prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] Alien life was discovered centuries ago and though they are advance they live relatively short lives (25-35 years). You ask your alien friend why he thinks humans live so long. He laughs and says it's because humans run at half power. You laugh back but he stops and says "No you really do." | "Master?"
"Yes, Patrick."
"Why do you think humans live so long?"
Jeb laughed, exposing sharp, serrated teeth. "You humans only run at half mast, I'm afraid. It makes perfect sense that you'd last longer, wouldn't it?"
"I suppose, master."
Jeb grew quiet. He stared at his man-servant for a long moment. "You know that flight or fight response you primates have?"
"Yes sir."
"That's your control system."
"How?"
"It's all about adrenaline. My species has total control of it. It gives us great physical power and abilities. But in return, we rarely make into our forties. You're lucky."
"Well, I've been your slave for fifty-five years, and have wished for death long since. We all have our burdens, master."
Jebarius Re'Artor, Third Marshall of the Wind Weaver, nodded solemnly. "Yes, so it is. I am sorry if you do not agree with your lot in life. But you are still alive. We value life above all, human. If it was not so decreed from the Weaver herself that you humans would live until natural death, we would have exterminated you when we first arrived two hundred years ago."
"Your mercy is my life, master. So it is and so it shall be. More wine?"
Jeb gestured toward his glass. "If you would. I have a terrible problem."
"May I be of assistance?"
"Possibly. We are running into a population issue, I'm afraid. There are eleven billion of you on this planet. Too many mouths, as it were. We cannot kill you, but we cannot feed you. Should we just let you starve? What to do with you all?"
"Well sir, if I may. I have spent many a night thinking about this very thing. It's a simple solution. Let us leave."
"Leave?"
"Yes master. Give us your ships, so that we may take to the heavens. Many of us have wished for death. In this way we rise to heaven anyway. We gain our freedom and you have less mouths to feed. Everyone wins."
"Again, you provide such excellent wisdom. Send word to her majesty at once. I request an audience."
"Yes, master. Right away."
\----------
Thanks for reading! | 31st December, 2786
23:34 PM
Dear Diary,
Man, I never expected this day to end on such a bad note. It was all going so good, but Quixon just HAD to say that and I just HAD to be offended. Dumbos, that's what we both are. Oh wait, I gotta give some context to you.
So... I mentioned in yesterday's entry that me and Quixon had plans to spend the last day of the year together, right? So everything was going alright. We met up at the Elara bar, bitched about our work, played billiards for a bit (he won yet again, fuck his third-eye), and after chugging some good Martian beer, he broke-down. He has still not moved on from Gloxinia! Can you imagine? It has been 2 fucking years! I have dated three girls (one being his own sister at that!) since his breakup, but he is still just somehow fixated on that lass. Well, you know how it goes though, right? I lent my ears to him, yet again, and wasted 3 good hours over his crying & wailing. As I was regretting my decision of meeting up with him, the weekly Elara stand-up act started. And luckily, this week was Freddie's turn at the mic, Quixon's favorite.
The next hour went absolutely fine, with Quixon drinking and laughing as I sighed in relief over his improving state. As the act finished, Quixon was looking cheerful as hell, and he said, "Bro, let's go for a drive, man. Let's see one of those supernova-simulations. You like those, right?" And I was like, "Yeah, let's go, I guess." Honestly, I was still a bit salty over his 3 hour long cry-show. And it showed in my emotionless reply.
Well, then we both got filtered by the bartender, because Mr. Quixon wanted to drive. I swear, I don't know what is up with his affection to driving. Why can't he just let the car do the job? "Well, whatever", I thought as we hopped into his T-Hexa, activated our headsets, and after exactly a minute (or two hours if we go by our headsets) we reached the nearest simulation park. We watched the simulation, which was a pretty good experience watching with 20K other people rather than 20, the stadium looks good when the seats are filled.
After the show, we both wandered in the park for a minute or two when he asked me about my recent breakup. Honestly, I never expected him to be concerned about my love-life, so it was a bit surprising. Well, I told him that it was a mutual decision between me and Sarzia, and I am currently not looking for any more heartbreaks so I am refraining from asking out anyone. We both then began joking and sometimes, bitching about our love-lives. And then somehow we landed onto me and Quixie. We both joked about how I was dumped by his beloved sister and I was getting roasted by the both of us. And suddenly he said, "Well, it was alright, in my opinion. She wouldn't have lived with you for long anyway." I replied, "Well, love happens, man. Sarzia's parents were a mixed couple, remember? Her mother married again after almost a decade of her father's death, but ultimately, everyone was happy, including her father right to his last moments."
The atmosphere became a bit heavy, so I tried to initiate a joke. "Why do us humans live for so long anyway? You flezards have got it good, living and dying at the prime of your health. While we humans have to..." "It's because humans work at half the capacity of their brains.", Quixon interrupted me. I tried to pass it as a joke by having a laugh but his face became dead-serious and he said, "No, you all really do work at half your capacity. It's science, bro."
Now listen. We both are fucking idiots, hence, we both like passing specist jokes at each other. But it's always in good taste and we both have fun over such jokes. But his blunt interruption followed by an even more blunt reply was just, not good. I yelled at him. Called him names. Said some really mean things, and stormed out of there. He just stood there, expressionless. Was he regretting what he said? Or was he cursing me back inside his head?
Now that I am home and I checked up my mental state, the mentalizer diagnosed that it was not a rational action on my part. It was actually a result of built-up frustration and stress from my breakup, and the evening cry-show by Quixon added to that pent-up stress, with that "joke" being the tipping point. Man, I fucked up big time. I really need to talk to him tomorrow, I really don't want things to get awkward between us.
Oh and Happy New Year, it's 12:30 AM right now. Damn, this entry turned out really long, didn't it? Well, whatever.
Good night.
-- Richmond | 2019-12-30T01:42:30 | 2019-12-30T00:35:45 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative. | I can’t believe it... sweet old miss Jenkins, a killer. I stare at the negative 17 on the screen. That means she would kill 18 people in her remaining short life. Miss Jenkins the 85 year old neighbor who greets me every morning. At first I felt discussed by even typing in her name as a joke. But now, I had to know.
I peered our my window and stared at her, for her age she got around quite well. She was pulling weeds from her garden, which always seemed to be fresh soil. I slap myself and laugh. I couldn’t possibly believe she will kill 18 people. Before I could even think about it I was texting my boss “ate something that didn’t agree with me I’ll be in tomorrow”
A full day of watching her and nothing, that night as I saw her turn off her light, and I decided that was enough. I laid down for a restless night of sleep. I woke up and texted my boss again “must be a stomach bug, so sorry” again I followed her the entire day.
...
It’s been 10 days, my boss is getting upset I haven’t been in I could be fired but I don’t care anymore, I could be saving a life. I could be saving many lives. Her routine remains constant
7:05: wake up
7:10: makes a cup of tea and 2 eggs, overeats
7:30: heads outside sits on her porch and greets each of the neighbors. She even looks over at my door and frowns when she doesn’t see me come out at my normal time.
8:00: walks down the street to the kids bus stop, she watches as they all get on the bus, she even ran off a man who was walking around suspiciously.
8:30: get in her car and drives to town, picks up the fresh ingredients apple pie.
10:30: eats lunch at the local dinner, a chicken sandwich cut in half. She eats one Half of the sandwich and takes the rest in a to go container.
11:45: went to the park and fed the bread of her sandwich to the birds and left the chicken for a stray dog.
2:30: arrives home and begins baking the pie.
3:30: sets the pie on the window to cool and starting making her dinner.
4:30: eats her dinner alone.
5:00: carries her pie to a random neighbors house and sets it on the front step with a note.
5:15: heads back to her front porch and sits
5:20: every neighbor almost like there was a neighborhood meeting on it, take the pie and heads to ms Jenkins house, they sit on the front and share the cake with her and talk for over an hour.
6:30: heads into her house and watches Letterman.
8:00: she heads to bead I have waiting up all night and nothing. She doesn’t move till 7:05
Today was the same as normal except at 5:00 she brought the pie to my house. I opened the door after she walked away and read the note “I have noticed you haven’t been going to work lately and wanted to make sure you were all right, feel free to come over anytime and chat” I felt crushed, tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the pie. After staring at it for 30 minutes I willed myself to head over there.
She greeted me with excitement and cut the pie. After seeing it made so many times it didn’t disappoint. She talked my ear off about everything. My life, my goals. All my answers were vague or short but it didn’t stop her. She shared old stories of her late husband, the bakery they use to run together. She gave life lessons and little bits of wisdom. Even cracked a joke here and there. After 2 hours I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. I wished her well and went off to bed. It was Friday night and I had the weekend to get myself together and go apologize to my boss.
I slept in after all the long nights and early mornings, spying on my neighbor, feeling like a creep now. It’s 11:45, I think of her feeding the birds. I laugh at myself. I walk down and turn on the TV. It’s a live feed of a helicopter on a traffic accident. I read the banner across the bottom.
“Breaking 19 reported dead after elderly woman suffers a stroke and drives into oncoming traffic” | *Son, I know this will be hard for you to understand. Maybe one day, when you're older, you'll read this letter and know why I did what I did. I acted without caution, without thought. But sometimes, it is the things we do in the spur of the moment- without caution or thought- that can make the most difference in another's life.*
*Let me start from the beginning. Back in my day, we had this website....*
I stared at the computer screen in shock, my face illuminated by my too-bright screen in the dark room. I felt my hands begin to imperceptibly shake. It was impossible. How could the number have been negative?
I pinched myself. I must have been dreaming. But no- the computer screen still stared back at me, just as innocuous and innocent as always. It was true. In all of my years of consulting the website, not once had it been mistaken in its prediction. If I killed my neighbour, I would save someone's life.
Shaking myself out of my daze, I stood up and glanced out the window into my neighbour's moon-lit garden. I don't know what I expected to find- a blood-stained pathway, maybe, or a wilted flower. But, sure enough, the garden looked just the same as it always did: a line of crimson red roses, pruned to perfection, surrounding a patch of strawberry and pea plants, glistening with water droplets that reflected the bright moon above.
How could that woman be- but yes, there was no other explanation for the website's prediction. My neighbour, the sweetest lady I had ever met, was going to become a serial killer.
Numb with shock, I half-walked, half-stumbled over to the door. Was I really going to do this? Could I even bring myself to do it? I shake my head resolutely. I must. The website has never been wrong.
I repeat this line to myself over and over- the website has never been wrong. The website has never been wrong. It took every ounce of willpower I had to pry open my garage door and step inside.
The air was stiff and dry. I hadn't dared turn on the light, so I had to use my phone's flashlight to see. But thankfully, I knew exactly where it was- my automatic rifle. An illegal weapon where I live, but I had never been able to bring myself to get rid of it.
As I lifted my dusty rifle out of the locked vault I kept it secured in, and dusted it off, a small voice at the back of my head whispered words of reason.
"Call the police. Get help. You know what your neighbour is capable of. If you do what you plan on doing, then your life will be forfeit."
But I was not in a reasonable mood. I ignored the voice.
It is for this reason that I have come to suspect that... well, I'll speak on that in a moment. It will come as quite a shock to you, as it did to me.
After another moment of careful thought, I stepped back into my house, my rifle in hand. I must have stood there for an hour, breathing heavily, my heart pounding out of my chest. It was a terrible idea, to do what I decided to do. I think I knew that it was all along. But, as I have already said, I did not think rationally. I have never been good at thought.
And so, I stepped out into the icy cold night.
The wind beat against my face relentlessly as I stormed through the darkness, nothing but the moon to see me, hoisting my rifle over my shoulder. I must have looked like a soldier, marching through the dense landscape, waiting for the first shot to fire and war to break out. It was what I felt like, too.
I will admit I got a rush from it- my heart pounding with horrible dread and excitement combined. The wind pushing against me, trying desperately to get me to turn back- and I would not listen. I would not have listened if God Himself came down and told me to go back to my house and use the rational part of my brain, which they now tell me is missing.
One knock on my neighbour's door.
When she, inevitably, did not answer, I knocked again. And again. Again.
Soon, I was pounding on her door so hard, it was sending pain shooting through my entire body. And it was only then that she opened the door.
I will never forget the look on her face: the look of gentle confusion, of warmth, of puzzled delight at seeing me at her doorstep at such a strange hour.
I will never forget the glistening white wood that made up the floor of her house.
I will never forget the moonlight- feeling it course through my veins, filling me with violent energy and sheer delight as I did the deed.
My automatic gun let out a shout, and the woman did the same thing. And the white wood floor was stained crimson red.
I will never forget the last look of horror frozen on the kindly old woman's face as she stared up at me, blood pouring out of her skull in a river. I will never forget the gentle wrinkles on her face, the frail expression in her eyes, the way her body cracked against the wooden floor.
And, most of all, I will never forget the rush- the knowledge that I had saved someone's life. That I was a hero of two people. That I, single-handedly, had brought down a murderer.
The next few hours I don't recall very well- I remember people screaming, desperate shouts, cries of grief. I remember police sirens. I remember being taken away in handcuffs. They tell me I was grinning manically as they did it, my entire body covered in the woman's blood. They tell me I had drunken her blood. I don't remember that.
The only thing I remember after that is the drive there- how long and annoying it was and how much the police officer kept his distance from me.
*So, son, as I sit here in my jail cell writing this, I hope you can at least understand why I did what I did. Did I act brashly, without caution? Of course. But do I regret it? Not for a minute.*
*The doctors now tell me that there is no such website as I have mentioned. I hear words thrown around like "lunatic" and "psychopath." They are trying to tell me that I have gone mad. But I have not gone mad. I know what I saw. I know what I did. Yes, I killed a woman. My neighbour. But I did it to save a life, not to destroy ours. The doctors lie. I have shown them the website myself, and they refused to believe it. I know it is true.*
*I know you probably won't see this, son. They have brainwashed you into believing that I'm a madman, a murderer, someone who is not to be trusted. But I swear, in front of you, in front of the judge, in front of God Himself, that I was justified in what I did. And, even though my life is now in shambles, I have no regrets. I am a hero.*
[*Check out the website for yourself.*](https://willsomeonedie.com)
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
/r/OneMoreWord | 2020-03-16T14:59:58 | 2020-03-16T13:51:17 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] God has tried and failed to end the world multiple times since 2015. It's pretty clear something made him indecisive. | Pestilence sighed and a green cloud misted from his beaked mask. He looked upon the thieves, the liars, the adulterers all cowering in their houses from his plague and he clenched his fist. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Old Man ordered relentment. Again.
Next to him, a slender woman smothered a chuckle. Dainty hands covered withered lips as her pale skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. "Oh Pestie. First time? Father's been axing my famines for centuries. Don't worry you won't starve."
War slammed his sword on the table. "At least you still get work in Africa. I blow up planes, I blow up tankers, I get fear, hatred, creeping into men's hearts. And bam. Ordered to pull out. No one appreciates the art of war."
With heavy shoulders, Pestilence shook his head. "Do we at least know who it is this time?"
"A little girl named Isabelle," Death said with a voice like winter wind seeping through crags. "A little girl praying for her mum. A little girl who will lose faith and be doomed to Hell by a drunk driver in 6 years. But for now she clings to God, and for now God listens."
Pestilence raised an open palm in indignance. "They're all maggots in the end. Why wait? We ought to just-"
"Next month it is a man named Albert," Death continued, "A morose man who runs from his problems and drinks away his family. But a man who will plea to God for a second chance, a plea which will be granted. Next year Albert will squander it and die in a bender."
Around the table, War's grit his teeth and his knuckles whitened over grip of his sword. The green mist that oozed out of Pestilence's mask thickened like a storm cloud. And Famine's face remained upturned and poised but her eyes burned.
Death looked at each in turn. "But in the month after that, there will be an old woman named Martha. Her whole life she lived without a care, chasing the delights of the world. But our brother Pestilence's plague will make the world less than delightful, and she will hold her grandchildren and cry out. She will continue to cling to God on her deathbed while surrounded by those grandchildren, hale and hearty."
War grunted and swung his sword on his shoulder. "Well if the commander orders it... I guess we have no choice."
Famine fanned her fingers, and while keeping her gaze on her ivory nails she said "Yes, I suppose Father knows best. The more souls saved the better of course."
Pestilence looked at his feet. He was accustomed to his work bringing ruin to men and to say it brought salvation was strange. But if one could see behind the black tinted holes of his mask, they would perhaps see a flicker of pride. |
I should have discovered there was a problem in 2007 when the “Great Depression” I struck to warm-up to the end the world on schedule fizzled out into a mere temporary recession. Don’t get me wrong, there was still a global financial crisis, but nothing compared the way I had used my powers to end the Incan and Mayan society so many years back. The mayflies of course have a silly notions of “the end of the world” actually means. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make an entire planet permanently uninhabitable through miracle alone? The closest any being that resembles what mayflies call “gods” came was moving an errant meteor towards the planet, and here we are 65 million years catering to the whims of a bunch of hairless apes. At least the great lizards had a god with panache, I wish I could have met it.
Most gods have no interest in ending the world, in fact the ones who would love to do it are all trapped in some kind of underworld by the mayflies that pray to them (admittedly, empowering death gods and locking them up without even realizing it is a VERY “human” thing to do, even where I’m from). The gods that do have free reign on …Earth? Such a crude moniker… tend to be interested in maintaining the status quo. I found them to be weak, simple creatures without any desire to end our eternal torment by wiping out conscious life. They don’t know the pain of slowly fading into becoming dormant, trapped watching as new gods rise and fall. Chaos gods would sometimes help, and they have a certain low cunning that allows them to be very effective, but ultimately left to their own devices they get distracted or bored and its back to square one.
It had been a bizarre transition to wake up after years of no prayers, no worshippers, not even a curse whispering my name on the wind. You can imagine my surprise when I woke up in what I later learned was the spirituality section of an independent bookstore on the mainland of what is now called the United States. I woke looking at a one of the insignificant mayflies signing what looked a manuscript of some kind. I naturally assumed it to be a temple, as there was a High Priest speaking to her flock. I was incredibly weak, but as I approached the table I could feel my natural gifts return. The mayflies eyes began to slide off of me, and forget they had seen my monstrous visage approach. They still disgust me as much as they did in my prime, pretending to be lords of the planet when their existence is less than the blink of an eye.
Upon looking at the book I read the title “2012: The End of the World? Mayan Prophecies explored!” It made little sense to me at the time, the Mayans hadn’t really had a lot of sophistication in their disaster fables, and otherwise I wouldn’t have gone dormant. I listened as the priest began preaching to the small table of followers. As I swallowed their excuse for a language and absorbed their mewling prayers I realized they all, secretly and for very different reasons believed the world must end. I felt a rush of power I hadn’t in hundreds of years. These humans didn’t care how, or why or who ended the world, but they had settled on old legends with enough of my name attached to wake me. The power came from the mayflies complete (and natural I might add) addiction to fear of their inevitable demise. I felt awakened! These new mayflies weren’t rigid in their beliefs, they wanted death and destruction, and they would pay the priestess to describe it in grueling detail. Best of all they didn’t particularly care WHO was doing the destroying, or attach themselves to rigid religious dogmas of one or two gods. I always did better with pantheists after all.
I spent the next thirteen years attempting to fulfil my destiny. I had to do it largely alone, like I said death gods are only useful in the first 500 years, then they get imprisoned or bored. I wasn’t bored. I was finally alive! I could use the darkness in these worshippers’ thoughts to bring about darkness, and maybe even the end of the world they so craved, and I had always wanted but had never been able to bring about.
I quickly found it didn’t work.
Every disaster I brought about was thwarted in short order. 2012 came and went as so many other years in the infinite dance of the cosmos. It was not wasted however. I was able to continue drawing on those who wanted to see things end. They prayed in their own way to a god who would never know their name. So I continued on, and I began to see the fruit of my labour. Initial results were disappointing, the mayflies had become good at dealing with crisis scenarios. Every day I cursed that I didn’t have the power to manipulate the mayflies’ minds directly. Plagues, financial ruin, natural disasters, (I was particularly proud of the Fukishima meltdown, it’s a shame I’m unable to manipulate atomic power directly) none of it worked! No matter how bad things got the mayflies simply bounced back. Until one day in a bar in Idaho, while thinking about how best to wipe out the west coast of the US with well-timed seismic tremors I realized that something was wrong. I looked across the deserted bar and realized I was being watched, which is fairly remarkable given that it’s nearly impossible to see a god of darkness. The impossibly perfect being sauntered over and looked me up and down.
“You know you’ll never beat them right? Better gods than you have tried” it said, or rather intoned through base magic. “Not alone anyway”
“What would you know about it” I spat. “What interest does a puny love god have in the end of the world anyway?”
“More than you’d think… we should talk. The name’s Eros. I think I can help.” | 2020-03-20T07:40:22 | 2020-03-20T07:05:26 | 32 | 15 |
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'. | "Personally, I think the more unexpected it is, the better." Josh took another sip from his beer.
Damien snorted, popping a couple peanuts in his mouth. "You mean catch them off guard? Nah, I think it should feel almost natural." He smiled. "Take my last job, this senator was blazing through his speech. Right when he hit the climax of his speech," he mimed pulling a trigger. "Bang. Perfect shot. Right when the emotion is highest. Feels the most genuine to me."
Josh frowned at this. "I dunno, I mean the last job I had was a movie star. Everyone was all crowded around her walking up the red carpet, I just waited. Managed to get my shot later on, right as the lights were going out. " He downed his beer. "The less they're prepared for it, the better."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "You got your mark in a theater? That can't have been with anything too big."
Josh laughed. "Of course not, I just had a little handheld. It's nothing special, but it gets the job done."
Damien nodded thoughtfully, then bent and picked up his bag. "Well, I'd love to keep this conversation going, but I've really gotta run. New job just came in, it's a wedding."
Josh smirked. "Ah, exciting! Who's the lucky mark?"
Damien shrugged. "The bride and groom I think. They said they'd fill me in when I get there. See you next week?"
Josh nodded. "Next week." | The old gin joint just right down an ominous alleyway had always been a favourite of mine. Secluded, warm, cozy, near my workplace, and the best part is that it's always empty when I was done for the day. I drop off the dragonuv issued by my company and march straight down to the alley. After a long hard day of looking through scope and pulling triggers, I can finally wind down with some Manhattan and Louis Armstrong.
As I enter the bar, I notice that barkeep was chatting away with another client. Would've preferred if I was alone for tonight, but I suppose social interaction is a welcoming change once in a while. I pull a seat next to him and ordered 2 shots of screwdriver and slid the other glass to the patron.
"Oh, thanks."
He took the glass gulped it down in one motion, judging from his appearance, I reckon he's somewhere in his 20s. Guess kids these days can handle their drinks.
"I owe you one man."
"Heh, you took that quite well."
"Yeah, I'm used to drinking the hard stuff. Nothing's better than to get completely shitfaced after a long crappy day of shooting, you feel me?"
I spit out my screwdriver into the ground, wetting the nice fur carpet underneath. The barkeep gives me a wide eyed stare and hand me over a piece of cloth. After apologizing and cleaning up the mess, I start conversing more with the kid.
"You shoot? Damn, I guess we're both on the same page then."
"The world is pretty small after all."
"If you don't mind me asking, where do you usually, you know, do the deeds?"
"Well, I usually shoot the usual. Places like mountains, woods. Anywhere where I can take a nice shot at the local wildlife."
Oh, I must have misjudged. This man is just a hunter not a-
"But sometimes I take jobs on wedding days or political campaign. Event where shit happens and people are around you know?"
Nope, definitely a killer.
"Do you prefer shooting from long range, or close ups?"
"Ooo, that's a tough one but if I have to pick a favourite it'll have to be long shot."
"Don't like getting noticed huh?"
"That and there's just something much more appealing to doing it, I don't know why."
"I can preach to that. What kind of scope do you use?"
"Scope?"
"Yeah, you know like 6 times, 24 times, 50 times. I'm a 24 myself but I sometime switch out for a 6 cause I couldn't find 24 that have nightvi-."
"Oh no, I don't use those things."
I pause and tilt my head slowly toward him with an anxious glare.
"Sorry, I must have misheard you. You're saying you shoot long range without a scope?"
"Yeah those things are too cumbersome, and even if I did it feels like cheating you know?"
What the fuck does he use then? Iron Sight? Am I talking to Simo Hayha reincarnate?
