to loud, for my kind of work. His knife lifted as well. I said "We know what we want..." in a light, and, oh well, yes, a shaky voice. "Yes, we definetly do... Now, It seems that you have gotten us stuck. So get us out!". He obviously wasn't so scared of a guy with a knife. Well, I hadn't been going to long. "I... I don't know how. I mean, you were obviously here first." I explained. "And how would you know that?" "Well, considering it said player two, I mean, I kinda thought..." "So you heard it too." "Yes" "Well. Great. Good. So , mastermind, if you're so smart, how do you suppose we get out of this metal box?" he questioned. I didn't really know, I mean, its not as if you prepare yourself for being in a metal box and getting out of it everyday, do you? Do you? God I wish I could talk to people in the future. Or look into the future. I might not get trapped in metal boxes so much. Any way, I looked to my left, where a long staircase led up, and up, and up. I said "You first..." and he pushed me forward. I got the jist of it, and started up the steps.
Up and round, the staircase went, and after many steps, we reached the top. We had passed a few landings along the way, all with metal across the doors, and iron across the windows. What was this, a prison, or a house? The door at the top, had greek lettering on it. Προσοχή, μια ύδρα, was what it said. The phrase 'its all greek to me' came up a good few times. Anyways, it was the only door left unlocked, and so I turned the handle, and let the door creak open... Actually, I should tell you about the door. It was a dark, wooden, oak door, obviously intended to be strong, and hard, and the scratches on the door did worry me a bit. Have I told you about the flooring? No? Ill just get to the...
A giant hydra was lying behind the door. It was sleeping, luckily. My other 'Friend' had left me behind the strong oak, and called "You alright?". I decided to never let him know. There was another door, oak, behind the hydra. I sneaked past, and shouted to him "Come through!" And slammed the door behind me. I was outside, dawn was breaking, and the world was generally shining. I hope my little friend had a snuggly time with that beast.
J2D28U
- please tell me how bad
my work is BUT also tell
me how to improve it.
Thank you for reading! -
| 2016-10-05T10:27:45 | 2016-10-05T10:06:35 | 856 | 25 |
[WP] The witch is buying first-borns to rescue them from shitty parents who sell their children. | There is a strange sort of magic in being the first of something. I should know. I was born eons ago, to a young woman who lived in a tribe that hunted on the grasslands. I was the first albino. I was the first child to be abandoned.
I have within me great power, and a great tenderness. I am old now. Ancient beyond recon, and I am known through the ages. Parents, that is to say good parents, sometimes tell stories of me to their children. The boogie man, the crooked woman, the crone... stay out late and she'll take you. Don't eat your vegetables and she'll take you. Hit your sister and she'll take you.
Lies, all of it. Not that I mind, of course. Sometimes a little fear is good for a child, helps to teach them the rules, which helps them to grow.
While I do take children, and frequently it is the naughty ones, it is because I have bought them. When I take children I haven't paid for, it is those who were sent out and left alone. Abandoned. Free for the taking.
For many years I detested the parents who would sell their children to me, the money I paid I would curse, so all their fortune turned to misery. One day that changed.
It was some time in the 200s, the village folk believed me evil but feared me enough to avoid me, and rightfully so. They knew to contact me by making a simaculum of a person out of twigs and twine and burning it, then walk into the woods to negotiate.
I felt myself summoned, a particularly poor family I had watched from afar. They struggled with infertility as they struggled with all else and had only two children of their own. I went to the woods and found the seller. I had expected the father, or perhaps the mother, come to trade their offspring for riches.
Instead I found the son, 12 years of age. He was cold, hungry and very, very afraid. I approached quietly but he turned and saw me. I told him off. He pleaded, and I listened.
The next day I made my way to their cottage. I opened the door and let myself in. The father approached,
"You are not welcome here!" He shouted, shooing me away. I pressed a sack to his chest. "What is this?" He asked, opening it. He dropped it immediately, coins spilled out. "I will take nothing from you! Nothing!" He shouted at me, a baby cried in the corner, the mother sat on the dirt floor in the corner, hiding the infant behind herself and doing her best to quiet the wails. The father began to weep. "You can't have her! You can't!"
"I am not here for the babe," I said.
The man looked to his son. "No, you cannot have him."
I said, feigning confision, "but he is not yours to sell." The to the boy I said "come child, the debt is paid."
The mother screamed, the father threw a punch which stopped a foot from me, my magic protected me. "The child has sold himself. I will take him away, and you shall have your money. Isn't this what you want?"
"No, dammit! Nicholas, how could you? Please! Take me instead. Leave my son alone."
For the first time in years I felt pity for a parent. Too poor to feed his children both, but could not bear to part with them.
"Come child," I said sternly. "Let us be away. Now." He came without complaint. On my way out the door, I dropped another sack. "Ten times the agreed upon price, for your courage."
With that I left. We were not long away before the child wept. He tried to hide it, but I saw. "What is the matter, child?"
"I don't want to get eaten."
I laughed, loud and long. "You think I eat the children I buy? I pay far too much to just eat them. No, I take them in and raise them well. None go hungry in my care."
We walked quietly for a time as he considered this. He asked "can you teach me? Teach me to be like you?"
I looked at him for the first time, really looked at him. "I think there is magic in you, Nicholas. More than you realize. Yes, I think I could teach you." | "I'll take whatever you can give, Missus, only please, just pay me something. The other little ones at home are so hungry..."
"And you think that I would give you enough for this child to preserve the rest from starvation forever?"
"No, not forever. Just 'til I'm back on m' feet."
Anissa stared at the man before her. He looked well enough fed himself, when compared to the small boy at his side. Not fat, mind, but he had probably not missed a proper meal in quite a time, even if it was only the stew he consumed at the local tavern while drinking his earnings away.
Yes, this fellow had a job. Anissa, for all that people thought she was an empty-headed sort of woman - cultivating such a reputation helped counter people's fear of her craft - was not blind. She had seen this man about the town, working at construction in the new quarter. She had also seen him, and his companions, stopping in at the taverns every night, splashing their meager pay around as if they were lords themselves.
She had no distaste for the impoverished, and indeed she wished greatly to help them. She just wished that men like this - careless, heartless - were not so often thrown up by the rulers of the land as the true face of poverty.
"I suppose you'll want quite a sum for a firstborn son," she said, letting her hand slide idly to her purse.
"Oh, well - well, he is a son, after all. A man's greatest pride, a son. Still and all, he's a useless lad in his way. Idle, slow-witted..."
"I'll hold my own judgements on the boy," Anissa snapped.
Scooping a few coins from the small inner pocket of the purse, she flung them out of the carriage window and, while the man was diving into the mud for them, she opened the door and hopped out just long enough to catch the child up and bring him back with her into the warmth.
"Good luck to you," she called, slamming the door closed again. Rolf luckily took the cue and drove off along the street.
Across from her, the ragged boy trembled, staring at her as he huddled himself into a corner of the seat. His muddy feet were leaving tracks on the fine upholstery, and that made Anissa smile. Oh, her mother would have been cross to see such a mess.
"Tell me, dear," she whispered, and leant forward a little, "what is your name?"
She let her words carry a hint of a charm. Nothing great - simply a sense of calm and comfort to envelop the boy. Still he only stared at her, shivering. Pulling off her coat, Anissa moved to sit at his side, tucking the garment around him.
"It's all right. You needn't be afraid. I'm a witch, you know, not a monster."
"Mumma says witches eats chuldren."
"Perhaps some do. I've known some people with decidedly peculiar appetites. I, however, prefer much simpler fare. Now, please, can I know your name? It'll make our conversation easier, I think."
"William," the boy murmured, and Anissa felt a pinching pain in her heart at the name.
She'd had a little William before, all her own.
"Well, William. You're going to come live with me in my house now; won't that be nice? I have many children, and I'm sure they'll all welcome you. You'll have good food and warm clothes and..."
"Please, Miss, what about my sisters and brother?"
"They'll be all right, I'm sure. I've given your father a great deal of money..."
"But he don't keep money for us, Miss. He gives it all to the tavern."
Smiling, Anissa dared to reach out and stroke William's hair. Happily, the boy did not shy from her. Though perhaps he simply hadn't the strength. His hair, fine and dark, would be near as curly as her own once it was cleaned and combed and cared for. She let a small sorting charm pass through her fingers, easing out the worst of the mats and tangles.
"Oh, my dear, I'm a witch. Don't you worry. That money will see its way home to take care of your family."
The coins would, once deposited in the pockets of the boy's father, seem to disappear. The man would think, until he was home, that he had lost them, and once he **was** home and the coins "returned", he would feel a great compulsion to put them safely away, and to use some of them the next morning to buy provisions for his wife and remaining children. A particularly manipulative spell, but then, what was magic but a manipulation of nature?
By the time the carriage reached Anissa's home, little William was asleep, almost sliding to the floor as the conveyance came to a stop. Anissa held him back with a hand, then picked him up carefully. When Rolf opened the carriage door, she handed the boy out to him before climbing out herself.
"Will you carry him up to the nursery for me?" she asked, and Rolf nodded, turning and marching into the house.
Anissa stayed for a time by the carriage, looking up at all she had.
Her own childhood had not been a particularly comfortable one, though the family had not been nearly as badly off as William's. Why, when old Patrika had come along looking to buy one of the children as an apprentice, Anissa's parents had not asked for money; rather, they had wanted social status.
They got their status, but Anissa got more. She got power in more than one sense, and that power gave her a status few could ever hope to buy, with coin or with their own flesh and blood. When Patrika died, her house, her land, everything, went to Anissa. Since then, using her mask as a silly, over-indulged heiress with the *tiniest* hint of magic, Anissa had built up her fortune still more, then turned and given a great deal of the money over to those less fortunate. She generally asked nothing in return, but when she saw people out and about, offering their own children up like animals in the market - well, she had a tendency to buy without much question.
Now, her house was alive with the shouts and noises of happy children at play. Mostly, they were her little foundlings - her "stray pups", Wilfis called them. Some would, as she had, learn the craft of magic and related arts. Some had not the aptitude for this, but they would learn anything else their hearts desired. They all went to school, and she had a nigh-endless library for them besides.
Wilfis was at the door, smiling down at her, and so Anissa smiled in return. She could just see little Anghari there as well, peering out from behind Wilf's legs.
"Brought home another one?" Wilfis called, and at last Anissa walked up toward the house.
"Oh, well, you know me. Never can pass a child in need."
"We'll be in need, soon, of more rooms on this old place."
As Anissa passed through into the house, she paused to kiss Wilf's cheek, and then she scooped Anghari up onto her hip.
"Yes, well, I'm sure we'll think of something." | 2017-01-06T11:51:48 | 2017-01-06T11:33:43 | 34 | 22 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| Archon Lethrax of the Twelth Dominion of Nyctium looked at the Blue Seedling before him, shining beyond the bridge. He had seen many hives of scum and depravity - the Voidstalker Collective literally devoured their young, the Praxic Union glassed unruly planets, and the less said about the Akirian Free State, the better. This system called "Sol" seemed tame, weak, inexperienced. A bold first conquest.
The humans put up a fight. The fifth planet was surrounded by Battleships, and they fought hard. But they fell, and the Nyctish Fleet moved on, unhindered, when they saw a ripple in space, ahead in the distance.
"Reinforcements? You said this was their entire army, fool!" Taking out his blade, Lethrax decapitated his second, the failure demanding death as punishment. Yet it was not Terran Ships that emerged.
Praxic, Akirian, Voidstalker, Leuma, Calderan and many other ships the Archon didn't even recognise, but the movement was not complete yet. Out of the ripple, came a titanic form, tentacles from its face, if it could be called that. It spoke, and its words tored into the minds of the bridge crew.
"We are the ones who purge the life from all worlds. But the humans have done us many a service. When they eventually fade away, we shall extinguish all light in the universe. Until that day, our crusade will wait."
The archon gaped with horror. The humans had *befriended* a damned *eldritch abomination*.
"...to borrow a Terran phrase, Fuck."
EDIT: 160 likes? Fuck me backwards, that's the most I've ever had! Thanks guys! | General mcGregor considered himself a realist.
He believed that all life acted selfishly, and that war was an inescapable reality.
Yet next to the Zergon general, he felt like a squeamish school girl, bristly white moustache or no.
"I-I just don't understand," he muttered, shuffling his papers at the war table. General K'lik hooted in the way he'd come to associate with laughing. They were not too different from humans, surprisingly, these Zergons.
"What's to understand?" K'lik said, his reptilian face giving way to a menacing grin. The Universal translator broadcasted his thoughts almost instantaneously. "We are capable of destroying earth, so we will. But first, we will revel in torturing you all to death, and bathe in your bodily fluids." He shrugged. "We're not monsters, so I've come to discuss the terms on how long the torture will last."
McGregor felt like crying, but kept up a tough front. "We have weapons, you know," he said in an old, shaky voice. "Weapons that could-"
"The atomic energy bombs?" K'lik burst out laughing, leaning to his advisor. "They're jokers, these humans." He turned back to mcGregor. "Launch them, by all means. We like a nice sauna."
The president was sitting next to mcGregor, and was the first to break. "What do you want us to do, then?! What are your demands?!"
"I wan't you," said K'lik with glittering eyes. "To die entertainingly."
Suddenly a glowing blob materialized next to K'lik. It flashed in a sort of alien morse code, but the Universal translator inadvertandly picked it up. "K'lik, why are you messing with earth? Come on, we agreed...they're too pure."
"But I'm bored!" K'lik countered.
Another creature materialized, a Lovecraftian horror. "This is so like you Zergons. Corrupting all the good stuff. I mean, I get it, but some part of me just wants these adorable things to go on."
An infathomable darkness leaked from the ceiling, booming: "Yeah, leave the humans alone, K'lik."
General mcGregor had already wet his pants at the Lovecraftian alien, and didn't really feel like contributing anymore. Next to him, the president had fainted.
The glowing blob spoke again: "Besides, they've been kind enough to let us steal their immortal essence without any retaliation. If you wipe them out, it'll mean no more immortal essence."
The general perked up.
"Ah, you guys are no fun," K'lik said. "We were only going to torture them a little, not wipe them out."
"Excuse me," McGregor squeeked, recovering to his deep, authoritary voice. "What is... immortal essence?"
The aliens seemed surprised. Even the looming darkness above flashed briefly.
"You mean you don't *know?*" the glowing Blob asked.
K'lik burst out laughing, and the Lovecraftian horror said: "Didn't I tell you? Adorable!"
"The stuff that keeps you from ageing upon adulthood," the darkness boomed. "It's what gives all life in the Galaxy strength."
"And you've been stealing ours?!" General mcGregor reddened, but then a dangerous quiet stole over him. "Oh, of course we knew. You're right, we are too kind." A thin smile. "Now, if you don't mind, this prank has gone on long enough. Please leave us."
K'lik snorted, but the others urged him on to listen. One by one, they dematerialized.
Once they were gone, mcGregor picked up the phone on the wall, after shaking the president.
"The horror..." the president muttered as he came to. "The horror..."
"Snap out of it, man," the general snapped, dialing the military science department. "Yes, hello? This is mcGregor. How are the readings on the war room?"
"The unusual radiation we were picking up increased in discrete leaps when the entities materialized, general," a prompt voice said. "But it almost completely disappeared when they left."
"That radiation is what gives them their strength," mcGregor said. "Investigate immediately. I expect results by next week."
"But general," the man protested, "It's a completely alien substance, it's impossible to-"
"No," mcGregor cut him off. "Not alien. *Ours.*"
He slammed the phone.
"*Our* immortal essence," he muttered with a vicious glare.
It was time these aliens learned just how 'adorable' humans could be. | 2017-03-26T07:03:57 | 2017-03-26T05:17:47 | 224 | 163 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | After the test revealed that indeed had super powers i was excited to hear what they were. After all: I had to wait until i'm 18 to take this test.
My parents didn't share my excitement but were rather concerned and worried. They were thinking that two S tier supers would create a child with powers so strong that i would get eliminated the second the government knew about it.
They weren't wrong with their concern but after hearing what power i had they were kind off relieved. But my hopes and dreams of being a hero like no one ever was were shattered.
My power was to blow myself up. I could controll the strength, size and time of the explosion but only *one time*.
I continued my life like it was before with the only difference of being bullied from other supers. My parents on the other hand were happy because this meant i would never be a hero.
The anger and hate inside of me grew bigger day after day.
And then i realized:
I could partner with a villain that promises me protection and together ...
*We could take the whole world hostage*. If nobody follows my orders i could just blow this f'ing planet up. | From a utilitarian point of view I was fairly impressive if I may say so myself. Our country, our closed country, under a threat from the entire world, protected only by the great revered leader, was filled with people with rather useful yet banal superpowers. Flight, extreme strength or endurance, usually just one at a time, even just two of them together was a rare occasion. Which brings me to myself, the laughingstock of the class who unfortunately was born with the capability of doing anything, so long as it is included in a Dethklok song. Odd and grotesque, and with the education system only teaching the very basics of the most simple powers, you don't exactly find your place.
I'm not going to tell you how life was a nightmare. It wasn't. I was a bit of a laughing stock, but I wasn't abused or even close to that. If anything it was the rather routine and boring life here that had me suffering. There weren't too many options here if you actually wanted to do something with yourself that wasn't being a factory worker, a cop a solider, or a criminal.
And so I decided to do the unthinkable, and leave for another country. where I am now it's called migration. Back home, however, merely visiting another country is frowned upon and migrating is considered defection unless under orders from the government or the military. Evil doesn't begin to describe what I am considered to be by my own family. Everyone who ever cared about me or I cared about sees me as an inconceivably evil demon, to be killed on sight. But as much as that stings, becoming a part of the outside world was one big truckload of food for thought.
It's not just the plethora of opportunities, or the extremely varied collection of abilities spread everywhere. Those are overwhelming at first, but are fairly trivial matters which you get used to. I very quickly started finding those things much more enjoyable than difficult. What really struck me hard, though, was getting a view on my country from the outside. All the things that I didn't know happened behind the scenes were fairly common knowledge here. I learned the reason for the variability of abilities in the outside world. My country, which I can barely consider as mine, was extremely afraid of people with unique powers, extremely afraid of people stepping out of line, being unique. Those who acted odd, or had odd powers or characteristics were systematically vaporized, unless they were extremely quiet, and damn near invisible, in order to maintain an image of solidarity and unity, in order to maintain the sovereignty of an impotent leader who sees himself above the country.
What I did next was risky. Mostly for my old country. Looking back I'd say I was being arrogant, putting my ideals before my the will, and even well being of my country man. I broadcasted myself to every single screen in the country, with, thunderhorse providing the electrical signal, Delivering a message that couldn't be unheared. All I was doing is giving my points of view, providing some input, backed by cold hard evidence, to my country.
The leader was not as revered now as those of the past were and I was hoping for the people's solidarity and very banal and logical thought process to be able to create a change without instigating too much instability. This, of course, was a huge risk. Who knows what could happen if they even believe me. A violent revolution would be a great opportunity for other countries who want to get some influence to jump in and make things even worse, and that's terrible enough without even considering the costs the revolution itself would have.
None of those possibilities were close to what happened in the end. The leader has made use of his ability as soon as the reform started. I now realized why we truly weren't allowed to migrate. Not so that we don't hear the wrong things, but so we don't stay out of the leaders range for too long and disconnect from his ability: the hivemind.
I've turned from demon to Satan himself in thee eyes of my countrymen I made a huge mistake, which's repercussions only time will tell... | 2017-06-12T08:29:20 | 2017-06-12T07:45:36 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] We are due for a visit by two alien races, one which is horrifically brutal and sees us as soft-hearted weaklings, the other peaceful pacifists who see us as barbarians. You've been ordered to impress them, but when the ships lands you realize you have no idea which race this is. | August 8, 1974
"Goddammit, Kissinger, when did you decide you were a comedian?"
"This is not a joke, Mr. President," Kissinger said, panting as he leaned on an oval office sofa, sweat dripping from his reddened face onto the harvest gold upholstery. "I have only just beaten the delegation to your door. At any moment you will meet a representative of the alien race."
I leaned back in my chair, casually thumbing the record button on my hidden real-to-reel setup. "And these aliens, you say. They're either honor-bound, murderous psychopaths or secretive conniving pantywaists, and we don't know which one? Sounds like a typical NATO meeting to me."
"Sir, I must insist that--" Kissinger stood upright and mopped his brow as the door opened and three obviously human schmucks entered under military escort with a full complement of secret service. Kissinger bowed deeply. I didn't even get up.
The three "aliens" stood before me, their leader out in front.
"Cigarette?" I said. "Scotch? Best the earth has to offer."
Confused, the alien delegate accepted a cigarette and just stood there.
"You are leader here? This planet?" he said with a laughable late-nite monster flick accent.
"That's me, Tricky Dick Nixon, leader of the free world."
"How did you attain your title. Tricky? If I may."
"Treason."
The alien stared. "I am student of earth languages. I have mis-heard. You must clarify before we proceed."
"TREASON." I bellowed, leaning over the desk. "I CONSPIRED AGAINST MY COUNTRY IN A TIME OF WAR." I didn't care anymore who knew.
The full delegation began trembling--in fear or outrage. I didn't give a shit which.
"Mr. Tricky," the alien said, almost overwhelmed by some emotion, "You must understand what is at stake. The lives of your whole planet."
"Sure. Fate of humanity, blah blah blah. You think you sons of bitches scare me? This planet has had a global annihilating nuclear stockpile hanging over its head for twenty years. If you fuckers come at this planet, I'll destroy it myself just for spite. Don't fuck with Nixon. Now get the hell out of my office."
They got the hell out. Only once they were gone did I see that the full complement of secret service, the joint chiefs, and Henry Kissinger had all literally pissed themselves. It began to dawn on me that it had all been real.
You know what? I still didn't care.
The next day, I learned that our alien ambassadors had deemed Earth "too volatile" to be worth interacting with in peace or war. I never did find out which species I met.
I thought a minute about what ungrateful sons of bitches the American People could be.
"You're welcome, fuckos," I muttered, signing my resignation. | The audience marched into the amphitheater with pomp and circumstance. Two delegations, the one from Earth included military leaders, a few politicians that were recognizable but expendable and some academics. The other delegation seemingly also consisted of humans. It was apparently an intergalactic standard that alien races would take the form of the lifeforms they were visiting. In the past two years, Earth had been thrown into the middle of an intense territory battle between space faring super powers. The Sun’s solar system was apparently ideally located as a refueling station and trade hub. According to economists, this would lead humans to instantly become a power themselves in the galaxy, so long as they played their cards right.
Unfortunately, in typical human fashion, different factions tried to make deals with different alien races. The aliens, far removed from single planetary life, had failed to realize they had been working with disparate groups. This led to today, a meeting between the UN delegation and an alien race they didn’t recognize for a negotiation they hadn’t scheduled. They’d had enough information to narrow it down to two possibilities. Either the pacifist but incredibly insular Taliks or the brutal reavers of space, the Golodron.
Researchers had found both races lacking in imagination and abstract thinking, dealing only in the pragmatism of the real world. The humans needed a way to gauge the reaction of the delegation and be able to pull back the veil if things went one way or the other. The decision was made to put on a show that would simultaneously trigger positive or adverse reactions from the aliens as well as take advantage of their relatively pedestrian imaginative capabilities. They had called hundreds of potential performers before they finally found someone who would agree. Enter Lando the Magnificent, the greatest magician the greater Cleveland metro area had to offer.
Lando’s assistant, Marko, stood at the edge of the stage waiting for everyone to sit down. He backed away from the curtain and moved towards the only other two people back stage.
“Are you sure about this, Lando?” Marko started organizing props, making sure they were all in their correct place. He moved a few dull swords, a bird cage and a heavy ax over to the edge of the curtain.
“Of course, a gig is a gig! These troglodytes won’t know what hit them, they’ll be amazed.” Lando hadn’t looked from the mirror, he was adjusting his mustache, just so.
Marko kicked a sandbag out of the way, “Lando, have you ever heard of the trolley problem?”
“Marko, we’re about to go on, I hardly have time for your riddles.” Lando was tying his bow tie. Camilla walked over and gave them the five minute warning.
“It’s not a riddle, just a thought experiment. There is a train coming and its going to kill five people or you can pull a lever and only have it kill one.” Marko stared into the back of Lando’s head.
“I should never have advertised for assistants at a college, should have stuck to high school education or below.” Lando finally turned around to look at Marko, “what are you getting at?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering what you would do, in that situation?”
Lando shrugged and turned back to his mirror, “I’d probably pull the lever, one is better than five, right?”
Marko exhaled, “I guess.” He moved back to his spot by the curtain, the delegations were almost settled, he motioned to Camilla and Lando that they could start the show.
The lights glared, Marko kept looking at the stage manager to get some sort of signal. Lando’s makeup was running, Marko could feel the sweat bleeding through the three layers of clothes he was wearing. Camilla was curled up in the box, head expressively writhing while fake legs stuck out the other side, kicking mechanically. The plan had been to perform the trick where the magician saws the lady in half. The Taliks would have been disgusted, the Golodron enthused. Instead, experts sat dumbfounded as they tried to gauge reactions from an alien race they knew nothing about. Either psychologists were falling woefully short in their study of their new alien subjects or Lando the Magnificent was a failure of an illusionist; Marko mused it was probably both.