"Alright, fair. What about bipods then? They're a necessity and they are far more of a hassle to carry around than a scope."
"Right, yes, bipod, I use those.... Kinda."
"What do you mean kinda?"
"Well, I have them. I just never... used them that much."
"And you still managed to get good shot without it?"
"I gotta say, I may have a natural affinity for this job."
Okay, now he's just flexing at me right now. I can feel my pride as a sniper wilting ever so slowly inside my body with every word that comes out of his mouth. Perhaps I should just retire and start a new life as a cabaret manager or something.
"Oh, you wanna see my gear? I brought it along for tonight in case I see any cool looking sights."
He take a small case lying underneath his chair and places it on the table. What the hell? This look nothing like a gun case. He digs his hand inside and pull out a camera.
"It's kinda old, but it gets the job done. Say cheese!"
I was lost in my thought, the only reaction I was able to pull off was a face filled with relief and confusion. At the very least, I'm glad that I haven't met someone far better than me at my own job. On the other hand, my pride have sunk deep enough that getting shitfaced doesn't do it for me anymore.
\[Shit writer here, I don't know how to write short lol.\]
Edit: Fixed the spacing. I don't know why Reddit decided to do that but it did. | 2020-11-05T08:36:01 | 2020-11-05T08:14:19 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Time travel exists, and a new form of capital punishment is introduced: Transporting the convict back to the worst, practically unsurvivable, places in human history to find yourself in. You are such a convict, and just got sent back. You will do anything to try and survive. | I landed in a quaint town, next to a smoky mountain.
Of course, there was no point running. I had watched documentaries on this procedure on the Aliens Channel, and they always picked times with fast travel and events with a large span of effect or controlled by a homicidal maniac who is guaranteed to murder you.
I looked around. There were a couple of people dressed in a prisoner's garb similar to mine looking around quizzically. Hm. This was probably a popular destination for capital punishment.
I saw a street sign, it looked like Latin. I had begun to get an idea of where I was.....
Then another sign; from the picture it seemed like a warning about the smoky mountain. And on the top, it said something about "Omnes Cives Pompeii".
Oh. I was sure of it now. This Roman town was the doomed Pompeii, and that mountain, Vesuvius.
But wait. Where were all the people? The shops were all closed. The streets had empty carriages on them. It looks like the people of the city just ... left.
Perhaps the tragedy had already happened? No, I was certain this town was buried with its inhabitants in it. This was strange; I could distinctly recall disturbing images of the ash remains of people cringing from Vesuvius' regurgitations.
More prisoners popped up around me.
The horrifying truth struck me.
No _Roman_ was killed at Pompeii. | After being a lurker for so long, this is my first response on /r/writingprompts. Be gentle and hope you like it.
_________
They call it capital punishment, and I never really knew why. I mean, in the past they used guillotines, ropes, electric chairs and lethal injections. But this was totally different. Someone could argue those alternatives were more humane. At least as humane as sentencing another human being to death can be.
This was not any of those. It was basically being sent into a gladiators' arena without an audience watching. Well, I should watch what I say, in case they really do send me back to a coliseum.
As they strapped me in, it really dawned on me how unfair the whole thing was. I was walking down the street and just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know that's what most criminals say, but you can judge for yourself.
It was a Sunday morning when I saw the little girl walking home along the park across the street. Cute little backpack humming some kind of 'pop' music. I had no clue what was 'in' or not since I didn't bother with that stuff. As she was walking around the corner of the block , I caught sight of a dog who was acting strangely and limping. In what was essentially a blink of an eye, the dog started attacking the little girl. Of course I couldn't just stand around and do nothing. I rushed as my tired legs could carry me and grabbed the largest rock I could find at the park. On my first swing, it hit the dog in the head and some red was showing, but I'm sure it just angered as it tore more violently at the little girl. By this point I was panicked, and so I quickly took a second swing. Unfortunately it hit the little girl in the leg and there was the sound of a small "crack". For whatever reason, the sound scared the dog and it ran off.
Then I noticed the screaming and crying of the little girl. Torn little dress and the contents of her backpack spilt all over the sidewalk. It was probably the adrenaline but I didn't hear her until now. Before I knew it, two officers arrived and arrested me for sexually assaulting the little girl. I tried to explain, but like most people, ignored me. I guess I too would ignore me if I was in their shoes. I haven't showered in months and probably smelled real bad. Unshaven, with raggedy clothes I found at the dumpster behind those big box thrift stores.
Why was the punishment so severe you may ask? I was being made the example of the new "Protect The Children" campaign the mayor was using to secure votes in the upcoming election. Poor girl, she was so traumatized and I heard she hasn't been able to talk to anybody since. I really hope she gets better. She deserves a good life.
And so, it brings me to now. As the technician does the final checks, she drops an envelope in my lap and I feel a giant jolt through my body. I guess it was more similar to the electric chair than I thought.
After I get a little more oriented, I decide to open the envelope. Inside I find a note and as I unravel it, a fountain pen drops out.
The note read:
Hi,
You don't know who I am, but I am the mother of the little girl you saved. She wasn't able to talk to anyone for the first week, but later on, she was able to tell me the events of what happened. You sir, are truly a hero and I am infinitely thankful. You may wonder why I have said nothing if I knew the truth. And to be honest I really did consider doing that. But I really did want to thank you, and so I've included my great grandfather's fountain pen. He got this from someone he too saved when he was young. My grandfather told me that if my great grandfather or anyone he gave the pen were to return the pen to the owner, he would give him half his estate as his thanks. My great grandfather was said to not seek any compensation since it was his duty as a fellow human being. So I have sent you back in time 160 years to claim this gift. I hope this gives you a new start in life as you have given my daughter.
Much love and forever grateful,
The technician
| 2015-01-24T14:05:11 | 2015-01-24T13:54:40 | 194 | 89 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | I just have to tell you, I met the funniest guy on my way from the bar last night.
I was just a little drunk. Not too drunk or anything, but at that place where you're feeling really great and social and I just couldn't wait to get home and dig into some leftovers. I was walking home, and this white van pulls up next to me. The windows were tinted, so I didn't get a good look at the guy at first. Not until he rolls down one of the windows and asks if I want a ride.
Of course I said yes! I was feeling like it really was my lucky night. I saw that cute redhead from HR at the bar and she'd slipped me her number and we had a nice talk about Star Wars and now this guy was giving me a ride home. I wasn't looking forward to walking home, so, talk about a bingo!
Anyway, I get into his van. He's got little these little, tiny animal skulls laying on the passenger-side floor, and I'm thinking, "This guy must be a taxidermist," so I start telling him that I think taxidermy is fascinating. Of course I'm careful not to step on any of those animal skulls. The guy's real quiet, but -- I mean -- have you ever met a loud taxidermist?
I ask him his name and he says "John Smith," and I'm like, "There's a John Smith in my office! Are you related?" And he's like, "Probably not." And then I laugh, because he's probably right. This guy is white and the John Smith from my office is black. I tell him why I'm laughing and he's pretty quiet, but I think that broke the ice.
So we start driving. And I look in the back seat an I see there are all of these big, plastic bags filled with stuff that smells kind of chemically. And I kept thinking, geez, what a nice guy. He must be on his way to do some work and he stopped to pick *me* up.
So I start thanking him. He says he doesn't know why I'm thanking him. And I tell him, "Well, obviously, you're on the job," and he's real quiet again. Shy and nice. My favorite kind of people.
So, we get a ways away from the bar and I realize -- we're going in the wrong direction! Then I realize, I didn't even tell him where I live! Then I'm thinking, this guy must be drunk, too, because he didn't even ask. So I ask him to pull over. He's not happy about it, but I can't abide by people who drink and drive.
"I'm taking you to the woods," he says. A cop car drives by, and he's like, "Be cool," and I'm like, "Oh, I get it."
He looks freaked out for a second, but then I'm like, "Dude, I'm 420 friendly. I couldn't smoke right now -- gives me the spins, you know -- but if you want to light up, that's cool with me."
"Yeah," he says and starts driving again.
This guy must be high as shit because he doesn't light up. He seems like he's in the *zone*, you know?
So I'm like, "Listen, dude, I'd love to go to the woods with you, but I gotta get home. I gotta work tomorrow," and he's like, "No you don't."
My kinda guy!
I'm like, "I could call in sick."
He's quiet again for a long time.
Then I'm like, "No, I really gotta go home."
"You're not going home," he says.
So I start laughing. What a cut-up! I just met him, too. Can you believe that?
So we're getting away from the city, and I'm like, "Okay, we can cruise for a while, but I really gotta get home."
I ask if we can turn on the radio and he says he doesn't like music. "You sound like a real intellectual," I say, "I like that, John. You don't like music. Music is for the masses. I can tell you're smarter than that."
And then I start telling him about how I think music on the radio today is just nonsense garbage and that it's just made to brainwash people and all that. And he's really getting into it. He isn't saying much, but he's listening, like, *real intently*. When's the last time you met a real good listener? Yeah, that's right! You don't meet 'em often.
But time just flies by, and I'm like, "Seriously man, I gotta get home."
And he says, "You...do know I'm about to kill you, right?"
And I look at him for a second. And then I start laughing -- "You got me, John! That's fucking *hilarious*. I like you. Can you give me your number?"
After a while, he finally decides to take me home. He starts telling me that the fear in the eyes of his victims is what he gets him off, that he doesn't know what the point trying to get it through to me, that he's got bugs in his brains that tell him to kill -- he's a real cut up. I'm like, "Yeah, sure, buddy, me too. Only the bugs in my brain tell me to get pussy." He doesn't laugh, but I can tell he gets it.
When he finally gets me to his apartment, though, he starts crying. Some dudes just don't do well with weed, I guess. I didn't get his number. I thought it'd be best to let him have a moment, you know? But, man I hope I see him again. You guys would love him. I keep telling my buddies at work that I met a real intellectual-type. | The Seven Ps. Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance. The SAS would never have taken an autistic person. Not for this anyway, but that's another story. Killing the autistic was always a challenge and I hated challenge. Did they not realise that I did this for the emotion? A hint of emotion at least. Nope. Fucking idiots. Let's try this again.
"Look at me, you fucking cunt." Bellowed our hooded assailant.
"Sorry sir, my eyes were getting tired," responded Alex, naive and innocent to the last. And in truth his eyes were getting tired; this happens when you're forcibly kept awake for thirty two and three-quarter hours. But Alex didn't mind, he liked the attention. Ma and Pop always ignored him and called him words. 'Retard', 'Pig' and 'Forrest' were their favourites although Alex never understood them. And no one else would play Hide and Seek with him. Although Alex didn't know why he had to be tied up.
"What did I just tell you to fucking do, you worthless shite?" Screamed Mr Hood. Alex called him Mr Hood.
Alex jumped again, "You told me to look at you," he said.
Alex liked this game.
"This is not a fucking game," muttered Mr Hood under his breath before composing himself, "YES! Look at me. Me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?". Of course he didn't understand. Why do I bother sometimes.
"Have you heard of 'This Little Piggy'?" Asked Mr H. "Of course you haven't," he thought to himself.
Mr H's temple was pulsing. Unhealthily.
"Oh yes, Mr Hood," answered Alex gleefully, "I know all the words, shall I tell it to you?"
"Be my guest," responded Mr H. Eerily.
"This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed home,
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none,
And this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home."
Mr H gave slow round of applause.
"Alex do you know the difference between you and this story?" asked Mr H.
"No Sir, although I would like some roast beef as we always have it on Sundays" said Alex hoping in vain that he might get some scrumptious beef.
"You're never going home," Mr H said, pulling a hunting knife from it's scabbard.
Alex's eyes lit up. No more home? No more rude words? That sounded great to Alex although he would miss his beef.
Mr H plunged the knife into Alex's carotid artery. Great spurts of blood erupted from Alex's neck whilst his body motioned spasmodically and the life drifted from his eyes. This Little Piggy was having none.
| 2015-04-29T10:15:01 | 2015-04-29T08:58:17 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You are a true immortal. You stay sane by hanging out with the descendants of friends that are long dead. Today, one said a very familiar phrase you haven't heard in a long time. | I looked up at my Iphone sitting on the charging pad, screaming at me to wake up and get ready so I could make the train. It's haul in the morning to make it to the city, but this new job is a great opportunity and I can't show up to work late again. I groggily dress myself and wash up when I hear Jed's horn coming from my driveway. I run out and hop in the car, praying we make the earlier train so I can get a seat and get a short nap on the way in.
"You really have to start getting some more sleep man, one of these days you're gonna sleep through that alarm and wake up in june!" said Jed.
"Well don't drag me out to drinks on a work night, dude." I retorted.
Me and Jed had been best friends since college. We met at orientation and immediately bonded. It wasn't over sports or hobbys or anything I could describe. We just had that instant connection. His dad was a legacy at one of the big frats, but he was a great guy and could have easily gotten in on his own. I never knew my dad, he passed away before I was born, so I didn't exactly have anyone to talk to about going to school, let along joining a fraternity. Jed dragged me out to rush, basically got me through pledging and has been by my side ever since. He's always getting me to come out of my shell and try new things. I'm really happy to have someone like him in my life.
We graduated last May and moved to New York together for work. Weirdly, he never wanted to be roommates despite how close we are. I got really annoyed with him about it, but he promised that in exchange he'd drive me to the train every day since I didn't have a car. Jed is sort of a freelancer; he moves around the city all day buying and selling weird art and rare collectibles. His degree was in engineering, but by the way he appraises items you would swear he's some kind of anthropological savant. My job is pretty boring, I do research for one of the big pharmaceutical companies. It sounds interesting, but I'm basically just a glorified lab tech. Hopefully though, I can put in the time at the bottom and eventually work on treatments and medicine that could save peoples lives some day.
​
We get on train, but there isn't a seat to be found. Well, fuck. We hold onto one of the rails on the door and get comfy standing for the next 40 minutes. Jed starts going on one of spiels about this painting he's going to check out today, blah, blah, blah. I love the guy, but when he starts talking about the history behind objects he could go on for days and put a meth head to sleep. All of the sudden though, I start feeling light headed. Maybe I'm too tired and I'm standing for too long? No, this is different. My chest feels tingly and one of my arms feels really tight. My breath is kind of short too. Jed is still talking, I need to let him know.
"Jed, my chest feels sort of funny, I don't know what's going on. Can we stop in at the doctor's or something?"
Jed stops. His words come to a complete halt. His face turns cold and white, he looks like he's seen a ghost. After a moment that feels like eternity, he snaps into action and starts holding me up to support me.
"It's ok man, you're gonna be ok!!! Just hold on Alex!"
What the hell? I'm happy you're worried about me, but why are you freaking out? I'm about to ask him when everything starts to go dark and I feel my body hit the floor.
...
I come to in a hospital bed, fully undressed except for a gown. There's an IV in my hand and the room looks like there was just a trainwreck of people. This is the ER. Why am I in the ER? Shit, I'm going to be late for work! Wait... why am I worried about that right now? What the hell happened to me?!
I look down and see two pairs of feet on the other side of one of the curtain. I recognize one of the pairs of shoes, I think its Jed talking to the doctor. He sounds really worried. But there's something not quite right about it. It's like, he's talking *at* the doctor instead of to him. Since when does Jed know anything about medicine?
"...his dad's family has a LONG history of heart disease and brain tumors. You NEED to give him an MRI, a full CT, and a..."
What? I don't even know my full medical history, my mom never told me anything about my dad's family. I've tried asking before about him a couple times, but after giving me some basic details I could tell the subject was so painful for her that I never pressed further. I didn't want her to think that she wasn't enough for me.
Is Jed lying to try to get them to give me extra treatment? This is weird. I try to hear the rest but I start to fade out of consciousness again.
...
I come to again and I'm still in the hospital. It's a different room, I can tell I've been admitted while I was out. Jed is sitting in the chair by my bed, asleep.
"Jed?" I meekly managed to say. It's barely louder than a whisper.
Jed hears me and wakes up. "Alex?! Oh thank god you're awake."
"What happened?"
"You had a stroke. Don't worry, you didn't lose any body function and there's no damage to your nervous system." Jed said "They tested you while you were out and your responses were normal. But the scans, they show that you have some kind of brain tumor that caused this."
There are tears welling in his eyes, "Alex, I'm so sorry, I should have brought you in to get checked as a precaution....... it's never developed this fast before."
A million things start to race through my head. I almost pass out again from the sheer emotion of what is happening. But something drowns out all the noise, and there's only one thing I can think about. It's Jed, his presence is... calming. There's an energy radiating out of him, crackling in the air; I can almost feel it, soothing me like a muscle relaxer.
"Jed, how could you have known? How *did* you know? About my dad? About my family? What is going on" I ask.
Jed falls silent. His aura shuts off too, almost as if it had been leaking out and he didn't even realize.
"Alex... I have a long story for you. It's going to be tough to believe, but I need you to hear me out. It's about your father, and his father, and his father before him...." | The doorbell rang to my delight. Juniper was here to visit, like she always did every Friday.
"Come in Juni, the door's unlocked." I sing-songed over the fizzle of stir-fried dumplings.
Juniper shuffled to the kitchen island table, slouching onto a stool with an audible sigh. I looked over my shoulder to catch her resting her head heavily on her right hand.
"Tea's on your left."
"Thanks," she mumbled, pouring herself a cup of Pu-Er from the tiny china set like she did every week.
"Tough client?" I quipped.
"That Edison guy refuses to sign again. He's on his deathbed and he refuses to put his name on the very thing that will save his estate."
She put up her hands wordlessly, turning to face the front door.
You know what? Maybe we should just let him die, and let the government take his stuff."
"Maybe he'd rather see his estate burn than give it to his children, you know?" I offered, fishing the golden-brown dumplings out by hand onto a plate.
"I don't know..." Juniper pondered. She downed the cup in one gulp, before reaching out to the pot to pour out another.
"I've seen it happen plenty of times," I shrugged, glancing at her. "Maybe his kids abandoned him. Happens a lot more than it should."
"Like you would know," Juniper rolled her eyes.
"Believe you me," I waved a pair of chopsticks at her, setting the plate of sumptuous dumplings onto the table. "Happens a lot more than it should."
"Tch. Idiots."
"Hey," I leaned my elbows on the table, looking directly at her. "None of this can affect you. The you right now. And right now," I stood back up, laying the chopsticks in front of her, "You are savouring Cobo's fried dumplings."
She finally cracked a smile. Miniscule, but I saw it.
"Heh."
Juniper gripped the chopsticks and began to chew at one of the dumplings. I rounded back to the stove, eager to prepare the next batch.
"You know..." Juniper said between bites. "Do you think Tekagi has gone shopping?"
"We'll soon find out." I replied without thinking.
Wait, hold on. Rewind.
What did she just say?
"Sorry," I tried to backtrack. "Tekagi?"
"Yeah." she coolly replied.
"Friend of yours?" I probed.
"Not really.." she threw at me the most curious, almost all-knowing look. "But I think you know him too."
I looked down at the frying pan and frowned. Neither of us know a Tekagi.
'Never mind,' I thought to myself. 'Maybe I'm just overthinking it.'
"Great plan, just buy everything, I coulda done that myself." she half-mumbled.
No.
Impossible.
No one would say that randomly. I'm hooked.
"Sometimes the cheapest solutions are the best." I replied, furtively glancing backwards at her.
Her eyes lit up like the 4th of July.
"Do you know with whom you are dealing with?" She chimed back in as low a voice as she could. I stopped the stove and gazed directly into her eyes.
"You are going to tell me what I want to know..." I replied as gravelly as I could, barely holding back a grin.
"About shopping-"
"About fashion-"
"Everything!"
Suddenly she leapt at me, and we shared the longest embrace I have had for more than a hundred years.
"I told you I'd come back." she whispered in my ear. She kissed my cheek and buried her head in my chest.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Reply if you get the reference :)
r/Script_Writes
​ | 2019-03-08T04:53:38 | 2019-03-08T04:47:00 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] As part of a senior thesis, an anthropology student decides to start a cult to see how far it’ll go. Several years, hundreds of deaths, civil warfare and a complete government overthrow later they wonder how they’ll properly cite their sources. | Today marks the end of year ten. My hands hurt. My head hurts more.
They say that lives are the price of progress. That knowledge is worth any cost.
And by 'they' I mean the Church of the Scribe. I suppose it's easy to justify what you're doing when your followers span the globe. I want to record that it was never meant to get this far but that would be a lie, and lies have no place in the face of the truth.
I'd always hated cheats, always hated my classmate who put in minimal effort but cruised through subject after subject, untested. It wasn't fair and it wasn't just. Those who lacked the hunger for raw knowledge, raw data, they didn't deserve a place in higher learning.
The Church of the Scribe was meant, initially, to finally put those 'students' at the disadvantage they deserved. I'd started my project to see how cultures change to accommodate ideologies that fit a desire of a minority. Take something a small group of people want, something they don't know they want, and give them an outlet.
It turned out many of the professors at my university shared my frustration with lackluster students who sailed through college on a wave of syllabus technicalities, weighted grading, tests scaled to pass the majority. Many of my professors showed up to my first seminar, titled Motivate Your Students Beyond Complacency. The 'speaker' was an actor I'd hired to feed them a string of my creed. He was good at his job, compelling and wise, gentle but excited. He introduced the original skeleton of the church:
*Those who do not try should not succeed.*
I'd had to bring him on full time. He was just too good. He would go school to school, preaching what they all initially thought was simply a curriculum and teaching style. Meanwhile, I stayed at my school and designed websites, facebook groups, events, fun gatherings. I reached out to some of the 'tryhards' in my grade and they jumped on the injustices.
But there was no sense of community without pushback. So I faked a series of emails from concerned students and parents, cautioning about my own cause. Warning deans and administration about the dangers of the Beyond Complacency act, warned that it might hurt graduation rates and applications.
One by one, the schools closed their doors to us. Nevermind, this was according to plan. We had to take our meetings underground and that's where it really started.
Naturally the first hostile takeover was my own school. It wasn't hard for my followers, 'group members', to dig up significant enough dirt on the administration to ultimately start getting Deans replaced. And by this point, I'd had enough esteemed faculty to take their place. This tactic worked so well that within a single school year, we'd had half the schools in my country successfully converted.
The literacy of the country allegedly 'suffered' because of this, but there is no injustice like passing lazy scholars through a broken system. We raised the bar of entry and the graduation rates actually soared, as did the power, wealth, and influence of our graduates, all who 'paid it forward' to our grants and fellowships.
They were, in a sense, ostracized by the public. Oh they were hired, and in great positions as well, for their intellect and thirst for progress for progress sake was unrivaled. But socially they were outcasts, and in their bitter hearts, my creed thrived.
More and more, they began hiding their affiliation with me outside of our bi-weekly meetings. To the average eye, it seemed as though the group, now starting to be called a cult by those more feeble minded, was starting to lose power outside of schools.
What they didn't know was that their rejection of those who outwardly practiced was, instead, driving them further to the word of the scribe. And our practices flourished in their workspaces. Cast out were those casual resume pushers, mass spamming hundreds to companies with a few lazy cover letter tweaks. There would always be roles in society for those who didn't care. They would live happily at the bottom and collect the scraps dropped by the true Scribes.
We operated semi-hidden for a full four years and all the while I took notes on what did and didn't work. Not everything landed, such as our first attempt to get Scribes in the office, but even that we ultimately cracked. When your credence is based on the thirstiest and hungriest of minds, nothing is too difficult.
On the back end, we fed the desire for exclusivity of mind to children at young ages. Elementary schools indoctrinated children to cast aside the students who did not strive for academic success. To the top 10% of every class went 90% of the teachers' attentions. Nothing would be wasted on the chaf that would only ultimately ever live to serve those who actually cared.
It was eight years in that we'd managed to infiltrate enough government legislature that we could try for the presidency. However, at this point, enough of our enemies had caught on and what was meant to be an election turned ugly.
They had the manpower but we had the superior tactics. It wasn't pretty but progress isn't always. Lives are the price of progress.
Yet as we reached the precipice of success, our numbers began to... dwindle. It was as though we'd collected the brightest minds and as a result, fewer and fewer potential Scribes were born. Somehow, despite funneling all of our efforts into the brightest minds, what was once 10% of a class fell to 7%. Then 5%. It made no logical sense to me. As we cultivated the greatest minds, the general intelligence of the world should increase, not fall.
This year the numbers came in. Only 2% of the early grade classes made the cut. Our standards had remained the same, yet somehow the thirst for knowledge and excellence among the children had fallen. The entire idea of weeding out the student who failed at young ages should have led to a smarter future. Not this.
I stand now with two options ahead of me. Study the patterns to find where it went wrong, or enforce brilliance with punitive actions.
In the early days, superiority was sufficient to turn the best students against the stupid ones. That was no longer enough, so perhaps a more medieval approach was warranted to... *spur* them forward.
Then again, perhaps I missed something. Perhaps there was something wrong with my initial criteria. Perhaps there was something wrong with the structure of this experiment. Why had the children grown to hate the concept of success?
My notes are scattered about my office, my highest office, a temple, a church, a sanctum. I have all the answers, somehow woven into ten years of notes. How to proceed? Add a new factor into the mix? Or analyze the notes to complete our thesis.
Should those who do not try succeed? Is the concept of 'trying' universal? Does it look the same? Is success the best motivator for effort?
Of course, of course, of course. It's the only natural answer. I can't have been wrong from the start because at this point I drive a vessel that cannot be steered. Its trajectory was sent a decade ago by my unyielding zealotry.
I reach towards my computer to type out a new mandate. One that will force the children into the Way of the Scribe. It may be an archaic form of punishment, but sometimes, to move forward, older methods must be used. Spare the rod, spoil the child. I need to improve the world, regardless of the cost.
My finger hovers over the button that will send the mandate forward, and for just a second, I hesitate before pressing.
Could I be wrong?
___
For more stories, check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/). | Madame Helena DuBois, First Incarnate of the Grand Theocratic Union of the United States, sat languidly in the oval office. Her bare feet were propped on a stool made from the remnants of the last president’s desk as she smoked a long, thin cigarette. The ashes fell into a gold plated tray held by a man whose only job was to do just that, no matter how badly his old bones protested. Not long ago this had been his office and his chair.
Helena was just twenty-four years old.
“How is it possible,” she said, “for me to have done all of this and not pass?”
The men seated on their knees in front of her trembled. When she’d started in on her thesis years ago she could only have dreamed of a thesis committee this august. Perhaps that advice about never meeting your idols was true though, not a single one of them had lived up to their reputations. Plus they were all so damned old she’d taken to referring to them as her natural history museum.
“Sources, Madame Incarnate,” one of the braver men said. “You’ve cited yourself or one of your employees for nearly every entry. And the quotes you’ve used, they can’t be substantiated.”
“Substantiated? They’re in the Tome of the Dogma! How much more substantiated can you get?”
“A book you wrote yourself Madame.”
“Oh?” with one simple word all the air rushed out of the room. The committee chair actually shivered.
“Apologies Incarnate!” the speaker said, pressing his head to the floor. “Co-wrote with the Divine, of course! I misspoke, please spare me!”
“That was your first strike, be mindful you not get three.”
“Since each one of you is even more useless than the last I’ve called in a little help.” Helena rang a bell and the office’s doors opened. A small cadre of highly decorated officers entered the room.
“Generals! How good of you to join us.” They fell to their knees, bowing deeply. “Generals, meet the professors, professors meet the generals.”
Helena took a long breath before glancing over at her living ashtray. She put the cigarette out on the remains of his suit and then tossed it aside.
“So, Generals. As some of you may know I’ve been trying to get my degree for a long, long time. In the process I’ve learned a few things about the true corruption of our former system.” Helena stood, and with a subtle inclination of her head the blinds behind her were pulled up, letting the light spill in to frame her.
“I do not care for corruption. Neither does the Divine.”
She stalked straight up to the group, placing a hand on the forehead of her committee chair and another on the forehead of the closest general.
“With the Divine’s help we have cleansed the nation of the many wrongs my research uncovered. We have driven out the sinners and shattered the shackles that bound the people. All of them but one.”
The committee chair trembled beneath her hand but the general looked up, his gaze worshipful, his eyes ecstatic.
“There is one last insidious threat stalking us now. The last one left inside our borders. It plagues our students, our young, shining stars, keeps them from reaching their potential.” She paused, watching the general’s eyes. She had him. “Citations.”
The man cursed loudly, beginning to recite the invocation against evil.
Helena crouched down in front of the reciting general, pressing her finger to his lips to silence him.
“General,” she said, “I’ve discovered a problem with Chicago. I’d like it gone. Find whoever writes the rules for their citation system and execute them, then level the city. I want no one to even remember its name.” Helena glanced back towards her thesis committee with a beatific smile. “By next week there won’t be a citation system, does that work?”
They just nodded. Nobody had the heart to tell her that wasn’t how it worked.
A few minutes later Helena dismissed them all and sat back into her chair, lighting another cigarette. She looked over at the man holding her ashtray, wondering what he thought of all of it. She blew smoke rings into his face idly, just because she could.
“Did you recognize the prayer?” she asked the former president. He shook his head. He’d been made a mute when the capital fell.
“Figures. You should’ve spent more time with your grandchildren. It’s song lyrics, 90% of it. Same with the whole Tome of the Dogma. There’s a reason the first thing I did was get rid of copyright law.”
Helena shook her head, throwing away the cigarette as she rummaged around for something stronger. “I should’ve thought of this damned Chicago thing *months* ago.”
\-----------
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-03-13T09:38:19 | 2021-03-13T09:08:51 | 283 | 81 |
[WP] A bed ridden child is given solace by the monster under the bed.
Life's been dull. Make me feel.
EDIT: Wonderful stuff, everyone. Thanks for the stories. | "*...you...don't...leave...*"
Eli lifted his head off the pillow. He *did* hear it this time, he was sure of it.
Four days after school let out for the summer, he had convinced himself that there was a monster under the bed. He'd be drifting off to sleep, only to hear soft noises in his room, like a mouse or a vole skittering across the floor. Sometimes he thought he heard a low humming, like a song, but he didn't recognize it. When it was light, he went under the bed and moved his box of Legos, the bulky wooden train set his Mom still wouldn't let him get rid of, the bag of broken Power Ranger figures. There was nothing there but dust. That night he was finally brave enough to tell his Mom, afraid she would laugh at him or tell him he was too old for monsters. Instead she smiled, and said "I have just the thing."
That night, when she tucked him in, she brought in his book along with a spray can. It was white with a red top, and had "MONSTER SPRAY" written in marker across the front. "It keeps monsters from coming into your room and living under your bed," she explained. She kissed him goodnight, tucked up his covers, and bent down to put a few short bursts of the monster spray under the bed. He thought it smelled like the apple pie-scented scratch-and-sniff sticker he got at school last year. "That should do it. Goodnight, sweetie. Love you." Eli hugged his stuffed dog and smiled. He waited a few minutes, and didn't hear anything. *It worked!* he thought, and drifted off to sleep.
Now it was October, and Eli's mom brought the heavy quilts down from the big closet. The large patchwork quilt from Grama was on the bed, and he fingered one of the worn patches, listening for the voice. He took a deep breath, and moved slightly so his head was hanging over the edge of the bed.
"*...you...don't...leave...*"
"Whaddya mean?" he whispered.
"*...you...when it is bright. Used to leave the room. Your bed. Come back when it is dark. But not now.*"
"No, I don't," he slowly whispered back. "I got sick this summer. Real bad." He tried not to cry. No summer camp or afternoons at the pool, just repeated hour long car trips to the children's hospital. He had to stay in the hospital the entire month of July, which really sucked (one of the new words he learned from watching too much daytime TV). He didn't want to think about how much he hurt, all the time.
"*When will you leave?*"
"I dunno. Mom says we're waiting for some tests. She said she'll tell me." He paused. "Do *you* want to leave?" he whispered.
"*I cannot. You are here.*" He heard a low sigh. "*When you leave for the day, then I can leave also.*"
Eli thought a minute. "I'll let you know when I'll be leaving, is that okay?"
"*...yes. I will be here. You...you sometimes do not sleep.*" the voice paused. "*You are not scared?*"
Eli thought another minute. "No, not now that we're talking. I'm sorry you're stuck under there."
"*I am sorry you cannot leave.*" There was a long pause. "*I...misjudged. The smell. I liked the smell. I did not leave in time.*"
Eli thought yet another minute. Smell? What smell....OH, thought Eli, and started to giggle. "Did you like my Mom's Monster Spray?"
He heard a huff from under the bed. "*It was pleasant. C-could you be afraid? Again? To the large human?*"
That made Eli giggle even more. "Sure," he whispered. "I'll tell my Mom the monster is still under the bed. Tomorrow."
"*Thank you.*"
"You're welcome." Eli smiled. Maybe he could stand staying in bed for a little while longer.
| I don't kill kids.
'Then why are you under my bed?'
Because I eat kids.
'But I'm alive!'
For now. You're sick.
'Daddy said I'm gonna get better. He said even though I'm sick, they're gonna bring in the best doctor and he's gonna make me better.'
Maybe that's the case. But I'm down here just in case.
'In case what?'
In case you die. Then I'm going to eat you.
'I'm NOT gonna DIE!'
Probably. When your father was sick like this, I was under his bed too. But he got better.
'Really? When was my dad sick?'
When he was a boy. About your age.
'Was he as sick as me? Because the doctors said that I shouldn't leave the house for a long time, until I'm better.'
Sicker. I thought he died more than once, I almost took a bite. But then he would wake up and tell me to go away.
'Well you're not going to eat me, monster. My dad is going to take care of me and make me all better. You should find somebody else's bed to hide under.'
Maybe. But there's still a chance. | 2014-05-19T08:55:41 | 2014-05-19T08:26:44 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | “It’s not about the results, son,” my father said. “It’s about doing things the right way.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain…but even if you get the result you want sometimes, that might not happen again the next time. You might not get as lucky. If you do it the right way every time, you’ll be rewarded the same way, hopefully.”
“I thought it’s about trying your best?”
He shook his head, the first of many times he would repeat that gesture throughout my life.
“You’ll see.”
\-
The referee could blow his whistle at any second. Coach called me over.
“Get us a goal, kid.”
“How?”
He smiled. “You always seem to find a way.”
His words don’t quite give me hope, or belief, but they make me realize I have to try. That’s how it always is for me in life. Don’t worry about how things will work out. Just do something. Anything more than nothing.
I get the ball on the right, just past midfield. There is a bit of space, so I run with the ball. I’m not the fastest or best dribbler, but I do my best.
I’m in the box now. Everyone is screaming. I look around. No teammates. Defenders closing in. I close my eyes, and kick as hard as I can…
The ball goes horribly awry. It’s not even on target. But then it happens. A defender can’t quite slide out of the way in time, and it ricochets off him and into the goal!
My teammates mob me. I take a second, and look up in the stands. My mom is jumping for joy along with everyone else, but all I can see is my dad, shaking his head…
\-
I think about that a lot. How they would all shake their head if they were to see how I operate. If the city could see how their hero stopped robberies by accidentally headbutting the lead robber and knocking both of us out, or prevented a suicide by falling off the building first and scaring the jumper off doing it, or any of the other mishaps-turned-miracles, would they still call me a hero?
In the end, that doesn’t matter. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. With me there, doing something, I like to think things are better off.
The kids are strong, just realizing how much they can bully and boss people around with their growing frames.
“Hey,” I say. “He’s got nothing. Why rob a hobo?”
They turn around, and smile when they see me. “Good point. We’ll do you instead.”
I walk towards them, and then start to run at them when they do. I close my eyes, and I slip on the ice-
And slide right into one of the goons. I hear a horrible crack, and when I look, his friends are trying to quiet his screaming, loading him up into a car, going away.
I stand up, and walk towards the hobo.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“That was something,” he said.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I was trying to-“
“What are you apologizing for? Without you, I’d have nothing to eat tonight.”
“I wish it didn’t have to happen that way.”
He shrugs, and smiles. “But it did, didn’t it? And look at what happened. You scared those punks off. That’s all that matters, in my book.”
I look at my jeans, wet and stained with the dirty ice. “Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | "But why mom?"
"Because its the wrong way to do it,son"
I listen back to the tape, again and again. My thoughts flow endlessly. Emotions slowly numbing down from my brain affecting the elderly couple near me.
"Sir, She doesn't have much time left.. I'll take all responsibility, please help",pleaded the old man.
lying down was a feeble woman, beyond help. Pale with no color in her eyes. The look that's ready to accept death.
I cock the gun. The tape drowning out my nervousness as it keeps repeating. Maybe i can help. The only way i know, is the wrong way.
"The way to save a life, is by taking it away." | 2019-05-27T22:44:20 | 2019-05-27T22:36:12 | 379 | 228 |
[WP] Across the galaxy, a synthetic drug known as "Fury" is illegal everywhere due to its effects on the mind and body, humans call it Adrenalin and they can make it naturally. | On any other day, Ananka Intergalactic would be a bustling spaceport. Its terminals would be saturated with people of all manor of species, eager to board one of the hundreds of ships that passed through each hour, descending and departing in an uninterrupted stream. And this was the smallest spaceport in the city.
But for approximately one hour, all activity ceased. All shops lining the corridors were closed, and a mandatory curfew was put in place for all hostel guests. Anyone else was required to leave. The terminals were reduced to ghost towns within minutes.
For the first time, a human was visiting the inner worlds.
Fifteen minutes in the silence, a luxury cruiser descended on one of the outer platforms, closer to the highway. Several robotic hands extended from the platform's perimeter to hold the ship firmly in place. Then a boarding bridge extended to the ship's airlock, protecting the royal guest from the elements.
A lone human exited the craft, wearing a spacesuit like armor. "Nicole Schultz, diplomat," she introduced herself in the local tongue to a half dozen personnel awaiting her inside. They wore black protective padding, and openly carried ballistic weapons.
Nicole would have described the locals as roughly humanoid, with two legs, two arms, and a head in roughly the correct places. Their bodies were covered in a sort of grey hair, except the hairs were quite thin, like the bristles of a feather. Most wore light clothing, regardless of season, for fashion rather than protection. Not unlike how humans wear jewelry.
"Come with us," one of them replied. "Don't stray, and don't speak to any civilians."
They first brought her through a security checkpoint, where she was searched and scanned for any unauthorized possessions.
"This would have been easier without the suit," said the guard scanning her with a handheld reader. "Isn't the atmosphere breathable to you?"
"The air in the suit is purified and clean." She said.
Upon completing the security scan, she was escorted outside. The roads were desolate; the security perimeter extended beyond the airport boundary. Three armored vehicles awaited her outside. The chassis were made of black plates, and windowless. They had no wheels either, but seemed to hover. Nicole was herded into the back of the middle vehicle. Then her escorts filed in, two to each vehicle, and the vehicles took off.
"What's with this?" Nicole asked, motioning to the wire cage separating her from her escorts.
One of them, presumably the driver, didn't react, but kept both eyes fixed on a video feed from the front of the car and steered with a large joystick. The other turned and said, "All the seats up here are taken" while tilting his hand. The local equivalent of a shrug.
"I didn't pay a fortune to be treated like a prisoner," she said.
"And I could have had a day off," the guard replied. "But I have to keep my eyes on you because of all the drugs in your veins. A vial of your blood is strong enough to kill someone."
"I must be the galaxy's most dangerous drug-pusher, with a security detail like this." She scoffed. "Are you really this worried I'm going to escape, sell my body, and corrupt your children?"
"Oh, you have no idea."
Just then, the motorcade began to slow down. The streets were clogged with people. Red lights flashed ahead as law enforcement was working to disperse the crowd. The armored cars slowed to a crawl at moments but never stopped. Nicole heard the dull thuds of objects thrown against the vehicle. On the video feed, she could see several protestors holding signs, but sitting so far back she could only read one: "Chemicals kill."
"Why couldn't I have the luxury of a flying cab?" Nicole asked.
"It's faster, but more dangerous," the guard said curtly.
Not a moment later, a car idly rolled through an intersection on a collision course. The driver of the armored car braked just in time to avoid hitting it, and it continued to roll by, as if unmanned. At the same time, a series of rapid impacts struck the top and rear of the chassis. From inside, the sound was muffled like heavy rain, but Nicole knew it must be gunfire.
Nicole was shaking a little, but both guards were unfazed. The passenger guard continued, "You see, you're in the largest city the galaxy has ever known."
Nicole's car sped up again, while the car in front slowed a little until they caught up. The driver shouted to hold onto something. Then they rounded a tight turn at high speed, throwing Nicole from one side of the cage to the other.
"So when crime does occur, it strikes _hard_," the guard said.
They almost reached the government center. It was walled enclosure, like a primitive city embedded inside this one. Its distinctive gate, an ornate two-story solid steel plate adorned with white gold, lie directly ahead.
"D-do they want me to leave that badly?" She asked.
"The ones with the guns _don't_ want you to leave. They're trying to get _you_. That's the problem."
Gunshots continued to be fired, both from behind them, and now from the walls in front of them.
"No, no, no," The guard let out a coarse laugh. "I am not worried you will escape and sell yourself. But if you have a death wish, I won't stop you."
High rises on either side of the armored motorcade gave way to the open parks that extended a half kilometer outside the walls. This was to give its sentries complete visibility of any who approached. The solid steel gate rose like a portcullis to meet them, and slammed shut behind. | "So let me get this straight. You're detaining us for the possession of 'Fury'?" It was a doctor saying this. He was experienced in human endocrinology and spent quite some time studying chemistry in undergrad. "And, in your investigations, you recognize that this chemical is actually what we call adrenaline?" He was standing before a veritable Extraterrestrial Drug Enforcement Agency (EDEA) and smiling at the absurdity of the situation at hand. He had been hand-picked for this job, of negotiating their sentence for their crimes. "Heh- Do you even know what adrenaline is?"
"We already told you." The head law enforcement officer said this. "We know what the drug is. It is a drug we call 'Fury' and some of you have as much as 2500 ng coursing through your bodies." The entire human race was sequestered in a bunker aboard the ship. They were shockingly small compared to the alien race around them. "To make things worse, you - the only fully sentient species on 'Earth' - have decided to take it upon yourself to poison other animals with the chemical. Your whole planet is running with 'Fury.'" The alien sighed in frustration. "That's it. We're going to have to take you in. All of you."
"But- but wait. You don't understand! We can't help it!" In the distance, through a clear panel on the ship, he could see the ship containing the entire human race turning and moving away from the Earth towards whatever destination these officials had in mind. "We *make* Fury. We make it with our bodies! It's not something we can control. It's like *breathing*!"
The alien turned and made an alarming face before asking, "*breathing*?" It was a look of surprise, apparently. "What is 'breathing'?"
The doctor watched as the ship disappeared in a flash. "It's how we take in oxygen to survive. We need oxygen to- nevermind. It doesn't matter! We cannot control that we make it. It's a natural process. It's biological..." He watched the alien carefully for any change in expression, but it was hard to gauge emotions with these creatures.
"*Natural*... *Biological*... Hm... Well that changes everything." The doctor heard a tone carry through a receiver. "We'll bring the other humans back but we need your help."
"My help with what?" The doctor was utterly perplexed by this change in attitude and behavior. "What do you need my help with?"
"Well... We're kind of in search for a drug to counteract the effects of fury..." | 2018-03-18T18:29:40 | 2018-03-18T16:30:20 | 182 | 127 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | I was shocked when I found out that yes, demons were exactly that stupid. They were so keen on making deals, they forgot to use their brains.
And thank god for that, because otherwise, Earth would have been screwed.
After the whole prophecy shenanigans, I was trying to get rid of that growing lump of cells inside my belly. I was trying to get rid of it in any way possible.
Deadly poison? Didn’t work. It was like drinking vodka. Made me a bit tipsy, and that was it.
A nice kick to the stomach? Broke that poor lad’s kneecap.
I was trying to jump off a very tall building for crying out loud, but alas, as I hit the damp street below, I was completely fine. I did send quite the shockwave, though. Many shattered windows and pissed off store owners were the direct result of my actions. Also many who looked at me like I’m spider man or something of the sort. I did do that stunt during midday, so it was probably my fault for letting so many people believe in the improbable.
The government of course caught me soon after. Videos of me jumping off that building and staying alive spread like fire, and soon enough Twitter was full of users claiming I unlocked my inherited 6G radiation genes because Jeff Bezos used the magnetism in my blood from the covid vaccine.
It was funny enough. I mean, I couldn’t just jump off a 20-story building and expect to walk away like nothing- I didn’t expect that. It was my failsafe: if the fall would not have killed me, maybe the government would.
They ran tests on me. Shot me. Froze me. They put me in a metal cage and held it above flames. They took cell sample after cell sample after cell sample.
I was into it all, obviously. I was into anything that might help me get rid of the cursed baby that was mocking me all the way from the inside of my stomach. But it was all in vain. Whatever it was that kept me from dying- it was not something natural. My DNA was not altered, nor was my skin unbreakable. If I was cut, it bled. Only when I was in true mortal danger, suddenly I became invincible, and one thing became increasingly clear: That evil thing that was festering inside me did not want to die.
The scientists slowly gave up, and so I was at my wits end. I went to the church and prayed and prayed and prayed some more. No answer.
Then, a very rare eureka moment happened.
And so I went at night to a field of rye. The air was warm and smelled fresh, and I walked around until I found a tree above which the stars aligned perfectly. I summoned a demon from the realm of Hell, and told her I’d like to be successful in this lifetime, and I’d give anything to have that.
“Everything? Even your unborn child?” The demon asked with a toothy smile that was a bit too big, and stretched the corners of her mouth to the middle of her cheeks.
“Anything.” I said, smiling on the inside. I was this close to parting ways with the terror inside.
We concluded the deal with a handshake, after which a huge relief washed over me, because I could no longer feel the unholy child in my belly.
The demon suddenly screamed in pain, and vanished in a cloud of smoke and black snakes of fire.
It had began.
That demon unknowingly just unleashed something in hell, something that devours realms and creates chaos. Something so evil, it’s presence would destroy the place.
Would turn it into a pink paradise of madness and torture.
My baby.
Dolores Jane Umbridge. | Iosef rubbed his rough, callused hands over the swollen belly of his wife Mariam. Years of carpentry made them weathered beyond their years.
"Hey little one."
Right on cue the baby inside kicked hard.
"oof" exclaimed Mariam.
"Gently..." she cooed to her child.
Her eyes looked at her husband pleadingly, his hands now on a stone tablet and chisel, eyes fixed on the box containing the Rings. Whosoever controlled the Rings could manipulate reality and turn thought to truth.
He nodded. Her eyes hardened and glinted like cold diamonds. She nodded too, then he began to etch their names into the contract | 2022-08-31T19:52:37 | 2022-08-31T16:55:56 | 88 | 12 |
[WP] Your daughter never feared the dark or being alone, she says because of her imaginary friend. The school child psychologist tells you the imaginary friend is very unusual and shows you a crayon picture of it, an 8 foot knight in black armor with a broadsword. | The psychologist's office was decorated cheerfully, with lots of colorful pictures of cartoon characters on the wall, and the shelves had just as many toys as they did books.
Jack was more interested in the psychiatrist himself. Dr. Tollin was a few years older than Jack was, probably in his early 40's, and was just starting to go soft around the middle. But this actually worked to his advantage. It gave his a friendly, jovial appearance that probably did wonders to put kids at ease.
"Hello, Mr. Adams, it's lovely to finally meet you." Dr. Tollin said while extending his hand.
"Likewise. Both Mary and Susie say great things about you. Sorry Mary couldn't be here, by the way. She had an important meeting and couldn't make it."
"That's fine. Have a seat."
Jack took a seat in one of the adult sizes chairs in the room, while the doctor sat across from him.
"First of all, let me say that Susie is wonderful little girl."
"Well, I alredy knew that." Jack said, beaming with fatherly pride.
"She is active, energetic, and has a wonderful imagination."
Jack felt a twinge in his stomach. "Why do I sense a but coming?"
"I wouldn't say this is a bad thing, not by a long shot. She is, how shall I say this...unusually brave. Normally, six year olds like her have some very understandable fears. The dark, parental separation, being alone in unknown places, that sort of thing. But Susie doesn't have any of those. She had no objection when your wife left her with me, nor did she have any problems talking to me, a total stranger."
"Okay, so she's braver than other kids, what about it?"
Dr. Tollin got up and began rummaging through a stack of papers on one of the many shelves in the office.
"Susie says that she has no reason to be afraid of that sort of thing because her friend protects her. Now, having an imaginary friend is nothing unusual, most kids have one. But Susie's is... different. Here, she drew a picture."