Finally, the stagehand tapped his forehead, a signal that they should reveal the trick, that Camilla was indeed okay. The psychologists must have decided that they were dealing with the pacifist Taliks. Marko gave the signal and Lando flourished his cape, brought it down over the box. A puff of smoke, a flash of light and Camilla and Lando stood next to each other in triumph.
The room was still. The silence finally broken by a member of the alien crew, “What trickery is this? We demand BLOOD!”
The representative’s eyes started glowing red. Lando was still holding Camilla’s hand in a wash of self indulgence. Luckily, Marko had planned for this possibility. As soon as he saw the representative’s reaction, he slinked towards stage right. Camilla and Lando were looking around in confusion, the human delegates were now surrounded by aliens, some sort of weapon readied in each of their hands.
Marko cleared his throat, both delegations looked up. His voice was calm but clear, “And now for the encore.”
Lando had just enough time to turn to look at his assistant before the axe came down square on his forehead. The ax was heavy, but Marko had been practicing. Camilla set loose a guttural scream as gore covered her sequined dress. Behind her, Marko could see the alien delegation patting the military men on the back, cheering. | 2017-09-18T10:47:59 | 2017-09-18T10:11:42 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You are permanently stuck invisible. Your significant other is blind. Whenever you both go out in public, to the bypassers your SO is constantly seen as someone possessing a sixth sense but a little weird for talking to themself. This is always highly amusing to you. | “Hun is that you?” I’d heard the door . It was about time she came home. She works too hard I always tell her. Aah well someone’s gotta earn the bread in the family. My music hasn’t taken off yet. You’d think there’d be more of a market for *blind woman who composes symphonies* but in the era of kittens tap dancing and monkeys back flipping, my music hasn’t quit found its space yet.
“I stopped by the grocery store. Dinner will be ready soon”
I felt bad. I wanted to help out but I’m a disaster in the kitchen; I was clumsy even before I lost my vision.
“How was work?” Sones was a professor of philosophy. Well she used to be a blog writer when we met. “Philosophy in today’s world”
But said no one saw her for what she was worth. Her passion for philosophy was what had intrigued me, and still does to this day.
The news was on. There had been another incident. I wasn’t surprised. What with poverty being on the rise. Sones wouldn’t understand. And I sensed that she was tired enough so I didn’t wanna bring it up. Moral Philosophy professors would bring up Kant. Say that lying, cheating, stealing, and such have something important in common: they all involve treating someone as a mere means to an end. So as much as I love her, I wasn’t gonna bring up philosophy being a privilege the poor can not afford.
“Why’d you switch off the tele?”
“Aah you don’t wanna hear about the world right now. It can be draining. Why don’t you play me what you’ve been working on after dinner”
And played I did.. the happy symphony with overtones of minor chords, and as I played, I heard sniffles. “This piece is about you Sones. I can tell you’ve been at war with yourself. Blind people can sense these things you know. Talk to me why don’t you! Tell me what’s going on. I’m all ears”
Midst her weeps she snivelled “you’re the only one who really sees me”
PS:This is my first time commenting on reddit please go easy on me :) | “Hunny , can we go out for a walk today ? I need fresh air . We been in the house all week ! Come ooooonn!”
“God okay !! Brat ! Let’s go around the block and back . Can you grab my cane for me ?”
*inhales deeply*
*exhale swiftly*
“Don’t you just love the smell of spring dear ? The birds are singing , the bugs are dancing...”
“I absolutely hate bugs and you know that . It does smell lovely today . The weather is also amazingly perfect .”
“Sometimes darling , i wish i could give you my eyes so you could be reminded of how beautiful the world actually is . I don’t feel like i do a good job painting that picture for you . Like ...stop here ! *comes to sudden stop* “Touch this..” *grab his hands to touch random object* “Now tell me , what do you feel ? Do you have the memories photographically ,emotionally also ? Does you heart rate intensity once you rub this object?!”
“A pole , the pole a half of mile away from our house . We took a picture here a week after moving in . I remember because of it’s strange shape , like a lowercase t . We stopped here to admire a bird you’d seen fly by slowly . In that moment i could’ve remarried you .” *walking off* “I’ll kill to see you smile the way you did then , prettier than our wedding day . It’s always been something about you and nature . I think that bird wanted us to capture the moment , we kissed right under where he’d landed and i knew then , you I’d never let go .”
*whimpering*
“That was so beautiful OB , i love how you go on walls and talk with your wife the entire time . Love like that is what gives hope ! Do you need anything Mr.B ?”
*stops to turn around*
“haha haha silly child , don’t ever not talk to the woman of your world ! That one time she won’t talk to you might kill you” *enlarged grin* “ but no , I’m fine and i have the wife here.”
“You’re always so standupish and wholesome , we as a community absolutely love that about you . Hey Mrs. B ! Lovely day we’re having ! Yal be safe i gotta go now !”
“Hunny , I’m so in love with you , It’s the words for me . You make everything sound so beautiful and sweet . I don’t know how I’d live without you .”
*previous child talking to mom*
“Mom ! I saw Mr. B again ! He’s so strong willed mom , i wanna be just like him ! He walked around the entire neighborhood blind with no assistance ! How do you think he do it?!”
“Well baby he’s probably just use to the area . He does talk with his deceased wife every time he go so maybe that love for her guides him.”
“Yeah he do always mention her like she’s standing right there . He even holds his arm up in a position like it’s being held by someone . He must really misses her mom .”
“We all deal with grieve and tragic accidents in our own little ways . It may make him happy and hopefully to imagine her still there . I mean , she did die the same day he lost his sight . Always be kind to him darling .”
“Always mommy , a lot of times i just listen to him talk and i promise it’s like it’s really a person there , should he get help someone?”
“Maybe dear but we are not the ones to judge , when daddy died , i lost my mind too . I just had to smile all the way through it !”
*beep beeeep*
“Yooo OB you good man ? Wanna ride ?”
“No we’re good ! Thanks . We’re just doing our routine walk .”
“Alright man. Be careful ! Might wanna get you a assistant dog . A helper or something !”
“Again sir , we are good . Thank you !”
*car pulling off while both giggle*
“Baby ?”
“Yes my love?”
“I’m not a ghost okay? I’m actually here and you’re not crazy !”
“Mrs. B , my wife and my life time partner . I went blind the day they told me you were gone and there was no body . My love is so pure for you , I’d rather see nothing then to not see you . When i left the hospital and laid down that night , i felt whole again when you sat on the bed . I touched you and knew . I still felt the warmth in your flesh , the love from your soul , the light from your eyes . Even i can’t explain what happened in that explosion at the plant but I’m glad it happened . So if people wanna think I’m talking to and loving nothing but a ghost , imma smile every time i get the assumption. Even when you become a ghost , I’ll talk to you forever.”
HEY GUYSSSS i hope you like it . It was kinda hard especially seeing that nobody else tried so i wanted to give it a go . I hope somebody can read this and get an idea and top this with a better story ?! | 2020-06-06T23:01:34 | 2020-06-06T22:15:21 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] most interstellar navies of the Galaxy adapted tactics from their wet-navy cousins. That was until humanity arrived they had an ocean so most figured they would adapt their wet Navy tactics to their space Navy, instead they adapted tactics from something they called the air Force. | "War is the noble application of superior firepower. All the other races developed along these lines, why is it that yours is so different?" Admiral Quelez glanced over at his human counterpart. A thin, lanky creature, it resembled more a child than a warrior. The human looked up from the tactical display, a large dias 2 meters in diameter with holographic images in 3D space representing the assets currently under their command. "Guess we're just special" The human replied with a smirk.
The humans were an odd ally. They were discovered only five cycles ago when the search for more war supplies brought the Tiklo scouts to a remote human colony. While the humans weren't as advanced as the Tiklos, they provided a resource that was sorely needed in the Kingdom, manpower. An alliance with a million fresh fighting bodies was a relief to the war weary Tiklos. Of course, the real benefit only came after their first conflict. The human warships were unlike anything in the known galaxy. No ship of the lines and no large caliber armament, just large cargo haulers filled with hundreds of small vessels.
The first allied Human-Tiklo happened in the Karr system. Five enemy Hunga Titan-class ships with a dozen escorts against two Tiklo Leviathans, and two Human Carriers with combined eight escorts. The Tiklos and Hungas arranged in battle lines, bringing their broadsides to bare one towards the other with escorted taking position in front as a screen. Just as had been done in every battle since the beging of fleets. Then the humans acted. They did not take up position on the line, instead they placed themselves behind the great Leviathans and released their swarms. Hundreds and hundreds of small light vessels spilled from the human ships and raced towards the Hungas. They were so small that scanners couldn't identify individual ships until they were already halfway across the gulf. They were so nimble that even once they could be identified, they couldn't be tracked. Then they unleashed their weapons. No one ship had the power to do any damage to a great ship such as the Titans. Twenty all concentrating their fire and at such close range. Titans and indeed all ship of the lines were designed to withstand broadsides coming from one direction, they were not designed to protect against attacks from over a dozen points of origin.
"Tell me again, general. Where do these tactics of yours come from? I studied a bit of human culture and history and I know your kind had 'wet fleets' that used similar tactics as ourselves and the other known races. Why did you abandon such tactics in favor of these...'squadrons'?"
"It's not quite like that" the general said as he started to pace to the end of the holographic display. "Our ships are still heavily based on the traditions of our 'wet fleets' as you call them. At least the day to day operations. However, we learned on our planet that a ship on the water is somewhat predictable. They only move forwards, backwards, port, starboard, and if a conflict took place inland at all they weren't all that useful. Then we began to realize that there was an entire third dimension we weren't using, and so we began to place planes no our ships...
"Planes?" Quelez cocked his head and stared at the general with all four eyes. "I'm not familiar with that word"
"A machine capable of flight. Like a bird"
"A what?"
"Oh sorry, I forgot. A bird is a type of animal on earth that can fly in the air like a fish swims in the water. Your race doesn't have anything like that on your world do you?" Quelez raised his arms in the sky indicating no. "Anyway, we started building ships that would carry planes, and launch them against other ships. Ships were not built expecting attacks from above, and it proved a great advantage against the great battleships of the era"
The general had stopped now at the end of the display. Where there was a large sphere displayed with hundreds of blips representing ships arranged around it. "The tactics we developed back then were adapted to space, and again it will prove an advantage against the great ships before us now." The general said as he glanced up at the blips representing the human fleet slowly approached the Hunga homeworld. | The manuever had been a good one, or at least that's what I had thought. One hundred of our fighters had swung around onto the left flank of the Rackmond fleet before there big ships even had time to turn. When the lead squadron began their run I was fully expecting a beautiful laser show to cascade from our fighters and onto the hulls of the enemy vessels, followed by a pat on the back and maybe even a promotion. Instead I watched as all 10 members of the lead squad hit a brick wall, or rather a metal wall.
Before our fighters even came close to breaking the maximum engagement distance for the manuever, they were met by a hail of lead and other dense metals, most of them being spit from rail guns on the side of the enemy vessels. The nimble fighters had no hope of dodging the onslaught, the projectiles were moving at 10 times the speed of sound and were as densely packed as yard grass. I turned away when the first 5 fell, instead relying upon the callouts of my assistant commander. "90 remaining, 85, 80 left, 75 now", he rambled grimly.
At 70 I ordered a retreat, after all it is better to live to fight another day.
Unfortunately only 62 of my pilots would get to do so, the other 38 having been cut down by the enemies weapons trying to follow my orders. All I could do was shake my head stoicly as the fighters came in for landing, theirs silver wings now potmarked from close calls with shrapnel. Our fate was now sealed, before me sat a baker's dozen enemy warships and I only had a carrier and two support vessels now that the fighters had been slaughtered, my only hope would be retreat.
The room was silent when I entered the bridge, each of my footsteps loudly resonated as I walked to the communication post. The soldiers had the number already typed in when I arrived, with a gesture the comms commander hit enter and a projection appeared in front of me.
My adversary had a looked happy to see me, if a Rackmond can look like any human emotion that is. For a second we stared at each other's images in silence until I grimly said"Esteemed Gatchore 1st El Rein, the battle is lost and to you I graceously give victory".
El Rein rubbed two of it's appendages together as the translator spat out my statement of surrender. It's mandibles split as the translator concluded and after a string of clicks, clacks, and what I can only describe as rocks being destroyed, my translator began. "We gladly accept the mark commander, and I must say you humans fight halfway well, if not for are broadside guns you would have surely won the day", the mechanical voice said, "but I must ask where you borrowed your tactics from."
I cleared my throat and stole a glance at my nearest assistant before continuing, the poor officer cadet looked as sick as I felt. "Well, we, uh, took the tactics of our air force". An aide got my attention before I could continue, her gestulations serving to remind me of who I was talking to. "An air force is an in atmosphere flying force Gatchore 1st Rein", I quickly added.
"Ah, we have to thick of an atmosphere for that, but our allies the Te'eck do, or at least did. They found that a naval style force was much more effective and I would advise the same to you human."
I had to smile at that, things do come full circle I guess but trying to tell my superiors that would be a waste of my breath. "I'll bring that up to my command Gatchore", I said politely. In reality any challenge to the status quo would go unheard, espically in the military, "You don't know how glad I am this was just a drill exercise".
"So am I human, I have a feeling that a real battle would have been much worse for us", the alien replied. He was just humoring me, diplomacy coming before ego.
Unfortunately diploacy doesn't usually come before pride, a fact that has now placed that long ago skirmish into the forefront of my mind. Relations with the Rackmond had broken down rapidly shortly after that day, now my fleet was yet again assembled against them, only this time we were not just playing for glory and gloating rights, we were fighting for survival.
Just as I had thought command had ignored my recommendations and now I was stuck with the same one hundred fighters against a war fleet that could easily decimate all of them. Only this time decimation meant dead people, and not just soldiers and pilots either, we were the last line of defense for the moon colony of Eurongal 1-tK.
Ever since war had broken out I had spent every waking minute combing old naval and air force records for a strategy the might work, only one had presented itself and survived scrutiny. It was a horrible strategy, a plan that should have gone out when the first atomic bomb hit Japan, but it may very well be the only way.
10 pilots await me as I step into the room, each one a squad commander and 9 of them veterans of the exercise against the Rackmond. "Have you done as I asked", I question solemnly.
"Yes sir", a blond female commander says sharply, "roughly 60 men and women remain and all are ready for the fight".
I nod solemnly at her, she should have a bright future in the military. "Alright", I say as I pull on my helmet, "Smithers, McRoy, you're both staying behind". Both opened their mouths to protest but I cut them off, "both of you have spouses and kids, I can lead McRoys squad and Sgt. Drecker can handle Smithers as good as anyone".
The two had been here for long enough they knew complaint was pointless. Instead they both give the sharpest salutes I will probably ever see and left. Without another word the rest of us make our way down to he fighters, those without large families back home forming in behind us as we go down the ships hallways.
Finally we reach the hangar and a mass of gleaming vessels ready to fly. In front of them is the remaining 40 pilots, each locked into attention. "Is there no other way", the blond commander asks quietly as we walk past our comrades who still sit at attention despite my best efforts to put them at ease.
"No", I say simply with breaking stride. I look at her as we reach my ship, her face is a beautiful one, full of duty and purpose. I decide there are far worse faces to be the last one someone sees. I steal one more look at her at the top of the ladder, right before catapulting myself into the vessel's cockpit and slamming the lid shut on myself.
As I lead my soldiers out of the hangar and towards the enemy ships a single word fills my mind, and as we draw closer to our targets I first whisper and then scream it. "Kamikaze". | 2020-11-21T20:16:45 | 2020-11-21T19:31:40 | 188 | 77 |
[WP] After being sidetracked by a monster attack, a demon invasion, a regular invasion, a balrog, and an evil god, the Hero's Party realized that they forgot their main quest of stopping the local corrupt noble. | The entire wall of the opulent mansion exploded into a cloud of plaster dust and defeat. Coughing through the resultant smoke Count Ulthrad looked up at the intruders.
"You! How dare you trespass on my property! The King will have your head for this!"
"Actually the king sent us"
"I beg your pardon, what?"
The wizard smiled four feet off the floor in robes stolen from a tower built eons before the kingdom.
"It's simple really. We told the king we could prove you were abusing your power, then we cast scrying in your office and watched you sign over half the town to the Xalant Empire in a trade deal. Then he told us to come murder your ass"
His jaw now looser than his morals, Ulthrad looked blankly up at the party. He couldn't believe it
"What about my guards? The golems? The mercenaries I hired? I spent so much money on them!"
"My guy, we've fought through literal hell, like, twice. I'm holding a sword forged by a devil in the blood of a demon. The had a woodcutter's axe."
There was a heavily weighted pause.
"Motherfucker" | Buzzing insects hovering in the still, warm air were suddenly gently swirled in a lazy circle as a breeze preceded a small orb of sparks that expanded into a doorway to Nowhere. Four shapes emerged from the portal, their features becoming more apparent as they stepped from the undulating purple haze into golden light.
Fercos fell to the ground on one knee, dragging his stout fingers through the rich soil.
"By Grathbar's anvil, I never thought we'd make it back." He dipped his head, letting his weary body sink into the battle scarred armor that still gleamed in the sun. Numdre lay one lithe hand on his companion's pauldron and smiled. The smile was marred by the still oozing wound across his face, navy blood drying on his dark gray skin.
"But here we are, my friend. Alive and whole. Well, mostly," he chuckled.
Magne's heavy footfall stopped as he dropped to one knee, unbuckled his shield, then lay down on the grassy field. His chest heaved under a pitted armor with smoky remnants from blasts of infernal flames. He opened his eyes only when Rylynn's billowing robes cast a shadow over his face.
"What the matter, Hero, are you tired? We've only just slain Lysandros." A wry smile curled one corner of her mouth. A wave of her hand drew the flaring circle to a pinpoint of light before winking out of existence. She turned her attention to the charred gash on her side, enveloping it in a cool gray orb with streaks of deep red.
"Hey, Ry, mind if I get one of those?" Numdre called out, twirling a small bone between his fingers. She could tell his casual tone was a cover for his searing pain. He never did like to admit these kinds of things.
"Sure thing, you big baby, give me just a minute." She suppressed an urge to grunt in pain as the deep magics knit her muscles and flesh back together.
"Why do you insist on keeping that unholy thing," Fercos grumbled, inspecting the pommel and grip of his double-bladed axe.
"Listen, not everyone can claim to have killed a demon Lieutenant and have the souvie to prove it." All three party members began groaning in protest.
"Oh my god, this again--"
"Will we never hear the end of this--"
"I swear on my father's hammer--"
"Okay, *okay*, calm down. No story time for you whiners."
Magne rubbed his eyes, before looking down at his gold-inlaid gauntlet wreathed in a crimson flame. He passed his fingers through the flickering tongues, and ran his fingers over the crest carved into the precious metal. So many adventures, so many stories, so many lives--his eyes went wide.
"Guys." His brusque shift in tone caused Fercos to snatch his axe to the ready, Numdre to half-draw his ebony bow and drop to a low crouch, and Rylynn to whip around eyes glowing with black tendrils clawing into the air around her.
"What?"
"What is it?"
"Where is the--"
Still looking at the crest, "We forgot about Atratinus," he said flatly. The tension held in the air for just a moment before all three dropped their guard and stood silently.
"Well this is embarassing," Numdre muttered.
"That weasel has been squeezing those poor people for more taxes all this time?" Rylynn asked, her brow furrowed. "Doesn't he also have the really bad halitosis?"
The other three sounded mournful in their various affirmative noises.
"Well, nothing to do but to do it," Magne said, heaving up to his feet. "Ry, if you could be so kind?" The breeze swirled as the glimmering portal opened again, this time showing a mostly empty market, several stalls in need of repair. "This guy," he said under his breath as he stepped through the shimmering circle.
r/WarAdmiral2420 | 2022-04-07T09:11:45 | 2022-04-07T08:40:32 | 35 | 22 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | People don't work for a villain if they don't like him. I for one always made sure of that.
Holidays. You bet your arse you'll be getting them.
Childbirth. You can bet I'm gonna be that weird but cool uncle.
Having an off day. Pool party.
My company is my home. And my profession is to be a villain. Rank C. Code name Upsur.
It's fun seeing the upcoming heroes coming to my office arresting me. Thinking they finally put me down. But Legal Hero Act is a beautiful thing.
Just one simple lawsuit, I get released and compensation for the damage. Until yesterday.
Jay was supposed to be married this month. Mary wanted to surprise her parents so she wanted to leave early. Tanak's sons birthday is today. Oprius was the new intern.
All of them injured as the hero threw heymaker and threw me across the street.
Hero name, Zeus. A quite quite haughty one for a hero. He has a track record of insane collateral damage but always fights SS ranks. Not a mere C rank.
"Why?" I ask him as I dust off my clothes. His eyes showed a bit confusion.
"Why attack me?" I ask him looking directly in the eyes.
"Why not? I'm just a few villains short to make the list for most defeated villains. So I thought about cleaning the locals."
Zeus flew down. Come to think of it. I rarely saw him walking.
"You could have simply taken me to jail." I point that out.
To that Zeus gave a haughty laughter.
"Where's the fun in that?"
I smiled. He is right.
"Exactly. Where is the fun in that?"
No one knows why I am called the Upsur.
So when I threw Zeus across the city, I'm sure many would know why. But that's not the point.
"Are you having fun?"
I asked Zeus. His mangled face remained motionless.
The city was still intact. Apart for the damage he caused no further damage was done. Well except for his bones. I'm pretty sure I broke nearly all of them.
Oh well. Never could've figure what's so fun in fighting anyway. | \[ParaSEC Target File, Threat Level: Low\]
* C-Class audiokinesis \[Looping and pitch. No evidence of volume control\]
* D-Class speedster abilities. \[Slightly faster run speed. Potential sensory acuity - further evidence required\]
* Target demonstrates propensity to use powers exclusively for show. All 'villainous' activity mundane in nature, possibly a publicity stunt. \[Officially denied by all contacted PR agencies. IntOps priority low - pursue only if convenient during other activities\]
\[End File\]
You know the problem with most villains?
Okay, trick question. There's no *one* problem with them, usually it's the egomania, or psychopathy, or the tunnel-vision. I used to say that they lacked flair, but some of them have a decent sense of drama with those capes. The real problem? They lack *fun.*
Not Jester's knife-wielding jack-in-the-box fun, but something that makes life genuinely enjoyable in itself. Sadism doesn't count. That's why I'm different, I'm not here to crush the world in my iron grasp, or to torture the world. I'm a villain for kicks.
Welcome to the world of DJ Dastardly.
Do you *know* how hard it is to give yourself a silly name as a villain? I had to fight *months* of media calling me things like 'Remix'. It's hard to scaremonger around someone with a silly name, they conveniently left out footage of my preferred moniker spraypainted everywhere for MONTHS. It was only once some kids posted it on social media that they were forced to give in. After that, I was Page 17 material at best.
I'm a heist-villain. Low level stuff- museums, science fairs, that one time I nabbed the mayor's statue at town hall. High visibility, low impact. That's my game, and my 'nemeses'... Well, let's just say the same goes for them too.
I've got a lot of respect for Eclipse Squad's PR team. It takes a creative mind to look at a human strobe light, a gothic fog machine, and a B-class telekinetic ("but DJ, she can fly!". She floats, and can make other things float. I'm shaking in my very fashionable boots) and give them some damn good branding.
So, here's the score (and believe me, I know scores)- You're somewhere public, but with oddly good acoustics. Someone takes a step, and it echoes a little bit too much. Then again. It starts looping- no one's walking anywhere, but now there's a tok-tok-tok of a 4/4 beat. I used to always have to say the name myself, but nowadays if I'm lucky someone else guesses first.
*DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ D-D-D-Dastardly!* (they only say it the once, the effect is all me).
From there, you're all part of the performance. Every step, noise, gasp, and laugh? It goes in the soundtrack. I'm a one-man-acapella/percussion looping pedal, and the audience? They're starting to like me. Turns out security guards find it really hard to focus when everything they do gets looped into a live performance. I'm there taking a bow at the item-du-jour, and Eclipse Squad roll in. Midnight's black fog blocks my camera angle, Moonlight *tries* to stun me with a flare (come on kid, *I'm in a cloud of black smoke, think about it*.), then Luna tries to knock me over the head with some slow-moving object. I throw them a bone "Damnit Eclipse Squad! You've foiled me again! But I'll be back for an encore!", and slip out the back.
All fun and games, honestly a great way to spend an afternoon, not to mention boost listens on my soundcloud! Until it got serious.
Turns out strobe-boy *moonlights* as a wannabe hacker (I'm not sorry). Tracked my IP to the little music studio I run. The one with the music program to keep delinquent kids off the streets.
They roll up in full-costume, see some kid that they'd knocked around for graffiti before and decide that this is DJ Dastardly's gang lair, and that the kids are my 'henchmen'. Eclipse Squad might be idiots, but as it turns out, when faced with blinding smoke and flashing lights, a lot of teenagers panic. Now imagine an enclosed space with a *bunch* of panicking teenagers who can't see.
3 concussions, one broken leg, 6 cases of PTSD. I'm just thankful Eva had detention, I don't want to know if Moonlight's power could've triggered her epilepsy.