The paper he held out to Jack had a crayon drawing that he immediately recognized as being his daughter's style, such as it was. It was crude, sure, but he felt that no other kid drew like his little girl did.
The picture was of a man, dressed all in black. He was big, and angular. Odd, considering Susie usually drew people much rounder. The man held a long, grey object in one hand. It was almost as thick as the man's arm, but ended in a point. His other hand held a red triangle like object. It was crude, but he could guess what it all was.
"She said his name is Sir Edmar. According to her, this Knight is taller than anyone else, wears black armor, and is always holding his sword and shield."
Jack had been right. It was just such a distinct thing that it was had to mistake. Especially for him.
"She told me the story of how they met." Dr. Tollin continued. "Which, in and of itself is odd, because children don't usually meet their imaginary friends, they simply think them up. But Sir. Edmar is apparently different. As Susie tells it, he came up to her one day while she was on the playground. He went to one knee and said she was his princess reborn, and so it was his duty to protect her with his life. She was rather excited with the idea of being a princess, of course."
"I bet she was." Jack said.
Susie did love everything to do with princesses. She devoured anything to do with them. She read stories about them, watched movies with them, and even dressed up as them every chance she got. It was adorable, but could be frustrating for her parents.
"So she has an imaginary friend that's a knight. Sounds like her."
Dr. Tollin shifted in his seat. "Well, that's the thing. I'm...I'm not convinced she did make him up."
"What do you mean?" Jack asked with creased brows.
"During our last session, I asked if I could talk with Sir Edmar, with her acting as a mouthpiece, saying everything he did word for word. The words that came out of that girl's mouth should not come out of a little girl's mouth. The way spoke, the things she said. None of it sounded like a child. The language was like something you hear in a Shakespeare play, and she talked about the middle ages like she had seen it with her own eyes. Not just read about it in a book, but really saw it."
"Doctor, what exactly are you saying? Are you seriously saying my daughter is, what, possessed by a mideval knight? Do you know how insane that sounds?"
"I know, I know. I don't want to believe it either. But I don't have any other explanation. Even something like multiple personality disorder can't explain what Susie said that day. I just don't understand what's happening, but it might be something that goes beyond modern understanding."
The room fell into silence. Jack considered what he had been told. About what it meant, and what he, as Susie's father, could do. If, and how, he could help his baby girl.
"What should I do?" Jack asked.
The doctor shook his head and sighed. "Honestly, I have no idea. This is unlike anything I've ever seen before. I'm not sure I'm qualified to deal with this. Hell, I don't know if anyone alive is. But, I'll keep talking to her as long as you bring her to me. I'll also look around and see if there's other experts on this sort of thing out there, and what they say. If not, well, maybe look into...other kinds of people who specialize in such abnormalities."
"What, like, psychics and stuff?"
"Maybe. I honestly don't know. I'm sorry I can't say more."
"No, it's fine. I'll...I'll talk to Mary about it when I get home."
Both men stood and shook hands again.
"I'll understand if you don't want to bring Susie back here." Dr Tollin said as Jack left. "But if you do, I'll do whatever I can to figure out what's happening."
"Thanks, doctor. I'll keep that in mind."
He left the office and went through the halls. His eyes darted around, checking for other people. It was not until he was sure he was alone that he spoke next.
"Well? What do you think?"
A figure dressed in brilliant golden armor appeared at Jack's side. The figure towered over Jack, standing at well over seven feet tall. It clutched a massive halberd in it's armored hands.
"Edmar is a good knight." The golden armored man said. "Loyal, strong and vigalent. Perhaps not the most intelligent fellow, but he is unwavering in his duty. He will be a fine guardian for your daughter, sire."
"Good. Thank you, Rothin. You may go until I call you."
Sir. Rothin clapped his armored free hand to his chest before the ghostly warrior vanished. Jack continued down the hall, lost in thought. He had a lot to think about, and even more to plan for. |
“Good night sweet heart.” Jacob said as he kissed his daughter, Melody, on the forehead. With a click, the lamp was off and the pale glow spilling in from the hallway was the only light in the room. As he got up from the bed, Melody stared intently at one corner. A smile crept across her face. Jacob turned to see what she was looking at. Something felt off about the corner. It almost seemed darker than any other point in the room. Like a void was there that swallowed up the very essence of the universe. Melody giggled. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“What’s so funny honey?”
“It’s just my friend! He has this funny trick with his head!”
Jacob clicked the lamp back on. The only thing in the corner was a stuffed unicorn. He felt like a paranoid fool.
“Sleep tight love bug.”
They had been having issues with Melody for a little while now. Her school had called to them that she was acting up. She didn’t really have any friends and would sit alone on the playground talking to herself. She didn’t really try to make any friends. She would tell the teachers that it was easier to manage him when she didn’t have to worry about anyone else. When they asked her who she meant by “him” she would simply giggle and point behind them. Today they were meeting with school child psychologist to find out why.
“This is just weird,” Liz told her husband on the way over. “Like, she’s always so happy. She goes and plays outside, she always does her homework on time, and she’s always going on and on about those really imaginative stories she comes up with. Like, it’s weird, ya know? Usually it’s like the sad, quiet kid that has these issues.”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem, maybe she’s just in her own head too much.”
“Oh sweetie, are you worried she may have gotten it from you?”
“Of course I’m worried Liz. Everyone fucks up their kids one way or another, now we’re finding out in what way ours is.”
“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. Even if she doesn’t make a lot of friends she’s a good kid. Besides, she’ll always have us.”
The school they sent Liz to was a nice one. One might even describe it as a posh. The ivory gates came with the downside of an exorbitant tuition and an especially vicious group of gossiping parents but it was all worth it for their little Melody. The benefits of the school were already being reaped since the school had called this meeting. While shopping around, this school had boasted that they had the best child psychologist in the state. It was a nice thing to hear but Jacob and Liz never thought it would be a service they would use.
“Hello!” the psychologist greeted them with a surprising level of joy. “You must be Melody parents! Come in, come in! I’m Dr. Sinclair.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person as well, this is my husband Jacob.”
“Oh Melody raves about her big, brave dad all the time. You have a lovely child.”
“We certainly think so Doc,” Jacob said. “But can we skip to the matter at hand?”
“Oh, yes, certainly. Please take a seat. So as you both know, Melody has been a little uhh anti-social. Yesterday she actually got in a fight with a girl.”
“What?!”
“We would have called sooner but Melody was not the instigator and we knew you were both coming in today. Melody was completely fine. The teacher on duty said it looked like when the other girl went to hit her she fell over. She asked Melody if she was okay and your daughter said that he protected her.”
“I’m not following,” Jacob interjected. “Who he?”
“Well that’s the thing. She never really tells us definitively but I think she’s referring to her imaginary friend. I managed to get her to make this drawing off him the other day.”
Dr. Sinclair reached in her desk and pulled out a piece of purple construction paper. Etched onto its surface in crayon was a crudely drawn picture of Melody. She was wearing her favorite red sneakers and her blonde hair was almost right shade of yellow. Her right arm was lifted in the air, following it one could see that it was extended to hold a hand in a black gauntlet. Standing beside her was an 8 foot tall knight in black armor. A broadsword rested at his waist. Between his shoulders was open air and in his free hand he held his helmet.
“Fuck,” Liz said.
“Honey what’s wrong?”
“You didn’t fuck up our kid Jacob. She got this one all from me.” | 2019-08-10T16:35:29 | 2019-08-10T16:22:28 | 58 | 12 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | How the devil was I supposed to get rid of her? This nightmare I had unwittingly assumed responsibility for? She might be the death of me. Already, she'd torn down several priceless antique tapestries to redecorate, defiled my inner sanctum with flowers painted on the stone wall, and had the place guards roast my prisoners alive. I'd needed the prisoners for information! And as for why the palace guards were dumb enough to take orders from the five foot one, petite, blue eyed, blonde haired creature, was beyond me.
'That's not true,' a voice whispered in my mind. 'They obey her, because they are far more scared of her, than they are of you.' I waved the irritating voice away. No way in the nine pits of the infernal realm was that itty bitty girl more...
"DARLING!" I shuddered. Please no. "Look what I found for us!" She chirped. Her voice was so annoying. And her laughter was even worse. Every second of it caused me to cringe.
I turned to face her. "Why aren't you in your cell?" I demanded.
She pouted. "But DARLING!" She whined. "It's so boring in there. I'd much rather be out here with you! And look what I brought you!" She beamed as she held out a human finger, dripping blood onto my expensive gold inlay carpet.
"Why do you have a finger?" I asked in exasperation.
"Not a finger silly. It's a ring!" She smiled so innocently. As I took a second look, there was indeed a ring encircling the base of the finger. Lovely. "Well what are you waiting for!" She demanded excitedly. "I brought you a ring so you could propose!"
She forced the finger into my hand, and I realized it was still warm.
"Whose finger did you cut off?"
Her lip curled, and she rolled her blue eyes. "Some peasant girl who refused to give her ring to me. So I took it from her. And then she was making the awful noise, so I removed her head too."
Annabelle? My chef! SON OF A WHORE! She'd killed my chef? What would the men eat? How was I going to feed my personal guard? Who was going to make my favorite cherry pie? "GUARDS!!!" I practically shrieked.
The large ornate doors from the palace of a sultan opened wide to admit a dozen men. "Yes my lord." The replied in unison. Befitting of well trained, highly skilled warriors.
"Take this wretch from my sight. I never wish to see her again. Send her to a dungeon, or better yet, back to her own people!"
The guards began to move, but froze when the princess shot a glare in their direction.
"Now darling..." her voice was furiously cold. "It sounds like you don't love me anymore. That makes me most unhappy." Green flames began dancing upon her fingertips. Magic. By the infernal pits, she was a witch!
"Sire!" A voice shouted. A messenger arrived. "Urgent message, sire!"
The messenger held forth a missive. Delivered it to my hands, and shot from the hall. I very calmly used the situation to my advantage, and calmly broke the wax seal, and unfold the parchment.
It read:
"Dearest Champion,
It is with the greatest pleasure that I write you concerning my daughter. Having received her letter..."
I stopped. "Who in the bleeding..." I shut my lips and breathed heavily for several seconds. "Who let her send a message to her father?! I demanded.
"Daddy?" She asked with joy.
"Know what? I don't care. Never mind. We'll find out later."
I continued.
"Having received her letter, I am overjoyed at the news of your betrothal. I have long awaited the day her mother and I could relax safe in the knowledge that a capable young man is taking care of our sweet blossom. You have a full pardon, and my blessing. I am most honored to call you my Son in Law.
Signed,
His Royal Majesty,
King Marcus Antoine Diogenes the Third,
Your Father in Law.
P.S. I expect grandchildren with in two years.
P.P.S. No Take Backs."
"Married?" I asked in disbelief.
"SURPRISE!" She shouted. She ripped the finger from my hand, yanked the ring off, placed it between my fingers and slid it on her own finger within a matter of second. "Congratulations to us! We're married!" She began dragging me back to my own bedchambers. And as one, my guard turned around and marched toward the door.
"Wait," I demanded. "Halt! Where do you think you're going? Stop! Come back here you cowards!" The large oak doors swung shut. 'Please.' I prayed. 'If there's a god above, please save me from this nightmare. I just wanted kingdom, not a wife. Certainly not this wife. I promise I'll turn my life around. I'll even dedicate it to good! I don't even care about the kingdom anymore. Honest.'
"Shmookums, you know what this means, right? You're the next king of our kingdom!" As she dragged me through the small door at the very back right of the throne room, I had one more chance to look at the hall where I'd been a freeman, soiled by the sight of yellow daisies slathered across the wall, before the door slammed shut.
| I need to give her back. She is vengeful, vindictive, vile, and absolutely marvelous, but this is not sustainable. She’s already on her way to controlling the tri-state area, and I didn’t even manage that over the last few years.
“Hey Stacy, we need to talk,” I try to ease her into it. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think it would be best for you to go back to Mario. What I’ve turned you into, it’s weighing on me. You need to go back to your life of good before it’s too late for you.” I lie, hoping she doesn’t notice. There is no way I turned her into this, it had to be here all along.
Stacy hangs her head and my heart sinks. I am an evil overlord, I shouldn’t be feeling guilty, but here I am.
Her head still hung, she begins to reason, “you don’t know what you’re saying Heinz. We have something great here; we have so much potential. We’re about to take over the tri-state area, and there’s nothing that can hold us back from here. I can read between the lines though. I see you don’t want me around. I guess I’ll just do this on my own.” Without moving, her eyes raise to meet my gaze. I begin to see the fire in the whites of her eyes. What have I done.
She pulls a big red button out of her lab coat pocket and immediately pushes it. Before I have any time to react, I feel my ankle become constricted. I look down to find a wire tight around my left ankle and the slack being pulled into the darkness of the room. Without warning, my leg is pulled out from under me and I find myself hung by my leg.
“I’m sorry,” I say out of breath. I don’t have any excuses to give, all I know is that I do feel bad.
“Sorry doesn’t change anything. You have no idea what you’re going to miss, and you will accomplish nothing without me.” She begins to walk towards the door but stops in her tracks. Stacy swings around and walks with purpose to the bathroom. I’m confused to say the least, but I suppose the bladder doesn’t care if you’re evil or not.
Stacy quickly walks out of the bathroom and towards the door. As the front door is closing behind her, she leaves me with one last statement. “I flipped the toilet paper to dispense underneath.” The door slamming behind her.
I take a moment to take in what just happened. Before long, I find myself smiling, as that was the most evil thing she could have done. | 2018-02-09T05:27:35 | 2018-02-09T04:45:21 | 63 | 16 |
[WP] A fairy invites a vampire into her home. Vampires have dominion over whoever invites them to their home, and fairies have dominion over anyone who violates the laws of hospitality. The vampire is trying to maneuver himself to eat the fairy without the fairy being able to declare him a bad guest | “Come in” I said. His lips parted, blood-red and wet. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. He entered the house like a tiger, all soft poise and velveted violence.
He was beautiful, or he intended to be. A vampire’s glamour only works on us when we choose it to. I allowed his glamour to slip from my sight for a second. I glanced from the corner of my eye at the shrivelled corpse, reeking of gravesoil and maggots, skin split about the joints, bone gleaming white beneath. It was a gruesome sight and I allowed the glamour to cover it gratefully. It was one thing to allow an unkillable fiend to enter one’s home, it was quite another to permit anything ugly in one’s presence.
Perhaps it thought I would be easy pickings, it must recognise my nature of course, my own glamour was thick upon me, but it would itself be able to peer beneath, with a level of commensurate strain. But there were fae and there were fae of course, and perhaps he had never met a knave of the court before. We rarely came into the mundane lands these days, and then only for brief visits.
But I was not a fae of the hedgerows or the haystacks. No, I was old enough and ken enough to avoid offering it food or drink. It was the expected duty of a host, and a minor offence not to do so, but the only thing the shambling corpse could consume that was within my power to offer was myself. If I offered it food and drink, without specificity, and failed to provide it with anything it could eat, it would have guest right over me, and no fae could fail to be bound by that, not even the Queen of the Dance herself.
So, “Would you like a cup of tea?” I asked politely. The tall, breathtakingly-handsome man in perfect formal dress hesitated, suddenly wary. I wondered what it would do, how closely it was aware of the local etiquette. I had presented myself as a local, tweed trousers and jacket, brogues, and a cane, and not just for my own mild amusement. It had purpose.
It smiled with a politeness no less than my own and gave a short bow. “Of course, my sincerest thanks”, it said with another blood-red smile, yet its eyes still like pools of night, untouched by warmth of feeling or sign of self within.
It could not drink the tea, but a refusal would have been insulting, given the context I had set out. A small offence, but it would have led to insistence and therefore further refusal and greater offence. It may have allowed me to force a breach, or just to place the parasite on the back foot. He may have avoided that trap, but his acceptance of the tea came with its own caltrops, given his inability to drink it.
I continued the dance. I smiled warmly, my glamour giving an air of openness and trust. “My name is Niamh of the Hills and Fields, third Knave to the Laughing Knight”, I introduced myself offering my hand. Again he paused, unsure.
I had given him my true name. If he gave me the false name he was currently using then it would be a grave insult to his host, yet if he gave me his true name it would be an admission of his nature, and a potential threat, another insult. I prided myself on such traps, the offering of a binary choice, each option being as dangerous as the other. The creature was hesitating too long. He was obviously unused to fairy play.
“I am pleased to meet you, Niamh of the Hills and Fields,” he suddenly said smoothly, taking my hand and bowing over it. “And I thank you for your trust in giving me such honour as to receive your true name. Alas my own name is too poor and false for this honour, for I have left my previous life behind me, and I cannot allow such an ignoble past to stain the beauty of your gift. As my glorious host, and most noble courtier of the kindly lands, I grant you the right to name me anew, so that I may forever bear a small portion of the great honour you have bestowed upon me tonight.”
My jaw tightened as my thoughts instantly flashed to white-hot flame. The creature had seen both sides of the trap and evaded them with esoteric skill unbecoming from one who was barely more than animal, and whose breath stank such of nightsoil. My vision went red for an instance and behind my back wicked claws flashed sharp and long upon my hands for the length of half a thought. But as quickly as my rage came upon me, it left in another mercurial flash. Inside I danced a jig with exquisite delight. This evidently wasn’t his first rodeo. Perhaps this would be a more diverting game than I had thought.
EDIT: Part Two [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bpft8k/wp_a_fairy_invites_a_vampire_into_her_home/eo4ixt2/). | *It's been 4 hours by now, how is this still ongoing?!*
These were the thoughts of the two fantastical creatures currently amicably chatting in the dainty living room.
On the left of the room was seated Claudius Pepperwyng, the owner of the home. A musician in his spare time, the young fey was known for his high status in the Seelie court.
On the right, there was Maria Brimstein, a next-door neighbor to the fey lad. She recently moved into the neighborhood due to securing a job as a night guard for the mayor, a job which suited her vampiric tendencies.
Unbeknownst to Maria 5 hours ago, Claudius was known to make good use of the feyfolk's hexes, and was always eager to let people inside his home for the sole purpose of practicing them on his unsuspecting guests. It didn't take long for the fair vampire to catch on to his antics and realize the predicament she was in.
Likewise, Claudius didn't notice at first that the woman who knocked on his door that night was one of vampiric descent. It was only after catching a glimpse of those trademark fangs when he invited her inside did he realize his blunder.
Maria was starving for a good vein, and it had been far too long since Claudius had a visitor.
It was an understatement to call the situation tense.
Gazes were locked onto each other, and faked chuckling interrupted the conversation every now and then. Neither party wanted to lose the fight.
Finally, signs of the sunrise started painting the sky, and Maria realized her time was up.
Putting on her best act, she excused herself as politely as she could to her host, for it was time that she take her leave.
Claudius nodded in agreement, smiling through gritted teeth and leading Maria towards the door.
Both individuals offered lie-filled thanks for the wonderful time it was getting to know the other.
Fittingly, they agreed to meet up again, both hoping to end the battle once and for all, now both of them armed with knowledge at their disposal. | 2019-05-16T13:51:56 | 2019-05-16T13:30:13 | 390 | 110 |
[WP] "Thank you, chap," you say cheerfully, "I'm glad to be out of there, the room service was rubbish." The prison guard who just released you from the 120 year sentence dropped the door keys on the cement in shock. | I lived in a hole at the bottom of the world.
I was the only thing living down here if you ignored the spiders, which I'd learned to do. It's easy to forget about something, down in the catacombs below the city streets. Particularly those things swept away to the secret places, the deep labyrinths where things are meant to be lost.
The humans left me here to die, or whatever it is things like *me* do instead of dying. And I could only wait in perfect darkness. Buried by eternity. Trapped by time.
Until the day the lock clicked.
I perked my head up, not quite believing my own ears.
The door hinged open. The darkness broke. A blinding beam of light appeared around the other side, flooding the dirt floor, the filthy stone walls, me and my dusty suit, wearing every bit of our age. A hand held the light. The face that appeared behind the light was moonlike, featureless until my eyes adjusted to the light.
But I didn't need to see the human to know he was there. The dizzying smell of him flooded my nose.
A feeling I hadn't lived in centuries quickened in me: hunger.
I had so carefully built walls around the curse of my torment. I could not die, no matter how much the emptiness in my belly tried to devour me. I learned to ignore the hunger. Pretend it did not exist.
But now. Now a few paces sat between me and the hot arterial pulse of fresh blood.
The human managed a lame, "No one is supposed to be here." The keys slipped from his hands. Keys as ancient as my prison. I had no time to wonder just how he found them.
The hunger nearly drove me out of my thin human skin. It burned like a lump of hot iron in my stomach, sizzling, spitting. I swallowed the impulse to fall into the teeth and scales of my true form and lunge across the floor. Rip out his jugular and feel the *thum-thum-thum* of his pulse that so maddened me.
But I kept my civility. I put on a smile, like I had not waited here in the infinite darkness, just hoping someone would be stupid enough to turn the lock. "You don't happen to know how long it's been, do you?"
He didn't answer. The drum of his heartbeat rose. He was nervous. Perhaps not as stupid as he looked.
"Are you letting me out?" I said. Then my eyes settled on the strange light in his hand. "What is *that?*"
The human let his mouth open and shut. "Uh. A flashlight." He half-turned in the door and said, backing out, "Look, man, I don't know what you're doing here, but--"
A thrill rose in my throat. I couldn't let him finish his sentence. It was too much.
The turn of his head. The delicate twitch of his neck as he swallowed his fear. I just couldn't help myself.
I lunged across the room and made short work of him there in the open door of the cell. He tasted like coins and a world of light, somewhere just above me.
I used the human's shirt to smear the blood from my face like a napkin. "Thank you," I told his corpse, fondly, "it's good to be out of there. Room service was rubbish."
I stepped over the body to pick up the torch of burning light off the floor. I turned it over in my hands and watched in wonder and delight as the light traced circles around the narrow tunnel.
"Flashlight," I repeated. I grinned until my incisors bit into my lower lip. "That's very handy, isn't it?"
What else had humans gotten up to in my absence?
I set off with the light toward the faraway hum of people, belly aching with a new hunger for humankind. | [Poem]
"Thank you dear chap
I waited and waited
Room service was rubbish
But that happens when fated
To live out 100 and 20 whole years-
I do say chap you've paled to your ears!"
***The keys went clink***
***On the prison floor***
***Guard staggered back***
***In shock, in awe***
**"What is this a prank? A folly or joke?"**
**"I swear to god if it was one of the blokes-"**
"I assure you dear sir,
I've been here a while
The time has since blurred
But the sentence untrialed
I've been sitting here since I was 1901
Convicted of killing the woman I loved
"But how? you may ask
Did you get to this fate?
Oh dear prison guard
It's never too late
But I've already told you about your mum
And how she was a whore with a massive bum | 2019-07-04T20:42:27 | 2019-07-04T20:30:50 | 352 | 63 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | I sat quietly up at the front of the classroom in my usual spot. I knew that being struck with gooey projectiles, or passed mean notes, or finding gum in my hair was a little less likely when I was directly under Mrs. Peterson's nose. I diligently focused on the lesson, and worked on the problem she put up on the board. Math was by no means my favorite subject, but nonetheless I dreaded the end of class because it meant I had to once again brave the masses of hellions I went to school with out in the hallways.
Ever since I was a little girl it had been like this. I'd adapted, of course, as all living things do. I learned to avoid my peers, always have adult witnesses around, and if worst came to worst I knew how to take a few blows then excuse myself in whatever manner most satisfied whoever was distributing them. At 14 I had long since learned to swallow my pride. Perhaps that was precocious of me, because it seemed like an ability none of my peers had yet mastered despite their highly functional and detailed sigils.
I was Blank. That's what everyone called me, because that's exactly what my sigil was; blank. An average sized sigil circle filled with nothing but the even and pale tone of my flesh where it was marked on my collarbone. I'd taken to wearing turtlenecks to cover it up, but today was unseasonably hot and it was displayed in all it's hollow glory around the strap of my pink tank top to anyone who chanced a glance.
As the bell rang I felt a hollow pit drop into my stomach. Despite my years of acclimatizing to the stigma that surrounded my very existence, the initial plunge into the depths of adolescent humanity after a class never got any less scary. I slowly packed up my things, waiting till all the rest of the students had left. Carrie Smithwick and her friends cast me a not so friendly glance as they exited last, and an ominous sensation gripped my throat, choking me. I looked towards Mrs. Peterson, for a moment contemplating pleading for assistance, but her next class was already filing in.