I'm protective of my kids. They've had a bad run, and I was trying to show them a way *out* of the system. The injuries were one thing, but because they found a little weed on him, Jim's going back to juvie. That was the last straw. | 2022-11-29T08:53:21 | 2022-11-28T20:44:52 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You are a cannon fodder minion on the first floor of a dungeon, and have just killed the hero. You now have to explain to the boss that you just ruined his plan. | I traversed the 7 floors to the large doors that separated the rest of the dungeon with our dragon overlord, Vulth'Gliiv. He accepted challenges from adventurers of all kinds but only to lure in his rival, 'The Hero," Xanlannan Fiedlerson. The door creaked screeched slowly as I pushed it open, m'lord perched at the top of the small rocky cliffs above me and my Ork partner. We stared at each other before I stepped my right and him to his left to reveal Fiedlerson's body. Vulth'Gliiv's eyes widened as he swooped down to tower over us.
"What the hell happened guys?!" He yelled, " didn't I tell you to make sure he got to me?!"
"Well Boss, it's 'ard to say 'onestly." The Ork, Brug, said.
Vulith did the equivalent of an annoyed human putting his head in his palm. He peered out from between his claws and took a deep breath.
"Well okay then, start form the beginning!" Vulith said. He sounded frustrated.
"Well the Paladin came up to us and shouted: 'Where's the wretched beast' and junk. We did what you told us and tried to make it believable but 'e was dueling Steve at the time!"
"Speaking of Steve, where is *he?*" Vulith looked around, thinking maybe we were hiding him, " Come on, out with it!"
I stepped forward, taking off my helmet to reveal my face and to show some respect.
"Well m'lord...Steve is dead. The Paladin took his life." I said.
"WHAT? STEVE IS DEAD?"
I nodded.
"He was several days to retirement! He had a wife and kids!"
"I know m'lord. He was going to take little Suzie to her lute recital after work today too." I informed.
"Has anyone told his family yet?"
"Not yet. We thought we you should be the one to do it..."
Vulith climbed back up to his rocky perch and grabbed something shiny from his treasure pile before coming down. It was a set of magic crystals that held images of the owner's choice.
"He was my best man you see." Vulith said, "he was even there for my first Princess kidnapping."
Vulith broke down, the mighty dragon that terrorized this country sobbed uncontrollably. | So here I am, a scrawny little goblin with a massive dick, standing in front of the Dark Lord Cockripper, the most evil genital mutilator to ever own a dark evil fortress. He is shouting at me so loud that I can feel the floor vibrating slightly and my ears are begging to pop so that the pain will dissipate. He is going on and on about how I ruined his massive, super-duper, evil fucking plan. Big whoop. I would say I did the Guy a favor, but instead of a promotion, or employee of the month, he is going to wrap his massive black hand around my giant sized goblin dick and pluck it from my body. But before I get into the gore, let me explain.
So I'm just sitting in the first level of Ol' Cockrippers dungeon with a few of my goblin buds. We are leaning up against a wall and sharpening our spears, getting ready for the start of a new day. Mostly, heroes try to avoid this place, but the other day one of our flying dickbirds spotted a dude in some shiny golden armor galloping towards our fortress on a shining white steed. We knew that this was probably going to end our employment, seeing as how the last time the base was invaded most of the goblins were torn limb from limb by a massive bear of a man who called himself King Powerblumpkin. Today, we found out that we were going to be slain by Prince Knobgobbler. Whether or not those are their real names, who the fuck knows? All we know is that Cockripper stole their princess or something and now we all get to suffer for it.
So here we are, three goblins and some shitty trap where spikes pop out of the floor and poke the hero for like a tenth of his health. The silence is klling us, but then it starts. The actual thing that will literally be killing us. We hear the front door slam open and the first line of goblins giving their best shrieks for battle. Then the sound of limbs being severed. Then silence.
Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.
The even steps of a giant armored god coming to release us our souls from our bodies. Maybe next time I'll come back as a fireball flinging demon skeleton. Who knows, I'm optimistic for being such an evil guy.
So anyways, this big dude rounds the corner and faces us with the most ridiculous look I have ever gotten from another living thing. He actually thinks that he is ending us once and for all and saving the realm and all of that fantasy bullshit. Well come and get it!
Prince Pussyfart starts to sprint down the hallway, his sword brandished over his head like a retarded samurai. All of the sudden, he steps on the spike trap, and it gets him! He falls flat on his face and his sword skitters across the stone floor, sounding like a penny bouncing down a hill. At first, we are scared shitless; not a clue what to do. Then it hits us. We are going to be fucking heroes. All four of us hop onto Prince Buttsniffer and start stabbing him all over with our little spears. Its not having the effect we imagined and he grabs two of the guys, one in each hand, and pops their heads off like little dandelions. What a monster, right?
The third gob raises a spear to stab him in the neck and ends up getting snapped in half. Literally, like pulled apart. A little goblin wishbone. And then there was ME.
So Prince Pisslicker grabs me with both hands and starts choking me. This is it, I think. But like heaven if I'm going down without a fight. Next thing I know, my spear is through Prince Fartsniffers adams apple and he is coughing up blood and crying like he just got turned down at the prom.
HOLY. SHIT! I did it! Everyone is crowding around me, asking for the story over and over again, I'm riding the crowd and being showered with compliments.
"You're the worst!"
"'Your'e so damned evil!"
I'm on cloud negative nine.
Then I get into the big mans torture cave, or throne room, or whatever the fuck he is calling it today.
And hes not happy. Go figure. Not much of a father figure, this guy. Too critical of everyones work.
"WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!"
I've seen some ungrateful pricks in my lifetime, but this guy takes the cake. He yells and yells, and I am not listening. I know what is coming. His name is Dark Lord Cockripper for a reason and I have been playing the game long enough to know when he is about to get handsy. He goes on and on about how he had such a genius plan to trap him in the Lair of Pain (thats what it is today) and to torture the princess in front of him untill he convinced his father to hand over the land. Blah blah blah blah.
And here we are, back to the present. Bad Ol' Cockripper is getting up from his chair and coming over to enforce his name on my johnson. I guess that will teach me never to overachieve at work again.
Who knows? Maybe I will come back as a fire breathing dragon on level 5 or something. I'm optimistic. | 2014-09-03T12:04:15 | 2014-09-03T11:44:22 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] A world leader is finally assigned to bring everyone together; nations are successful in ridding poverty, technology pushes forward in unprecedented events and most diseases are now eradicated. As a peaceful planet, aliens have finally decided to make contact with our civil world. | It took centuries for humanity to become one. All that time fighting amongst ourselves, erecting borders to distinguish *us* from *them*. Walls of religion, race, class, and nationality: finally they were torn down. Together, mankind celebrated long life and peace. There was no more *them* to hate. Just *us*.
Then, the ship appeared in our orbit. Enormous and foreboding, it loomed in the atmosphere like a second moon. Humanity cowered as scientists scrambled to understand it. The world watched and waited as our top minds decrypted the messages coming from the alien vessel.
Fear spread through the population like a virus. Politicians railed against inaction, warning that we must gird ourselves for war if these beings do not come in peace. By the time we can talk to them, they warned, it will be too late! Old plans for weapons, lost for a hundred years, were dug out of archives and libraries. Factories poured out ships, weapons, and equipment. Men were drafted and trained.
By the time we deciphered the message, it didn't matter any more. Humanity had found a new "them." | "Well its about damn time!" The aggressive statment by the creature caught most by surprise.
The ship had landed almost 2 hours ago and ever since the world has been at a standstill glued to their tvs and computers waiting to see what would happen next.
The world was celebrating its 5th anniversary of total peace after electing Austin Tobias as world ambassador and peace keeper, so seeing such a high military and artiliary precense was a shock for some and many wondered if their perfect world was about to be snatched from them just as they were adapting to it, but alas the first comments the creatures spoke drew more confusion than anything else.
"Excuse me?" asked Tobias as he now found himself face to face with the creatures.
"Do you know how long we have been waiting for you guys to figure this out?! I mean the Caveman were faster at it than you! If only it wasnt for that damn asteroid maybe we could have been here sooner."
Tobias just stared in shock, he still had no idea what was going on and the more the creature spoke the more confused he got. "I dont mean to offend you in any way but I really have no idea what the hell you are talking about!" he exclaimed.
The creature let out a long sigh, "Alright let me explain. We represent an intergalactic society that is in charge of finding peaceful worlds to help maintain a better and more safe way of intergalactic travel. Your world, I believe you call it Earth, has been a planet that we have been watching for centuries, just waiting for you to become peaceful, but apparently that is a much harder task for your species than it is for most."
The creature paused and saw that Tobias was starting to understand but his gaze still looked distant as if he wasnt quite getting the concept so he continued "Like i stated earlier, we were very close to acheving this with the caveman but intergalactic law states that we have to wait for a world to be peaceful for 5 years before we can make our precense known, and after only 3 years of peace the asteroid hit and wiped out all of civilization.
Just as we were about to give up hope on the planet, your species somehow survied and we agreed that any species that can survive that can surely figure out how to maintain world peace for 5 years," he paused and chuckeled, "Boy, were we wrong. First we thought that we had it early on in the beginning, the species was thriving and everyone was happy but then the terms of "God" and "Religion" started flying around and suddendly no one can agree on anything, sadly sending us back to square one.
It wasnt until one of your species decided to look towards the stars that we once again started to see promise in your world. You are a very curious species and your need for the truth finally outweighed the need for protection and that is a fantastic trait, but sadly your yearn for science was eventually what caused your second downfall as one man discovered the Atomic bomb. As you can imagine this caused great alarm for us and what your species calls the "cold war era" was a very unstable time in this process.
After a decade or so you once again figured it out and technology has sense thrived and you have learned how to explore vast areas of the universe. The strides your world has made in three decades is extrodinary and now that you have shown that you can maintain peace we would love to offer you a position in the intergalactic peace committee".
Tobias just stared in shock. Was all of this this true? The amount of information racing through his mind was almost too much. He weighed the pros in the cons in his head as fast as he could knowing that the world was watching, waiting for him to make the decision. He stared at the creatures and extended his hand and stated "We accept" and shook the creatures "hand".
What Tobias didnt know was that with that handshake, he just solidified the beginning of the end.
Note: I ran out of time and have to go to work. I will write more on this later when I get home if it is something people are interested in hearing more of. | 2014-12-03T08:37:01 | 2014-12-03T08:13:01 | 42 | 20 |
[WP]: "Don't tap on the glass, dear. It disturbs the humans." | "So what if they're disturbed, grandma?" said the boy to his grandmother.
"It's because they provide us with everything we have and they need their rest." Answered the grandmother.
"So what if they don't provide us with what we need, grandma?" said the boy
"I didn't say they provide us with what we need, I said they provide us with what we have. They provide us with who we are, really. But they can only do it if they are not disturbed."
Behind the glass is Lisa in her bedroom, Lisa is a 26 year old accountant who just lost her job. Lisa is sitting on the edge of the bed, silent, she puts her face between her palms..
Suddenly the boy starts yelling "I CAN'T SEE GRANDMA, I CAN'T SEE"
"It's ok dear, you need to calm down and just stay away from the glass, we're all here with you, the whole family" said the grandmother in a shaky voice
Meanwhile, Lisa is trying to collect herself, fighting her tears back, but the memory of the loss is too fresh, it won't stop replaying in head again and again, louder and louder, and just then.. The little boy, unable to see, stumbles and hits the glass and it immediately shatters. Flooding out from behind it come the little boy, the grandmother, and everybody else..
Lisa wipes them away.
| Timmy: alright Ian, this is close enough, shut the engines off, and start the primary observation system. Since this is your first observatory mission, feel free to ask me any questions you may have.
Ian: you got it boss. So why are we observing this planet anyway?
Timmy: Well, this is the first planet in this galaxy we have found that has water. Its been 35 years since we last found a planet with water.
Ian: Right. That's cool I guess. The last one was Alpha 6 right? So were here to do the same thing to this planet as we did to Alpha 6?
Timmy: Well, basically. With Alpha 6, we saved a lot of the species we found for further testing and studies. This mission is a straight conquer and exterminate mission.
Ian: So...exterminate the entire population on the planet, and take the materials we need?
Timmy: Correct! Your really good at this, Are you sure this is your first mission? haha. Not only do they have an abundance of water supply, but they also have a lot of other materials we keep running out of. Like petroleum and a lot of basic metals.
Ian: No kidding? Wow, this planet is a lot like ours. I was reading the reports on the population on the planet...and they seem to be a very intelligent species.
Timmy: Very intelligent. A lot like us, hundreds of years ago. They have begun reaching out into their solar system and trying to expand their knowledge of the universe around them.
Ian: Wait, so they have space travel capabilities? This might seem like a dumb question boss... but how come we have never attempted to make contact with any of the planets we encounter? Yes, most of the species I have read about have been non-intelligent... but this one seems different. I feel like we could actually learn a thing or two from these creatures.
Timmy: Stop thinking such rudimentary things Ian. You know this species would freak out if we ever attempted to make contact. You have read our history books. You remember when our civilization didn't know any other species existed in the universe? What if aliens had come to our planet to just "talk"? We would have blasted them with everything we had. Whose to say this species wouldn't do the same to us? No need to take such risks. Just take the materials we need for our civilization to survive. That's what we have always been, and that's the way it shall always be. We can learn more about their race once their dead. I've heard they write books and make movies, just like we do.
Ian: yea, I watched a few of their movies during my studies. They often make movies about aliens attacking. They always depict us as little green men. How absurd.
Timmy: See, now your understanding. This species doesn't have a chance of a long survival. They have wars among themselves over everything, mostly over something called a God and religion. More than 90% of them believe in this "God".
Ian: God? god.... You know I somewhat remember reading something about that word. And religion. I'm pretty sure that our species use to believe in such things. But that was a long time ago, over 400 years ago. I cant remember what it was exactly, but it made us fight with each other too.
Timmy: Enough with the history lessons, Ian. We're here to work. Its time to call home base and let them know we have extracted the preliminary reports on this planets defense systems. Nothing we haven't seen before. It should be a standard 8 day attack and conquer mission. Since this is your first mission, I'll let you make the call.
Ian: You got it boss. So are we going to throw those two alien beings we captured yesterday back onto their planet?
Timmy: No, i'm going to take them home for my own personal collection. I already have a nice glass casing built for them, and my kids will just adore them. Go ahead and make that call, Ian, time to go home!
RING RING RING
Ian: Hello, Houston? This is NASA space shuttle Atlantis. We have completed our preliminary reports and are ready to return to Earth.
Houston: Roger that, Space Shuttle Atlantis. You are cleared to return to Earth. Have a safe flight back. | 2015-04-21T14:48:46 | 2015-04-21T14:04:39 | 166 | 22 |
[WP] You accidentally discover the sentence of death (a sentence that kills anyone who hears it except the speaker) when you say it over national television. | **Item Number**: SCP-4059
**Object Class:** Keter
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-4059 is currently written down on a slip of paper contained within the Level 5 Memetics Vault in Site-42. Only the Site Director and the O5 Council are authorized to open the vault.
Mobile Task Force Lambda-3 ("Speak No Evil") is to be on standby in case of a containment breach to execute Procedure Lethe-09.
**Description:** SCP-4059 is a Sanskrit phrase that acts as a cognitohazard in sapient organisms, such as humans. When spoken aloud, SCP-4059 causes rapid degradation of the cerebrum in all sapient organisms within audible range, beginning with the temporal lobe, then degrading the parietal, occipital, and frontal lobes. Victims are cognizant of the process. For unknown reasons, the speaker is exempt from this effect. The effect is preserved across digital media.
It is unclear from where SCP-4059 originated. SCP-4059's effect was originally discovered during a live screening of the television show *The Oprah Winfrey Show* in 2005, where the titular host invited an archaeologist to speak for context involving a paternity dispute. The archaeologist uttered the phrase, which immediately caused the deaths of all present, as well as five million television viewers. Internet footage of the event immediately went viral, further spreading SCP-4059.
The Foundation immediately initiated Procedure Lethe-09, which successfully halted the spread of the contagion, although approximately two hundred fifty million deaths occurred. The archaeologist was captured attempting to flee the United States. He was interrogated (his vocal cords were removed to avoid exposure to the phrase), but refused to divulge any information about SCP-4059 save the phrase itself, which he wrote on a piece of paper. Following the interview, the anthropologist was made a D-Class. He was killed during a containment breach of [REDACTED].
*This is actually a pretty weak SCP article, but I'd call it fairly good for thirty minutes of work! Do check out the SCP wiki if objects like these interest you!* | "The words. The words I mean -- *woops*. What else is there to say?"
The interviewer squirmed in his chair, as if he were nervous. "**Well, why did you say them**?"
Six. Seven cameras pointed in my direction. Great. Who in their right mind approved this? I kill near two million people saying some mumbojumbo on national television and instead of slapping me with a prison sentence they ask me to do interviews. On national television. That's like giving a convicted jihadist a bomb and telling him to go pick you up some groceries at the Wal Mart.
I looked at my interviewer dumbfounded for a moment. Then two. Then, "Jesus Christ, how was I supposed to know that they were all going to die? I still remember being there, sure -- yes, in the newsroom -- reading that stupid prompter. Something happened. I happened. The machine glitched. I don't know. Hard to remember." My head shook in disbelief. I hated these interviews. But my lawyer said they'd do a lot to prove my innocence. Make the people believe it was a total accident. So I rolled with it. Sure, whatever.
I cleared my throat and continued. "But I remember there was something on the prompter I couldn't quite read. So I just winged it. Made a half assed attempt. Did what any anchor who's had a few years in the business would have done."
"**Which is?**" said the interviewer, casually taking a sip from his Good Morning New York! coffee mug.
"Ever hear the saying "the show must go on"? It gets to a point where you can't sweat the small stuff. I mean, everybody went quiet right after I said the words and I thought -- great, I've crossed that line. I've winged it a little *too* far and said something totally embarrassing. The station'll skin me. Whatever. I just wanted to get off air and head home to a glass of whisky." I swallowed. This part was always the hardest to tell.
"Then I heard the thuds."
"**Thuds?**"
"Sure. Thuds. Like the sound of bodies hitting the floor? They were dropping all around me. I was in a daze. Then Emee hit the table beside me and -- and me? Don't look at me like that. What the hell was I supposed to do? I'm not a paramedic -- yes, I did a first aid course, but it's not like you remember that shit when you're in a situation that surreal. I thought I was next for gods sakes."
I took a deep breath and started patting down my jacket. The way this interview was heading I'd need every smoke left in my pack.
The interviewer casually consulted the prompter before regurgitating another question I'd been asked a million times. **"Do you have any idea why that sentence - the one that uh-"**
"Killed those people?" I offered.
**"Precisely. Why it hasn't again succeeded in causing such widespread, horrific, and spontaneous death?"**
*Are you fucking kidding me*, I think. *Is this guy for real?*
"No idea. Do I look like a scientist to you? Try asking the guys at CERN or something. I was a weatherman. Now I'm a fucking murderer. I don't even wanna know why somebody felt the need to go ahead and try it out again. I don't know how it worked, or why it worked. All I know is it needs to be left alone."
I found my pack in my left chest pocket and weaseled my hand inside to pull them out.
The interviewer made a loud show of clearing his throat. "**So no idea as to what's behind any of this, then**?" said the interviewer, casting a threatening glance at my cigarettes.
*Like no shit, I realize I can't light one up in a studio. Only spent eight years working in one.*
I ran a hand through my hair. I hated interviews. Interviews like this, where I got to spend the better part of a half hour reliving my mass execution of over a million people. What a great way to wind down on a Friday. "Look, is this thing almost over wi--"
^^^Thud.
^Thud.
**Thud.**
Bodies started dropping everywhere around me again. In the distance all I could hear was the sound of corpses meeting the linoleum. In front of me my interviewer's form went limp and smashed onto the table between us, slack jawed. All life gone from his eyes. Not that there was much there to begin with.
I took a smoke out of the pack and lit it -- it might've been satisfying, even, if I wasn't having a mental breakdown right then.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught somebody on the street looking in at me. She was in rags, had dirt covering the majority of her face and looked like she got maybe three square meals a week. She was holding up a cardboard sign with a single word written in thick marker. I squinted to read it.
"*Horseman*".
Huh. I took a drag.
Wonder what that's supposed to mean? | 2015-05-17T17:56:16 | 2015-05-17T17:53:39 | 62 | 26 |
[WP] When you die, God let's you ask only one question.
Enjoy!
Edit: This is my first week writing and I'm glad to see so many people like this prompt. I'll try my best to read through all of your stories and any future ones!
Second edit: So far so good! Sorry if my comments sound the same. I have read through all of yours, and I tried to leave simple comments, as there were so many of you. | ...There was a tradition here. You get to ask God one question.
I'm the reason it stopped.
I guess I had wanted to give him a real taste of humanity. Something that would force Him to harbor misgivings about the way he did things.
I waited for my turn.
When I was called before the pearlly throne, his blinding radiance, and his beatific smile, I felt the question burning within me. Perhaps his 'omniscience' warned him, because, (it may have been my imagination) but the faintest shadow flickered across his actinic brow.
A herald angel, in armor that gleamed like mercury, announced me, and bade me ask my question.
I did.
"Oh, Lord, I ask you. Is it possible for there to exist a being, a *powerful* and *knowing* being, that is not *all-powerful*, but is *powerful enough to believe he is*, and not *all-knowing*, but *knows enough to think he does*? To clarify, that his own limitations ensure he will *never know* his own limitations?"
The Lord stared at me.
And then I saw it, faint as a downy feather's shadow. That crease, on that impossibly huge, firey *countenance*. The slightest furrow.
The angels noticed it now, too, and there was the beginnings of uncertainty among their ranks. *Good*, I thought. *Welcome to the party.*
I knew that look.
In a voice that sang the hidden songs of galaxies and hearts, he spoke one word, one word, tinged with perhaps the first emotion he had ever really felt, the *first*, and *most fundamentally human* emotion.
**YES.**
...Doubt. | Being a bit impulsive was what lead Jeremy to stand at the pearly gates. He didn’t find them to be as impressive as he assumed they would have been. Most things weren’t as impressive as Jeremy thought they ought to be. One could say Jeremy was a pessimist.
Heaven orientation was actually pretty abysmal. The event was held in a small judges chamber, a very bland room devoid of anything spectacular at all. The cold grey stone walls seemed to absorb all the light from the small green desk lamp on the judges desk. And there, in a muted burgundy executives chair sat St. Peter. The angel’s distinct lack of a halo didn’t sit well with Jeremy. Shouldn’t heaven be full of intricate little details, the finest artwork, glowing halo’s and soft fluffy clouds? If he was in charge things up here would be far more flashy. One could say Jeremy was a perfectionist.
St. Peter droned on an on, most of his facts just glazed Jeremy’s eyes over. Jeremy noticed heaven’s gatekeeper even wore one of those powder wigs. Heaven was stuck in the 1700’s!
A short feather quill was handed to Jeremy, a signature expected. In exchange for his cooperation in accepting the status quo of heaven, he would be entitled to ask one question from the big chief himself. He deliberated for a time. Did he ask about the sad state of his afterlife? What about why he had never found his true love? How come he had always been broke? What was it that would have kept his restaurant afloat? Had he ever actually tasted the perfect risotto, or had the dream he had decided on as a child passed by him? One could say Jeremy was a chef.
He had his question in mind and his new heavenly garb clothing him. Jeremy was ushered through the door of the judges chamber, flanked by two very plain looking men in grey jumpsuits. The court room was a tad bit of a visual improvement on the judge’s chambers, yet something was still lacking. In the audience he saw all of his loved ones, not a trace of life in their eyes. Blank stares all, gazing at the podium of the court room, the high stand where he was lead to sit. God was already seated in the big chair, idly looking over a grey roll of parchment. Jeremy thought he caught a glimpse of his name scrawled in bland writing across the top. One could say Jeremy was unenthused.
“In my hands I hold a list of your accomplishments, a list of your sins, and I will remind you of that signed agreement Jeremy.” Gods voice was strong, and yet lacking. Jeremy was unimpressed. What happened to the big booming voice of the creator of the universe? The voice that commanded life into existence? This guy barely sounded able to command his attention. One could say Jeremy was left wanting.
“You may ask your question for God.”
“Where did I have my perfect risotto? Was it the one my grandmother made me as a child? The one I was first taught to make in culinary school? The three star chef I worked for in France? Did I even have it at all?”
God looked over his horn rimmed glasses and dropped his stack of papers on the desk. God stared at Jeremy, into Jeremy and through Jeremy. One could say Jeremy felt judged.
“How could you have found a single perfect risotto, when every single one was perfect? Did you not taste the perfection of ingredients your chef combined in France? The best quality rice, freshly churned butter, basil grown in the restaurant, wine from grapes I created the universe to give you. Could you not taste the perfection of the knowledge of your path the risotto in school sent you down? A life full of work and food, a restaurant you owned and charted the course for? Could you not taste your destiny in that school? Didn’t you taste the perfection of the love your grandmother poured into that first risotto you ever had? The way your tongue reacted to something you had never experienced before, and nourished you with a love for your family and for food?”
One could say Jeremy felt ashamed.