I caught several sharp shoulders as I made my way past the new class, clutching my backpack to my chest to try to protect myself. When I finally popped out past the choke in the doorway into the hall, she was there, waiting for me.
"Hi Blank. Why the stinkeye?" Carrie sneered, her group of friends giggled behind her like a deranged flock of twittering birds.
I swallowed, my palms sweaty, and resolved to placate her and hustle off to my Social Studies class. "I'm sorry, Carrie. I didn't mean to. My bad. See you!" I said as neutrally as I could muster and attempted to sidle past her.
Her hand whipped out and clutched me about the neck with superhuman speed, and she flung me to the dirty carpeted floor of the hallway. My backpack banged loudly against the lockers next to us as I lost my grip in the intense momentum of the movement. The complex constellation of Heracles the Kneeler sparkled on her forearm as she exerted her superhuman strength and speed to put me on the floor and put pressure on my throat.
Her friends whooped and cheered as I struggled to gasp in some small amount of air. I had been taken by surprise, caught mid breath, and my near empty lungs quickly began to burn from lack of oxygen.
"You know what, Blank? I think you're full of shit. I think you're just jealous that I have the best sigil in school and you have a useless skinny donut on your chest." All humor was gone, she was no longer sneering. She knelt over me, placing a knee on my gut to squeeze even more air out of me.
"Please…" I gasped as what little breath I had escaped me while I struggled beneath her.
"Don't think we didn't notice your slutty shirt, either. God you're pathetic. No matter how much skin you show Frankie's never gonna like you more than me, you Blank freakazoid. You couldn't just keep your eyes to yourself. You had to go around glaring at me and checking out my man. Maybe I should do something about that." An evil little smile curled the corners of her glitter glossed lips as she reached the end of her rant.
I clutched the wrist of the hand that grasped my neck and looked up at her with abject terror in my eyes as she reached behind herself and one of her friends handed her something. She turned around and displayed to me the pointed metal nail file she held in her well manicured hand with a devious grin.
"Maybe I'll just pop one of those evil little eyes out? A lot harder to glare and check out my man if you've only got one. It's not like you're gunna do anything about it, Blank. I mean, what can you do? Blank at me?!" she laughed and on cue her coterie of bird brains joined her with their burbling laughter.
She leaned close with the metal tip.
"No!" I gurgled, my flesh hot and tight in my face from being choked, my lungs screaming for reprieve. I must admit, I lost control.
The thing is…I did have a functional sigil. I just knew it was the kind to never be used. It wasn't blank. It was just, different.
I felt the cool, serrated plane of the file against my cheek as she drew it towards my right eye. Fear and rage that had been welling up in me like some kind of animal force built to a mighty crescendo; a force which the small thread of control I always maintained could not withstand. It snapped. I snapped. The empty circle on my collarbone filled with freezing blackness, and I could tell by the way Carrie froze and looked at me with some mixture of surprise and terror that my eyes had done the same, just like they had the last time…the only other time…that this had happened. My vision changed to shades of black, white, and grey. Life throbbed brightly in all those standing around me, except for Carrie.
A chill crept up her arm where she touched me which was visually apparent by the pallor that climbed up her otherwise tanned and rosy flesh. I watched as the bright glow of life that only I could see traveled down her arm and into me, filling me up with a feeling of power and wrath, and leaving her a dull dark grey husk absent of the illuminating force I saw in all other living beings. Although it only took the blink of an eye for the pallor everyone else could see to conquer her entire body, for Carrie and I this moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity. She felt the life leaving her, and I watched it go.
In a matter of seconds I was pushing her cold corpse off of me in complete silence. Her friends stood around, shocked and staring. Other kids who had been passing by and ignoring us were frozen in place, eyes wide and mouths agape. Someone wretched and the smell of vomit filled the hallway. Urine trickled down the legs of Sandy, Carrie's best friend, as she began to realize the implications of what had just happened.
I stood up, and the empowered feeling of stolen life that filled the void within me began to wear off. I was filled with shame, doubt, and fear as the blonde girls body fell to the floor with a thump. I retrieved my backpack, trying to calm myself, trying to reign myself in.
It would be so easy to give in, to just take a few more lives and ride this high a little longer. With sheer self-discipline I willed myself back down to earth, and color returned to my vision.
No.
There would be consequences enough for what I had done already. That was when the screaming began, and my whole life changed. | Even before the rapture, that's what we've grown to call the day the sky lit up like a god had laid fire to a rainbow, i had trouble fitting in. I never enjoyed the "normal" things kids were supposed to: sports, video games, comic books. I was always staring out the window. Looking for shapes in the clouds or stars. Wishing to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
​
Then it happened. The rapture was a chaotic day. No one understood was what is occurring in the that moment but people began to feel great pain as sigils were branded on their foreheads by some unseen entity. After people recovered from the shock of it all they found that these sigils allowed them to do very special things. Some could play with fire, others electricity. A few could simply conjure energy (this was anything but simple to purists of general relativity). While others still could modify time as we knew it and their place in it.
​
Those with greater power had endured greater pain. The most common sigils were the size of a half dollar. The "elites" were typically the size of your fist, placed on your forehead. Since we we were still human our baser nature was still prevalent. People outside the standard were shunned as people to be scared of, or rejected. A few people had had their heads branded with their sigil. Each one of them, male and female alike, were named witches and treated as they were in colonial Salem. There's even urban legend of a few "mutants" of such immense power their entire body is wrapped in their sigil. Me though, my sigil is nothing and i've been treated as a reject since. For some reason the nickname "empty glass" stuck and all the kids simply refer to me as "glass" now.
​
Today, walking through the halls, being mocked pretty lightly for a Tuesday (schedules rotate daily and Tuesday's bring the 2nd most bullies outside Ms. Snyders room) I feel a sudden impact on my cheek. I guess Sully felt it was time to check if I still considered myself worthy of being in the presence of "regular people" or if he could break me. As I recover from the blow I look up and see a teacher trying to intervene but other bullies using their sigils to restrain the teacher. The teachers were severely outnumbered and I may be in danger.
​
Sully chirps, "Yo glass, why won't you just go away! You'll never be able to do anything. You have no use. " More threats are hurled as well as punches but I don't hear or feel any of them. They all land; i'm certain I'll feel them tomorrow but not right now. That one insult from Sully is all i have in my mind.
​
During a break in the pummeling I simply lower my head and say "Fine". As I say this I wave my hand over my forehead and out in front of me. As I do this, everything around me stops as I'm encircled by a sphere of dust and specks. I motion with my hands to pull and spin this cloud around me, shapes slowly become visible. After a few more seconds I'm pulling at one shape in particular. It's apparent to anyone who would be with me that it's the milky way. I continue until I've Google Universe'd my way right into this hallway we're all standing in. (since playing with this sigill since the rapture this process only takes a moment) I see grab the Sully from my projection. Zoom out. Give the dust cloud a spin and flick Sully off into somewhere. I motion to condense the dust cloud and it finds it's way back to my sigil. A single circle the size of an atom (i've checked), in the middle of my forehead.
​
Returned to the current situation, everyone is confused and shocked. Many of the bullies are screaming "What did you do to sully?", "Where's sully??", "WTF?", "You wanna die!" and things like that. I calmly say, "Sully is no more. Who's next?". Another bully motions to strike me. I make the same motions (I should really find a way to book mark my town!) but instead of sending this bully away I squeeze the projection until it explodes. On my return I see the remaining bullies, teachers, and other students covered in bits of the last one to attempt to strike. I say, "Next?". Everyone scatters, screaming.
​
This saved me from a further beating that day but I should have taken the beatings. Today, even the witches and mutants are afraid of me and hunt me because I am different.
\------
So many ideas on where to take this. Thanks for the prompt. | 2020-02-26T09:14:27 | 2020-02-26T09:02:03 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] You are an immortal that was caught by the mafia after you betrayed them. They deal with you the same way as traitors, chained to a cement bloc and trown in a lac. After 300 years you are finally discovered by divers. | Initially, I thought the first 30 seconds were the worst. Holding my breath, feeling the acid build up in my blood, the anxiety overwhelming knowing that I'll run out, and *soon*. Then I thought the next 5 minutes were the worst. Water in, air out, the body's natural painful response of thrashing with all the life left in it. I couldn't handle the gulping, so I just clamped down on a lungful of water and held it until I could calm down.
That was an issue for the first few days. Then I got used to it and the boredom set in. I was close enough to the surface to have light, and I am sincerely grateful. I worried for a while about going insane from isolation... but I didn't expect the consequences of long-term oxygen deprivation. My thoughts grew foggy and untethered, my ability to focus and remember anything went out the window. I felt drunk and high constantly.
This wasn't an issue after a little while. It honestly probably saved my mind from fracturing. I made friends with fish and kelp. They were all named "Geoffry". I spent a few days just daydreaming about their lives, what they did when they swam beyond my vision. I had a brief spike of brain activity when a boat floated over me, but that was after... maybe a month or two? With my altered mind, I fell into a surprisingly comfortable haze. Days blended together, my emotions smoothed out and the fear and anxiety all but left.
I meditated without issue. I had no trouble slowing my pace down until time didn't matter to me. Not being able to die changes your sense of time, absolutely, but here was different. Years blended together. Light cycles and water currents, the taste of the water and even temperature became rapid changes.
I didn't see the boat over me until I felt the shock of two bodies breaching the surface. I was at first scared for their lives, flashing back to my own gruesome almost-death, but I noticed immediately that they didn't have concrete feet, they had... flippers. And metal tanks strapped to their backs. They had to be divers, but their suits looked ridiculously inadequate, right up against the skin, so thin they must be freezing, and with tiny tanks to boot.
They looked to be heading toward a spot about 20 meters to my left, and I had to quickly think about what to do. I had to tear my brain from its slumber as roughly and quickly as I could. Would I flail my arms and call them over? They would have seen that there aren't any boats nearby, and I know they would have spent a while setting up above me. No, I decided to pretend to be... well, recently dead is the best I could manage.
... It actually took them longer than I cared for. Long enough for Geoffrey and his brother Geoffrey to come around a couple times. I kept an eye cracked until one of them drifted through a large clump of seaweed, then closed my eyes. Nothing happened for a while, but I didn't bother to open my eyes again. I just meditated some more, let time slip a little more.
Interestingly, they didn't grab me. Instead I felt them putting something on me, some kind of vest. Over the shoulders, around the sides... and then I had to really restrain myself when they started threading something between my legs. But eventually they let go. Then it started to lift me. Oh my God it hurt. It scraped and pulled, threatening to rip my legs off, crush my ribs, and I was the happiest motherfucker alive that my junk happened to fit right in between the two leg straps. They pulled me out of the water, and laid me on my back on the boat. I was about to taste my first mouth of fresh air, but at the last moment realized that if I took in any air at all, I wouldn't be able to hold back the spluttering and coughing and upchucking.
I ended up having to hold my "breath" for quite a while. My sense of time was forced back into a normal pace by the talk around me. One suggested that they'd have to call the coast guard, another that they should return to shore immediately, yet another that they should stay put and that I would be "air-lifted" out. Everything was going fine... until I pictured scaring them. At first I just had to try not to smile. Then I pictured their faces when I shouted "BOO!" I quickly thought about some of the grossest things I possibly could to keep from laughing right there, and I was mostly successful. At least, until one of them started checking my pockets for identification. It was coming out, one way or another. Without any warning, I didn't even have time to check if they were looking at my face or not, I shot up and fired all the water I could directly into the closest person to me, got half a breath of air in me, and just flat out screamed at them, then I couldn't stop from choking and laughing with the next breath.
"...So, uh... that's how I got here, officer. I can't die, and I have an awful sense of humor."
The man across the desk from me was stone-faced. The woman behind him with the suit and tie (interesting fashion sense these days) seemed to be holding back a smile.
"Would I possibly be okay to leave?" | I was born to rule the world. My destiny, no matter what, was to be above humanity itself. Even though I was raised in a poor household, I ended up being adopted by a rich family - who knows how they got their wealth - my deadbeat father managed to save. That was their worst mistake. Even at an early age, I longed for wealth and power, and the only obstacles to those were those two. In my endeavours to end both of them without suspicion, I found a mysterious mask, which I found out granted someone immortality and the ability to surpass their own humanity. Long story short, I ended up killing both of them and used the mask I found to give myself this power. But alas, the son of the man who adopted me, one who I could almost regard as a brother, looking back, survived, and severely injured me with the help of a secretive organisation. With the help of my minions, however, I managed to board the ship he and his wife were on, and killed him, using his body to recover from my injuries. Unfortunately he managed to sink the ship we were on, condemning me for my betrayal of his family.
After God knows how long, some foolish divers discovered me, while looking for treasure. They had strange and advanced technology, - I would have to get used to it. There were just a handful of people on the both, from what I could gather, just looking for some money to make. Of course I made short work of those fools, and set about on my delayed quest for world domination - a feat worthy for a being such as myself, after exploring the world for a few years.
Before I can do that, however, I have to deal with my "brother's" descendants. Like those mafia families you see in those movies, they had a strong bond, and many friends to aid them. I sit waiting for them in my mansion in Cairo. An old man, two high-schoolers, a master swordsman and a fortune teller, plus some sort of intelligent dog have come to challenge my greatness. They have abilities too, but none as strong as mine. I, DIO, formerly Dio Brando, will defeat them all, and I shall take my place above ALL humanity, for I have transcended them, I have transcended even myself, to become a being far greater than my humble human origins. Let this text mark the begining of my ascent to world dominance.
DIO | 2018-11-24T11:21:13 | 2018-11-24T10:49:19 | 1,956 | 27 |
[WP] Vampire society have been loyal customers to a carpenter for years. He made the best coffins they have slept in for centuries, and never really got suspicious of so many wealthy people willing to pay premium for the same niche item. As he got old, the vampires tries to offer him immortality. | The coffin Alastair steps into is made of bamboo. It's biodegradable -- just like him. This is his shop and it's packed with all kinds of coffins. He's been making them all his life but it's only the last decade people wanted bamboo or banana leaf or cardboard coffins. *Cardboard,* he thinks disdainfully. He's never made a cardboard coffin in his life and god knows he never will. Fit for a hamster, maybe, but not for a person. And maybe not even a hamster.
He lays back and closes the lid, letting the darkness drown him. Bamboo stinks, he decides. It's not for him. But the darkness is good.
Alastair's suffered migraines the last year. Being in such total darkness helps a little. Every day, after work, he's been getting into his coffins, partly for the dark, partly to test drive them because he's got a lump in his brain the size of a pebble and it's swelling quick. Growing. It's a weed that's taking all the water and all the soil that the older plants needed to live, so now everything's wilting except that weed.
He's not all that scared to die. He doesn't want to, but that's a different matter altogether. He's got young grandkids that he loves very much and he'd like to see what they turn into, what colour butterflies will burst out into the world. Plus, he doesn't want to die for more selfish reasons, too. He likes being alive for one, likes doing and learning and being. Simple as that. But scared he's not. He's not been scared for a long time.
He lies back for a while as dots waltz through the darkness in a rainbow of colours. To him, those dots are the tumour. It presents itself like that, in interesting ways. Somedays, he'll wake to see he left the oven on all night, or he'd called someone and walked away from the phone, or he'd find himself in the neighbours garden for no reason at all. That's how he sees the tumour, from the physical events it manifests. It's how it communicates to him, lets him know it's there.
There are three knocks then. Right on the bamboo lid.
He must have left the shop door open, wouldn't be the first time.
"We're closed," he says.
"Yes I know, but I really must talk to you," comes the muffled reply. It's a woman's voice. Even muffled it's smooth, calming.
He pushes the lid open and sits up in the coffin.
The woman to his side is young. Most people are young to him. Still, she must be early thirties? She's got dark hair in a neat fringe, a pale face, bright lipstick. Something of an old-fashioned movie starlet quality to her. It takes him back.
"What can I do for you?" he asks, trying to get out of the coffin. It's like getting out of the bath though and he slips twice. The woman offers a hand but he shakes his head and on the third try he gets over the edge.
"It's more what I can do for you," she says, pulling up a generous smile. "You see, I represent a consortium of--"
"Not interested."
"--of clients of yours. Former and future, hopefully."
He pauses. "Clients?"
"Yes. Of many people who buy your goods because they cherish your craftsmanship." She gestures around the shop at the various propped open coffins. "We've been importing your products for many years, but this is the first time any of us have visited your shop in person. But this time, it had to be in person."
He's always been strangely successful abroad. The catalogues sell his products better than the shop floor. It's admittedly unusual for his trade.
"That so?" he says.
"That's so."
"And what do my former clients want from me?"
"We know you're dying. We certainly don't want that."
He stares at her. Then laughs. "Me neither, to tell the truth. But life's the journey from A to B, and I'm leaning hard on the second letter."
She smiles wider now. He's not sure if it's his head or... But it looks as if two of her teeth are sinking down over her lip. Extending out like a pair of mechanical pencils.
"You seen a dentist lately?"
"I'll cut to the chase," she says. "We're vampires. And none of us have found better, more secure, more comfortable coffins than yours."
What to make of it, he's not sure! Vampires? Couldn't be. Could it be? Ever the professional he says, "I'm glad to hear you've been enjoying my products."
"We'd like to continue using them, if it's all the same. As such, I would like to offer you the chance to become like us, to become a vampire. To be immortal. If you agree I will bite you myself, and that little tumour in your head will shrink down to nothing in a day."
He blushes at that. At the thought of those red lips and long teeth sinking into his wrinkled old neck.
"I hope that doesn't scare you," she says.
He shakes his head. No, he doesn't scare anymore. Sure, he was scared as all hell when Sally got diagnosed with breast cancer. Now that scared him so bad that nothing since -- when placed in comparison -- has managed to frighten him a hair. His own death? No, that's not fear when compared to losing his reason. His love. His world. All of those other romantic cliches lying around. But there's strong truth in old cliches.
"I appreciate the offer," he says, grabbing his head, holding the migraine, "but if it's all the same, I'm content with not being immortal."
"Content?" she asks, mildly taken back.
"It's been a decade since my wife died and the pain is not so much less than it was. While I'd sure like to keep on ticking in some senses, for some reasons, I don't want that pain anymore." He climbs into a walnut coffin, sits up in it and looks at the vampire.
She sighs. "I see. Then, I'm sorry for wasting your time."
"My pleasure," he says.
She turns to leave, pauses by the door. "The walnut classic is my favourite."
He nods. "I dare say it's mine too."
Once she's gone, he lies back and closes the lid. Lets the stars dance in the darkness.
He thinks about that strange lady. How did she get in, anyway? Door was locked wasn't it? And how did she get out for that matter. He doesn't remember her leaving yet he swears he just watched her go.
God, she looked like a movie star.
Beautiful with a capital b.
A lot like his wife, he thinks. When she was young. Same lipstick shade, same hair. Only the teeth were different.
And then he's wondering if he concocted the whole damn thing.
He thinks he probably did.
And if so, well then maybe not everything about his condition is so bad. Not if it brought her back, even for a moment, even if different. Because to him, for that moment, she was alive.
He takes a deep breath that turns into a yawn, and notices his head isn't hurting so much as usual. "I miss you so damn much," he says. His voice echoes around the coffin as if someone else were saying the words to him. | *DING*
I look up from my catlogue as a customer enters my shop
In front of me stands a woman who has never failed to take my breath away, 40 years of business and she's still just as gorgeous as the first tiem she came through those doors, I guess the rich really do age differently than the rest of us
She's been a regular customer, runs a ritzy funeral home out on the...well im pretty sure its the north end of the city..though it might be the south. Funny how some details just never come up in conversation. But any time she shows up in person I know its going to be a good order, bought my last car in cash from a double wide that was commissioned
"Hello Meredith, its been a while, and here i was thinking people were dying to get their hands on *cough* one of my beauties" I say with a wink
"Your creations are an art that transcend death my good friend" Merry says as she Saunters to the counter
"So what can I do for you this time? I just got a new catalog in and it has a memory *cough* foam liner that you might be interested in. Unless this is for a family of the customer and comfort *cough* isn't a top priority?"
"That is quite the cough there, have you been to a doctor? And no, this is more a pleasure visit as you are right your customers have been fairly dead set on sticking with your works, this one is personal" says Merry as she leans in close enough for me to smell her perfume
I take a subtle sniff or try to as *COUgh* the perfume triggers another couhing fit
"Ah, Merry im sorry to say I have been and have equally sorry news, the doctors say its *cough* seasonal, but I hear them whispering in the back about a *cough* growth. I'm afraid they may be keeping something from me. I think the doctor is *cough* worried I won't finish their order if I have a limited window of time left. A shame really as a timeline would be nice to work with so I don't *cough* leave any works incomplete." I say with a dejected tone
"Ah, my friend, don't be so glum, the doctor actually mentioned something to me.. and as we don't know anyone else who's crafts are as well built and knows how to.. work their wood so well" she says in a flirting manner and with a sly wink on the end "I've come with an offer of my own." She finishes as she begins to move around the counter to stand near me, a hungry look in her eyes
"Merry, we have know eachother for a long time and we've had our fun but I'm dying and frankly I don't have the energy I used to, though the offer is greatly appreciated" I retort in as light hearted a tone as I can muster, here i am dying and merry wants to take a roll in the box like the good old days.. shit. Why am I saying no? What do I have to loose at this point?
"Haha, can't blame a girl for trying" she says as she plays with my shirt collar "but thats not the offer I came to make. I just really like when your blood get pumping" she says as she moves closer and that hungry look in her eyes grows even more alluring
"Whats the offer then?" I as as I try to keep some level of composure as Merry leans in close, her scent overwhelming my senses
"We want you to join us, silly" she says running her fingers down the side of my face her tongue ever so slightly tracing along her top lip "we don't want to loose the best bed maker we've net in our many years, and frankly I've come to be quite fond of your humor around death, most humans are squeamish" she says with a chuckle and a finger trailing along my jaw to rest on the end of my chin as she lifts it us to make us look eye to eye
"I can make you better than you have been for the last 30 years. I can give you back your prime and you can join us, we'll teach you what you don't know yet and all I need you to do is say" she leans in closer and whispers the final word "yes" as her lips kiss lightly on my neck
Ah, well she definitely got my blood pumping, I could barely follow what she said as I tried not to cough, but say yes? Yeah I can do that.
"Yes" | 2022-05-31T12:21:41 | 2022-05-31T10:21:18 | 2,912 | 230 |
[WP] Like Spider-Man, you have a built-in "danger sense", but instead of alerting you of danger, it stops time around you until you're out of danger. One day, time stops suddenly, and as usual, you tried to move until time continues again, but after an hour of walking, time is still frozen. | "think Patrick, think", I tell myself as I walk around the frozen streets.
This isn't the first time this happened. Hell, it it isn't even the first time this week. My sense has been triggering more often as I grew older. I guess mundane slips and falls become more dangerous when osteoporosis starts to set in. Last Monday it was just a bicycle about to bump into me, but apparently that was dangerous enough to trigger a stop, meaning I would at least have broken some bones.
"why can't I get away from it this time though? I'm getting nervous, what if it's a large scale event like an earthquake?"
I decided to skip town, go to my retreat on the lake.
"worst case scenario, if time doesn't restart, I'll have some time to myself! Hell, I might even try waiting it out there"
I needed some time for myself. I was always more of a loner type. My wife talked plenty for the both of us. Most people ask me how I put up with someone so different. I usually answer something about balance bringing happiness.
One thing we did argue about sometimes though was what to do with our time off. I usually tried to relax and do nothing after working all week, but most of the time we'd end up doing an over planned activity with the kids, and I loved her a bit more each time for bringing me out of my shell.
But this was finally an occasion to have some true time off. Usual stops only lasted a few minutes, but it had been close to five hours now, and I was already halfway to my cabin.
"just a couple of days, tops!" I lied to myself. "And that's if time doesn't resume before"
But time did not resume. I was lucky in some way: time stopped just as the sun was setting on the lake. I could not get enough of the view. I don't know how long I stayed there. In fact, it doesn't really even make sense to ask that question, when you think about it. But I read a few dozen sizeable books and articles. Most scientists would kill to have an opportunity to catch up on new science coming out. And then there's me, using a warning of impending doom to indulge in my thirst for knowledge which I'll never use as an appliance salesman.
After a while, I began to feel boredom and solitude set in. I couldn't stay like this forever.
After meditating on my situation for a while, I came to realize that every possible cause of danger had been changed, which usually does the trick. The only thing that stayed the same was me. My heart sank.
"I'm about to have a health incident..."
I had no idea what, but it was the only thing that made sense. Every external danger factor had been changed. The only danger that would not change depending on location would be one I carry with me everywhere: my own body. Not only that, but it would be instant and dangerous enough that it triggered a stop.
"time usually resumes when I'm safe. The obvious place to be would be right in front of a doctor"
I made my way to the nearest hospital. I saw an ambulance, lights flashing. Paramedics were taking someone out from the back into the urgent care unit.
"Best of luck to the both of us", I said.
But even as I walked in, in plain view of a bunch of medical staff, nothing changed. Frozen, bored looks were on most people's faces in the waiting room. Some seemed in pain. most seemed only to wait for a medical paper to excuse them from work. One woman was halfway through spitting her venom on the poor receptionist at the desk. I don't know how some people have so little awareness of their effects on others. even her son, right behind her, was bright red from embarrassment.
As I kept walking in front of everyone that looked remotely doctor like, I became more and more irritated.
"It's a small hospital near a lake town, maybe they don't have the expertise or the equipment to save me", I guessed.
I made my way to the biggest hospital I could fine within my gas range. I'd gotten an MRI there a few years back because my doctor thought he felt a lump during a colonoscopy. It came back as a benign speck, nothing serious, which I half expected since time didn't stop. At least this hospital was definitely equipped to help. Yet, even as I pried open the sliding doors, time remained at a standstill.
"holy shit, this must be serious! That means whatever I have, it's going to kill me before anyone can figure out what's wrong!"
A second wave of thought hit me, almost worst this time.
"this means that I'm stuck frozen forever..."
I began nervous, then I panicked. I felt trapped. I could barely breathe. Ironically, time usually stopped when I had panic attacks. It gave me time to compose myself, and time would resume as I calmed down. Of all the things this peculiarity ever did for me, that was what I was most grateful for.
This time, however, time wouldn't stop, or at least not anymore than it already has. It must have taken me an hour before the storm in my head calmed and I could start thinking proactively again.
"I guess I'll have to take care of it myself, but how? I'm no doctor! how am I going to operate a fucking X-ray machine? You can't find that shit on googl-
That was when I saw them. I smiled. My smile widened. It's a good thing no one was conscious of how I looked, because I must have looked at those medical students like a wolf looks at a flock of sheep. All wide eyed, with their medical books and their notes, so eager to learn. Better yet, they already seemed to be split in groups depending on their specialization.
"Thank god some of these nerds carry their manuals everywhere they go", I thought to myself.
One thing was for sure: I had a lot of reading to do. | "Enough is enough!" Grant screamed at the frozen world.
It had been two hours since the world around him froze. In that time he thoroughly searched what was his immediate area. None of the cars had bombs. He smelled no gass. The people around him carried nothing unusual. Heck nobody even knew about his power. Did they?
When nothing turned up he took a bike and left the city. Time stayed still. The city wasn't under threat then. Was he sick then ? No fever, no problems from before. Grant returned to the subway and dug through their stocks. No poison either. Surely time would have stopped before he took a bite of anything poisonous.
He entered the nearest Walmart and borrowed a pair of binoculars. Grant proceeded to climb the stairs of the tallest building around. The C.N. Tower. He really hated heights. But what he hated more was time freezing all of his friends. He pulled the binoculars out. He scanned the sky, an astroid maybe? He prayed not. Who knows how long something like that would take to dismantle.
"This is so stupid! God give me a sign of the danger."
Something moved below. Grant stepped back. Nothing at all should have been moving. Did he dare go down? Or course this thing, whatever it was, kept everything frozen. Mustering courage, he sprinted down the stairs. He really hated stairs.
Grant ran back to Walmart and grabbed a mean looking knife and a gun. He had little idea of how to fight with either, but they couldn't be too bad to have.
Cautiously, he walked to the square where he saw the movement.
"Show yourself!" he shouted.
What came next surprised even him. He walked out from a car. Not some other guy. But him, Grant. But this one was dressed in black military gear. His face was scarred and worn.
"Who, who are you?" He said stepping back.
"You, but better," he laughed. Military Grant closed the gap.
"What do you want? Time only stops when.... Wait you're here to kill me?"
"You got it," said military Grant nonchalantly.
"Why?"
"Your constant freezing of time doesn't just effect you. It effects us all," said military Grant.
"Wait, us?"
"All the dimensional Grants. We're sick of it," he said.
Grant couldn't believe it.
"Where are they?" He asked.
"On their way. I just got to you first. Sorry about this." Military Grant promptly pulled put a pistol and shot Grant.
Birds chirped, cars honked, time returned to normal.
Military Grant walked down the street. Towards the dimension shifter.
"Get out of the way!" Someone screamed.
He turned to see an out of control car coming straight at him. He brought his hands up like it would protect him. The horn blared a warning. And then didn't. He felt nothing. He uncovered his face. The truth dawned on him.
"Dammit," he said. | 2020-11-12T10:47:32 | 2020-11-12T10:32:43 | 66 | 38 |
[WP] You won the lottery. $1000 a day for life. However, the lottery didn’t realize you were immortal. It’s been 400 years, and they’ve sent their 1000th hitman to kill you. You’ve bested all the others, but this one is different. | I checked my phone, my daily $1000 deposit arrived. For a company so desperate to kill me, I have to admit they keep their promises. Money doesn't even matter to me anymore. Life got boring after year 140. I remember. The money that I won from the lottery is simple pocket change now. However I did use it to create a successful family real estate firm which is currently run by my great-great-great grandchildren. It is unfortunate they think I am dead.
When you get tired of buying everything you could possibly own money becomes useless. There is nothing that you can physically buy that can pleasure you anymore. I sometimes look back and am jealous of myself when I was a hardworking peasant. Despite longing for luxury, I was happier back then.
When I turned 80, I was still in really good health thanks to high end medicine and technology that money could buy. While I despised taking 20 pills a day to function normally, I believed that I haven't accomplished enough in life to die yet.
I was a fool.
To pass time I would often read books or travel around the world. These were the only things that put my mind to ease. Despite getting old, I still tried to travel as often as I could. I decided to travel to my parent's homeland, India.
​
My younger, hippy cousin came to my mind. He used to live in the U.S.A but decided to live a simple lifestyle as a monk in India. Last I've heard from him he decided to partake in Jainism and smoke a lot of marijuana to pass time. I gave the number he provided me a call only to be answered by an accomplice of his. The man stated that my cousin was away on a spiritual trip but would be back in a day. I told his accomplice that I am on my way and I wanted to surprise my cousin.
When I arrived at my cousin's place in India, he was delighted to see me but he had a very worrisome look on his face. I asked him what was wrong. He procured a strange black mass from his pocket. It stank... a lot.
"I met a monk on my journey to the top of a local mountain. I was trying to find peace but I only found dread cousin...
At the top of the mountain, I was harassed by one who who practices black magic. He gave me this. It is a decomposed cow heart stuffed with amla, a herb. He said that if you throw the heart in a fire and then jump into the fire while it is burning... your greatest desire will come true. I don't believe in such tales cousin. I could not let that crazy man just walk around with a heart he took from a poor cow. We will have a proper burial for it tomorrow."
I was intrigued
" No cousin. I want to try this"
I knew it was a stupid folktale and that nothing would happen but when you are old there are very few things that become amusing to you.
My cousin was clearly upset.
"You are my guest cousin and you provide me with money to support my life. If you really want to do this go ahead but I will not be there. I also tell you be careful with black magic even if it is not real... It still is not a right thing to do!"
That night I created a camp fire in the darkness of a random village in India. I watched the beautiful flames roaring to life. I threw the heart in the flame and jumped in. As you would have expected, I caught on fire. I stopped. I dropped. I rolled.
When I got up the fire was extinguished but there was a huge cloud of smoke around it. It took shape in a humanoid form. It was the scariest moment of my life. I can't describe it in words. I have never felt fear like that before. Every single hair on my body stuck up. I had goosebumps. I broke out in a cold sweat.
But despite all this fear there was only one thought in my mind
" I cant die yet"
I ran as fast as I could to my cousin and told him what happened. He was smoking marijuana and laughed when I told him the story.
" Cousin, it is dark out. You were probably just seeing things. Come. Let me set up your bed."
I was so scared that I bought a plane ticket home the very next day.
I don't know what I saw that night but all I know is that I haven't aged a day since then. In fact, despite looking 80, I was tested to have the mental and physical strength of a 30 year old male. This has gone on for 400 years.
Now obviously I never expected to continue to receive money from the lottery after a few years. But according to contract they had to. They tried many times to offer me a lump sum to change the contract but I refused simply for my amusement. Also for the fact that money doesn't mean anything to me anymore.
Enjoying immortality was fun... at first.
You feel above the world and the power gets to your head. But when your family starts dying and you can't contact your current family for fears of raising suspicions, life gets lonely. I've had many people try to kill me over the years. For fucksake even I tried to kill myself. Stab wounds would just heal over the next day. I supposedly had an infinite stream of blood so I can never bleed out. My body can somehow fight off cancer cells. One time an assassin got really lucky and sniped me in the head. I was presumed dead, however when my private surgeon removed the bullet lodged in my brain I instantly woke up without any mental injuries. A few days later I was completely fine.
Life was really starting to become a drag. For the first time ever in my life I actually believed there was nothing more for me to accomplish in life. As soon as that thought came into my head. I saw a molotov cocktail being thrown inside my house. And then another. And another one.
I don't really know where they came from or who threw them but I had no intention of leaving the couch I was sitting on. It's not like I could die either way. As the smoke started to build up in my room, it took a humanoid figure. One that I remembered very clearly from many years ago. Despite remembering the fear from hundreds of years ago I couldn't help but smile.
"I guess it's time" | *The thousandth assassin has arrived.* Hilda drifted in through the walls. Covered in chains and drowned a near score of millennia ago she was once a Shield maiden. The fiercest, or so she says, murdered the way she was as price to buy time for her family to flee. Now she shoot strong as scout and adviser. She was the Chained Woman.
​
"What can I do?" I rose to my feet and moved towards the window, The Monk and the Burned Man drifted alongside the Chained Woman but spoke no words this evening. Like a whisper of wind the Chained Woman's voice was heard *Jump, swim and then run. You know where to go.*
​
I opened the great arched windows, it was going to be a long fall to the river. I looked upon the city as the sun broke across the horizon and spilled his warm luminosity across mine face. I heard the dull footfalls of a man striding down the hall outside my current digs. The city fair shone with the Father Sun's blessing, I smiled. "I never wanted to win the bloody lottery. I don't need money to get to where we're going."
​
The door opened, a bullet fired, I stepped forward, the Burned Man turned towards the roar and I hit the water. As I floated on my back born by the river's current I watched the abandoned tower from which I had jumped. An oscillating vortex of ghostly energy had opened, where death should have been it was averted, in doing so the continuance of The Burned Man's continued existence in this plane. "I am going to miss that place, it was delightfully high up. Good exposure." I smiled and turned my mind to the destination. The Monk grunted his agreement, he too was fond of high up places.
For weeks we flowed down the river, the three were able to have each their full fill. After a time we came to a delta and took it. We found ourselves one bright morning in front of the Lottery Headquarters. *It is time to end this petty squabble.* I grunted my agreement and stepped into the building.
To say you could hear a pin drop would be an understatement. The moment four stepped in the room froze. All eyes lay heavy as coals, chains and rope upon me. I shifted unsteadily beneath their gazes and continued on. It didn't strike me then the absurdity of what I was doing, and the luck I held that day that I was not gunned down on the spot.
I found my way to the Lotterymaster's office and stepped in sans appointment. My three ghostly companions followed suit and floated through various parts of the room. I smiled as the Burned Man peered at the globe with interest, perhaps he would speak today.
I looked to the Lotterymaster, "This farce has gone on too long, Lotterymaster. I am here to inform you that I wish to *decline* further lottery winnings. Please, have a good day." I contented myself on the walk to the closest means of transport home on the look of shock that had caressed the Lotterymaster's face.
I chuckled and walked on into the night, my three ghostly companions by my side.
​ | 2018-10-16T19:41:16 | 2018-10-16T13:03:12 | 151 | 44 |
[WP] You are a sleep worker. You climb into a pod, your mind is put to sleep while your body is put to work. 8 hours later, you collect your check for the day. You never really cared what your employers did while you were "out" until you wake up one day to a six figure paycheck. | The table in front of me clicks as I rap my fingers across it's it's surface. It's clean, pristine. Perfect. The walls of the room, sterile white, the chairs, a similar color, and yet, even with this being the main office of the manager, there's no use seen on any of the furniture.
I'd been working here two months, saw the ad on a holo-board outside my favorite pit fighting ring. A job where you get paid to sleep, who couldn't pass that up? It was so simple, come to work, clock in, get into a pod, get paid. Left me with my day to do what I actually wanted, sims, btl-chips, whatever I wanted. Helped keep a lot of habits going. It was a good life.
Today though, there had to be a mistake. The check I had gotten amounted to what I should be making in a year. I looked around the room again, where was the manager?
I almost shot out of my chair when the door clicked open. The manager was a large man, eating far more than the rest of us wanted to, or could even afford. When he sat, his seat sank. As he leaned over the desk, putting his elbows down on the table, a smile grew upon his face. "What can we help you with today Mr. Monroe?"
I couldn't help but pull at the color of my shirt a little. "Sir, it's nothing too important, it's just that I saw my check today, and just, there has to be some mistake!"
A hearty laugh came from the man. "Mr. Monroe, I have never in my life figured I'd be having a meeting with someone for paying them too much, what's brought this on?"
I opened my mouth before closing it again. I couldn't figure out the words. This shouldn't be a problem. It wasn't a problem. So why was I making it one? Finally, I found the words, and forced them forward. "Sir, it's just simply too much. More than usual. Far more than any reason I can think of as to why I should be earning this much." I paused again, taking a breath. "Sir, what do you do when I'm sleeping? Why do you employ me?"
The smile faded from the larger man's face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" My gaze stayed locked on the man. With a sigh, he stood. "Come on then, no use hiding it, wouldn't want to lose a brain like yours." Alarm bells went off in my head. That wording, what was my brain being used for? None the less, I stood, following the manager out the door, and onto the deck of a huge hallway. It had to be the length of a football field, and twenty feet tall, filled with pods. As the manager walked, he begun to speak. "Do you keep up with the news, Mr. Monroe?" I shook my head. "A shame, it would have made this easier. Well, a few years back, we signed the new Geneva conventions. War, was inhumane we decided, and no humans should have to fight it." He waved his hand. "Of course, it was just a play by the biggest robotics and weapons makers, more money can be spent on robotics than ever could be arming a human soldier. However, the face of war was changed, and now we march robots at each other."
I nodded. "Right, we learned about that in school."
The manager clapped his hands together, laughing. "I guess you do keep some knowledge in that drug ridden brain of yours!" I opened my mouth to protest, but he put a hand towards me. "Don't bother, we see your brain after all, it's not hard to mistake the signs of drugs. I do have a question though, do you know the biggest drawback of using robotics.
A moment passed, before the thought came forward. "Their brains, they don't have the flexibility and adaptability of a human brain." The manager simply smiled. Suddenly, it hit. "Wait, you've been using me! Making me a weapon-" The manager cut me off by opening a display panel on a pod, showing the view of a spider tank, walking down a bomb ridden city alley. All along the sides, human bodies could be seen.
"You've been very useful in our recent invasion. I don't know if you know it or not, but you are a master tactician Mr. Monroe." I had no words, finally, I turned, walking towards the door. I was being used! A weapon of war! I couldn't take it, I wouldn't. "Before you leave Mr. Monroe, know that was only the first check of your work. We do like to make sure the best brains we have are taken care of. That is your new daily pay." My feet stopped, they wouldn't move forward. With that kind of money I could own my favorite fighting pits, cars, women, anything. And if I walked out, well, how could I keep my habit? No one would hire me, a drugged out bum who couldn't hardly show up on time. "Please get back to your pod Mr. Monroe." I simply nodded, walking over to the same pod I'd been sleeping in for the past month. The manager smiled, closing it over me as I got in. "Sleep well Mr. Monroe, oh, and thank you for your service." | The IV's cling to my arms. The pod around me is sealed tight. Gas begins to pour in from the sides.
I feel the tension drop out of my body and my eyes close, my mind drifting away from this world and to the next.
The day went by like night did, sometimes I had dreams, sometimes it was too fast, sometimes slow. This time it was fast.
Too fast.
My eyes open and I exit the pod, someone also a sleep worker hands me a check.
$250,000. This had to be a mistake. I look down and see my name. It couldn't be a mistake. Sleep workers didn't mess up.
"What did I do today?" I asked Robert, the sleep worker standing in front of me.
"You-" suddenly a small hole was in the middle of his forehead, red pouring out. Robert fell before I could react and then I was on the ground.
I was aware of glass fallen around me; the windows must have been shot out. But what the hell?
I grab the check off the floor and scramble to my feet, sprinting from the room, another bullet nearly hitting me.
I scan left and right as I sprint down the hallway. The exit is close. Nearly there.
Glass sprays across the floor. Another shot rings out. Searing pain in my leg and I fall.
"What the fuck?" I manage to spit out. My hands are bleeding from pressing on the sharp floor.
I inch forward,slowly, bullets peppering the walls to my left. I push a door open and crawl inside, slamming the door shut behind me.
The lights flash on and a man wrapped in black stands before me.
"Huh?" I ask. The room was spinning faintly now.
The man grabs me and drags me toward the wall. Then it... dissolves? We were in another room now, for sure. The sound of bullets were gone.
The man wrapped in black pushes me against the floor and steps gently on my shot leg.
"Why did you do it?" He roared.
"Do-do what?" I stutter.
He pushes his foot onto my leg and I scream. The pain! Oh the burning, searing pain!
"Why? Tell me why!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, shaking my head. "I'm a sleep worker."
He stops and lifts his foot from my leg. "You're a sleep worker?"
I nod. "Yes, sir. I don't know what I did."
He grabs a black bag from nowhere and pulls it over my head.
r/FortyTwoDogs
Part 2 coming soon | 2019-04-23T18:38:16 | 2019-04-23T17:22:48 | 604 | 118 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego. | “Bzzz. Sir, I’ve got the union rep from CUNTs outside. He.. *‘Its not CUNTs! Its Capes-Under-Normal-Tops!’...w*ants to talk to you about the latest crimes you’ve committed”.
I groaned internally. Another union rep. This is the last thing I wanted to deal with on a Friday. I was just clock-watching until 5 when I could go home, watch the game and chill. And now this clown had to ruin my Friday evening after a busy week. I really wish the neutrality pact didn’t force me to suffer their continued meddling.
“Send him in Sharon. Then you can clock off. I’ll lock up tonight. “
“Thanks boss”
The door opened, in came Smith, the middle-aged union man in his middle tier suit trying his best not to sweat all over his shirt collar. I think the rolls over his belly contributed more to the sweat than fear of me.
​
“Ah, Mr Jones. Busy week you’ve been having. You made the front page 3 times in 4 days. The Chronicle has even started a regular gossip column on you.”
​
“What is it Smith? You’ve not come down here on a Friday to give media relations training. Spit it out, I have plans tonight”.
​
“Not anything like you were up to on Tuesday I hope old boy. That was pretty messy. Look, I’ll get to the point. We’re supposed to be a neutral party representing Heroes and Villains alike. Our role is to protect you from overbearing governments, and, provide a safe platform for feedback from minions and sidekicks to their higher-ups without fear of, quite literally, being fired. We got the Government to agree to the neutrality pact with CUNTs as mediators 20 years ago on the basis that Heroes and Villains would keep each other roughly in balance.
Quite frankly old boy, you’re making a mess of that. You aren’t fitting the stereotype. You’re supposed to tie up the hero, monologue, reveal your plan and give them chance to escape. They undo your plan but don’t kill you, thus maintaining the higher moral ground, and in turn give you chance to retreat and devise another scheme. At the end of the day, neutrality is maintained. Understand? You offing them as soon as you get chance is upsetting this finely tuned balance that has taken a few years to develop.”
​
“Look Smith, it’s not my fault they went to the Mickey-Mouse school of Do-gooders. Christ, Sparkly Bangers was quite literally that! Did she really expect that glittery corset to protect her from a headshot! It’s not my fault you’ve got a bunch of incompetent ‘Heroes’ running around. I fully intend to take advantage of that until one of them actually gives me a challenge. Most of the Villains you’ve got here are nothing more than school bullies trying to steal lunch money. Keynote tried to drop a Piano on me last week, I saw that a mile off as he pushed it off the building. Quite frankly it’s ridiculous. All your heroes are soft and the rest of the villains are little better. What happened to the good old days when Villains were Villains and a grand scheme wasn’t something Wiley Coyote could have dreamt up! "
​
“Mr Jones, I understand, I really do. But could you tone it down a little. I’m sure in time a Hero equal to you will come along, but until then you’re making several Governments twitchy. You're a decent villain, keep your head down, play by the rules for a few years and you could make it to the top. I'm sure a Super-Villain somewhere will notice you and recruit you into their organisation. Rush things, upset the applecart so to speak and well, it could upset this careful system some of us have spent so long cultivating”
​
“No Smith. I won’t. I didn't stay late at Evil Elementary practising my evil laugh. I studied all the old fights, read countless news articles, watched fight footage again and again. I worked my ass off to become top of my class. To be honest with you it was easy and now I'm here there's no competition. It's like that school was deliberately useless. I’m going to become the greatest Villain of my generation while it’s easy pickings.”
BANG
Mr Jones sat slumped in his chair, the look on his face didn’t even show the surprise that had briefly crossed his mind when Smith had drawn the gun.
“Pity” said Smith, holstering the pistol. | I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, just as I'm sure you are to make mine. After all, I'm well known as one of the great aesthetes of history. And very rich, very influential. Everyone who is anyone owes quite a bit to me. What most don't know when they first meet me is just exactly who I am. You see, I've been around a long, long time, and destroyed more adversaries than you will ever know. Of course, I do get credit for that sometimes, but it's usually for things I have little to do with. Oh, the absurd things people blame me for! Not that I care one way or the other. Sure, I admit I have quite an ego. I'm notorious for it. But not around my villainy. I'm in it for the win, not the glory, and I usually win. My greatest conquests are unknown, like dirty little rackets with your average corrupt street cop, or robbing poor travellers on back roads in third world countries. Ah, those years in India picking off innocents, what good times! Now, I won't be falsely humble: There are certainly a few adventures of mine you might know of. The Kennedy assassination. The rise of the the Third Reich, and also the Soviet Union. I even managed to have a small hand in the crucifixion of Jesus. Oh, yes! I know I seem young and vigorous, but the truth is I'm very old. So if we meet in person, please show me some courtesy and maybe have a bit of sympathy for this old villain. That's not a request, but a demand, even a threat: Use all your well-learned politesse, or I will lay your soul to waste. But never mind that. As I was saying: I'm pleased to meet you. I hope you guessed my name. | 2018-10-18T18:10:43 | 2018-10-18T15:49:16 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] You have just been abducted by a UFO. While you are figuring out what just happened to to you, a frantic alien bursts into the room. "You have no idea how many rules I'm breaking, but my Human Studies final is tomorrow and I need help." | One moment he'd been stargazing and the very next he was among them. He hadn't noticed it happen initially. William had been seated next to his brother Waylon on the hillside as they usually were on Tuesday nights, smoking and snacking as they talked about the cosmos. The two of them had always had a fascination with the stars, even before they had been told that their real father had died in deep space. The two of them didn't necessarily want to become astronauts or astrologists in any kind of way, but they shared a quiet admiration once a week for the stars and the ghosts of stars that littered the violet dark tapestry woven high over their heads and far out of their reach.
Until now.
William turned from the starry window out to space and surveyed his surroundings. Everything from the walls to the fixtures of the room was dyed a creamy white hue that was calming to look at and yet aesthetically beautiful and neat. He looked down at himself and then around the room for his brother.
"Waylon?" He called out, a lost tone on his lips. Had he not been stoned, he might have been panicking. But it was good stuff they'd bought, and his nerves failed to get the better of him. Before he could form another thought, a small being crashed through the door. Its features were alien in every measure of the meaning, but William was still able to discern that the creature was in peril and distress. And then it spoke... in English.