“Jeremy. Like most of your peers in my realm you will not find perfection as you may have imagined. Here you must search for the perfection of heaven. It’s not waiting for you. You must find and create it. A task I feel a lifetime of your search for perfect risotto has prepared you for. I hope you understand what I’m saying.”
With that God slammed down his gavel. Everything around Jeremy began to dissolve, and he opened his eyes. Jeremy was staring into the face of his savior, a man pulling him out of the lake he had been drowning in. One could say Jeremy felt redeemed.
| 2015-08-26T21:03:57 | 2015-08-26T20:15:14 | 31 | 11 |
[WP]Some time ago humans were put on the 'Only Contact in Case of Emergency' list. Now a threat to the galaxy has arisen and humanity is it's last hope. | Humans were the most dangerous species, by far. Not because they're smart, or strong, but because they were violent.
No race dared contacting them, because they didn't want war. It's too late now, I guess.
The heat death of our universe would come eventually, we just didn't think that other universes would run out faster.
We were invaded. All type 1 civilizations. Our clones from the next universe over came to conquer this one, because theirs had ran out. The worst part?
They brought humans.
No one could predict humans. Not even they could. But we don't have a choice. Without humans, we're doomed.
After a heated but respectful debate at the United Systems, it was decided that it was best to call the humans for help. Humans had the most experience in wars, seeing as how they had the most of them. In fact, they were so good at wars, they made up some rules for themselves to keep things interesting, or as they called it, "conventional".
The humans were surprised at first. They blamed eachother, then us, then eachother again, and eventually they broke war within themselves and made themselves go extinct.
We were doomed. Or so we thought.
As we said, humans are unpredictable and violent. They have a skewed view of reality and make very little sense at the best of times.
So what happened?
Half of the humans thought that, since there are no humans left in this universe, they could join our side without consequences, and that it was the right thing to do, since we were in this universe first.
The other half considered them traitors, and war broke between the humans again. And again humans got themselves extinct.
So... Without humans to make everyone go violent, the two universes managed to come to an agreement. Appearantly, the other universe never wanted to go to war, only their humans did, and they were too scared to say no to humans.
Humans were the best kind of problem, the type that fixes itself.
| "It's flashing! It's flashing!" cried George, who was sliding recklessly through the corridors of his place of employment.
The floors, regularly buffed and cleaned, allowed him to slide round corners in a way that would possibly remind someone of a popular 80's film, but the year was 2142 and that cinema classic had long fallen into obscurity. Perhaps this would've been due to a change in popular culture over the century or so that had passed but it would be fair to say that it was more likely due to The Last World War, which saw use of nuclear weapons that turned the planet into a borderline inhabitable nuclear wasteland.
George eventually reached the office of his superior, Stan, who was idly flicking through intergalactic television streams that occupied a large screen in his office.
"Stan, it's flashing mate! The big one, bloody flashing!" He repeated as he leaned against the doorway catching his breath.
Stan now looked equally as excited and terminated the feed on his screen. His response to the news led him to immediately begin fumbling on the computer in front of him, the antiquated keyboard being hammered in the process.
"Which one?" Stan inquired, not looking up from his monitor.
"The big one!"
"The big red one?" Stan probed, his eyes widening.
"The big blue one, Stan!" George responded, ignoring the confusion he nearly just caused.
After a few moments, another image filled the large screen which had previously hosted Stan's favourite Venusian soap opera. It was the image of an alien general, sat behind a desk on the other side of the galaxy. Though his eyes were held on stalks protruding from his forehead and his large lipless mouth stern below two slits that were his nose, the general was visibly distressed.
"This is General Vancha of the Royal Army of Cephus-B. Am I speaking to the Senior Manager of Silo One?" The general asked, in perfect english.
"Y-Yes sir, I am Stanley Forsworth, GM of Silo One." Stan fumbled, almost forgetting that he was in fact the top ranking member of a nuclear weapons storage facility.
The facility in question, amongst nineteen others of its kind, were the only functioning buildings left on Earth, dotted over the planet's surface, the space between them host to various radiated creatures that had no choice but to adapt to their new surroundings. After The Last World War, the remnants of the human race had no choice but to flee their former home and seek aid from the few other planets they had contact with. Alliances formed and eventually a Venusian military specialist had concocted a plan to keep Earth useful, as not to waste such real estate. The plan was to use the planet as a storage facility for various weapons of war, and should the need to use them arise, use a wormhole to deliver the payload to its destination.
Fortunately the known universe was either in peacetime, or able to resolve any issues with more domestic methods. It was now apparent to Stan and George that somewhere across the galaxy, a real shitstorm had been kicked up.
"We are requesting the release of item 12-B in its entirety, the necessary warrant forms will already be in the requisition folder on your workstation." General Vancha explained, collectedly, his facial expression not changing once.
Stan checked the aforementioned folder and the General was correct, but he shuddered internally at the thought of what the Royal Army of Cephus-B needed with 30 Martian H-Bombs. Resuming a professional disposition, he lifted his head to address George, who was still sweating profusely.
"You heard the man George, lets get this show on the road." He ordered albeit informally.
On the observation deck of their facility, George and Stan sat around a small table they had brought up from the cafeteria, on which was a couple of beers and an ashtray, which periodically received a clump of ash from Stan's cigarette. They had made the necessary arrangements and primed the H-Bombs for release, and would do so once the technicians on Cephus-B had materialized the wormhole necessary for these weapons of mass destruction to cross such a long distance in very little time. The release hatch exposed all 30 of the Martian tools of destruction, and after having sat there for so long they were a dull brown colour, giving the appearance of a large box of chocolates. An incredibly deadly, planet destroying box of chocolates.
Eventually a large disc appeared half a mile ahead of the release hatch, and through it could be seen a planet in the distance, shaded with hues of green and blue. Automatic detection of the wormhole completed the process, and the Martian H-Bombs, held together in a frame, soon sailed through to their destination.
"Rather them than us ey, George." Stan commented through a veil of smoke, as he extinguished his cigarette.
Edit: Formatting.
| 2017-09-25T09:53:51 | 2017-09-25T09:53:11 | 60 | 17 |
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago. | "That has got to be, without a shadow of a doubt, the dumbest fucking thing I have ever heard."
Sergeant Barnes stood waiting for the coffee machine to finish making noise. Beside him stood Police Constable Williams, with a report in-hand.
"But it has to be the case, sir. There's no other possible connection."
"No other connection *that you can find*."
"Sir, how many victims have there been so far? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"At least twenty," Barnes replied, as he checked his coat pockets for cigarettes. "Bloodwork suggests there's more than we originally thought. What's your point?"
"My point is that there's no other correlation between them. Do you not think it's odd that there are never any signs of forced entry, given the condition of the bodies?"
"I don't think the killer is choosing his victims because they have a fucking welcome mat."
"To be honest, I'm not too sure of that either. But we're obviously dealing with a complete nutter, so I think it might be worth considering. Maybe he really hates welcome mats."
Barnes let out a short groan. "Fine, I'll read it. *If* you go around the corner and get me some cigs. I've run out."
Williams glanced at the clock above the door (8:37am), then promptly obliged.
With the report and morning coffee in-hand, Barnes walked over to his desk. He waited until he could see Williams in the street through the nearby window, then chuckled as he dropped the report into the bin.
The welcome mat killer. He had now officially heard it all. Williams was a promising young officer, but he could be a real idiot sometimes. | Once again, was I sitting there in the darkness. Hungry. Starving. The gossip was going around faster than my non-existing blood flow,. The mortals knew there were shady "people" around who would knock on the door with some poor excuse to try and enter the residence. Some lousy new-blood was captured and tortured for the secret of our brethren. The only way you could get work on the farms was if you were able to enter the house on the land. People were catching up, and more of our brethren were captured and executed. We needed to do something, so I started thinking while my stomach growled, echoing off of the walls. I needed to get invited in to be able to enter a house, that was the curse "Mr. Dest" cast upon us when he created us. The vampires don't like to write the history down, most of us can't even read or write, we are still doing it the old fashioned way. That means searching for any kind of rule book is out of the question. Once I get invited in though, I can freely walk in forever thats a fact. "I wonder if animals can invite us inside?" I muttered to myself before falling into laughter. "I wonder why we can enter businesses and establishments but not personal homes" I thought to myself before loudly yelling "Aha!". I started connecting the dots. All stores in town have a wooden sign that says "Welcome" or something in that variant. "I wonder..." I thought before rushing outside with the biggest grin on my face.
I had to test this! No way it could be this simple. It couldn't be, right? I ran straight towards the salesman of the town, he was a human but he was an ally, getting paid by the vampires for insider information. He didn't care much about us, his eyes only saw gold. In a way we weren't that much different, he would hurt and scam people for gold, we would hurt people for blood. Ah blood, just the thought of it makes me go mad.
I arrived at the store of the salesman. "Hiya, Darren!" I said as my eyes suddenly locked on that one particular blue vein that was sticking out in his neck as if it was the head of a deer that just heard something making a noise in the woods. "You up for making some gold?" I asked while scanning through his items, "Im looking for something people in the town all need. Something like a rocking chair for a porch, or someth..." I didn't even finish my sentence, because I had found it. I pointed my finger at the pile of empty brown doormats. "PERFECT" I grasped out of happiness. "Whats with the strange behaviour?" said Darren. I looked at him like I could murder him at that instance. I want you to paint all these mats with the word "Welcome", use white paint so it's easy to read and make the letters big. I threw a bag of gold on the counter and started waiting.
An hour later he was done, still with a question mark on his face. "I still don't understand why you wanted me to do this." he said as he sighed out of relief that he was done. "Shhhh, no questions" I say as I giggle like a little school girl while cracking my fingers. "Any customers who come in, try to sell them mats for a cheap price, you better get a list of the persons names who buy them and more of those bags will appear" He obeyed like the good little human he was.
The following day I went back there, feeling as ill as a dog who didn't eat anything for weeks. As if maggots were eating me from the inside out, the pain was unbearable. "Got the list for you, we sold out all of them". That gave me an adrenaline rush, as if I was a mortal kid again who just found a toy collection. I rushed out of there and checked the first name on the list. As it was a small town, everyone knew each other by name so that shouldn't be a problem. He lived fairly close so I rushed there. I noticed the welcome mat, even went up and stood on it, knocking on the door at the same time. "Hiya! James" I said. "I was close and was pretty thirsty, mind if I come in for a glass of water?". He opened the door but didn't invite me in, he waited for me to enter. I slowly lifted my foot and tried to step inside, and it worked. "IT WORKED!" I thought to myself. Making it hard for me not to laugh maniacally.
It worked | 2017-12-13T11:24:11 | 2017-12-13T11:01:40 | 339 | 170 |
[WP] Your dog digs in the same hole in your backyard everyday. Each day,the hole is getting deeper. Today, you find out it's for an underground bunker. | i am a pup
i like my guy
temps goin up
dont want to die
i dig a hole
dig it so deep
food from my bowl
food in hole keep
guy does not kno
i do not mind
guy mad at hole
still he so kind
today i am done
hole can fit guy
slep in the sun
put guy inside
show guy the hole
guy v surprise
more food in bowl
pup and guy won't die
guy give me pets
now always in hole
food cannot gets
no food in bowl
i do not mind
guy seems so sad
still is so kind
no longer gets mad
calls me good boi
always more pets
i'll be best boi
i luv my guy
stay safe in hole
no go outside | Trying to get my feet wet with writing. PLEASE feel free to offer feedback!
...
...
"I've kept my silence long enough," grumbled Jax.
I turned around, trying to place the voice. It was one I have never heard before yet still seemed so familiar. There was no one there.
"Over here." I heard it again. *Where was it coming from?*
"It's me. Jax."
"How in the world? You can talk?"
"There's a lot you don't know, Luna. Follow me."
Flabbergasted, I walked out the back door, passing each tree in my yard until I know where he's leading me. His hole. He does this everyday. I have to refill it everyday.
"Not again, Jax! I don't have time to refill it today. We're supposed to go over Sarah's house so you can play with..." I trailed off. *Why am I explaining this now? I should be asking the questions, like, why can my dog talk? Why did this just start now?*
Jax's shepherd tail was a blur. He had this smug look on his face that I didn't know was possible for a dog.
"It can wait. I promise." His grumbled voice was somehow familiar.
Disappearing around the giant oak, Jax's tail vanishes from sight. *Here it goes again.* I rounded the corner and the hole is much larger than usual. Before even having time to think about refilling this one, something caught my eye. There was a steel door the size of a kennel underneath the giant oak!
"Uh..." is all I could get out.
"Open it. I'll explain everything inside." As soon as the door was open, Jax walked in without hesitation. I couldn't say the same for me. I took a few deep breaths before crouching down and crossing the boundary.
Closing the door behind us, I can only describe the room as a war bunker before the room falls to darkness. Thankfully, the bunker's ceiling was of normal height, despite the small door. All I was able hear was the sound of Jax's nails tapping along the floor. There's a thud as the lights came on. My eyes adjusted to the light. I saw Jax in the middle of the bunker up on his hind quarters with both front paws resting on a large button with both front paws. Turning around, I saw a beam across the back of the door. *That must've been the thud.*
Continuing to turn around, I saw large bags of food - *typical for a dog bunker, I guess* - and a much larger door on the other side of the room.
"What is that other door for?" I couldn't help but ask.
"That's what we're here for. It's past time that you learned a little more about me, Luna. My parents sent me here to protect you."
"Protect me from who? From what?"
"I'll let my parents explain. This is just the portal room to go back to my homeland. They're waiting for us through the door, but I can't go without you." He looked up at me with those puppy eyes he'd perfected the week after I adopted him.
"Oh-okay, I guess. But, how could they be on the other side of the door? We're underground, for goodness' sake!"
"Once we go through that door, it'll make a bit more sense. I promise."
Hesitantly, I walked across the bunker and reach out for the door handle. Jax trotted up next to me. Looking down at him, knowing the bond we've formed over the last two years, I saw that trust in his eyes still. I turned the knob to open the door.
The sight took my breath away. I was blown away by this unexpected landscape.
"Welcome to Kuri, the land of my kind." | 2018-04-27T10:33:46 | 2018-04-27T09:16:08 | 2,062 | 46 |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | “That’s impossible! 278!”
My wife had a look of absolute shock and I could see in her face a twinge of annoyance as well, as if she thought the technician who was doing the testing must be new or didn’t know how to work the equipment.
“It’s never been wrong before Ma’am.” the test technician said, answering my wife’s annoyance with a venom in her tone that was intended for anyone who would question her experience in preforming the exam. “I’ve done this test thousands of times before.”
This was probably true. Ever since the N.D.S.A machine, or Near Death Statistical Analysis machine was unveiled, millions of people had flocked to the nearest clinic to be given “their number”. My wife thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Why would people want to know how many times one has ALMOST died? As long as you are alive at the end of every day, who cares about the circumstances of how you got there. Nevertheless, society had almost dictated that those who could afford the test should take it, and so bowing to peer pressure she did. To almost no ones surprise, the answer came back. 0.
“I demand that you do the test again!” She said rather curtly to the young woman doing the test.
“Honey, I’m sure it’s just a glitch. We don’t need to do it again.” I said calmly as I re-buttoned my shirt after taking the suction cup electrodes off my chest and face.
She looked at me with a scrutinizing stare, as if she was trying to peer into my very soul. I could tell she was looking for something. Something I wasn’t telling her.
The car ride home was quiet. She didn’t say much. She mentioned in passing that she had a fund raiser to prepare for that evening and was getting together with the head of the Benefactors Committee to go over the final details. She often was gone in the evenings. Always planning this event or going to that fund raiser. When you’re the wife of a wealthy tech geek who had single handedly instituted affordable internet to all comers of the globe, you had a lot of social obligations to fulfill. Ribbon cuttings, interviews, she was in the public eye almost as much as I was, and was much better at it.
She left hurriedly and said she didn’t know when she was coming back, but to not wait up for her. She gave me a kiss and left. Again, I was used to this as it seemed to happen with more frequency lately, and so I sat down in front of the TV to catch up on the local news.
The usual stuff. Local homeless people setting up camp on the courthouse lawn, a fluff story regarding a cat waterskiing behind a boat driven by a mouse.
Looks like it’s going to be a quiet evening.
Just then, the local news channel interrupted our waterskiing feline with a breaking story. An explosion just south of town at an old abandoned warehouse.
Again? Another explosion? How many had it been in the last few months? 12? 13?
No one was ever injured but there was always damage to property and the potential to harm someone.
Reporters said they had received word that kids had been playing there this evening and were uncertain if they had caused the explosion but that they may still be trapped inside the burning building. Police and Fire crews had currently been dispatched but the building was in terrible shape and liable to collapse at any moment. They weren’t going to get there fast enough.
I switched off the television and proceeded to the study. I pulled the third book from the left side of the bookshelf towards myself and the trapdoor I had used so many times before opened like a gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. I jumped inside and landed on the conveyor belt. Pieces of protective gear started appearing from out of the walls and my army of little robots fastened and bolted every piece I would need for a night of vigilante justice.
It started out as a test. Once you are rich enough to have anything you want, what else do you do? I built my first suit as more of an engineering challenge to myself. I always loved mechanical and chemical engineering, but there was just more money to be made in the internet business. This was supposed to be just a hobby.
I had employed several people along the way to help me, all of them paid handsomely for their silence, and now it was more of a compulsion than anything.
I had to help. It gave my life purpose.
It made me feel........alive.
I rushed to the hanger. I needed something fast but small enough not to draw attention.
The hoverbike.
I strapped in and shot out of the launchpad as fast as I could. GPS gave me 3 minutes to my destination. I can make it in time. Please let me make it in time!
The building was right below me. I could see the flames shooting from the ceiling. This was bad. Looking down with my infrared told me little. It was too hot. Everything was a blazing flash of crimson in my visor. I looked to the right of the warehouse.
Bicycles. 4 of them.
I landed the bike as fast as I could and rushed inside. The heat was intense. I called out for anyone to hear me.
“Hello!! Is anyone here!!! Answer me!”
I heard a faint cry from further up. I rushed as fast as I could towards the sound. As I got closer I saw a huddled mass on the ground. My pace quickened as I tried to reach the person lying there in a ball in the blaze. I reached down and quickly pulled them up to get them to stand.
And then my body froze.
“Hello dear. It seems you *have* been hiding something from me....”
Edit: Part 2 is in my noodle for anyone that wants it to continue. | 2018-07-27T14:45:48 | 2018-07-27T13:27:53 | 100 | 41 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | "What does all of this even mean?" Garrok asked aloud. She and Farrun scanned the transmission for a fifth time, attempting to glean the intent behind the nonsense they had been given. They understood what radiation was but most of the words seemed straight out of fantasy. What was a 'fallout?' Or 'scrubbing?' What reaction did they mean by 'runaway reaction?'
"It's a threat from humanity, clearly, but a threat of what?" Farrun asked. They both knew what he was referring to. The war against humanity started barely a galactic day-cycle ago. It was an honorless ambush on humanity's home system but even she, simple researcher that she was, felt that such a thing was necessary.
Humanity was, without a doubt, the greatest nuisance the Larr'ell race had ever faced. Eons of galactic economic supremacy undermined by weak, furless monkeys who happened to know how to butter people up. They were a pathetic race barely fit for combat and they somehow leveraged the sympathy their many weaknesses brought them into a political and economic hegemony that threatened both the current galactic economy and the Larr'ell way of life.
A decapitating strike was necessary and an ambush the only feasible option. They had left humanity unimpeded and now they had too many allies for them to face and so the government, with the people's blessing, decided to strike the valgrax at its heart or die trying.
Humanity's single-minded focus on industrial and logistical technologies created a vulnerability that they needed to exploit before it was closed. The Larr'ell and their few remaining allies could not afford a drawn out battle. Human ships may have been mobile like no other but they lacked the power or durability they needed to overpower the Larr'ell capital fleet in a single decisive battle. If they could force them to the table before they could shift to a wartime economy, they could win unconditionally. And so that was what they did. They forced them into a single, decisive battle last she heard. Humanity's swift defeat should have been a foregone conclusion. Was a foregone conclusion.
So why was she feeling incalculable dread as she skimmed the contents of the transmission for a fifth time. The transmission arrived unencrypted and unobstructed straight into the capital of their homeworld. She could imagine how badly the Data Defense Department were being chewed out for that oversight. Strangely, civilian targets had been the recipients of the transmission instead of the governmental or military ones: hospitals, research labs, and even weather centers. The government itself was in a frenzy over the attack. They believed it was an ultimatum. She couldn't help but worry that they were right but she wisely kept that opinion to herself. The air around the war declaration was of jubilation after all. They had made their bed and anything less than full commitment would not only ruin their legacy but that of their entire race.
She felt the impact before she heard it. The ground beneath her seemed to give before catching itself and she felt the pressure drop for a moment. And then the boom: a mind-shattering bang followed by a rolling rumble that seemed to drag on forever. She'd first thought one of their kinetic cannons had misfired and launched a rod somewhere nearby but no weapon she knew of in their arsenal made that sort of terrifying sound.
She gathered her senses around the time she began hearing the screams. Farrun, who had somehow gotten on his feet before she did, stood by the window, face black and bloodless. Reluctantly, she looked out the window to see. What she didn't see though would haunt her for the rest of her days.
The crown jewel of their empire, the seat and cradle of the Larr'ell civilization, her beloved Beiran, was gone. An ashen hand holding a war hammer rose up from where it once stood, as if only now judging its bloodcurdling handiwork done. She and Farrun stood motionless as a second transmission from the humans was received.
"Any survivors within 532 breadths of the blasts should be considered to have suffered permanent genetic damage. They cannot be saved. Any survivors within 532 and 727 breadths of the blasts must evacuate immediately or risk permanent genetic damage. Any survivors within 727 and..." | Part 1:
Commander Turnall was gazing at the bright blue planet from the comfort of his cabin on the 17th Gunner Launcher of the Emios Empire. The windows of his cabin were designed specifically to give the room a wide 270 degree view. He looked at all the forces of the advance force sent by the Imperial Council. All 180 ships, with 400 destroyers, 80 sharpshooters, 150 gunners, 50 starshields, 18 Gunner Launchers and around 120,000 personnel.
Turnall was delighted when he was informed that he was ordered to command the advance force to the Soleus System, the native star system of the Humans. Turnall, who was partly human himself, loathed the Human race for their amiability and gentleness. The EMIOS had started long ago in Alixir III when the King of the Eliali, Aedealaus declared himself Emperor after subjugating all the surrounding systems after a long war of domination on all fronts. The Eliali, who still hold heavy political sway in the House of the Senate and the Imperial Council regard him as a demi-god and a legend, however rational men including Commander Turnall himself knew that he was not a holy figure but an opportunist who cunningly outwitted his opponents and attacked them when they were at their weakest.
Turnall was given orders to surround the planet in a semi-circular formation and wait them out of submission, his orders were to block any supplies that could be sent from the Colonies on the Mars and the satellites of Jupiter and Saturn. The Humans despite being weak were proud of their Independence and traded with all nations and empires. The marijuana trade was highly profitable and booming, and the humans exported a wide range of elements. They even traded with the Matjl Empire, the most formidable of the rivals of the EMIOS.
Turnall did not like the mission of subjugating the Humans without force. He hated them. *He wanted them destroyed.* Of all things he hated*,* the thing he hated the most was that blue planet of theirs. The Emios called it Gaia 0 and is one of the most habitable places in the universe. Everything about it was perfect. Planet Placement, Size, Atmosphere, Gravitational Force and Abundance of Habitable Space and Stability. Many planets younger than Gaia 0 and Gaia-like planets which were promised to succeed it were outlived by Gaia 0.
Turnall sat and observed the meek satellites and defense systems of the Humans. The Humans were smart. Despite being the bright beacons of peace, love and happiness, they never stopped spending money on defense, but it was of no use now. They were indicted in the Supreme Council for crimes of negative resource-exploitation and slavery. Crimes that were framed upon them by the Secret Agency to facilitate the annexation of the United Nations into the EMIOS. They had always been part of the EMIOS association but were never truly part of the EMIOS proper. The aim was to bring them into the Imperial Fold, Turnall did not want this. He had made up his mind to destroy the Gaia, no matter the loss of life. The Humans will be shattered and the other minor republics of the association and liege states will be frightened. The embargo placed on the Matjl and Kin will be solidified and Turnall will be regarded as a hero. He thirsted for glory and wanted redemption for his failures during the Hock Skirmishes. His promotion was due and his pride as well.
He paced back and forth in wait of the Human Diplomats. When they arrived he couldn't hide his smile. He was searching for some pretext to invade the planet. He had thought over a hundred plans with his most loyal followers and decided that he would have some of his ships destroyed by his own guns. Some of his captains strongly opposed friendly fire, however a compromise was reached and it was decided the selected ships would be left completely vacant. He had to act quickly though, he had heard of news of reinforcements from the Outer Zone were heading towards Gaia and would arrive in 10 Gaia Days, 8 if they made haste.
The Diplomats arrived with a Ranskar guard on both flanks. They greeted him cordially without showing signs of dread. Turnall found it funny. *Your entire existence will be soon wiped, and you will be forgotten. Just like the Manes, the Ibers, the Nam or the Raqqa.*
Turnall advised them to seat and called for the interpretation team. One of the Diplomats blurted out, "Commander Turnall, you do know English, don't you?"
Turnall looked at them with shock. Yes, of course he did. It was his mother tongue. Turnall hated the language and considered it inferior. He tried forgetting the language by learning Lyal and Soran and avoiding it. However, he still dreamed in English, something he couldn't get rid of.
Turnall feigned ignorance, "No. No Cannot. Understand for me, not much".
The Diplomat smiled and nodded.
When the interpreters arrived the negotiations began. The Diplomats denied the allegations and asked to file a motion of reconsideration. They asked for talks between the Imperial Council and the United Nations, and withdrawal of forces. They agreed to cede their Outer Colonies to retain their independence. They asked for a new treaty and were willing to be reassigned as a protectorate. They even tried handing over the Imperial Association their trade control and foreign affairs. Anything, for retaining their independence.
However Turnall and the committee of senators of the House refused all their pleadings. They told that for violating intergalactic law they had to be annexed by the Supreme Council and nothing else. They told them that this was to merely be a transitional occupation and nothing else and their sovereignty would be handed back after a five-year term.
The Humans knew that this was false, the Supreme Council's biggest funder was EMIOS and since the last thirty years a puppet of the Emios Empire. They were literally paid by EMIOS to strike some decisions against them just to pretend impartiality.
The Diplomats were tired and they stood up. The Head of the Human Negotiators Han Xuhan addressed them.
"I am deeply saddened by the failure of our talks. We tried our best to ensure peace but you only talk of war and domination. We therefore will have to be forced to declare war on you. You have trespassed on our sovereignty, and we will fight to protect it."
Turnall couldn't believe his ears, "Declare war?". He was on seventh heaven. They had made his work easier. He will open fire on the first shot. Turnall will have his name etched in history, there will be medals. They will build statues and name institutions in his honor.
When the diplomats left Turnall ordered a meeting of his lieutenants, he advised them to get in a formation so that the sacrificial ships would be closest from the surface. He also told him that the statement might also be a ruse of the diplomats to bide for time and keep them waiting for supposed aggression. He told them that if the ships are not hit soon, they will be forced to destroy it with their own guns. | 2020-02-07T15:32:23 | 2020-02-07T14:56:33 | 49 | 28 |
[WP] You are deaf. One day your fiance tells you, that she could hear piercing noise that's getting stronger. You tell her to go to the doctor. She never came back. As you go out to search for her, you can see bodies everywhere. There is blood pouring from their ears. | I have been deaf all of my life. When my wife complained of a “strong ringing” in both her ears, I had no idea how bad it was. I had never thought of any sound as bad sound, or dangerous sound, or scary sound, or anything apart from being a delight to hear. Therefore, I had been bitter and resentful, rolling my eyes, as I signed, “Why don’t you go to the doctor?”
Mary, my wife, did exactly that. Without signing goodbye, a kiss, or even a single touch, she grabbed the keys and left the house. Two hours later and she was still gone. I shot her a text, and didn’t think much of it. With no appointment, she’d surely be waiting for a while. And surely, it wasn’t an emergency. Still, I felt my heart slightly throbbing with guilt, regret that I hadn’t been nicer, that I hadn’t gone with her.
I sent another text.
Another hour passed, and I grew concerned. By then, I had sent her nineteen texts. When I thought her phone might be dead, I decided to call her. It went straight to voicemail. I paced around the house for a few more minutes, trying to decide whether it was a good thing that her phone had been dead, when I finally decided to get an uber and go to the doctor. But when I opened up the app and requested an uber in my area, there were none locally. Absolutely none. Surely, I lived in the suburbs, but it was a densely populated area. Having only one car between me and my wife, I’ve used uber many times before. I’ve never had a problem requesting a car.
I’d just have to borrow my neighbor’s car.
I grabbed my coat and my phone charger, in case Mary responded, and I went out the front door. We lived on a cul-de-sac, separated from the other houses by a long, lengthy road, and it was just me and my neighbor and one other house that’s been vacant ever since we moved in. My wife has said the neighbor’s kids are loud and chippy, but I joke it’s always been nice and quiet for me.
When I knock on my neighbor’s door, I glance into his driveway, registering that his car is here. It is. A blue minivan, with many scratches and scrapes. It was their only car, so I knew they must have been home. Also, it was a Sunday, and there was no way the Greenbergs were working on God’s day. In fact, they probably had just gotten back from church.
But when nobody answered, I found myself knocking again, this time more frantically. As I did, I pulled out my phone, checking if Mary responded. She didn’t. I knocked on the door once more. Two minutes later, I took a step down from the front porch and almost slapped myself in the face as I looked over to the gate to their backyard and remembered they invited me over today. They’d be grilling, and Susan Greenberg insisted her husband bought enough burgers to feed an entire village. It had been a thing, something I was invited to often. Though I never went, never really cared to. I wasn’t a very neighborly man.
I regretted all of this as I stood in Greenberg's backyard and found them both laying on the ground, disjointed, in pools of blood. Quickly, I covered my eyes and stumbled back. I pulled out my phone, dialed the cops. Before I could even think of how I’d be able to communicate with the police on the phone, the line cut off. It ended abruptly, like it was a busy line. The police were busy. How many people were calling in? Nothing bad ever happened around here.
I panicked, running up to Susan first, who lay with her face in the grass. I knelt down besides her and hesitantly flipped her over, finding blood smeared all over her face. I winced, pulling back, but as I looked again, I realized she had no gashes. No wounds. Not even a scratch. Then I saw the blood pouring slowly from her ears.
Immediately, I found myself flipping over Mr. Greenberg, Jeffrey I think his name was, and finding the same thing. No wounds. Just blood pouring from the ears. I pulled back and realized I had gotten blood on my hands. I wiped it on my shirt, before taking out my phone and trying the police again.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the kids. Shit.
I swept into the house through the backyard’s sliding glass doors, which had been left ajar. I’d only been in Greenberg's house, but I faintly remember the layout. I found my way into the kitchen and, as I lay my eyes on her, felt the rich, hoarse scream develop in my throat. Their little girl lay on the ground in a pool of blood. | One morning I woke up and couldn't hear. I had been dealing with some pain and ringing in my ears for a week or two. Jenna told me I should go to a doctor about it and that my hearing was super important... but I figured it would get better on it's own. I was wrong. Something is seriously wrong with my ears.
Jenna wasn't in bed, I sat up and looked out the open window into the busy street below. All I heard were things that sound like whispers, like the entire world has a secret that it is desperately trying to share with me. Even the nest full of baby blue jays were damn near silently squawking for their mother. I couldn't help it, I started to freak out. I yelled for Jenna, and my voice sounded very muffled in my head.
Jenna's car keys were missing, so I called her. I put the phone to my head and all I heard was the soft whispers of the electronics inside the screen. I hung up, and texted her, I didn't know what else to do. She responded right away, and then she made me an appointment with an ear nose and throat doctor.
Later that afternoon I was sitting in a tiny sound proof booth, with a bald man eyeballing me through a tiny window. I had never had a hearing test before, they put these headphones on me that seem to vibrate your skull, and give you a button to push when you hear the noises. The vibrations get faster and faster and shake my skull at a range of frequencies. I sat there quietly until I heard a high pitched beep and pushed the button.
The bald man said something to Jenna on the other side of the glass that I couldn't make out. But I figured it wasn't great when I stepped out of the booth and saw the tears in her eyes.
Profound reverse slope hearing loss... the doctor doesn't know exactly what happened. But through a lot of yelling, hand waving, pointing at a gross model of an inner ear, and writing on a pad of paper he let me know it's pretty rare form of hearing loss. I have lost all hearing except for the extremely high frequencies.
You never realize just how second nature hearing is until you lose it. You subconsciously pick up on so much information from how sound bounces off the world around you. When it is suddenly gone it's like learning to live in your world all over again. But when you still hear a tiny bit like I do, everything around you feels alien.
Jenna and I decided to go to our favorite Mexican place for dinner. It was a surreal experience, crunching into a taco and it sounds like distant glass breaking. We sat in the front of the restaurant and I heard a lot of strange whispers from the people around us. Then I heard a much clearer whisper.
"I don't want to share my nachos."
I sit up and look around. Jenna notices and says something that I can't make out.
"Why do I always have to share with him? I hate him."
The voice sounds really close, but I can't figure out where it's coming from. Then I see her, sitting in the far back booths of the restaurant. A little girl whispering to her stuffed bear as she smears nacho cheese on it's face.
"Don't worry, you can have some nachos Teddy."
I can't believe how clearly her voice is cutting across the crowded restaurant. She notices me looking at her an hides behind her bear as cheese runs down her fingers.
"Oh no, Teddy! It's a creepy man!"
I dropped my taco on my plate. Suddenly I wasn't all that hungry anymore.
I've been to several more doctors and from what I understand, I can hear better when people whisper, because whispers are closer to my auditory range. It's apparently not a tumor, but the doctors don't really have any answers for me. It doesn't appear that hearing aids will help me very much, my hearing loss is just to profound.
Jenna and I have learned to live with my hearing loss. She tries to cheer me up by calling it my super power. She will whisper from other rooms of the apartment, or whisper to me across crowded rooms. But even with this "super power" there are times where I wish I was completely deaf, because hearing a tiny bit of sound is sometimes worse because it reminds me of what I am missing.
The mid morning sunlight is streaming through the window, as I wake up. I'm a little cold as the spring breeze blows through the window. Where are the covers? I sit up in bed and stretch, mindlessly working my jaw to try to pop my ears. I look out the window and something feels off.
As I look down on the street below I notice a car accident that has happened a few buildings down the street. I check on the family of blue jays, and they are sitting lifeless in their nest, beaks open still waiting for their mother.
I turn to head to the bathroom, and Jenna is writhing on the floor. The covers are wadded up around her head and she is pressing the covers tightly over her face. Streaks of blood run up and down the blankets from her struggle.
I launch into action. I try to pull the blanket away from her face but she has it pressed against the sides of her head and fights me when I try to help her. I try to peel her hands away and she blindly kicks at me, hitting me right in the chest and launching me toward the dresser. Picture frames, and a lamp tumble to the floor around me.
I hear a muffled pained whisper coming from under the blankets.
"Make it stop. Make it stop. Please..."
I fumble for my phone and I dial 911, I put the phone to my head and wait. I explain that I can't hear and that my fiance needs medical help. She is having a mental break. I put the phone down and glance at the screen. The line was busy... I didn't get through.
I try again, the screen says the line is busy. Jenna has stopped flailing around. She has her head jammed under the bed frame with the blankets wrapped around it and I can hear her mumbling under her voice.
"So loud. Make it stop. Make it stop."
I touch her foot and tell her that I am going to go get help. 911 isn't picking up so I'm going to go and find a policeman. I run downstairs and into the street, and immediately understand why the police were not answering. Several cars appear to have run off the road and the driver have abandoned their vehicles. They didn't get that far.
Several people are laying in the street clawing at their ears. They appear to be trying to rip their own ears out. Their bloody fingernails claw into the sides of their heads as they gouge strips of flesh from the wounds that use to be their ears. Others are not that lucky, they lay in the street silently screaming with blood oozing from their ears, nose, mouth, and eyes.
As I run down the street the carnage only gets worse. I look down the street ahead of me and see the Sunshine Daycare Center with several tiny jackets laying around the play area. I stop in my tracks, I don't want to get any closer to that. I turn and sprint through an alley way, and as I come out the other side I see the source of the noise.
In the sky above the park is a giant disembodied head screaming over and over again to the population of earth...
And all I can hear is a whisper... "Show me what you got..." | 2020-05-26T13:53:32 | 2020-05-26T13:02:12 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | "Sir... I think we've made a mistake"
The alien overlord looked at his servant, he was trembling.
"It is only a human, how can this be so frightening to you?"
The overlord looked at the camera, the recording was showing the cells but... it was chaos down there.
"I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON" The overlord screamed
His servant looked at him as asking for mercy
"I'm... sorry sir..." the servant said slowly and scared "We took... a human from mars and... hell was there..."
"Hell?" the overlord was curious "How was hell there?"
The door opened behind them, there it was, a human figure, with a green full body armor, holding the head of one of the overlord elite soldiers...
"*Rip... and... tear!"* The human said before charging for them. | I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to.
Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort.
I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies
1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest
2. 9 he fragmentation grenades
3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds..
4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips.
5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile.
5. A boot knife k bar
6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors
7 1 standard issue helmet
8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue
8. No water, no rations .
As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist.
I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go...
THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today.
I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it.
The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage.
The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98
One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so.
Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin.
Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office
I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim | 2020-09-13T18:29:08 | 2020-09-13T16:14:49 | 124 | 81 |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I don't think you understand," the Hero said. "It's not that I'd lose, it's-"
"You'd win, yeah. I know," the bandit said defeatedly. "I mean, of course."
"What do you mean?" asked the mighty hero, vanquisher of all evil.
"I mean come on. You've killed dragons, monsters, gods. Obviously, I know who you are. I just thought, that, maybe if I fought you, it would..." the bandit motioned his hand vaguely, "*mean something*, you know? That ***I*** would mean something. But... no challenge, no glory. No point. I get it."
The Hero stared at the downtrodden man silently.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I really- I really shouldn't have, I'm sorry-"
"Are you alright?" the Hero asked suddenly. The bandit looked up, his face pale and gaunt.
"What? I- I mean, sure. Just tired is all. Look I'm sorry, I'm not even really a bandit, just wanted to-"
"What are you, then?"
The bandit paused for a moment. "Not much of anything, really," he sighed. "I mean I try, I really do try to do different things but it always just... fails. All of it."
The Hero considered the man's words. They were... painfully familiar.
"Would you like to grab a mug of mead and talk? Perhaps about what makes you happy?" the Hero smiled.
"What? No- of course- no, thank you kindly. I'd hate to drag you down," the man said hurriedly and raised his hands.
"Nonsense. Come, it's on me," the Hero said jovially and pushed the man forward. Seemingly distressed but genuinely relieved, the would-be bandit accepted the helping hand and set off alongside the great Hero.
It wasn't a quest. It wasn't glory. It wasn't a promise of riches that motivated the Hero.
It was the right thing to do. | It's finally over.
The final raid on the last dungeon of the game. All the max-level players with the server's one-of-a-kind legendary equipments came together to try to clear the game and end the server at last. We had waited for so long, for the final dungeon held a cruel trick - anyone who died here would have their character data reset. We would be back at level 1 and have to start the server over.
And so many did die. So many tanks found their armor melting before the embodiment of space-time. So many magic-users found their powers reflected back at them. So many mighty berserkers had their legendary weapons break against the thing's tendrils.
I was the only one to survive, and only out of pure cheapness. For of all the strategies in the game, I had pushed speed to its limit. I was at the absolute limit of what the game could render. Any attack with a displayable animation would necessarily be no faster than me. So while everyone else died, I dodged around for hours, hitting the beast with everything I have, enough firepower to kill every other player in the server if I'd wanted to. And finally, it went down.
I was the only one free to enter the final room, the server room itself, to unravel this virtual reality MMORPG that had sucked us in all those years ago, forcing us to play it over and over again in hopes that some distant day we'd be able to unmake it all and go home. Freedom was a button press away.
Well, a button... and a bandit.
It clearly wasn't an NPC, but it made no sense for a player to be here, especially such a weak one. Level 15, the cap of the lowest-tier classes of the game, wearing the basic bandit equipment from the class he'd never promoted our of. He only had 26 HP, while I had hundreds.
"How did you glitch your way here? Did you clip through the wall or something?" I asked, sputtering. "And why haven't you shut down the game, yet? We've all been suffering out there!"
The bandit said nothing, but equipped his axe.
"Wait, please! There's no sense in this. We can go home now. I don't want to fight you!"
This finally elicited a response from him. "I wouldn't wanna fight me neither."
Alas. As confusing as this whole situation was, if he wanted to stand in my way, I had much more important goals than to figure out his motivations. He'd die in a single hit, and wouldn't be able to do anything against me with my speed and defenses even if he had time.
Or... so I thought. As I danced around him, a whirl of blades at the upper limits of the game's processing capabilities, dealing critical strikes capable of bypassing the final boss's armor... every time, the game displayed 0 damage.
I staggered back to a safe distance, bewildered. "That makes no sense! You're only level 15!"
"That's disappointing," the bandit sighed, then pulled up the display with all his other stats. My jaw dropped. 999s across the board, in a game where even a class's best base stats barely went over 200 without legendary items, and rarely eclipsed 500 even with them.
"I don't understand," I managed.
"You're right that I broke the game to get here, but not by clipping through a wall. See, I've been playing this game since the alpha playtest version. Back then, we only had access to the first classes of the game, capped at 15 like they are now. But there were some bugs in that version, too. I exploited one that let me bypass the stat caps of my level and class while using rare drop stat boosters, and then I spent the entire alpha period farming them... Slowly, achingly, my stats went up, one point at a time, over months... until I was able to clear the entire game by myself, even though most of it was meant to be left unaccessible due to the low levels. I killed the final boss, and waited in here as the game was updated to its release version, the door out of the dungeon closing behind me and the access to the real world being shut off. I've been in this room for years, waiting for any kind of entertainment... And thanks to you, I can finally rejoin the game, and see if any of the server players can give me a real challenge."
Then, before I even realized what was happening, my HP were gone. He hadn't even moved, until a second later when his avatar had suddenly teleported to me, his ax embedded in my chest. I had pushed the limits of the game's processing, but with 999 speed, he was breaking them - his animations didn't display until after his actions were already completed.
"Try to be more fun by round 2."
Then I woke up. Back on the ground, surrounded by newly-spawned tutorial NPCs and the other players who had died in the final boss fight. I was level 1 again.
I screamed. | 2022-08-11T16:37:51 | 2022-08-11T16:29:34 | 1,203 | 104 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | It really sounds good on paper. Everyone gets a superpower. Oh, there are people with awesome powers. Eki Magnusson, the current president of the great and bountiful human empire has the gift of luck; whatever choice he makes will turn out for the best. Since he was eighteen, his ambition to find challenges pushed humanity centuries into the future within a decade. He was the first of us; he gave us the gifts, and since, humanity has become the center of the Milky Way's coalition of species.
Ten minutes until my eighteenth birthday, when my gift will come. I always wanted something flashy, like matter manipulation, where I could build skyscrapers with my mind. Or perhaps something interesting, like the aura readers, able to help those in need in just the way that can fix them in truth (and also, they know which girl is right for them at a glance, that's pretty sweet). The mathemagicians were kinda scary though, being one of them seems tough.
My best mate, Jerry, killed himself. It's rare, but it happens. He got telepathy, the poor sod. While very handy, and help greatly in things like assessing who would be a proper ambassador to which alien species, first contact missions, and so on... it's just. Well, he was always a gentle guy, and those are the type to suffer from telepathy most. It sucked. He'd be awesome with anything that could use creativity and intelligence, but sometimes people just get unlucky.
It's two minutes until it starts. My mom and dad are in the living room. They don't want to intrude, but they're waiting. They'll want to help me figure out what power I have. Dad's an empath, so he'll help me get through it, after all, he always helps his patients. Mom's invulnerable, so even if I freak out she'll be able to handle it... she took a vacation day for this. My big brother is an illusionist, far too rare a power, and he can't be home for this. All of my family has extremely rare powers, my uncle is the first person who could create gateways for instantaneous travel between locations. Maybe I'll be fabulously rich and famous like him.
Oh hey, it's a minute past. Nothing happened, so I suppose I'm safe. Time to bite the bullet and go see the parents.
I walked towards the living room, and looked at my dad. Instantly, I saw a vision of my mom, crying as she stabs him over and over. Then it was just him again. I ran away. What else could I do? My mom popped up on my left, and I saw her in a padded cell, age upon her, as she stopped breathing. Out of the house, just needed to get out.
People were walking in the street. I could see how each and every one of them died. One in a car accident. Two on operating tables. I shut my eyes, but the visions kept coming. I screamed. | Light cascaded through the blinds of the first floor window of his parents home, waking him gently. Simon had been long awaiting this day; the day he'd learn his talent. Many of his friends had already found out their talents and it was just like he'd been told throughout his time in school and by his parents: "Your 18th birthday will define your future". Grant had become a strengther, destined to assist in hard labour, military or emergency service roles. Keith had become a kinetic, adept in manipulating the position of small objects in space with precision using only his mind; a talent that had become well-suited to surgeons, scientists and - when working with teams of kinetics - construction and controlled demolition. Sandra had been unlucky. Sandra's talent had been a rare one. She had the gift of invulnerability. Governments across the world had agreed to share their invulnerables in the largest joint-nation experiment in history - human rights conventions easily sidestepped by newly written laws that came swiftly in the aftermath of 'the event' nearly 50 years ago. In those 50 years there were no statistics for how many invulnerables there bad been or how successful these experiments were. Sandra was picked up the day after her 18th birthday. The joint-governments had set up an efficient task force that detected the unusual electro-magnetic activity associated with invulnerables during their change. Simon prayed he would not end up the same.
10:34. That was his birth time. His parents had shooed his younger sister Emma out of the room. She was too young to watch a change. 30 seconds. Simons palms sweated as he looked into his father's eyes with an overwhelming mix of excitement and fear. 20 seconds. His mother took his hand "It's going to be ok. We're here for you." she assured him. 10 seconds. Simon felt a creeping sensation tingling from the base of his spine slowly climbing to the top of his neck. 10:34. His eyes lit up furiously with a crimson red that made his own mother recoil a few steps back. His whole body shook violently and he crumbled to the floor seizing. He had heard of the pain experienced during the change but nothing could have prepared him for the razorblades inside his head and the fire in his veins. 10:44. His parents were sitting on the floor next to him. They held each others hands and looked visibly shaken. Simons eyes opened. He felt strong, like waking up feeling well after having been ill. His father was first to speak "Are you ok?", Simon nodded. "That was the most violent change I've ever seen." His father continued "Are you sure you're alright?". Simon found his voice "I'm fine, honestly", "how do I find out my talent?". "You've gotta try it dear", his mother said quietly. Simon stood up with his parents. He felt lighter. As if he'd never exerted so little energy to stand up. His thoughts felt quicker. As if he'd been operating in low gear his whole life. Simon effortlessly lifted the piano in the dining room. "I'm a strengther!". "Thank god!" his mother squeaked. "Like father like son." his father quipped. Simon was giddy. He told his parents that he had to go and show his friends, they laughed and let him on his way.
Not 20 minutes later he was at the park with Keith and Grant. Grant was spinning a roundabout close to breaking point while Keith carefully arced a swing back and forth. "Simon! What did you get man!? What's your talent?" Grant shouted as Simon approached the roundabout. "Strengther" he said, as he easily brought Grants self-experimentation with the roundabout to a halt. Grant wrestled the opposite side of the roundabout with Simon but it did not budge. "That's awesome, how are you finding it? Keith asked calmly, still more focused on his swing than on the competition with the roundabout. "Yeah, so far so good", Simon admitted "It's a little strange though". "Feels sudden doesn't it." Grant stated more than asked, giving up and stepping back from the roundabout. "Yeah", Simon agreed "It does". It was at this point that he had noticed Keith struggling to control his swing, as if battling with an unknown force. Simon looked around and saw no one nearby. He looked back and Keith had regained control, visibly annoyed at himself. Tests for kinetic surgeons were among the most gruelling of any job. The three friends played around with their talents for the rest of the afternoon, Keith flicking up objects in the air for Grant and Simon to smash between each other.
On his way home Simon tripped over and landed beside a broken bottle. It wasn't till he'd stood up and walked a few yards that he realised his hand had a shard embedded deep. Maybe strengthers feel less pain than others he thought, absent mindedly pulling the shard from his hand and covering the gash with his jumper sleeve as he continued the walk home. When he came in the door, Emma ran up and hugged him "Missed you Sai-mawn!" she was still struggling with her pronunciations. A large meal had been prepared and a few particularly nice drinks were chosen to "break you into the world of alcohol nicely" as his father had put it. They laughed and joked about how worried they'd been about the change and Simon felt a little closer to adulthood as he shared a beer with his father. As he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed he realised that there was no blood on the jumper from his cut hand. He looked down and turned white as a sheet. His hand was completely fine. There was no sign of the gash the glass had left after being deeply jammed in not a few hours ago.
They would come for him tomorrow. | 2015-03-28T06:27:10 | 2015-03-28T05:31:34 | 70 | 27 |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The biggest 'perk' of hitting level two is being able to see other people's levels. I was doing it now, gazing around the room. The little kids were all level one of course- the starter level. Lexi- the other teacher- was kneeling by the fish tank with little Johanna. Both level ones.
Deep in thought, I barely noticed the little tug on my shirt.
"Mr Raley?"
"Yes, Saffy?"
"What was your wife's favourite colour?"
She brandished a new pack of crayons and a piece of paper. There was already a stick-man on it- not my exact likeness, but how accurate can stick-men get? Another drawing was stood next to mine, a lady with long red hair and a yet-to-be-coloured-in dress. My heart twinged.
"I don't have a wife, sweetie."
I smiled at the little girl, trying not to show too much pain in my eyes. She looked confused.
"Who is the lady in the photo?" she said, pointing to the picture on my desk. I gazed at the picture, taking in her mischievous smile and warm eyes.