"You have no idea how many rules I'm breaking, but my Human Studies final is tomorrow and I need help!"
He looked down at the blunt in his hand with eyes wide before fixing his gaze back on his new acquaintance.
*Dammit, Waylon,* he thought. *This thing is laced with something else.*
The little being looked surprisingly similar to pop-culture aliens, which tipped William off that this certainly wasn't real. He firmly believed that aliens would be so fantastically different, so obscured from our wildest imaginations that we likely wouldn't know them when we first saw them as sentient beings. However this wasn't William's first time being taken on a ride he didn't sign up for, and he had the wisdom to go along with it rather than fight against it.
"Um... Alright, well... what do you want to know?" He asked before lifting the blunt back to his mouth only to find that its flame had been extinguished.
"Well," the little alien began, lifting its long index finger into the air and swiping it as though he were using a touchscreen interface. An opaque green line trailed from the end of his finger, and he pulled it open as though it were a backpack and removed from it a clipboard with a stack of papers clipped to it, as well as what appeared to be a writing utensil.
"Can you tell me what you're holding there? What is its purpose?"
William looked down at the half-finished blunt in his hand and thought carefully before responding.
"We have herbs on Earth that when burned and inhaled calm us, relax us, and allow us to forget the things that trouble us in the backs of our minds. For many of us, it allows us to break down creative barriers and think in a more unrestricted way."
"Wow," the little alien remarked as he jotted down a few notes. "Can... Can I try it?" He asked.
William couldn't help but smile, "This is, uhhh... a little strong for someone who's never tried it before. If I had something more measured, I'd be more than happy to share."
"Oh! So there are different levels of inebriation one can achieve from the herbs, and furthermore, you're implying that your species can develop some sort of tolerance to it."
William wiped his hair out of his eyes and nodded, "You're pretty quick. Yeah, our bodies are really adaptable."
"Incredible," he responded. "Alright, next question. What is it that drives a human forward? What do you all want? It would seem to us that your existences are mostly painful and difficult, yet only a handful of you choose to start your next life before your natural expiration. Why is this?"
William made a face and couldn't help but laugh at the little alien. "Wow. That's one way to put it, I guess. Well... for humans, it's not so much about running from strife but dealing with it. There's a satisfaction in overcoming hardship as difficult as that might be to believe. It's about to journey of life and the wisdom you gather from your many failures. I guess when it comes to what we want, it varies a lot. But I think all of us want love and security above anything else."
The alien's eyes lit up at the response. "Love!" It cried out.
"Why didn't I even think to ask?!" He slapped its own forehead. "So love is a word in your lexicon that we cannot understand. Could you elaborate?"
William pondered on this for a moment. To describe love to a creature that didn't understand it would be like describing purple to someone who was born blind.
"Love..." William started with an ounce of hesitation. "Words can't do it any justice if I'm being honest."
"With your limited human lexicon, I would imagine it would be difficult."
"Oh, zip it," William said with a smile. "It's an ineffable feeling, love. It's like wandering through a hundred miles long desert and finally getting a drink of water, but for your heart. Love transcends all languages and borders. It's an affection for someone that runs so deep that you feel as though you can't do without the source of your love."
"I still don't get it," the alien said flatly. "Do you love the other human you were spending your night with?"
"I do," William responded without hesitation. "He's my brother. I would do anything for him, and he would for me."
"Your brother... Oh!" The alien said with excitement, "I nearly forget that your people reproduce sexually! So you form lifelong bonds with your siblings!"
"That's right," William nodded as he turned and looked out the window at the constellations of stars that shined in distant space. "We were born into the world with one another. We overcame the same hardships together, looked out for each other, and felt one another's pain when either of us was sad or anguished. Our mother named us William and Waylon because wherever there's a Will, there's a Way."
The little alien lowered his clipboard and stared at William with soulful eyes.
"The two of us face our hardships together. We can weather any storm, scale any mountain, and cross the seven seas so long as we work together. And although we lost our father when we were young, we still see him in every star, and in every passing comet that comes across our telescope."
"That is..." The alien began as he stared at William. "That's the most... undecipherable concept I've ever heard."
"Aw come on!" William yelled at the little being. "I got all dramatic for you and everything, you seriously don't get it?"
"No," it responded, swiping its finger in the air the same as it had before, and stuffing its belongings back into the void from whence it was pulled. "But I really do appreciate your time."
The being walked towards the exit and lifted its hand towards the red button on the wall. It pressed the button firmly and red lighting shined upon the room suddenly. William looked around urgently and then down to the alien. It looked over its shoulder and nodded.
"They were going to perform a vivisection on you, human."
William gulped. That sounded a little too close to a dissection.
"But they can choose another human, I'm sure. Because where there's a William, there's a Waylon... right? Have a safe trip home, William."
He smiled at the little being as it left the room. For even if the concept of love seemed alien to the little creature, its final act gave William hope that it would someday be the first of its species to understand.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break.
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos | The UFO was way bigger on the inside, than what it seemed, for those looking on the outside. Kaipo was in a room, dark, with black walls, and a massive window that allowed him to see the beauty of the stars, planets and asteroids.
But of course, he didn't give a shit about that. He was too scared, and as he saw the object flying away from our galaxy, it got worse. He was panicking, hard. He didn't even remember how he got there, but he knew he was inside a UFO. The aliens must have done something to his short-term memory... Oh, the aliens? How do they look like? That's the sort of questions casually racing through his mind, within that large sea of thoughts rushing through his brain cells.
Shortly afterwards, an alien came in. To Kaipo's surprise, it didn't look anything like the movies. No tentacles, no green skin, no grey eyes. It looked like a human, but with some minor differences here and there. The eyes were twice as big. The ears were pointing up, and way larger. The clothes looked slightly different. It had a neon-filled jacket, and denim pants that only reach halfway through the ankle. It also had boobs and long, brown hair, which led Kaipo to believe it was a female alien. And he was right.
The alien took a look around, to make sure nobody else was there, and then said "Okay, I'm breaking waaaay too many rules, so let's just make it quick. "
"What the fuck is going on? Please don't hurt me!" said the frightened Kaipo.
"Oh, don't worry, it's okay. Nothing's gonna hurt you. I just need some help, I'm having my human studies final tomorrow."
"Human studies? What the fuck is that? You aliens are having classes about us?" uttered a now more relaxed Kaipo.
"Yeah. But our knowledge is kinda limited. The only things we know are based on what the Americans told us, at Area 51. So basically, we just know some of your languages, and useless everyday trivia... Also, I'd really appreciate it, if you didn't call us Aliens. Someone might overhear it, and alien millennials get offended by that. Just refer to us as Glowmans. "
"Bruh... I don't even know what to say."
"Don't worry, just answer my questions... So, first off, what's your name?"
"Kaipo."
"Alright, nice to meet you, Kaipo. I'm Kolissa. So, you're a black male, in your 20's, right?"
"What? No, I'm Polynesian!"
"Poly what? That race is not on the list... Or was it?" She quickly checks her list on what looks like a futuristic aircellphone. It wasn't on the list indeed.
"Oh my god, I just discovered a brand new human race" she said.
"Brand new? Us polys have been here for so fucking long..."
"When I tell this to my teacher tomorrow, you guys will be brand new."
"Look, can I go home?"
"Not now, but don't worry, this cruise will be above earth again in two days."
"Two days? What am I gonna eat?"
"I have human food." She pulls out a paper bag filled with something, and hands it to him.
"This is taco bell!"
"Oh, so Mr. Human can only eat fancy food now? Grow up, at least you never had to eat mlynocks for 5 days straight."
Kaipo was getting pissed. She noticed it, and pulled out a mysterious device from her pocket. It was the Glowman equivalent of an Ipod. She thought it'd be a good idea to put on some music. She plays" WAP" by Cardi B.
"What the fuck? I can't even escape that trash in space? Please kill me."
"Sorry, I thought this is what you humans listen to."
"Only the stupid ones. Lemme show you what real music is." She stops playing that song, and he reaches for his pocket, pulls out his phone, and plays "What's my age again" by blink-182. He thought she'd be surprised, but she actually sung along.
"Woah, you know that song?"
"Yeah, of course. Me and my friends used to hack earth's entire music network, just to browse and look for those kinds of songs. I'm so sorry, I thought you were the boring, normie type. Didn't realize you're one of those guys."
"Those guys?"
"Yeah, you know... Those stereotypical white guys from the early 2000's, who wear baggy clothes, listen to pop punk, start every sentence with 'Duuuuuuude' and try to impress girls by mimicking Stifler from American Pie."
"For the last fucking time, I'm Polynesian!"
Three male aliens, in a suit, decide to enter the room, all of a sudden . Not knowing what else to do, Kolissa kisses him, and hopes they feel awkward, and shy away... Which they did, as they thought she was just kissing a fellow male Glowman. They then leave, and Kolissa and Kaipo stop making out.
"Okay, what the fuck was that?"
"I had to. If they saw your face, they'd know you're a human... Hey, don't act like you didn't like it!" | 2021-01-22T09:55:54 | 2021-01-22T09:12:16 | 1,825 | 56 |
[WP] When a person turns 18. they get to pick a statistic. For the rest of their life, they will know this statistic about anyone they meet (lies told, days left alive, etc.) |
Charlie reads his book on the couch contently and his younger brother, Aaron walks in the room with a scowl.
Charlie laughs and asks, “What’s wrong?”
Aaron sighs dramatically, “It’s so stupid! I can’t do anything! I can’t wait until I’m eighteen and then I’m out of here!”
Charlie smiles sadly; he had just turned eighteen and knew that it wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.
Charlie replies, “It’s going to be okay Aaron, take a deep breath. You’ll be there soon enough.”
Aaron rolls his eyes sitting on the recliner, “Why are you still here? Why don’t you get a life somewhere? You never even said which stat you chose.”
Aaron turns on the television and Charlie grabs the remote lowering the volume.
Charlie responds, “You’ve got a lot more going for you than you think Aaron.”
He chuckles when his younger brother sighs disappointedly. He had been nagging Charlie every day since his birthday for the stat that he chose, but Charlie never answered.
Aaron begins to talk to himself aloud, “When I get older, I am going to get the best stat. I am going to see how successful a person is and so I’ll align myself with the right people.”
Charlie looks up from his book curiously, “What do you define as success Aaron?”
Aaron looks over a little surprised that Charlie actually was listening and replies, “I want to be rich.”
Charlie shakes his head, “So you don’t care about happiness? Even if you meet rich people, it doesn’t mean you’ll become one. A lot of them have inheritances or their own businesses. Some of them do spend their money but others just save it in bank accounts for decades to accrue interest. What about people who are successful in their jobs and are happy but live simply and put every dollar back into their businesses?”
Aaron ponders for a minute and then asks, “What if I see how happy people are?”
Charlie nods, “That should be fine as long as you don’t rely on anyone else’s happiness around you.”
Charlie goes back to reading and Aaron swipes the book from his hands, “What do you mean Charlie?”
Charlie touches his brother’s cheek and takes back his book when his brother looks to the side.
Charlie replies, "I mean that there are tons of miserable people in the world and if you can see how many people are not truly happy, you might get depressed."
Aaron sighs, "You picked a useless statistic, didn't you? Like how many books a person has read?"
Charlie smiles, "How is that useless? Many people say that the more books you read the smarter you are."
Aaron rolls his eyes, "That's not true, toddlers read picture books, teens can read manga, and then there's different levels of novels. Stephanie Meyer's Twilight is nothing compared to Heart of Darkness. It would be a completely useless stat."
Charlie laughs, "Then why would I do that? It's still a once in a lifetime gift; you can't waste something like that."
Aaron groans, "You're so impossible!"
Charlie shakes his head and says, "Nah!"
Aaron laughs at his brother's nonchalant attitude and then says, "I'm going to see how many minutes they are going to spend lecturing and annoying me."
Charlie shakes his head, "Don't do that. I am going to lecture you for the rest of my life. You don't want to know when I'm going to die; that's too much pressure on you."
"What is your stat Charlie?" Aaron asks quietly.
Charlie smiles and rolls his eyes, “I’ve been extremely fortunate growing up and also extremely sheltered. As much as I want to experience things myself, I also want to learn from other people. When someone’s life is turned absolutely upside down, they grow as a person. My statistic is I see how many times someone’s life has been irreversibly turned around.”
Aaron thinks for a minute and then looks at him perplexed, “Do I have a number?”
Charlie nods, “Yes, it’s one.”
| Jasper knew he loved her. He'd told her so many times - 14, to be exact. Yet still his palms were sweaty and his cuticles picked raw. A shaving cut glistened on his cheek as he gazed at his craggy features and gray flecked hair in the mirror. He looked every one of his 31 years and a few extra.
Jessica was already waiting for him at the bus stop. Another Thursday night. Date night. But something was different and she knew it. A nagging doubt filled her mind, could she reveal her statistic? She'd guarded it since her 18th birthday, refusing to tell anyone, especially those closest to her. There was something otherworldly about the whole system, a strange perversion on the human psyche.
Suddenly, Jasper was embracing her. Through the comforting and familiar warmth she could feel a new sensation, a slight shaking. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered a truth.
Jessica gasped.
There was no going back. Jasper took a step away, and she had never seen him so vulnerable, yet so complete. She took his hands in hers, and after a deep breath, revealed her statistic... | 2014-08-11T06:33:28 | 2014-08-11T02:18:32 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days. | Have you ever felt drawn to a person or place? Like a beacon in another dimension, it signals you closer. Silver Oak Retirement home was such a place to me. A small, two-story building that held maybe 12 residents. Everyday for the past year I walked by on my way to work and everyday I resisted, asking "why?" instead of saying "okay". Today, I followed my calling.
"Hello, how can I help you?" the receptionist asked.
I decided to lie. What are the chances they let someone off the street just walk on in? "I'm here to see my... dad."
"Ugh huh." The receptionist raised her eyebrow. "You know I see everyone that walks through that door and I ain't never seen your face before. With all that gang crap happening outside you think I'll just let you come in here and disturb my residents? If you don't have a name for this "dad' of yours, you're going to have to turn right around and leave, sir."
"Sorry, not dad... um... mom. Mary... Hotch?"
The receptionist gazed down at her computer. "Well, aren't you just a lucky one. There just happens to be a Mary Hotch. I'm going to have to ask you for your ID and please fill out this form." She slid a clipboard across the counter. "And I will personally be monitoring this visit, seeing as you you couldn't remember if it was your dad or mom you were seeing."
I pulled out my ID and slid it over. She read the name aloud, "Oliver Ritchie. Not even the same last name. Boy, you're lucky you got that name right, mhmm."
A bit theatrical wasn't it? I couldn't blame her though, this neighbourhood was starting to get worse. When the hospital closed, a lot of the money left the area too, leaving the drug addicts to fend for themselves. Some started gangs dealing the drugs they lost from the hospital. A lot of people didn't have the money to pay; a lot of people were dying over that.
I slid the clipboard back. "Follow me," she said and she took me down the hall. She knocked twice on the door labelled "17" and announced, "Mary, you have a visitor."
An old woman with curly grey hair, resembling a tumbleweed, turned her head from window. Her eyes seemed familiar, like a destination I had been to before. She must have felt it too because she nodded and pointed towards the chair by her bed. I sat down and we began to talk.
"Hi Mom," I said, "I know I haven't come by in awhile but I wanted to see how you were doing."
Mary held her gaze. "It's okay, son, all I do is look out this window. Not much to talk about unless you want the schedule of the squirrels and songbirds." A little smile crept up on her lips.
"It sounds fascinating."
Mary turned to the receptionist. "Is there a problem, dear?"
"No, no problem, I just wanted to make sure he was who he said he was. Can't be too careful these days."
"It's quite alright, thank you."
"Alright, just yell if things aren't alright."
"I will, thank you."
Then, there was the two of us.
"Now, what is your name, 'son'?" asked Mary.
"Oliver," I told her, "Oliver Ritchie."
The name alone jolted her with electricity. Her eyes widened and hands began to shake. "Who... were your parents?"
"Jane Ritchie and Lenny Ritchie." The names didn't help to calm her. She began to rub her eyes and look nervously around the room. "Did you know them?" I asked.
"Just by name," she said. "They were your adoptive parents, weren't they?"
How did she know that?
"They lived in Waco, didn't they?"
"That's where I grew up," I said. "How do you know?"
"I'm... I'm sorry, dear. Oh... look at you. You're all grown up." Her eyes struggled to hold back her tears. "You became such a handsome boy."
"Please, Mary, how do you know all this?"
"It was the doctor," she said. "Her said you were different. You were different than the rest. You had Protagonist Syndrome. Have you ever heard that?"
I shook my head.
"It meant..." She took out a tissue and blew her nose. "Your childhood would be tragic. Tragic if we stayed."
"If 'we'?"
"Me and your father."
The beacon that pulled me here sounded. It rang from the hills, across the plains of my existence. It woke a fire bright and raging, sweeping across the past I thought I knew, leaving behind the reality that hid behind its veil.
"You're... my mother?" I asked.
"We were scared, we didn't know what you'd become. We just saw the most beautiful boy in the world. The doctor said parents that have children of your kind have a 1% survival rate past the age of 6. We didn't want that pain for you."
"So you gave me up?"
"Adoptive parents have a 98% survival rate with Protagonist children. We just wanted you to have a normal life."
I didn't know how to feel. I could feel the connection with this woman, I knew she was telling the truth. But... what now?
As I sat, lost in thought, she stood from her chair and began walking over. "Could I just hold you, this once? It's been 40 long years," she said, opening her arms.
I was torn. My past was desperate to remain in tact. This woman was a stranger I had just met. Why would I hug her? But my other half was reaching, reaching for that embrace. Before I could decide for myself, her arms were around me and her face was dampening my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she said, "for everything."
I caved in and held her close. Like a sailor lost at sea, I had found a shore. There was something solid I could finally stand on.
Outside the window came a crash, then the sounds of gunshots. Another sound followed—breaking glass. I could feel a pain in my abdomen. Like a... like a...
My mom gazed up, her grip growing weak.
"I... I guess it was inevitable. I'm... glad I got to see you, love. One last time." | My fingertips were as blue as my son's face as he emerged from behind my wife's gown. I had long lost the feeling in all of my hand and was in a trance of anticipation and anxiety. Seeing his bloodied little face wailing into the void was surreal. The moment had finally come. I had been through 10 months of planning, prepping, serving, and not sleeping. I was defending a dissertation in Daddyology and now it was time to see if they'd open your door to fatherhood and address me as "Doctor."
The actual doctor looked puzzled. My heart sank. My wife was too thrown by pain and trauma to crawl out of the shroud of blood-boiling screams to notice. I had become all too familiar with how she would sound if she were to be brutally murdered in the last 2 hours.
"Wh.. what is it?" I trembled, managing to lip sync something resembling a question as my brain lapped my mouth in my train of thought.
"Well, it looks like it's time." He said firmly, looking me dead in eye for a moment and then looking back at my newborn son.
The baby's hair was glowing blue, as well were his azure eyes as he cooed in his swaddling.
"Baby! Did you hear that? Something's wrong!" I said jarring my wife from her shell-shocked daze.
She scrambled to sit up a bit.
"What?!" She screamed in a sobering moment, her eyelids shot open like headlights in a storm.
"Nothing's wrong" the doctor reassured us.
"It's just his time"
I had had this nightmare before. As the due date grew closer and closer I got more and more anxiety about losing the baby or having it not be healthy when it came into the world. I embraced my wife with warmth as we awaited an explanation.
"Not the baby..." the doctor said turning toward us.
"You. "
I felt a cold shiver down my spine. This was it. This is how it all ends. My life played back in my mind in bullet time. All the mistakes, the good times, the beauty, it all lead to this. Resigned, I was ready to face the void or the profundity of what was next.
Instead a blurred white vignette closed my view down to a small circle.
"Directed by Kojimi Yamamoto" it read
*what the actual fuck?!* I pondered
"Produced by Square Enix"
"Game design by Kohei Ichinose"
The list went on and on. I was frozen. Lifeless. I could do nothing but watch this bizarre parade of Japanese names scroll by. A soundtrack played in epic fashion and gave me peace save an incessant clicking sound like button mashing on a controller.
"Hold X to skip" suddenly appeared in the lower right corner.
A green light spilled into the black border around the circle around the "X" until the screen cleared the white blur to clarity again.
"Start NEW GAME+?"
"CHANGE DIFFICULTY TO NORMAL?"
Appeared over my blue eyed baby's troll hair.
I had been the main character of a game my whole life. I suppose that explained the incredibly polarizing moral decisions I've had... and the looting...even the disproportionate success I've had with attractive women. I guess it's been a wild ride either way...
Wait that was the EASY VERSION?!! | 2020-04-28T05:44:54 | 2020-04-28T05:36:29 | 385 | 110 |
[WP] The end of times has come. Heaven, hell, and earth are thrown in a three-way war. It's a little unfair how advanced Earth is, though. | At one point in time, I had thought my fallen son was the greatest deceiver.
My mind had been changed quickly, no more than a few hours into the endtimes that I had intended to last little more than a few days.
Oh, my seraphim had cleansed the land with winds of fire, and had been making easy work of the legions of hell using the armour of the interminable and the swords of justice.
My faithful had risen, and it had appeared that it would only be a matter of time before all was over with.
The trouble started in Chicago. When we got there, the city was empty. We wandered around, trying to find what had happened. It didn't smell of brimstone, people weren't to be seen, and the animals seemed unperturbed.
Jacob was the first to go missing. Followed by Gabriel. Michael came to me for instruction during a retreat from a fight with the great dragon, and announced that he had surprised a host of goblins and slaughtered them. There shortly followed a battle of heaven & hell, but we had already lost Jacob and Gabriel to them.
This repeated itself on Kyuushu, in Kern, in Accra, on Newfoundland, in Bubanza, in Damphu, in Alor Setar, on Quinchao . . . wherever we went, the men of the earth were gone, and we and the demons surprised each other.
Our forces were powerful, not great, and when Michael surprised the great dragon, and vice-versa, as they met each other in Mariehamn, Michael fell.
Then the tides seem to turn for us. Whereever we went, we surprised the legions to our advanatage, and battled them back. We met the titans one by one as they travelled, and we met just so many of the lesser demons as we could easily handle.
If Gaberiel had survived, we may have realized sooner.
It was the men of the earth.
Our plans were listened to, and we were manipulated, and likewise were the legions of hell. When our plans could not have been heard by spies, by radios & microphones hidden & unknown to us, they gathered data and predicted our movements with an omni-science I was envious of. I could see everything and know very little, but they had made the science of seeing very little and knowing very much. With their hordes of thinkers, my perfect knowledge was never as fast as it needed to be, and they always distracted me. They always knew *how* to distract.
They listened to the ground, and knew without seeing where the legions of hell were and what they were doing. They knew where to upset the lines of the continents to make the demons dig their tunnels differently, they knew where the demons intended to go, and they knew what demons to expect.
And they guided us both, and they emptied their cities in concentrated efforts, and controlled the battles of heaven & hell until both our armies dwindled.
They never needed to swing a sword or shoot a gun to come to victory.
When the great dragon was brought to chains, I retreated. My fallen son, the once-greatest deceiver, is now a being to be studied by academics and by causal observers in a garden of animals built around him in Greenland.
At that time, his legions and my angels were all gone. The bodies played out across the earth.
Looking back with omniscience, it is easy, trivial to see my mistakes. For Chicago, we had wanted to go to Milwaukee, but the skies there were cloudy and we feared an ambush, because I had known we would be ambushed. The men of the earth had fashioned a rocket engine to billow clouds of steam into the air so that we would divert. The goblins had intended to come up in the countryside and from the forests into the towns, but the explosives that had been buried guided their tunnel-making to Chicago.
But that simple explanation underplays the thought that had gone into what had turned out to be simple diversions. I had never thought to question clouds. The goblins had never thought that the mines were anything but random and plentiful, instead of narrow lines buried scant metres under an upturned surface.
It was perfect execution to convince us without thinking, without searching further, that what we were facing was routine and normal. Non-suspicious.
Those that had risen with me, mere men of the earth, but now my most powerful allies, being the only ones left, even they knew of their own kinds deception.
Apparently they had been much in favour of creating them, organizations like the NSA or CSIS, dedicated to treachery and knowledge of others, that could be leveraged even against invincible opponents. Organizations designed to keep humanity safe.