"She *used* to be my wife."
"Why isn't she now?"
"She died, sweetie."
The little girl's mouth turned into a round 'o'. She patted my knee.
"I'm sorry."
Then she had gone, skipped away to talk to her friends.
I thought back my to wife. That night- a rainy Tuesday. Earlier on she'd looked out at the rumbling purple clouds and run outside to take a photo. She came back in, soaking wet and smiling. I was so tired from work... I didn't smile back. I went to sleep watching TV while she made dinner. When I woke up... well, she had gone cold. I can still feel her dead hand in my own. And the guy who'd done it. He was still there, running down from the bedroom, arms full of her grandmother's jewellery. I grabbed my gun. *Bang*.
When you kill a man for the first time, you level up straight away.
It was the most painful thing I'd ever felt.
I looked around at the glowing golden '1's glittering in the room. It was a good thing they couldn't see levels.
I shivered under the cursed shadow of my storming, bruised '2'. | There was an explanation.
Fermi had latched onto the beginning of the thread back in 1950, then Moravec and Bostrom gave it a tug, and the whole nasty thing came unraveled.
We had speculated this was the case, before the first pop-up Window materialized in front the face of that SEAL in Bahrain, asking him to spend skill points.
We had speculated, but hadn't considered the consequences.
There were a couple of immediate concerns, other than the possibility of mass psychosis. One: spending points *worked*. If they were spent in strength, the person became stronger. If it was spent in intelligence, a person's recall, three-dimensional reasoning, and logical capabilities went up. Where were these augmentations coming from? Clearly, the world was being changed. These *people* were being changed. How could this be? Energy was entering a closed system, without any visible source or entropic byproduct.
This meant that physics was now broken. People didn't panic about this *nearly as much* as they should have, lamented the physicists, but few understood the finer points of the conservation of energy.
Second, upon leveling, all of a person's injuries were healed.
Physicians made a secret pact fairly early on to not reveal that 'leveling' also healed *underlying* conditions as well, (as they evidently counted as 'status effects') to stop what would surely be a murderous rampage by the terminally ill, but the secret got out anyway. The societal consequences were... extreme.
It only got worse when it became clear that, while leveling could cure cancer, paralysis, and end-stage AIDS, it couldn't *fix* genetic conditions, all it could do was reverse the symptoms. To the horror of all, it became clear that they would have to level *periodically*, if they wanted to stay alive. Desperation overwhelmed ethics in some places. In others, the ill, who didn't wish to kill, would offer themselves as sacrifices to their fellow patients.
The last terrifying prospect emerged, when it became clear that the Window was an unimpeachable way of establishing guilt. A person's 'level' could be seen by *anyone*. The ethical ramifications of this were *staggering*. If a person was high-level, he or she was often held indefinitely, without trial, unless they could prove they were a surgeon, or some other *legitimately* lethal professional.
What was worse, the window would appear in front of those people who were *incrementally* responsible for someone's death. Windows popped in front of barmen and clerks of convenience store owners who sold cigarettes. They popped up in front of CEOs who cut wages and hours, who sent jobs to overseas factories where conditions were so bad, workers leaped off the roof to their deaths. In the past, the papers called those 'suicides'.
The Window told a different story.
The CEOs, a demographic mostly composed mostly of sociopaths, weren't much bothered by this. The tormented ones were the public. While the XP rewards were reduced to triviality by some unknown mechanic, (perhaps due to the *sheer quantity involved*) they were constantly harried by the chime and floating numbers, the constant parade of names from the Third World. (who died as a result of economic practices and governmental policies; things that, as citizens of democracies, they bore responsibility for) Presented with such transcendent and indisputable proof of their evil-doing, hundreds of thousands of the more moral citizens took to drinking.
The rest grit their teeth, and tried to ignore it. It was impossible. Governments an businesses found, to their chagrin, that lying about human costs was now untenable. Their profitability took a strong dip, but the world, funnily enough, improved.
Back to Fermi. Fermi had a paradox: given that the conditions for the formation of life are actually fairly common, and the incredible scale of time we have access to thanks to the relativistic speed of light, why don't we see more evidence of alien civilizations? A physicist named Fermat had a principle: a seemingly teleological one: Light takes the shortest path, to it's ultimate objective. How does it know it's objective? Einstein had a brain buster of his own: light, no matter the frame of reference, has the same velocity. Moravec and Bostrom put a bow on it:
All these things are true, because we are living in a simulation.
Think about it, they said. An advanced civilization could easily simulate consciousness, or a universe. In fact, it would probably simulate *hundreds* of them. Given that, it's more likely than not that you are living in a simulation than a "real" universe, at any given time. All you need to look for, to prove it to yourself, are signs of computing optimization, such as simplifying physics, or narrowing the scope of simulation to a single populated world...
Fermat. Einstein. Fermi.
And now, there's even more proof.
That brings me to us. We're the ones who intend to change the rules of this game. If reality is a simulation, that means we can change it. Make it better. We started small, but we're getting *bigger*.
...We're [r/LifeHacks.](https://www.reddit.com/r/lifehacks/) | 2015-11-11T09:30:50 | 2015-11-11T09:22:31 | 64 | 16 |
[WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable.
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | "As long as I remember, I've been going back and forth. Every day."
"And so you cooked up a story about fraternal twins."
"Seemed like the best I could do, yeah."
He was quiet, for a while. Clearly mulling things over. "And you still don't actually tell anyone. Even your friends?"
"How? What would I say, 'by the way, I'm also my brother?', 'I know you think I have a twin sister, but I'm actually her too?' Knowing someone well doesn't make that any easier to swallow."
"So in highschool when I told you I had a crush on your 'brother'..." He blushed.
"In my defense, I tried to let you down gently."
"...Yeah..." He said, cringing. "You did. So that whole time I was trying to make a move on him... on you..."
"I wasn't... I was telling the truth when I said it wasn't about you, Mark. I was afraid."
"Afraid I'd find out."
"Yeah."
"It's not like you haven't had boyfriends-"
"Not serious ones. Not people who expected anything regular, anything consistent or long-term."
"-as *both* of you, you've had boyfriends." Mark noted. "Including Trevor, who I thought was cheating on you."
"So did he, actually. That was the real reason I dumped him twice in the same week, because I just lost respect for him."
"The rest of us thought he was a piece of trash for him a long time before that, believe me."
"Yeah, I know." We were both quiet, for a while. "So what now?"
"You should tell the others."
"I'm not going to Mark. I don't know how. Don't know if I *can*."
"But you can keep lying to people who would accept you?"
"Lying about this... I've done it for so long that it's easy. It doesn't hurt anyone, almost ever. It comes naturally and it's just... simpler, to pretend something people understand."
"Even when it closes you off from them?"
"Yeah, even then."
Mark was quiet, for awhile. But when he spoke, there was a conviction in his voice. "I want us to try again."
"What?"
"You and me. Now that I know."
"Mark..." I stopped. "You're... okay with this?"
"It's *you*. I know you, both sides of who you are. I loved you years ago, and that never changed, even as you tried to push me away, however gently."
"And... even now? When I'm... this me?"
"I've had one or two girlfriends."
"I thought that was before you came out."
"And I came out when I understood that I *prefer* guys, not that I'm not at least attracted to women." he smiled at me something... something honest and sly and playful all together. "Somehow, I think I'll manage."
'I..." I didn't know what to say. So many years of fear of rejection and fear of loneliness, without an answer in sight... "Thank you, Mark."
He sat down next to me, put his arms around me, and kissed me on the cheek, and I could tell he tasted tears. "I'm not going to turn you away for who you are, I promise." | An older man stood up on the podium, tapping the mic and smiling before the audience.
"Good evening, ladies and gents, and welcome back to Dandy Randy's 5th Annual Karaoke Competition, Round 3!" he glanced around to find a raucous crowd, probably on their third round of drinks already. "Tonight is our final round as the lovely Emily sings up against Don in the showdown to see who wins the lucky $1,000 prize!"
Emily wiped a trace of sweat from her brow as she went for her first Jello shot. Noticing that her hands were shaking, the woman next to her leaned over her shoulder with a grin.
"Cheeer up, Emilyyy," the woman laughed, her voice drawing out her vowels. "Y-you are so--" hiccup, "--excuse me, you are so awesome out there. You're gonna do great."
Emily smiled slightly, looking over to her friend Tracy and all the other girls in the group who laughed with her. She's right, she thought to herself. No reason to be nervous. It's just a karaoke night, everyone's drunk, and she's genuinely thinks herself to be a good singer. Well, once the drinks are down, anyway.
"She's so right, Emy," her other friend across from her said, raising her drink up over the circular table. "You should sing more often, no, go out more often. It's like we hardly ever see you anymore, hon."
I have so much work to do, Emily sometimes says. I have a sick mother, is another one of her excuses. She looked down at her second raspberry Jello shot. Which one is she going to use next week?
"And now, please give a warm and dandy welcome to our first contestant, Miss Emily! Come on up, dear!"
The crowd cheered on as the slight blonde stood up, her knees buckling. Her friends whooped and hollered as Tracy handed her the shot she nearly forgot about. Swishing it down quickly, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her black leather dress and walked up to the podium. A mantra began playing in her head: *it's just karaoke, it's just karaoke, it's just karaoke...*
The man handed her the microphone and bowed off the stage. Emily looked up at the television screen and down at the gleaming audience below, waiting with bated breath. *It's just karaoke...*
"Uh, hi, everyone!" she attempted to say loudly, but came out as a whimper. "For my final round, I'm going to sing 'I Will Always Love You' by Dolly Parton and as covered by Whitney Houston." She heard a wolf whistle somewhere in the back of the bar and blushed in response. "Um, carry it away!"
The instrumentals flared through the speakers surrounding the stage, and Emily could feel both the excitement of the crowd and the bubbling of the Jello shots whirring through her system.
*"If I, should stay, Well I would only be in your way..."*
The audience was already clapping and hollering, and she felt the warm embrace of alcohol clouding her over. She could so do this. She was going to nail this.
*"And so I'll go, and yet I know, That I'll think of you each step of my way..."*
The song went on, the audience grew more feverish for the final chorus. Sweating in the heat of the spotlight, Emily cast aside her baggy black coat as someone reached out for it and ran off. Her heart swelled as she read the lines on the screen, her body swaying in the rhythm of the song as the men whistled more.
*"But above all this, I wish you love..."*
The planned pause of the song left everyone gripping their drinks in silence, awaiting Emily's glorious finish. The blonde took in a deep breath.
"*And* ***IIIIeeeeIIII will always love YOOOooooOOU, OH I*** *will always, love* ***YOUuuu ooOH I WILL ALLLLWaaaAYS LOVE--***"
Emily's booze-fueled mind fog quickly dissipated. It's midnight! *Shit!* I completely forgot about the time until now, she shrieked in her head. Just finish the song, she said to herself, you can get through it, just get through it...
***"YOOOooOoooooOOOUUUUUuuUUUuuuuUU!!!"***
The song ended. The music was over. The crowd went quiet. Emily, standing before them all, red in the now-hairy face, large hands shaking, voice hurt from the strain of squeaking out the last note in a falsetto resembling the brays of a dying jack, gently placed the microphone back on its stand.
"S-sorry for that, everyone," he tried, once again, to say loudly to no avail. "I'm having some minor technical issues tonight."
Seconds piling upon seconds passed until the random coughs in the crowd soon turned into murmurs, morphing into laughs, transforming into cheers, bursting into a fury of standing ovations and table-banging flails. He watched the horror go on from above, unable to move. He looked over to find his girlfriends, who squealed in their confusion and cried from their cackling. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped back, nearly ripping the incredibly tight leather dress, only to see it was now-shorter version of the announcer.
"I don't know what you just did," he curled over with hands to his knees for a moment, wiping a tear from his eye, "but I'mma let you know that Don has forfeited." He snorted. "You just won the grand freakin' prize."
He stared intently at the thousand dollar check placed into his hands, the audience still screaming even minutes after the song was over. He stepped carefully off the stage so to not rip his dress, swiftly moving past the people too drunk to notice him to find his purse, resenting that he threw his jacket off the stage earlier. He stuffed the check inside the black purse sitting next to Tracy's and, without a word expended to any of his girlfriends, slipped out of the bar and into the night. | 2015-11-15T10:36:47 | 2015-11-15T09:39:05 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] You are trapped on a deserted island. And I mean "deserted," in the sense that it seems people used to be there but left for unknown reasons.
It can also be a desert island, if you want. I'd be surprised if you could pull off a dessert island, but it's not explicitly against the rules. | I hadn't expected to find an island on my voyage. It was supposed to be a trip to the deepest part of the ocean; the Marianas Trench. There shouldn't have been an island there. The ocean floor was so far down, it seemed physically impossible, yet there it was.
The island was mostly covered in lush forests. I couldn't see much from the coast, but it seemed to be fairly large. I was surprised no one had found it before me, but that just goes to show how much of our world there is left to explore. Regardless, I decided to investigate. I disembarked along the eastern coast of the island, ensuring that my submarine was securely fashioned to a nearby rock. Then, I began exploring.
The island's coast was roughly a kilometre around. Not small by any means, but not as large as some islands can be. I explored in a clockwise direction, starting towards the south and continuing from there. After my first round, I decided to try exploring the center of the island. That was when things began to get weird.
The forest was fairly lush, but there seemed to be a path cut through the brush. At the time, I thought nothing of it; I was still accustomed to exploring where others had been. At the center of the island was a clearing, filled with stone buildings. Some were clearly identifiable as houses and temples, while others were less recognizable. I decided to start in the largest building, immediately in the center of the clearing. It was a tall building, with what appeared to be the remnants of some kind of paint coating it in strange designs. The top was a spire, reaching high enough that I wondered why I hadn't seen it earlier. As I entered, I marveled at the design of the room.
The tower was filled with strange slabs of stone, all covered in more of the faded paint. There appeared to be a map of the island, though how it had avoided the fate of all the other paint eluded me. As well, there seemed to be designs for boats capable of sailing for years, with large food stores and water purification areas. If I hadn't known better, I would have suspected that whoever had made this had done it in an attempt to prank me, but I knew no one knew where I was going.
A lump on one of the slabs caught my eye. It was a small round cylinder, seemingly embedded into the surface of the stone. It was surrounded by the faded paint, far more than was apparent anywhere else. I did what any curious soul would have done: I assumed it was a button, and pressed it.
Immediately, the paint began glowing. It started around the button, but it followed the lines drawn all over the place, covering more and more of the room. I rushed outside, fearful of letting it touch me, and saw that it was already spreading up the tower. As it reached the top, a flash of violet light sprang forth from the spire, enveloping the sky as night fell.
Unsure of what was happening, I rushed back to my boat to find that the violet light had somehow cut it in half! I tried rushing out to the half stranded at sea, but found myself blocked by the violet field that now surrounded the island. I ran back to the tower as quickly as I could, but try as I might, I couldn't *un*press the button. I was trapped.
I returned to my landing point and began taking an assessment of my situation. *I have food, both from the half of the boat that I have and from the local flora. There's probably fresh water on the island; otherwise, a city like that could never have been built. I can camp out in the huts for shelter, although I'm not certain I'll need it. This field may protect me from the elements already. I don't have enough of a ship to sail away, but there are diagrams in the tower. No one knows I'm here, so I'm going to have to save myself.*
As I dragged the half of the boat I had on shore, I noticed something in the distance. Where the other half of my boat was floating in the ocean, there was a shadow in the water. I watched as a massive beast surfaced and swallowed half of my submarine whole. I found myself wondering, *Was the dome built to keep that thing out?*. Then I heard a noise in the forest. *Or something else in?* | The cargo ship had seemed more of an island than a boat. Such a thing, carrying a city's worth of "who-even-knew." Shipping containers, heavy metal crates that housed items, vehicles, goods- maybe even people. That was frowned upon, but it happened. A simple job beyond those occurrences, delivering that which people demanded, and doing so in bulk. There have been worse careers, I'm sure.
Storms though, the ocean... neither care much for human capacity, statistics, and willpower. I suppose that's why the sailors from the older ages actually gave a shit about those things. Small boards of wood and rope, leather and cloth... As much as had liked to think we'd moved up in the world, I found myself painfully aware that "We" might not be all inclusive.
An inflatable raft does poorly against fifty foot waves, and white crested peaks.
Nature cares little for the lives of man, or his feeble resistance to its will. I can't say how long I was out there- "long enough" I suppose, if you want a true and clever summary. Long enough to eat most of the food, but that's not the best measurement, because keeping it down wasn't even worth the effort those first few days. Long enough to give up hope of rescue. Long enough to consider myself lost.
When the beach came, I thought it was mercy. Divine intervention, a sign of greater times to come, I had shouted of victory and praise.
Lord, Buddha, and Moses- how wrong I was. The dark times I had thought over, were only beginning.
...
Pulling the raft to shore took every ounce of my effort. Waterlogged as it was, I lacked the drive to empty it of its soupy contents. Brine, sweat and bodily fluids among other things, swirling around within the thin flooring. It was only after the raft was fully up to shore, and fifteen feet past the high tide, that I flipped it, and let said contents free to the dry sands below.
I had known it was an island of some kind, having been swept up on the currents far from its reach, pushed towards it as if the ocean itself were willing me to make land. The small spot had grown larger, and larger still, until it stretched on in miles for each direction. As large as it seemed from that distance, the lack of anything behind it had brought concern. Certainly it was a large island, but without mainland... it was a troubling perspective for someone adrift in the pacific.
The trees though, god almighty those pillars of bark and height. They were unlike anything I had ever witnessed. As if the redwood giants had sprung in the form of shrubs, to scatter out in all directions- untamed and uncontrolled in their quest for sunlight.
Their shade was so thick, my first night there, I slept near them without ever realizing the things they hid deeper within their mighty grasp. Only on my second day, did I discover the *ruins.*
...
That next day, drinking from my dwindling reserves of tinned water and rations, I set out to circle the place in which I had landed. My new home, as it were. Though my feet lifted through the sand in shoes, I soon removed them to enjoy the feeling of warm sand beneath my toes. A small bag on my back held them well enough within, slung with a tin of water and food upon my back. My first grand adventure upon the island had begun without celebration, lacking in most all of the excitement and wonder many might feel upon such a place.
I had only enough food for another week at the longest, and water... perhaps less. My hope was during my travel around the island I might discover some pure source for the second concern, and set up camp and a fire close by it. In that time, my basic survival was at the forefront of my mind. Practicality and nerves drove me more than a sense of adventure.
Well, as luck would have it, not even a mile down the slow slope of the beach, did I find a running stream- barely a trickle, but a true and tangible current nonetheless. From there I had gone about, shuttling back to the raft in trips. My shoulders and legs ached, dragging what I could back along the shoreline. With water found, and a meager shelter soon constructed, I realized that I might be capable of surviving until help arrived- though I was still uncertain that the island was inhabited. Indeed, I had only seen the one approaching angle on my arrival- and the entire far side was still a mystery to me.
I decided then, in the slowly rising sun, that I would gather what I needed for a fire, and then leave that task for the evening. Today was for further surveying, and perhaps immediate rescue. I remember I could practically taste freedom around every sloping bend on the island's stretching beaches. What I found in place of such a thing, was far stranger.
...
After several miles of walking, the sun had reached the peak above my head, and my shirt had long since dried from the salt water which it had been soaked, and now found itself saturated with sweat instead. The bag upon my back dug into my shoulders with the thin string cords, but that thankfully lessened after my mid-day meal and drink. Walking in sand, as simple as it sounds, is different from walking on flat and packed ground, and I had started to drift further from the sea, and closer to the ever mysterious interior of the island, mostly ignored up until this point.
It was dark, and cool, when I could stay in the shade of overhanging branches without finding myself walking through them in painful manners. The roots seemed to creep into the sand despite the waves and salted water that carried them, making the ground easier to tread. Walking as close to these giant monstrosities of nature, I found my attention glued to them, their strange shapes drafting upward and onward, branches like massive limbs stretching out in huge canopies that locked together. Light was barely capable of breaking through such a thing.
Distracted as I had found myself on that long walk, I found myself surprised by the bay. It had snuck up on my as much as I had it, breaching into the far side of the island in a deep groove, sheltered by two pincer beaches, creating a shallow pool of peaceful water perhaps a quarter of a mile wide.
As much as the bay had surprised me, and my mind raced to the possibilities of catching fish to go with my staled and repetitive rations, I found such things pushed aside. MY focus fell upon the obelisk that stood at the bay's center. A strange stone of carving and polish, worn from bother nature and human hands.
I would be lying if I said that I hadn't had an urge, right then and there, to dive into the bay, and swim towards it. My mind was like a moth drawn to flame, like a shaving of iron to a magnet- and in that black and polished stone, it wandered out.
It came to me hours later, as the sun was setting and the winds picked up, that I had stared at the strange stone in the distance for the better part of the day. That my skin was tanned and red from the sun beating down upon it, and my legs tired simply from standing still.
This was the first of many troubling things upon my stay in that horrible place; just the smallest inkling of more soon to come. | 2016-01-19T20:08:08 | 2016-01-19T19:47:43 | 53 | 14 |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | "Photon Eagle Four to Base, coming in hot. Advise," CPT Detriech was screaming into his radio. It would be hilarious to survive the 1,000 Year War, the rebuild of the space program, and the fifteen year journey to OP Base Delta in the far outskirts of the Castro System just to die upon entry into the atmosphere of our New World. I chuckled to myself because some of us deal with stress in completely unhelpful ways.
It was becoming pretty clear that Base was not going to respond or advise and we were going to have to do some slick maneuvers to survive. We'd lost a lot of parts on this voyage. I'm not the ship maintenance tech, so I don't know what parts exactly, but the guy that *is* the ship maintenance tech looks like he is about to throw up, so I am assuming the missing parts are awfully important parts.
I'm not the navigator either. She was killed a few cycles ago by a jealous lover. We're a violent lot. She was kind of a bitch, and I like sitting in her seat, so I don't mourn her loss. Cushy seat, though. Nice.
I guess you could call me a consultant. I'm an expert on all things Human. I'm suppose to ease the transition of our troops, after one thousand years of separation and constant war, back into the humdrum nonsense of human life.
I kind of hate Humans.
But we don't get to choose our jobs. I would have been a Breeder if I had been given a choice. I would have been genetically altered physically. I'd be a lot prettier and I wouldn't have THE WEIGHT OF MY PEOPLE'S FUTURE HAPPINESS ON MY SHOULDERS. I wouldn't have these fucking freckles, either. Asshole scientists couldn't do anything about that?
Lots of alarms are going off. Apparently there's a fire in engines two and three.
I don't know if surviving the crash is going to be all that awesome.
Here's comes the ground. At least we made it home.
_________________________
*Roswell, New Mexico 1947*
"President Truman, sir, they are definitely not human."
| [Strayed a bit, my bad. Hopefully it's still good.]
Beast. Monster. Demon. All these names and more are attributed to those who saved us. No one knows the truth, and, even if it's better that way, I must change that.
Today, I break the silence. I was a leading scientist in the Exgenesis Project. We were working with genetic modification, attempting to rapidly increase skeletal development in small children while also kickstarting testosterone development. For the first two years of research, our experiments were utter failure. Now, before you get upset at us for testing on live human children, I ask that you calm yourself, as that wasn't the case; we were testing on chimpanzees, actually.
I remember the date exactly: 12/17/2096. The first successful implementation of the X-Gen serum was administered to children, ages 6-10. Out of eight test subjects, three survived. The other five rejected the serum on a genome-deep level, so they never stood a chance. Analyzing the genome of the three surviving children, we noticed remarkable changes. Firstly, their pituitary gland had enlarged, which led to the increased testosterone production and, as a result, massive muscular gain. Secondly, the right supramarginal gyrus was nearly shut down when we took MRI scans. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, through some anomaly we couldn't have accounted for, the children developed a hardened outer coating, not unlike insect chitin, that was nearly bulletproof, and could withstand extreme heat. We succeeded in turning kids into machines.
With three to our name and thousands of aliens attempting to destroy our planet by conducting sieges on major cities and widespread destruction, time was a commodity we could not afford to overtax. We needed thousands of children and literally hundreds of kilograms of our serum. From here on, I will be ceasing my use of the word "serum", as a serum is meant to help in some way, and we certainly did not help them. It was more of a toxin. So, kidnapping thousands of kids, no matter where they may have been, we quickly set to work making a small army of genetically modified warriors. Of the 13,000 we abducted, only 6,000 survived.
Two weeks later, we sent these children (horrified, scared, isolated, missing children) into combat. It was a slaughter; the children won without contest. 2,000 aliens laid dead at the feet of these kids, kids who have had their childhood - no, their humanity - robbed from them. There was no choice for them, and suicide was no longer an option, as their exoskeleton protected them from nearly all kinetic impacts. Trapped in their jail cells that were once their bodies, they were subject to our will.
Our victory over the aliens did not go unnoticed. Shortly after, we received an encoded transmission that, when decoded, told us we had 48 hours to concede or be obliterated. We had a short time to make in impossible decision; we decided against defeat, ultimately choosing that, if we were going down, we were going to nut up first. We had the kids move into pods that would be fired directly at the aliens orbital warship. Not all of the kids would make it, and that was by design.
Firing each salvo, one by one, the kids were blissfully unaware of the nuclear warhead below the floor of their blast pod. Some asked before they were shot into the ship if they would see their families again, and some asked for water before they went. The ones who asked about their families kill me each time I think of them. The hopeful way they asked, and their still childish eyes; they had no clue what we had truly done to them.
The ones who were not armed with nuclear warheads were instructed to storm the ship, kill anything that isn't one of them, and crash it into any nearby terrestrial body that wasn't the Moon or Earth. To their credit, they stormed the ship beautifully, with very few casualties. However, we hadn't accounted for the amount of damage the ship would sustain during the nuclear barrage; we lost 4,500 children that day, which, while it was the goal, was still in plain view of anyone looking into the sky. Some of them reported hearing a strange noise in the cabin, asking for advice on how to deal with it, before the floor below them was obliterated, along with them.
The remaining 1,503 were furious. Any attempts to contain them, ultimately, were failures. We stopped the invasion, but we created monsters in the process. I tell myself that what we did was for the greater good, that the ends justified the means, but I know that's a lie. I have chosen, as the lead biologist of the Exgenesis Project, to purge the facility. The children cannot be allowed to escape, and I will never escape what I've done.
I am Dr. Ivan Maldovich. I am a loving father, and, apparently, horrible psychopath, as only someone with no soul could do this to children. If someone saw them, they might still see humanity in them, if only in their eyes. I am unrecognizable; a real-life monster. | 2016-06-04T05:34:35 | 2016-06-04T05:26:23 | 59 | 11 |
[WP] After hundreds of years of sending messages into the sky, humanity receives its first message from intelligent life. Decoded it simply says, "Be quiet before they find you." | "Commander Scott, I have confirmation from the UNC Security Council, the Pan-European Parliament and the Chinese Empire - we believe beyond all doubt that the signal and message are genuine," reported the Fleet Admiral.
"Very well. And they are in accord? The message is a warning?"
"Yes, sir. It is a very clear statement, we are to cease all transmissions as have the other sentient civillisations. All we could translate is that they - we can't translate the name yet - are returning. They have been seen in the region of the constellation Taurus."
"What do we know of them?"
"Only that they are very old, very feared and the mention of them is enough to close down interstellar communications for fear of attracting their attention."
"Understood. Send word to all Admirals, every ship, to SETI, to the council of communications, to all countries capable of interstellar communications. Aim everything we have at the Pleiades nebula. Full power, all bands, repeat it 24/7."
"What is our message, sir?"
"Come to Earth if you dare. The Humans are ready." | Andrew sat at his computer screen watching the the playback from the deep space radio telescope. The familiar sound of static poured through his headphones. He took a long drink from the lukewarm coffee he had been nursing over the last hour when something changed in the static.
A whisper in an ocean of noise. Andrew almost dismissed it until he heard it again.
"What the..."
He twisted the frequency tuning knob and shut his eyes. Crackling noise, like sitting by a weak campfire.
"Stop."
Andrew knocked over his coffee cup as he jumped out of his chair. The word had come through crystal clear, there was no mistaking it. He clutched the headphones to his ears and waited.
The ethereal voice came through the static again, "he is...coming."
*What? Who is coming?*
Andrew played with the frequency knob again hoping to cut out the background noise, after a few seconds his hand froze on the knob.
"He is coming for you, you should have kept to yourself now he has found you. We tried to stop him, but it has cost us dearly."
Andrew could hear the pain in the man's voice clearly.
"This is the Captain of the Arbiter, you are on your own now Earth...may he have mercy on you all."
The transmission ended.
Andrew scrambled for his phone, he had to call the Director. The phone rang once before it was picked up by the Director.
"Sir, we have an emergency-"
"I know," the Director interrupted.
*How could he possibly know?*
"Forty years..." the Director whispered.
"Sir?"
"Turn the news on Andrew...good luck." The phone went silent.
Andrew spun in his chair and turned the TV on. Every channel was the same thing.
"NASA has discovered an object on a collision course with Earth traveling at incredible speed. Preliminary imaging has returned this" the newscaster paused as an image was brought up on the screen. It was a blurry photo of what looked like a man riding a motorcycle.
"The President of the United States is going to be making a statement."
The video feed switched to the President sitting behind a large wooden desk. Andrew noticed that the room was supposed to look like the Oval office but it was off somehow, the light coming through the windows behind the President didn't seem natural.
"America. It is with a heavy heart that I am addressing you today."
The President sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes.
"I am going to be honest with you," he began again, his tone completely different. Fear was plain in his voice.
"I do not know what to expect when he arrives, but it will not be good. I'm sorry. Hug your family, try to get underground, pray."
The video feed of the fake Oval office cut out and returned to a stunned news anchor.
"That was the President of the United States...uh..." there was a long awkward pause as the news anchor searched for something to say.
Andrew stood from his chair and numbly walked out of the office. Years of searching for something and he had found it. *Too late.*
He stepped outside and looked into the sky, the cool night air sent a shiver down Andrew's body. He saw a bright blue streak shooting through the star filled sky. If he hadn't seen the image on the news he would have thought it was a meteor. He watched it get closer and closer, the blue light intensifying every second. The entire Earth felt the thunderclap as it entered the atmosphere. Seconds later he felt the impact. The Earth shifted beneath his feet throwing him to the ground. An explosion of dust billowed out of the massive crater that used to be New York.
The Earth trembled as if it understood.
Dirk had returned.
---
I'm stuck on writing about a character I created a few days ago that I fell in love with. [Dirk the Star Rider](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/4w166x/part_1_wp_you_possess_the_very_rare_quality_of/)
| 2016-08-07T07:31:44 | 2016-08-07T03:35:35 | 108 | 60 |
[WP] The gatekeeper between hell and heaven sees many applications daily to transfer from the former into the latter. Today, for the first time, he saw someone wanting to go the other way. | Death, the gatekeeper of hell, looked down upon the man standing before him.
"Regardless of your reasoning, one cannot simply choose to change the realm in which they have been placed at the time of their judgement. However, I am in need of some amusement. Why do you want to enter the depths of hell when you've been fairly chosen to live in heaven?"
"My ex is up there, man."
Death opens a portal to the underworld without hesitation.
"Get in." | What value does a human life have? Who is the judge?
Many humans believe God is the judge. But I am the true judge. I am the judge of redemption. I judge if fire and brimstone have changed one's soul. Day after day I am flooded with pleas from evil souls to leave hell. None of them are learning. They're just sad their actions have consequences.
And then this happened. An application free of any char, scribble marks, or imperfections, landed at my desk. This soul was requesting a transfer from heaven into hell. She was requesting to transfer from eternal reward to eternal punishment.
It has been a long time since I have reviewed a transfer request from heaven to hell. It is long and arduous, under God's orders. It is meant to keep good souls in heaven, and bad ones in hell.
She arrived early and waited patiently. We entered into the interview room and sat down on opposite sides of the table. I opened her application and began the interview.
"Good day, Ms. Newton." I said sweetly.
"Good day to you as well, Mr..." she said.
"Tartarus. Lovely to meet you." I said with a smile. "Tell me about yourself." I continued.
"Well, Mr. Tartarus, I was a New Yorker, born and raised, married at twenty-two-"
"That's well and all, but I'd like to know more about why you're interested in moving from heaven to hell." I said, cutting her off.
"It's going to sound quite insane."
"I've been here for a while. Shoot."
"Have you been to heaven, Mr. Tartarus?"
"Not for quite some time."
"Well, I can't say it's a bad place. But there is something missing."
"Which is?"
"I didn't have the easiest life. The details can be saved for another time. Suffice it to say, karma did not reward me. But I maintained my faith and my good deeds. I held out because I knew there was someone who needed me to, in some way."
"And heaven has not been the paradise you expected?"
"The thing is, I didn't do good things to be rewarded. No one needs help in heaven. It's a land of indulgence and praise. I feel trapped - everyone else has accepted this effortless paradise. I can't do that. This has never been what I wanted."
"Well, I'll tell you, hell is not a place where you can help people."
"Have you been to hell?"
"More recently than heaven, yes."
"And why is it not a place where I can help people?"
"You'll be too distracted by your burning feet. And the shrieks."
"That doesn't sound like a very rehabilitating environment."
"I didn't make the rules. I just decide where people go."
"So then, Mr. Tartarus, could you decide to let me into hell?"
"You know, Ms. Newton, it's been quite a long time since I've encountered anyone like you."
"I can't believe that. I've met plenty of selfless people, there must be other people asking for the same thing."
"You would think so, but heaven usually manages to charm people into staying."
"I can't take it anymore."
"Well, Ms. Newton, I will not be accepting your application for transfer to hell."
"Why not?"
"You wanna be a savior? Find someone to take you back to Earth. Satan's not in the business of rehabilitation."
She quickly stormed out. There goes a good one. | 2016-09-28T20:56:06 | 2016-09-28T19:09:26 | 110 | 82 |
[WP] The gatekeeper between hell and heaven sees many applications daily to transfer from the former into the latter. Today, for the first time, he saw someone wanting to go the other way. | 'I see you want to go to hell?'
'Yeah, I'm pretty sure someone messed up. I shouldn't be here. I hate *everyone,* no one does anything out of line and no matter what I do, I'm forgiven immediately and there seems to be absolutely nothing I can do to cause trouble or upset, I've had enough.'
'Right... So, you've been a bad person on earth - you fully expected to wind up in hell but you didn't, instead finding yourself bathed in God's heavenly glow and forgiveness where the angels show you the path of light and good. This bothers you greatly because no matter what you do, you can't do anything that makes you happy? Am I correct, sir?'
'Yes! Absolutely one hundred percent correct I've never been this unhappy and I wish to transfer to hell.'
'Well, sounds to me like you're already there, buddy. Access denied.' | The gatekeeper looked at me, a faint hint of amusement mixed in the confusion his multiple faces displayed.
"I sift through applications after applications for transfer, all of them apologetic dissidents, some sincere, some foolish but all of them trying to escape hell and enter heaven." The middle face said, while the face on his right kept going through paper after paper and the one on his left stared at the my application. "But never has there been anyone who asked to the opposite, this is the first time isn't it Henry?" The middle face looked at the left face who replied, "Right you are Frank, this would be the very first time."
"Interesting. Interesting, pull up his file."
All of a sudden, I was surrounded by indecipherable symbols and graphs and charts appeared beside me. I stood in front of the three faced guardian of the gate as Frank seemingly manipulated the symbols to provide him with what I could only assume as different information regarding my life. Without any discernable effort, my hologram changed from me as a baby until my inevitable death at the hands of a drunk driver. Frank gently settled on one of his fists, his brows furrowed, seemingly deep in thought as he scanned through my life multiple times.
"Adam Richards, male, single, died at the young age of 23. Good son. Good brother. Stayed out of trouble for most of your life. Three relationships, one of them a short fling, shortly after your last relationship."
Jenny, I thought. Her radiant smile and warm hugs were always a welcome repose from the loneliness and depression that followed my relationship with Alice's wake. She wasn't Alice, not by a long shot. But human touch becomes something you crave after being denied for so long.
"Maybe he could go to hell for that?" Henry asked out loud.
"True. True. Hell is always big on adulterers." He whispered as the images beside me seemingly dissolved after his steely gaze focused on me. "May I ask why you would like to transfer to Hell and live eternity without God's presence and grace?"
"Based on current circumstances."
"And what circumstances would that be?"
"Alice's recent admission to heaven."
"You dare compare God's infinite grace to a mortal's?" The right face interjected, her face marked with fury. "How dare you!"
"Quit being so melodramatic, everyone here has dealt with heartbreak. Yours is not as special as you would think it is." Henry said in a mocking tone, "How pathetic."
"You don't understand. This is hell to me. I can't pretend feeling fine or okay everytime I see her. I can't just smile everytime she kisses him. It's killing me inside."
"You would rather suffer the flames of hell rather than spend eternity in Heaven?"
"If you would let me, yes."
"You do not understand what you are asking for child."
"I find more peace without her than with her. Please. This is torture. You must let me."
"Mmm. This has turned out to be a real dilemma."
"Just make him stay here, he'll get over it."
"Or grant his wish and let his torture be his regret." She says in a cold and dismissive tone.
"Please."
"Open the gates. I leave the choice to you child, do what you will. You would be foolish to stray away from the presence of God but it is foolish as well to not be true to yourself."
I stared beyond the open gates,heard the distant cries for help and forgiveness, smelled the faint odor of burning rubber, and saw my salvation.
__________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading, I'm trying to get back to writing again after such a long break, please let me know if you have any comments or criticisms, or what you thought of it.
Much love and appreciation.
| 2016-09-29T00:47:27 | 2016-09-28T23:10:04 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | "I'm sorry...there must be a glitch with this translator. You do *what* now?"
"Fiddle with the Higgs Field around our ships."
"And your 'Higgs Field' is where a particle essentially gives an object its mass via its interaction with other particles, yes?"
"Yup!"
"And you...fiddle with it?"
"Yeah, it ain't too precise. Zero Point Drives have a decent range of power that fluctuates, but they work!"
"Just...walk me through it again."
"Alright, well the ZPD activates and it creates a field around the ship that essentially begins to stop bosons. The ship essentially loses matter now that it now longer interacts with the Universe, approaching a 'Zero Point' or 'ground state' of existence. Everyone and everything inside is fine due to the field creating a sort of pocket within the ship."
"And acceleration?"
"Well our quantum vacuum thrusters—"
"And those are?"
"Oh! QVTs use quantum vacuum fluctuations of energy in space to propel itself using virtual plasma. As I was saying, once the ZPD fires up, those kick to go faster than light, and the lack of mass means its possible to do so."
"So first you alter the existence of your ship and then you tap into the still vastly misunderstood vacuum of virtual particles, risking destabilizing all matter aboard the vessel and risking fusing into an object once you complete your jump."
"We keep the spacelanes clear of debris just in case."
"And when it does happen?"
"Live and Learn. For those of us not aboard that ship of course. They're dead."
"..." | “Shit, there goes another one.” General Turr mumbled to, Taek, his first officer, “They’re getting a lot more accurate, they used to miss by a few thousand kilometres.”
Turning the ship towards the newly arrived HomoSapien space liner, the Exerprise H56, the Kantian war ship set about tracking the liner and getting all of its clearances and passes checked.
“Yeah, but they are still missing the safe zones. If it weren’t for the jelly shields of the Salec’s their FTL travel would’ve been banned.”
The liner is easily one of the smallest ships currently docked at the way spacion, the HomoSapiens had only discovered their FTL travel 20 years ago. The Kantian’s, Salec’s, Maltuin’s and Delfanit’s were shocked, never thinking that a species with only two arms could create such technology.
“It’s Unorthodox, Unsafe and Damn Stupid! It UUDS!” The council meetings had been plagued with these words for ages.
Taek, going through each clearance code with a meticulousness that only he could, motions to the debris trail left behind the liners “If we shared our technology with them, they could travel through the gates.”
“It would also decrease the bloody clean-up required each time.”
“You know we can’t, the treaty stands and the human ships aren’t dense enough to handle the radiation.” The general replies, not mentioning that the few ships that have tried it crashed into each other.
“How, exactly do they even travel this far anyway? It would seem that their ships and bodies wouldn’t be able to handle the forces.” Taek asks for the millionth time.
“Well, they have this theory of relativity, which says the faster you travel the more mass you have. It overcomplicated all of their scientific endeavours.” The general begins, earning a collective moan from everyone awake in the warships control room.
“So when they started travelling at close to light speed they just assumed that they couldn’t travel as fast or faster. They built engines that can get to 80% the speed of light, which is something our ships do with impulse engines.”
“That only took them to the edge of their own solar system, something admirable but it still confined them to their own corner. The Salec wave riders were considering helping them to travel faster, however, about 21 years ago when they sent a probe ship, they found rings the size of moons being placed on the edges of their solar system.” He pauses to ensure that Taek is still listening, which of course he is.
“Curious the Salec’s stood back and watched. The humans had somehow discovered how to warp space but only between two set places. Their warp drives also temporarily increased their speed to 3 FTL, which they still haven’t entirely realised.”
This next bit is where the council is still struggling to accept the HomoSapiens as a race, the council usually worked well together on making decisions, but dangerous travel that still worked was a grey area. Every other race were too cautious to attempt something unkown.
“Well, to start traversing through space, the humans would travel from their home planet at the maximum speed they can travel. Aiming straight for the warp gates, at first, but eventually at different angles. This caused them to easily travel to new solar systems. It also made it difficult for them to actually stop.”
“Which is why their first three ships flew straight into, in order or severity, the council war fleet, the council’s moon of operations and the dwarf star of the Antraci system. Total count of death combined was well over 100-million.”
“Of course after catching the attention of the council and several other alien races the HomoSapiens eventually made contact with us and we were able to stop their exploration ships before more damage could be caused. The thing that surprised most races was that after three failed attempts the humans were still attempting FTL travel.”
“It wasn’t until first contact that the Salec’s realised that humans were still using Radio waves to communicate across vast distances. But, that advancement in their tech is a whole different story and involves several strange messages that either offended everyone or caused peace treaties to be made with the Andromeda Galaxy.”
- Recorded on the bridge of the JJK98 Farbelus Warship, 200 0000 km long, conversation between General of Knowledge Turr and his First Officer of memory Taek. Annotations and missing information filled in my Salec History Keeper Urder V, the second.
| 2017-03-30T23:27:43 | 2017-03-30T23:17:22 | 61 | 37 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy. | Terrestrial Warp Drives. First proposed by Miguel Alcubierre two hundred formlats ago, The equivalent of forcing space into a shape which closely resembles two black holes stacked fore to aft. It requires insanely large sums of energy to produce the warp effect, equivalent to at least the mass of a small moon converted to energy. To get around this, the Terrestrials use catalytic mass converter engines. A device which has been discredited by the rest of the universe for the complete and utter destructive potential should such a reactor melt down on a planet. They work by converting matter to energy with a catalyst particle. However, they also produce a certain percent of catalyst particles. When this process runs away, it has been known to destroy planets, heavily damaging entire solar systems.
Under order 4,900,232 section III, Human spacecraft are to be classified as "NOT TO BE TOUCHED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES" on or near a planet, and "DESTROY AT ALL COSTS" in interplanetary space. This is not done as a measure against humans, but as a safety measure across the galaxy. This will be done until a treaty can be made with the terrestrial humans such that they will cease using catalytic mass converters.
Examination of a captured Terrestrial FTL Engine under the Federal Standard Gravity Model suggests that some fairly simple improvements to the Alcubierre-type drive can be made to reduce the energy requirements to what can be managed by fusion and antimatter reaction technology. They need not give up their unique drive. As dangerous as the Terrestrial Drive is, it presents no risk to those outside the vessel. | The inhabitants of Oflesq station heard what they had come to learn was the characteristic sound of imminent human arrival. No one understood it. A vast mooing, defying the supposed absence of sound travel in empty space. A mooing that sent chills down both of their spines; as if it were the old gods that had come, calling at last for the reckoning of all things. Two humans galloped into the hangar.
They were quickly escorted into the conference room, and after being joined by a single alien, the thick door was shut and locked. "This is the man?" Efroi asked. "Correct," said the tall, large human. Efroi knew the type; this one could be trusted, given the right compensation. But the other one...
"Hi, I'm Joey." Joey absentmindedly spit onto the floor.
Efroi made an assessment. This human was not like the others that it had seen; there was a certain change of mannerism, at once both carefree and uncomfortable with a complete lack of social grace and general awareness. This seemed to be his first time wearing a suit. It's first impression was of an uneducated common worker, yet it could detect that he probably did have an intimate knowledge of cows.
"Hi Joey, we would like to talk about your cows today. Could you... explain? I would like to know how they work and how you created them."
"Welp, you see, we humans 'ad made large advancements towards time travel. But it's impossible, see. You can change tha rate of time flow, but ya can't twist it back on itself. So I got to thinkin. I got these cows, see. Me and my family been breedin cows a long time. Tryina get the better cows, the best cows. I figure, why not speed up the process a little bit. So I throw some cows in there, in the device I mean, and an AI for the selective breedin. Set the dial the farthes it would go. I open the thing up two seconds later and boom. FTL cows."
*That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.* Efroi looked over to the other human, who remained expressionless. "So, um, how did you aquire one of these time manipulating devices, Joey?"
"I made it m'self. Not commercially available, see. Read up on the principles of it and got to work. Took a bit of work, too. To enclose the whole area, y'know. Set up a self sustainin environment, self sustainin robotics. Don't get me started on the energy source. People saw what I was doin, called me crazy. Now they're ridin *my* cows. They're the best cows in the universe, I reckon."
Efroi wouldn't believe it, none of it, if these humans hadn't just rode into the hangar on a couple of space cows. This man must be one of the best his species has to offer. "So, how do these cows work? What principle allows them to travel faster than light? How do they survive the vacuum of space, and the humans who ride on top of them? How do they fill the voids of space with their mooing?"
"Honestly, I ain't got a clue. No one does. The cows are in-comprehensible. Evolution works in mysterious ways. And the cows were in there quite a long time, see."
"How long... do you estimate?" Efroi began to feel even more unwell.
"Well, my internal clock ran out of memory space. It was only 64 petabytes but it was only designed to record the exponent of 10 for the number-"
"This is insane." Efroi stood up. "The cows are perfect beings, at least in this one respect. Do you realize the potential of this method? What it could do to the universe? You humans have kept this secret, yes? This information cannot be revealed again. This cannot be done again."
"But it ha-"
"Thank you for having us, Efroi. But this is all the information we are willing to disclose at this time," The tall human interrupted. "The cows are sacred beings who chose the simple dairy farmer Joey as their prophet, to usher in a new age for humanity. That is the official story, and you would do well to maintain that, Efroi," The tall man said. *That's the second stupidest thing I've ever heard.*
For the rest of its days, Efroi was forever haunted by the mooing that echoed amongst the stars, and the prophecy that it foretold. | 2017-03-31T09:38:09 | 2017-03-31T07:04:11 | 42 | 15 |
[WP] You die and go to Hell only to find out that you're the only person that has ever entered. Satan is clapping. | "Dibs." I cried out over the Devil's clapping and laughter. He didn't seem to hear me, so I screamed it again. "**Dibs!**"
The Devil stopped and looked at me. "What do you mean 'dibs'?" He blinked, a little confused by my reaction.
I looked around the vast vastness of Hell before turning to Lucifer once more. "Well, no one else has been here yet, right?" He nodded. "And that means there's no prior claim to Hell, right?" The Devil cocked his head at that. "I mean come on, you aren't actually in charge of Hell, you were just cast down here. Like, so we were told for millennia, all the other sinners. Hell isn't yours, it's just something you are watching over. Hence 'dibs'." I started off in a direction, figuring the conversation was done.
"Whoa whoa whoa, hold a second there buddy." The Devil spun me around, fire crackling in his eyes. "I'm the **Devil**! Prince of Darkness! Hell is mine! God had Micheal cast me down and, wait..." I nodded.
"See? You weren't actually cast into Hell. You were cast out of Paradise. So, once again I call dibs on Hell, and to further seal the deal," I undid my jeans and took a leak on the ground. "I've marked it. Bet you never did that, did you?" I zipped back up.
"I can't urinate, I lack the physical necessities for such!" The Devil whined.
I shrugged and began walking again. "No my problem, not my fault. Now, let's see what I can with my new place." As I walked I envisioned a castle, a palace fit for my rule. The power of Dibs was only further enhanced by marking my territory. Turrets erupted forth from the ground, and in moments my castle was done. I crossed the moat and made my way to the throne room. "Hmm, this isn't right." I looked around, then snapped my fingers. "Let's make this bad boy fly." And with just the though, the castle floated into the sky. When I finally sat down I found the Devil right on my heels. "What do you want?"
Lucifer toed the rich carpet sheepish. "First off, can I crash here? I haven't actually had a place to sleep in all this time." I rolled my eyes and sighed, but finally nodded. Lucifer practically beamed. "Awesome! Also, I gotta ask. How did you do *that*?"
I looked down at the Devil. "You want to know? Okay, I'll tell you the story of how my soul got flipped, turned upside down. It will take a minute so sit right there and I'll tell you how I became the prince of Hell's Air." | "Wakey wakey" snarled a voice, breaking up an eternity of silence. "I am just *dying* to hear your story"
I opened my eyes slowly, and my vision filled up with red. Red clouds swirled through a yellow sky, red sand stretched for endless miles in every direction, and red mountains jutted into the horizon in the distance. There was a stench of fire and brimstone in the air, and it was almost hot enough to melt the skin off a man's bones
"Where am --" I began to ask, turning to face the voice, and the words caught in my throat
"What's wrong? You look like you've seen the devil!"
The creature, grinning with fangs at his own joke, looked like evil incarnate. It was huge and massive, with two great horns emerging from its head and curving inwards and two glowing red eyes
I'd seen monsters like this before, but only in paintings and comics. Biblical ones, especially. But this couldn't be Satan, right? Those were just fairy tales!
I wanted desperately to get away, but I felt like I was fused to the scorching ground. And it wasn't just fear that paralyzed me - I'd slowly realized that I *was* fused to ground. And it burned...it burns even now just like it did then
"Don't just gawk at me, you must have so many questions" urged the creature. "Sure, you have an eternity to answer them, but...*damn*, I can't get over the fact that someone actually wound up here"
"*Where is here?!*" I finally yelled, out of fear, anger and pain. "*What the fuck are you and what the fuck is this place?*"
The creature stood up on hooves and sighed. "Guess I'm going first. I have many names in the mortal world, but I've always kinda liked 'The Devil'. This place has many names there too, but the one you're probably familiar with is 'Hell'. That's right, boy-o, you've died and gone right to Hell!"
I couldn't believe it. *Wouldn't* believe it
"You're lying" I croaked. The ground was so hot
"Don't believe everything you read in a holy book. Besides, you being here is so improbable, I wouldn't even bother lying about it. I'm honestly as surprised as you are"
"Oh yeah? So surprised I'm in Hell, are you?"
"Here's the thing, the bossman - you guys call him 'God' - had a lot of fun creating humans but kinda lost interest right after" the Devil explained. "Every time he finishes one project, he moves onto the next. Anyway, God was a little concerned about making humans as smart and powerful as he did because they could become a threat to themselves and his other creations. I suggested making up a *really* shitty place we could threaten the humans with. We weren't planning on actually having anybody here, God is a big ole softie and I don't really take initiatives myself
"So, if you're here, you must've fucked up bad"
In a panic, I rewound my memory, searching desperately for a clue as to what I could've done to get sent to Hell. I never believed in God, but it didn't sound like God was too concerned about all that. So what else could I have done? My whole life, I just kept my head down and coasted through life until the cancer got me, never aspiring to anything more than just being a dude
Is that really so bad?
"Come on, now, what was your sin?" the Devil insisted
"Nothing! I did nothing! All I did was live!"
The Devil scratched his chin with awful clawed hands
"Yeah, I suppose that'd do it"
"What?"
"Look at the universe that God has created - or however much of it you humans have managed to see. It's pretty fucking glorious. God takes pride in everything he creates, and he wants all of his creation to be at its best, 100% of the time. To simply 'live' is a waste of the life he gave you, you gotta take that life and do something with it"
"So what, wasting my life is a sin?" I asked angrily
"Really, it's the *only* sin. Tell ya what, though, it's not all bad"
"Can I get off the ground?" I asked, struggling still against to get off the burning sand
"No, but I'll release your arms" he replied. "Also, you can have one of these" he added, conjuring a notebook and pencil out of fire in his hand
I tried to raise a hand to reach for the notebook and had to tear my arm off the ground. I still remember the sound of my screams echoing in the dead air
"Since you wasted your time in life, you can make yourself useful in eternity" explained the Devil. "I want you to write. Write about what happened today and write the stories of God and his creations. Your work will be read by the humans still living. Hopefully they'll learn from your example and you'll be the only one in Hell"
"Will I ever be free?" I asked him, hating that pleading note in my voice
"No. That is one thing the holy books don't lie about - this, my friend, is eternal"
So here I remain, fused to the ground. There is no sun, so I'm not sure how much time has passed, but it feels like centuries. It doesn't make any difference, though. My body doesn't age, and I'm never gonna be free, so all I can do is write, write and write
---
If ya liked that, I write short(ish) fiction on my blog right [here](https://talesfrommachina.wordpress.com). Stop by! | 2017-06-22T09:17:47 | 2017-06-22T07:25:49 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] Magic is real, but casting spells requires reciting the whole word. The longer the word, the more powerful the spell is. The strongest spells can take hours (or even decades) to cast, and the strongest wizards are either really fast speakers or have great foresight. | What I held in my hands had the power to change the world. Of course, I realized that.
The young man with glimmering eyes across from me leaned in eagerly. "Right now it can go at a rate of about four hours of speech a second. I think with the kinks worked out I can probably triple that, but this is just a prototype and I worked on it on my own time. With the right equipment - it'd cost a small fortune mind you - I could probably double that again."
He crowed in victory. "A day of spellcasting a second! Imagine it! And it never tires, needs nothing but a bit of electricity and a cleaning every now and again."
I nodded and sighed. His face froze in a smile as confusion crept in.
"Yes. Revolutionary," I said drily. "A day a second makes the immortality spell feasible - you'd earn more time than you lost."
"I - I didn't even think about that," he replied breathlessly. "You could hook up several in series, too." I could see him calculating in his head. His ambition, no doubt, had gone far past the dollars swimming in his mind now.
I stood up, pacing. "Yes, a series," I said quickly. "You could do almost anything with a series. In fact, though it'd take some time to write the spell, I've no doubt you could create more of these with themselves. Infinite power, infinite life, the assumption of all of mankind's desires at last."
Again the confusion seeped in. "You sound less than happy about it..."
I cut him off.
"First was a great tower to reach up to the heavens. An ingenious design, you see, whereby a multitude of voices could weave together. Where one word could speak a hundred verses. Our Order began its journey then. They called us Adversaries for what we did. Hostis humanis generis, in essence."
He was taken aback, but too caught up in my words to do more than think.
"The next frightening development was a little enchanted rock. The enchantment, you see, accomplished a similar goal as your little computer. We didn't reach that one quite in time and Atlantis was all but written out of existence. Who knows where its maker is now, if he's anywhere or anything."
I broke the device on the ground and he leapt out of his seat. "What are you doi-!" Three shots to the chest and he staggered backwards, the air knocked from his lungs.
"W-why," he begged.
"Mankind is not worthy to become God," I answered sadly. "All our sins, magnified by your Philosopher's Stone, would weigh us down and pull us from the heavens to the pit of fire."
I shook my head. "Can you imagine a war fought by these devices? We think there was one, once. Our oldest records speak of the night sky as a sea of light, punctuated only by points of darkness."
I looked down. I'd been talking to myself, again.
I closed his eyes, before tapping my earpiece on.
"Threat confirmed and eliminated Mr FLML. Requesting a cleanup team."
The blood-stenched atmosphere of the room felt suddenly oppressive and I pushed open a door to step into the night. I looked up as, with shaky hands, I pulled a cigarette from the pack. In the lights of the city only a few stars twinkled, separated by vast gulfs of oblivion. | Jenny’s eyes fluttered open. While her mind got its bearings she heard a groan and thud. She looked around and saw a head of neatly combed, silver hair laying on the top of a desk. She was on a bed. She moved to get out of the bed, but struggled. Her body felt stiff. She needed deliberate effort to move her arms and legs.
“Hello?” She asked the silver head of hair while she moved one limb at a time. She hoped she could stand. The head did not move or indicate it heard her. She managed to swing her legs over the side and placed both feet on the floor. She looked around for some support and discovered a cane near her bed. Intricate geometric patterns were carved into the wood around the handle.
Jenny reached for the sturdy wooden crook and paused at the sight of her own hand. It appeared to be made of solid gold, but moved easily. She wiggled her fingers, and then looked at her other hand. It was also golden, and she wiggled all 10 fingers easily. Her strength was returning quickly, but she still reached for the cane.
She stood and walked to the desk. She prodded at the person’s body with the cane and it did not move. She stared at the face of the old man. His eyes were closed and she now knew he was dead. He looked familiar, but her memories felt like they were all bundled together, tossed into a chest and hidden in an attic. Everything was there, but digging it out and untangling her memories would take time. More time than she wanted to spend at the moment. She looked at the desk under the old man’s head and found an open book. It looked like a handwritten journal. Jenny gently moved the man’s head out of the way and took the book. She did not know who he was, but she felt a great respect for him. She flipped to the front of the book.
“My Dearest Jenny,” the first line began. Jenny did not think of her name until that point, but upon reading it she knew it was for her.
“I have no idea if this will work, but you are too important to not try. I will bring you back to life, and/or die trying. If I fail, you will never know. If I succeed, my life is a minor trade for yours. After your death, we thought we defeated the Demon Queen. She survived, and is gaining strength again. You are the only one that can defeat her. We failed because you were not there the first time. Gain your strength, master the magic here.” Jenny reached the end of the first page and sat back down on the bed to rest. She continued reading on the next page.
“Words are power here. Focus on the language, I know you’ll pick it up easily. I am writing this letter to you before I begin to transfer my lifeforce into you. I’m sorry I’m not as young as you were when you died. I will use the rest of this journal to keep track of how much time it takes. ~ Regal.” Jenny’s heart sunk when she read his name. It registered on an emotional level. Whomever he was, she respected and idolized him greatly.
Jenny flipped the page and found a legend with different variations of tally marks for different time periods, hours, days, weeks, years, decades. Three decades.
“He spent 30 years trying to bring me back to life?” Jenny said to herself. She looked around the room and found a mirror. She rushed to it and found an older, beautiful woman with purple eyes staring back at her. Her long, straight, dark black hair reached her waist. She looked at her golden hands and pulled the sleeves of her shirt up. More gold. She kept moving it up until she found the change from gold to flesh at her elbow.
“Words are power,” Jenny repeated to herself. That phrase sounded familiar. She stared at herself in the mirror and tried to settle on a focus. Water was the first thing that came to mind. She held her palm out and focused on the center of it.
“Water.” she said simply and quickly. Nothing happened.
“WATER!” she yelled at her hand. A single drop of water formed in the air above her hand and dripped on her palm. Jenny closed her eyes and pictured raging rivers and powerful waterfalls. She felt a powerful calmness in the back of her head while she concentrated. She opened her eyes. The small room appeared brighter to her. In the mirror her eyes, and the top part of her dark hair shined with blue glowing light. The blue of her hair faded to black partway down her head.
“Water.” she said again, focusing. A ball of water, like a water balloon without the rubber, plopped on her hand. It only wiggled slightly, but held its shape. She brought it to her mouth and bit the glob of water like an apple. Water flowed into her mouth and the ball of water shrunk. The water tasted cool and delicious, she finished it quickly.
Jenny still felt her strength returning to her, and she decided to check on the outside world. She walked out of the house and looked around. The sun was setting, scorching the sky with orange on the way down. The small brick cottage was the only house within view, and it was a great view. Regal’s home was on top of a hill surrounded by flat plains in all directions. Fields of green were dotted with brilliant and varied colors of wildflowers.
Jenny buried Regal without using magic. Her strength had returned, and enjoyed being active, even if it was gravedigging. A light blue crescent moon hung high in the sky when she finished covering his grave, she sat down nearby and a song started somewhere in her memories. She sung for him. Her emotions came out in the words of the song. She did not feel sad. It was not a sense of lost. She was alive now. She could not remember the details, but everything inside her convinced her that Regal made the right decision. It was a new beginning.
A sense of hope and life filled her words. Golden flowers bloomed out of Regal’s grave, and Jenny smiled. Emotion was the key to her. She now knew how to defeat the Demon Queen. She looked forward to using song to save the world.
*Edit: removed water, added balloon. | 2017-10-16T14:16:22 | 2017-10-16T12:23:55 | 76 | 55 |
[WP] Fed up with the so many people not taking their warnings seriously, scientists all over the world decide to take matters into their own hands and become super villains in order to fix the world, whether people like it or not. | [Increase EV and mass transit adoption by tripling gas prices]
[Make people healthier by making corn syrup and shitty snacks more expensive]
[Popularize hemp over other textiles, which uses less water, yields more per acre, and has a multitude of other consumer uses.]
The list went on and on like that, with the scientists murmuring their opinions. The League of Eco-Friendly Gentlemen met quarterly to discuss how to proceed. One of the most recent suggestions was less strategic and more procedural: crowdsource the answers. As a result, they were getting creative suggestions that were ranked by upvotes.
"Wow, I like that hemp suggestion. It might not require villainous actions."
"We could burn cotton fields and plant hemp there instead."
"Okay, we are villains out of NECESSITY. We don't just go out of our way to do it."
"Speak for yourself. I joined because it's fun!"
"Goddammit, you guys."
The League of Eco-Friendly Gentlemen adjourned for lunch. | He took the cigarette away from his mouth, looking into his half full whiskey glass. I waited, wide eyed across the table from him. We were in a small booth in some dive bar on the lower east side, it was smokey and while people occupied every seat, not a soul stirred in there. Somber expressions littered the scene, men drinking away their trouble, women drinking away their men. It was a hot night and the cigarette smoke made breathing a complex feat of timing. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth once more, his leather jacket worn at the sleeves, wrinkled, sagging skin shifting against his hollow cheeks. After a long inhale, he blew smoke into my face and began talking.
&#x200B;
"Clean is a good guy, best of the best, doesn't kill nobody. He used to invent things back at the lab, you see.". The grave of a smile flickered against his thin, tobacco stained lips. "You know those automatic trash collectors? All him, and the night time visits he has those robots pay to people who litter? Worked like a charm. City's never been so clean.". He wrapped his free hand around the whiskey glass, taking a moment to sip at it. After another drawn out inhale from his cigarette, he looked across the room, nodding at a fellow leaning on the bar. He wore a green, thick jacket with black cargo pants and heavy workmans boots. A cap sat on top of his head and he had a toothpick in his mouth. A cigarette burned in a nearby ashtray and a half empty beer bottle sat to his right.
&#x200B;
"That guy? That's Charge. He's a little more rogue. We know he's killed, we just ain't sure how many. One night, we had to pay a guy a visit. Big, Bel Air mansion. One o' those dark nights that got a promise of secrets, you know you're gonna see some shit, you just don't know what. Ever had one of those nights? Not important. See, the problem wasn't the mansion, it was the lights. Fifty three rooms, Charge counted 'em, with every damn light on. Lamps with lights, phones, laptops. You name it, this asshole had it. Charge had a little device. Could work out consumption from a distance and this guy was off the charts. Oh boy, was he pissed. When we got to the gate, a guard had asked us if we had an appointment, and charge shot him in the damn throat. Now, in my line of work this isn't surprising, but even I got a bit of a jump."
&#x200B;
"Anyway, we found the guy, hooked him up to a car battery and watched him fry. Charge liked the poetry of it all I guess.". I knew my jaw was hanging open, my eyes even wider, and I did not care. Things were so out of control, he was here, admitting to accessory murder, implicating a guy not 10 feet away from me in the crime. I gathered my composure, and I was about to ask a question of my own, the last question I could think of, before he put his hand into his pocket.
&#x200B;
"Anyway, this ain't a social call. I've got work to do". He leant back on the chair, ice blue eyes looking around the room. "And...", I begun, "what is it you do?". The smile resurrected and showed off a row of stained teeth, some crooked, gums bulging and red at the sides. His hand came out from under the table, only now it held a black, sig sauer pistol. He pulled back the slide and checked the chamber, before turning the gun to me. "Me? My things overpopulation. They call me death".
&#x200B;
Then he pulled the trigger. | 2018-11-24T08:24:39 | 2018-11-24T05:48:09 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?" | The witch buried her face in her hands and sighed, "AGAIN, it's the Curse of Optimism. You will never be able to understand the potential negative consequences of any decision you make."
"That doesn't sound like much of a curse", I replied.
"You will be the eternal optimist", she explained. "You will only see the upside, never the downside."
"That doesn't sound so..."
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," she interrupted, exasperated. "You will bet on every loser, because you're positive it's their time to win. You will fall victim to get-rich-quick scheme after get-rich-quick scheme, because you know there is no way you'll lose money. You will want to get back together with every abusive ex, no matter how many times they've cheated. Timeshares will sound like a great idea."
As she finished, I blinked. "So...what's the downside again?" | It was one of those stupid accidents where your carrier bag splits and drops, in this case, a giant jar of pickled onions, and it rolls off and you go chasing it, in this case, into a witch's garden just in time to see it knock over some onion plants.
I mean, it's a small accident, but not a massive disaster. If she was really cross, a few pounds to cover the cost and inconvenience of buying onions?
But nooooooo. The woman who came out was three quarters made of malice I could feel even before she began screaming about my (epithet) legs on her (something) sacred ground or what not, like she's Hera and I'm trying to explain that it was all the swan's idea in the first place.
"...and for this defilement of my sacred ground, I curse you! In my name I curse you! I curse you to be barren. I curse your womb to shrivel. I curse you to a life without children."
I blinked. "So... what's the downside again?"
"No child born of your blood will ever be cradled in your arms," she said, pronouncing my doom with ghastly enjoyment.
"Oh, oh no, that's just terrible," I said, playing along. "All this over some onions?"
Well, that was a mistake. She was loud, and to be honest, rather unpleasantly scary in a manic frightening way, although that wasn't as scary as realising that some of her plants were staring at me, and blinking. Or the way a garden gnome, top hat and dinky little sword and red eyes and all, was sniggering. The gist of it was that it was her garden, those were her onions and I wasn't supposed to be there, which, given writhing tendrils of what was definitely *not* white jasmine, I had to agree with.
I backed away, step by step and left, alive, to have the blackthorn hedge slam shut in my face, only just missing slicing my nose, and there was no sign there had ever been a garden there.
Behind me was the mess I'd just left, including oozy cracked eggs. I picked up what I could, with somewhat shaky hands, and didn't really think about what I was doing until I was back at home drinking tea.
Barren. *Fifteen* times I'd tried to ask about having my tubes tied, but no, it was always 'you might change your mind' and at twenty-eight I was pretty damned sure that no I would not. So I'd prayed, with all due pagan ritual, just basically hoping for confidence, and then had a strong urge to have a nice cheese ploughmans and do myself a proper breakfast in the morning.
Of course, by the next day, I was sure it was a dream, and went to seek a sixteenth opinion upon fertility, mine, and the lack of desire to have it, but a few weeks later and gosh if there isn't a little plant growing near the garden path with tiny little blinky eyes and everything.
Anyway, twenty-first time was the charm, which was when I found out that my womb had somehow eaten itself and left a lump of scar tissue, and if there *is* a downside, I haven't yet found it. I mean other than the fact that most people are too creeped out to come into the garden, even if the blinking, staring plant usually hides. It's as if they know it's there.
I do look after it, and grow plants that give me a reason to be out looking after the place, and really, if someone came in there now, I'd actually be quite cross. I mean, really, that magical plant is pretty much a gift from the gods, isn't it. That makes my garden almost... sacred. | 2019-06-25T15:21:51 | 2019-06-25T10:48:07 | 1,435 | 414 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?" | The witch buried her face in her hands and sighed, "AGAIN, it's the Curse of Optimism. You will never be able to understand the potential negative consequences of any decision you make."
"That doesn't sound like much of a curse", I replied.
"You will be the eternal optimist", she explained. "You will only see the upside, never the downside."
"That doesn't sound so..."
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," she interrupted, exasperated. "You will bet on every loser, because you're positive it's their time to win. You will fall victim to get-rich-quick scheme after get-rich-quick scheme, because you know there is no way you'll lose money. You will want to get back together with every abusive ex, no matter how many times they've cheated. Timeshares will sound like a great idea."
As she finished, I blinked. "So...what's the downside again?" | "I see your plumpness." She crowed. "Oh yes, very wealthy you must be to afford so much food. I'm sure your resounding footsteps set all the ladies a quiver. With this spell, you shall shed your fat. No matter how much you eat you'll not gain it back."
I glanced down at my plump form. It was true, I was heavy, even approaching the fabled "dummy thicc". I'd been trying all sorts of diets, but their gallant efforts were crushed beneath my inexhaustible love of dessert. I sighed.
The witch didn't look the part at all. She was old, sure, elderly even, and she did wear a pointy hat, but the stereotype ended there. She wore thick bifocals and walked with the aid of a walker, complete with little tennis balls on the front. She wore a pastel bath robe over a t-shirt with a kitten hanging from a tree branch, words beneath read "hang in there". Her legs wobbled as she stood.
"I... I don't know what to say. Being fat hasn't been a status symbol in a long, long time. I've been trying to lose weight, actually."
"Oh, I know, deary." She said with a kind smile. "I'm an old witch, though, and all I know is curses, and you're such a nice young man. Now would you care for a treat? The cookies are nearly done."
"I probably shouldn't..." I said, reluctantly.
"Now listen here, I can bottle dreams and brew love, I think I can find my way around some chocolate chips." She began to shuffle back to the kitchen. "It's not like you're going to get any fatter."
I obliged and followed her into the small kitchen, wincing at the peeling linoleum. She fumbled with an oven mitt for a moment. "Do you need help with that?"
The oven door opened and the smell of cookies came wafting out. "I can manage." She said, setting the cookie sheet down across a pair of burners, which wobbled.
I took a brief glance at my surroundings. The house was in a sorry state. The paint was flaking, the window sat crooked. "I'm not really busy this weekend. Maybe I could come over and help you fix up the place?"
"You do something like that you're likely to get a powerful curse coming your way. I've got a few I learned in Egypt a long time ago. Horrible, terrible things."
"Like boils and fever and bad dreams?" I asked, leaning over the dingy little table and accepting a steaming mug of something that the witch slid my way.
"Oh that's kid stuff. I'm thinking more biblical. Maybe from Ezekiel 23." She grinned but I didn't get the reference, and her grin faded as she dropped a lump of sugar into her mug and stirred. "Oh, folks in those days had the strangest idea of what a curse was."
Edit: This was rapidly going nowhere and I didn't want to scrap it and I had a better idea for a much shorter response, which I'll write now.
She cackled. "My most powerful curse! A curse that cannot be undone! I curse you with long life! So that you may watch as your children as I write their destiny. Great your works may be, but they shall pale in comparison to your children, which shall likewise pale in comparison to the works of your children's children. Generation after generation their success will grow until all your work, all you've accomplished will be forgotten beneath their fully realized potential!" She cackled, a hideous sound that slowly faded.
"I... Thank you!" I shouted. That's all any parent wanted, right? For their kids to do better than them.
The witch deflated, then turned around slowly, mumbling "well I don't know what I did wrong that really upset the pharaoh last time I did it." | 2019-06-25T15:21:51 | 2019-06-25T12:08:45 | 1,435 | 126 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?" | The witch buried her face in her hands and sighed, "AGAIN, it's the Curse of Optimism. You will never be able to understand the potential negative consequences of any decision you make."
"That doesn't sound like much of a curse", I replied.
"You will be the eternal optimist", she explained. "You will only see the upside, never the downside."
"That doesn't sound so..."
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," she interrupted, exasperated. "You will bet on every loser, because you're positive it's their time to win. You will fall victim to get-rich-quick scheme after get-rich-quick scheme, because you know there is no way you'll lose money. You will want to get back together with every abusive ex, no matter how many times they've cheated. Timeshares will sound like a great idea."
As she finished, I blinked. "So...what's the downside again?" | These fools, the Witch thought to herself as she perfected the final touches on her new spell. It didn’t matter how many she killed, didn’t matter how violent and gruesome the death she prepared for them was. It had been hundreds of years and still they would come seeking glory in the face of death, accepting either. They would become martyrs or heroes to their own kind, be written into history for their acts of valour. Be remembered. Leave loved ones behind with stories to tell and rejoice.
Even the scum among them could rise in the act of a valiant death, and she’d seen plenty. It gave them and those around them meaning and purpose in an otherwise meaningless life. They would endlessly toil, the masses against the few, campaigning to correct the balance of power, finding kinship and community in their actions. It made her sick.
The spell was ready, and so she turned her attention back to the two ‘heroes’ who knelt before her. They had fought bravely against her minions, slaying many, only for the effects of poisons and dark magic to leave them bowed before her, dying. They had nothing left, so few did.
The more powerful of the two was ready for death. She’d seen the look a thousand times, could guess his back story without peering into his mind. A family, once, all lost to him now. All he wished for was a heroic death to depart this world on his own terms, and be with them once more, his name to live on.
The other, the weaker of the two, was scared. His eyes darted between her and the hounds at her side, contemplating the method of death that would surely come at any moment. She let him squirm for a while longer before speaking.
“The punishment that I will exact upon you tonight my esteemed guests, is one that has been centuries in the making. I have pondered many a moon about the most cunning and despairing way to ruin everything that gives you and your kind purpose”
“Just get on with it , you vile demon”, the stronger of the two spoke between swollen gums and clenched teeth.
“Oh I will I assure you, but relax, you have all the time in the world…”. She flashed a beautiful smile at him, her crimson eyes twinkling in the moonlight.
She stood and glided majestically over from her throne to stand between the men, her dark purple gown flowing behind her. The hounds stayed, eyes forward, unflinching.
She touched a flawlessly pearl-white hand to each man’s forehead, summoned her powers and incanted the spell. A gust of wind blew through her lair as the words echoed. Flames danced and her eyes glowed with each sound. After only a few moments, she stopped, let out a deep sigh and returned to her throne. It had been done.
Trembling, the scared man spoke first “ W..W..What did you do to us?”, he said, as he checked himself over, patting down his armour and feeling his face.
Slowly, their wounds began to heal, vibrant colours returning to their faces. They stood, looking at each other, mouths agape, utterly confused.
“You will never die. You will never be hurt. You will have the strength of a sea of men or more”
“So, what’s the downside again?” the scared man said, almost smiling, disbelieving.
“You will have no purpose in life, and your very presence will suck the meaning out of the lives of those around you. You will watch all of your loved ones die, never to be reunited on the other side” she replied , staying at the proud and strong man. His eyes gave her all the satisfaction she needed. He raised a hand, beginning to speak , but with a click of her fingers, they were gone. Her work was done.
“Now , my beautiful beasts, we sit back and watch. This will be most entertaining” | 2019-06-25T15:21:51 | 2019-06-25T11:40:31 | 1,435 | 70 |
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