My poor fallen son. I would have to rescue him. What life would he have on such a plane of deceivers? | Satan sat, head in his hands, listening to his top general, Beelzebub.
"All we have are these fucking flaming swords!" the general spat.
Satan looked up, "Well those 'fucking flaming swords' have done us wonders in all past fights, throughout time, with the above forces."
Azazel chimed in, "In the past all we were doing was cutting off wings, and cutting through plate and chain armor. Do you know what a "tank" is? We can hardly get near the things. And on the rare occasion we manage to strike at them it does literally nothing."
"Well what about psychological warfare?" Satan asked." "We are the cause of nightmares. We are the reason people stay awake at night! We are the creators of..."
"Actually sir," Azazel interrupted, "They stay up watching strong pornography, and actively searching out the most disturbing images they can find, in between fits of watching Netflix that is. Our most advanced psychological illusions are now top hits on Youtube."
Satan sighed, "At least the Heavenly Forces are not having it any easier. Humanity doesn't like anyone coming to take over."
Some commotion could be heard outside the doors of the meeting hall. A guard rushes to announce the new visitor, but is shovedout of the way by a large figure in blood-stained white. Obviously an angel, but with no sword, no armor, and with wings down. He appeared to be dying.
"What the this-place is an Apache Helicopter!"
In the days that followed humanity used guns, carbon fiber, steel, and jet fuel, to beat the ever living shit out of all lesser races. Our military leaders laughed at their medieval weapons and armor, which did nothing against their war-machines. In the end they tortured the locations of the portals-to-other-planes out of the enemy forces. Heaven is currently being turned into a resort dimension, and hell is being used to store garbage until we think of something better to do with it. | 2015-09-24T10:14:59 | 2015-09-24T09:55:50 | 36 | 21 |
[WP]All the other heroes fighting the super villain have clever quips, quirky powers, and hilarious sidekicks. You'll have none of that nonsense, going in brutally and efficiently. Now everyone is complaining that you're ruining the fun. | Most heroes fly around in shiny neon-coloured spandex, having banter with their villains, some even having romantic relationships with them. They heroically save the day against cartoonishly insane supervillains, seductive and intriguing master thieves, and of course the various nemeses who swear that next time they'll get them and their little dog to. And then they're showered in medals for saving the city, with their kid sidekicks at their side.
Of course, this is after they've destroyed half of it in a showy battle with whoever attacked it. It's not talked much about, as the fanatic fans of the heroes single out and attack the people who point it out, but the leading course of death in America today, is superheroes. When the big strong heroic leagues and guilds challenge the latest tin-pot space tyrant in the vicinity of our Solar System, how many people die in the aftermath? Millions.
I went into the business desiring to reform it. To do away with the arrogant heroics of the past, to save the most people possible in the most efficient method as physically possible. I started out how a lot of heroes do, stopping muggers, rapists, drug dealers, your basic low-level scum. But when I got my first real battle against a real villain, some food calling himself the GigaGod, I didn't let him harm anyone. My battle with him was over in an instant. I am a magic user, and I used a spell to freeze his heart within a small block of ice. It's not instant magical heart attack, but it'll do the trick. Zero fatalities beyond the dead villain, and honestly nobody was really grieving for somebody who had the theme of forcing people to worship him.
At first it wasn't a big deal. But when I killed the second actual villain, one of the C-listers for Colonel Command, I actually got flak. The Blooddrowned wasn't loved by anyone, since he was well known for drowning entire families at a time. And when the Colonel, flanked by War Huntress and the Caped Demon came to call on me, I was a little surprised. Even more so when they complained about how I shouldn't kill people, about the sanctity of life, and the importance of being a good example.
It was very hypocritical. That villain had killed some three dozen people, and he had been just put in an asylum from where he, and pretty much all of the villains, escaped from daily. I wasn't happy. And when I killed a D-lister who used children as drug-mules, I actually got called by the entire flipping Justice Army Command. They told me that I was going into villain territory, that they had a duty to do the right thing, and no killing. They withdrew my membership on a temporary base, until I had learned my lesson. Something I decided I wasn't going to do.
I had originally gone for a more down-played and simple uniform, grey robe of a mage, hooded, and masked, nothing flashy. After that meeting, I went full on incognito. Black robe, no voice, no talking, no small jobs. Long range spells designed to kill allowed me to take down villains left and right. I wanted to enforce peace, not be a loved hero. I didn't become a hero for the parades, the medals, or meeting the president. I became a hero to save people. And if I had to save people from the overly enthusiastic heroes, and the villains that they depended upon to fight, so be it.
Using magic, I created a person sized homunculus in my image, perfect recreation, and left it to burn in a car wreck. Faking my death. With my secret identity and heroic persona dead, I took a new moniker; The Phantom Retribution. And I cast out many murderous villains. Filthy, vile people. Those who used advanced lobotomies to create slaves without any free will, who were still capable of doing day-to-day self care. Those who made new drugs, and peddled out the old ones. Everywhere I went, I killed silently, and efficiently. The heroes knew not what to do about me at first. Especially when they dragged down an easily avoidable battle with Cambinus, the knight of the Black Star, who had been drawn to Earth by the meddling of heroes. His attack, provoked by a hero infiltrating his fortress and accidentally managing to kill his wife, devastated Dallas. 1.1 million of the 1.3 million inhabitants died. I flew in on wings made from magic manifested, past the ruined cityscape where police and national guard were being overrun by the Black Star armies as the heroes focused their attacks on the knight. I simply teleported his brain into the sun.
Afterwards, I stayed to take down the now demoralised armies, giving mercy to those who surrendered, and ending those who would fight to the bitter end. During the clean up, after I had used magic to dig a tunnel down into a celler that had been blocked by a collapsed house, a microphone was thrusted into my face by some intrepid reporter type.
''*So, can you tell our viewers a bit about yourself, Retribution?*'' I stared at her from behind the void-veil made of stars hiding my face. I knew their types, always interested in getting a hero as their private matter. ''**This battle came about because of a careless hero interfering with a foreign power. Had Soul Sailor not killed the wife of Cambinus, this attack would have never happened. I care nothing for these so-called heroes. Murderers of millions, I consider them to be.**'' And with that, I teleported to my sanctum.
I keep no electric devices, too trackable, so I didn't know before Colonel Command came to me. Angry. And the Colonel is not a man known for his soft temper. ''*I don't know who you think you are, Phantom. Do you even know what you've done? You're ruining the fun for all of us.*'' He threw a newspaper at me, which was surprising since I wasn't really certain those still existed. The front page had big blocky words: A title designed to draw your attention. It said ''Heroes or Monsters?'', an apt question. ''*This is the worst damn press we've had since the 70s. The heroes are worried, especially since there are fewer villains to go around these days because of you. How are we supposed to make ends meet if people aren't loving us, buying our toys, our merch? You've ruined the fun for all of us!*'' That was why he was angry? Not about the heroes who had sacrificed themselves being forgotten, not about the dead millions caused every year by metahumans and vigilantes? ''**I do not care for your profit margins. I care for the people. I save lives, not just here and now, but tomorrow, and in a hundred years. What you do, agitating space tyrants, putting superhuman villains in cardboard prisons, giving chances to those who consider roast baby ribs a delicacy? That is not helping anyone. That is letting the whole world suffer for no good reason. I do this for the people!**'' He started to laugh. I could not believe my own ears.
''*Who cares about the people? Those ungrateful turds should be happy we even spare time to them!*'' That was too much. With a single spell, I separated his torso from his limbs, leaving him a quadruple paraplegic. ''**I CARE ABOUT THE PEOPLE! WE HEROES ARE NOT HERE TO BE WORSHIPPED LIKE GODS! WE ARE HERE TO SAVE LIVES YOU MISERABLE NARCISSIST! If you care more about your profit margins, your filthy merch, and about the admiration, than the lives of ordinary people, then I'll ask you to deliver a simple message to your allies. Once I'm done with the villains, then, if you selfish bastards haven't reformed, I am going to come after you. Because I know the numbers, the statistics. More people die because of you heroes stopping robberies or fighting evil robots, than of cancer or obesity. In my eyes, your choice to be popular and wealthy, rather than efficient and just, is just as bad as the crimes of those whom you fight against. Apathy and complacency, is the death of all that is good.**''
I left him there, for his team to find. They will try to hunt me down in their flashy and extravagant way. But I will not play the game with them. I am the Phantom Retribution, and I will strike down evil wherever it may be found with efficient brutality.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | Fun. They think this is fun. Heroes and villains alike. There are lives of innocents at stake, and they want to have fun. You want to have fun? Go to an amusement park.
There they are, listening while the villain monologues. Don't you realize that he's playing for time? That he's waiting until his henchpeople get the trap in place? And as for *you* monologuing, does he *ever* stick around to listen? Not if he's read the evil overlords handbook! He's out the door and long gone before you figure out that you've been yacking at a hologram! "Oh, he never was here, he just tricked us in here with a hologram."
Mutton heads, the lot of you. He was here, he saw you start your monologue, tripped the hologram, and ***left***!"
I've had enough. You can keep your stupid club. I'm going to do the job *my way*.
"Got you cornered. You gonna give up nicely?"
"You ask that? You're an idiot! Yada yada yada."
I wait just long enough for him to get fully wrapped up in his own voice.
*BANG*
He's tied up in my nets and crying because he didn't get to do his monologue. His henches show up, with the trap, and we are both long gone.
"Hey! We've been working on that guy for a week! You gotta lot of nerve going in and stealing our catch!" Oh great, one of the bozos from the hero club.
"A week? Oh, you mean a week *this time*. You lot started on him last year. Every month, a new exciting adventure. Do you have any idea the chaos that *both sides* caused? No? Over that time, ten thousand ordinary people terrified out of their minds, three thousand lost their jobs, one thousand were put in mortal peril, and fifteen died. Of that fifteen, five I lay directly at your feet. They were killed because you didn't make sure the building was empty.
"I'll be putting the records for that before the council and the commissioner."
"*You* didn't pull them out either!" I really don't get it. The task is to stop the villain, but they continually do stupid stuff that lets the bad guy get away, and they **don't check for trapped civilians**!
"That's because the total deaths would have been 300, of which 95 would have been his, the other 205 yours. The 15? You decided to go all death blossom, **in the middle of a fucking city**, before I could get to them.
"You lot are *more* dangerous than *he* is. Excuse me."
*BANG*
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO TRY TO ESCAPE!
"Now, where were we... Yes. You lot are more dangerous than the villains are. From now on, I'm solo, and I'm not in this for the fun. I'm on this to stop bad guys and save lives, with a minimum of fuss and bother for the people."
"But... But... *That will ruin it for everyone!*" Ruin. Ruin what? Their fun? It sure as hell isn't going to "ruin it" for all the people who aren't terrified, unemployed, or dead!
"Will it ruin it for the fifteen who died? Will it ruin it for their families? Will it ruin it for all the people who lost their jobs?"
"You... You... You ***vigilante***!" Oh, and "you* aren't? You're not official police. You are not sworn in as a citizen helping the police. You decide someone is a villain — with good cause, mostly — then hound them for a year or more while terrorizing the city.
"Really? You want to play that card? I just captured, **and** successfully delivered him to the police. No one was put at risk. No buildings destroyed. No jobs lost. ***NO DEATHS!*** And you want to call me a vigilante? You lot are worse than *vigilantes*. Calling any of you *vigilantes* is an insult to every person who stepped up to do the jobs *you* kept flubbing for *fun*.
"Get out of my sight. Hang up your uniforms. As of today, each and every one of you who continue to play at being heroes for the *fun* of it are villains in my eyes."
"You can't do that! We're Heroes!" Heroes. You need an eye opener, let's wander up to Judge Bean's court. See if I can time it right.
"What do you call people who kill through negligence, destroy buildings, terrorize the people, destroy livelihoods, in the name of *FUN*?"
"Villains, of course!"
"Your honor? I rest my case. He has admitted his guilt in open court. *And*, since so-called heroes are already sworn to tell the truth at all times, he's already under oath."
With great satisfaction, Judge Bean seizes on the opportunity to remove one of these idiots. "Bailiffs, take him away, the sentencing hearing will be tomorrow. Well done, Mr. Vigilant, I hope we can count on you to continue the good work."
"I will ever do my best."
Now, who's next.
((finis))
Edit: tried to clean up the dialogue so it's clearer who's talking. | 2020-04-13T13:03:59 | 2020-04-13T12:52:49 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] An I.T guy explains to their boss why they're sacrificing goats in the server room. | ”All right, Joe,” my boss said, drumming his knuckles on the desk, “lay it on me.”
Mr. Richards was a bulky man in his fifties and had been running the IT department for nearly two decades. He was known as a no-nonsense kind of guy, and when I’d been called to explain the goings-on in the server room, I knew I was in for it.
“So, uh, you know how we had trouble with our local network a few months back?”
“I have a vague memory of that…”
From the flushed cheeks and the slight tremor in his voice, it was clear that he was barely able to contain his anger. It was only a matter of time before the volcano erupted and his office was turned into a raging inferno.
“You remember how we couldn’t fix it? You said – and I quote – ‘the devil himself must’ve possessed our routers.’ So that whole thing got me thinking.”
“Yeah?” he said through his teeth.
“Well, we don’t have that problem anymore. And the LAN is working flawlessly.”
My boss shook his head solemnly. I could see the fire in his eyes.
“You must be joking.”
“I think, if I may say so, that you should let me do my job,” I said and reared back a little when I noticed his reaction. “Apart from the smell… it’s really not that bad.”
That apparently pushed him over the edge, and he stood up and stomped across the room, grabbing me by the throat. I could smell his lunch on his breath – cooked spinach, garlic-marinated chicken, and rosemary potatoes – not exactly what I’d expected. Pretty sure he’d said he’d be on a juice diet this week.
“What. Were. You. Thinking!?” The spit hit me like a spring drizzle in the face.
“It’s really not that bad…” I said, trying to keep from choking. “It’s… just one goat… each fortnight… and… one extra… each holiday… I even… pay for them myself.”
I could see the veins bulging in his forehead, his eyes turning bloodshot with rage, his pudgy fingers trying their best to crush my windpipe.
“I’m going to kill you myself!” he roared. “Sacrificing goats in the server room! I swear to god, Joe, this is the–”
The grip on my throat slackened, and his face shifted from red to purple and from anger to surprise. Mr. Richards gasped for air, his eyes big in their sockets.
****
“You’re Joe, correct?” said Mr. Dean, the CEO of the company. “It’s a tragedy what happened to Mr. Richards.”
“Very tragic,” I said, nodding.
“I heard you were close.”
“Yes, in the few months I’ve worked here I really came to respect the man.”
“He was a great asset, and he’ll be missed. But as you know, the world keeps spinning, and we need a new head of the IT department. After you fixed our network, I feel like you’ve earned yourself a promotion.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dean.”
He nodded and put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s that smell, by the way?”
“Oh, it’s just, uh, one of the servers got overheated. No biggie.”
“Right, I’ll be on my way then. I trust you’ll keep things running down here.”
“Of course, Mr. Dean – the IT department is in good hands.”
He flashed me a winning smile and turned to walk away.
“Oh, and,” I said quickly. “Mr. Richards’ last words were that he’d like to be cremated.”
“See to it.”
“Yes, sir,” I said and bowed slightly. “Our network will be the fastest in town.”
****
/r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.
| Oh woe, oh woe,
Oh dreary day,
Come the CEO,
Right away,
To pester - to question,
To demand - declare perplexion,
Though slow, thou knows,
In hurt dismay,
Must proffer CEO,
Explana-
-tion.
One zero, zero one, one, one, zero, one.
We sacrifice this goat not merely for fun,
Some Hero named Nero did, summoned, come,
Appeared and did order to slay for love,
This damned goat.
In fact, not just this one, but several,
To our god, whomever it may be,
So quickly, with damned goats, we assembled,
In the server room, on floor 3.
Offered the sacrificial blade,
The CEO - Dave,
Obliges. | 2017-08-19T01:35:44 | 2017-08-19T01:09:16 | 481 | 13 |
[WP] You have the power to see five minutes into the future and manipulate minor events that happen in that timespan. No one takes you seriously. You're going to show them all why they should. | I don't know how it started, or why I was chosen. I always called them glitches in the Matrix - you know, after the movie - when it happens.
The first time, I was young. I saw my death. I don't mean that in a gruesome way - I was just a kid, chasing a ball out into the street, and a car hit me. It was over quickly, surrounded by my crying parents and the neighbors, the driver horrified at what they had done.
But it stopped me from chasing the ball, and true to the premonition - at least, most of it, as I clearly wasn't in the right spot - the ball went under the car. They didn't stop. No one was crying. I wasn't hurt.
But I remembered.
I don't know how to control it, but I always listen to it. As I grew up, it got more frequent - it started to become events that weren't directly related to me, but always had ripples. Sometimes it took me a while to catch up to those ripples, but I always did eventually. For instance, when I was 18, I saw one of those bike delivery boys get clipped by a car on a curb. Car didn't stop, delivery boy was harmed, I think comatose. I didn't know the kid - he didn't look like anyone important, at all. Just a delivery driver.
I stopped him. I had learned, you know - always listen to the glitches. So I dropped my bag in front of him, and he stopped on his bike to help me, just as the car hit the curb, seconds from where he should have been. He didn't even notice.
I did.
That was years ago. I barely remember some of the glitches, but that one I do - I hadn't caught up to the ripples yet. It always comes back to me, like I'm the center of this universe, and I hate loose ends.
I'm dying, you see.
Right now, I'm in the hospital. I have cancer - some rare, incurable type - and I don't have long to live. My therapist is here, which I thought was nice of her - she knows I don't have family anymore, and well, she isn't supposed to drive to meet clients, but she does for me.
She knows about the glitches, and she thinks it's all in my head. I can't control it, so I can't really prove it, so I guess, in a way, it is. I try to show her things, but I mean, I've changed what was supposed to happen - what she sees is the truth as result to my actions. She thinks I have a hero complex, or a God complex, or something. I don't know. I know she's wrong, so I try to ignore it, but I like talking to her.
We're talking about how I feel about dying, which is, I don't want to. She's asked if I saw this coming - referring to my ability she doesn't believe in - but I didn't, and I tell her that. She asks if I have regrets, and I mention the boy - how I didn't find the ripples yet. I don't know why I saved him. I want to know. I hate leaving things unfinished. I don't really mind dying beyond that.
A doctor comes in. It's normally bad news, so I tend to tune them out. This treatment might help or this thing might lessen the pain. It never does. Can we make you more comfortable? Blah, blah, blah.
I'm trying to be nice, so I don't voice how tired I am of the new treatments. Maybe God or whoever will have pity on me. Maybe He'll explain why I was given this ability. Maybe the cancer and my ability are connected. I don't really know, but I would give it up if I get to live beyond 40.
The doctor hasn't said anything, and finally, I turn to look. His back is to me; he has one of those little carts with his laptop and things on it that he's pulling through the door. That's unusual. I've already signed all the documents.
He turns, and it's instant, electrified. He recognizes me - I recognize him. My therapist is on alert, because she's good at reading body language, like a therapist should be, and she knows \*something\* just occurred.
"That's him," I tell her. I see the understanding dawn on her face. She's never seen the ripples in action. Emotions tumble across her features - surprise, fear, disbelief - gone within seconds, finally settling on professionally \*neutral.\* She thinks I'm playing a joke. I'm all out of jokes.
He clears his throat. "I don't think you remember me," he starts, and I immediately want to challenge that: of course I remember you, I saved your life, you fool. "You saved my life when I was a teenager. Well, I'm a few years late, but I think it's time to repay the favor."
It doesn't make sense what he's saying. My cancer is incurable. Everyone has told me that. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. My therapist clears her throat, but the doctor rushes in to explain, cutting her off.
"I developed a cure, and I think you're a candidate for it. The first, even."
Ripples. | "I swear to God I can see the future." Sara repeats herself for the umpteenth time. She knew she sounded like a petulant child but she was telling the truth and she will make everyone believe, goddamnit!
"Sure, Sara." Tina said trying to mollify me.
If anything it made me even angrier. "Don't 'Sure, Sara' me! I'm telling the truth!"
"Okay, so what happens in the next five minutes." Trish mocked.
Fine. This is how they play it then it was fine with her. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She ignored the mocking comments of her looking constipated and took in a deep breath. Suddenly it felt like she was being pulled by an invisible hook in her navel and into a narrow tunnel. As the feeling passed she opened her eyes.
*She was standing with her friends.*
*Trish was holding something in front of her face.* What an ass!
*Tina was telling everyone to quit it, I see myself coming back to consciousness and since nothing of consequence happened they mock me even more, everyone except Tina.* Always knew why Tina was her best friend. Screw everyone.
*No one notices the speeding car making way towards the group.*
It felt as if everything was happening in slow motion.
*Trish playfully pushes Tina leading her right in front of the speeding car.*
I open my eyes gasping for breath.
"Hey, you okay?" Tina asked, concern lacing her voice.
Seeing Tina in front of her, unhurt, makes Sara thankful for her gift. Everyone was asking her about what she saw but she couldn't answer, because everytime she closed her eyes she saw Tina's lifeless ones staring back.
"I don't feel so good." Sara said, placing her hand on her neck. "Can we sit down for a bit?"
A round of concerned of-course rang through the group and she sits, Tina by her side. She holds her scared of even letting go.
A screech of tires then a crash makes everyone turn their heads, everyone except Sara's. She tightened her grip on Tina's hand.
There was one thing that she didn't mention- that she could manipulate the little things to change the event. And now, now she doesn't know how to tell them. She'd rather save her friend and endure the mocking rather than let anything happen to her friend.
Uncle Ben was right. With great power does come great responsibility. | 2021-12-31T11:49:00 | 2021-12-31T09:18:01 | 1,623 | 104 |
[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." | It had been a good day; I'd had a nice lunch (three cattle) and was settling down for an afternoon nap. Then I heard the footprints. They always think that because I'm huge I can't notice small things, and they can sneak up on me. That one guy, dressed in black with a curved sword, did actually make it pretty far, but he had extra soft boots. And still, I heard him coming.
But this was different. No clinking of armor. And the echo was clearly someone walking down the middle of the main passage, instead of sticking toward the side. And walking regularly, instead of in quick bursts, like someone sneaking from safe spot to another. Either this was the most overly-confident and foolish knight in all of existence, or he was just lost. Then he called my name.
"Hello? Is this the home of Valgraud the Destroyer? I'm---"
Turning the corner, and seeing me laying on my pile of treasure, he paused, both in his walking and his speaking. Then he continued, "Um, yes, I see that I'm in the right place. My name is Thomas, and I've brought you some gold." He threw a coin into the pile. "I have a proposition for you."
This was not something I was used to. Usually they try to steal my gold. Sometimes they promise me gold if only I do something for them. I eat them. I chose not to eat this one.
I fixed him with a stare: "Your money has bought you five minutes of life. Use them wisely, and you may get more."
He looked nervous. That was nice; they taste better when there's some adrenaline in the blood. He said "Well, you see, you like gold, and I know a way to get you lots of gold. Not as much as you've got here, I admit. But still, you'd have more gold than you do now."
I nodded at him, and said "Yes, and what's in it for you? Going to keep some of the gold, are you?"
"Oh, no," he said, "I don't actually care about gold that much. I care about stories. And people care about stories. They like stories so much they'll trade gold for them. I want stories, and I want to share them with people for their money. And I'll bring the gold to you."
I decided he'd get a couple more minutes. "Go on," I said.
"I'm a writer. I want you to tell me your stories, stories of thousands of years of history that nobody knows anymore, and I'll write them down. You'll get full credit, of course, I'm not a plagiarist. But then I'll go and tell the stories to people from what I've written down, and collect the money, and bring the money back to you. I was hoping for maybe two or three hours' worth, and then I'll travel around for a year or so, and bring back all the money, and then we can get a few hours' more written down. I don't want the gold. I just want to tell stories."
This sounded wrong, to me. "Why would a writer be satisfied working as a scribe? If you want stories, you can just make them up. There is something you're not telling me. **Truth, now!**"
He looked terrified. Words started spilling out of him. "People hate my stories. My stories stink. I need good stories."
He sat down, looking dejected. "I'm a terrible writer. I've tried to write my own stories, but I have no sense of pacing and I always get started and then can't figure out where the plot should go. And all the characters end up being versions of me." He kicked at the gold. "I lied when I said people hate my stories. They *would* hate my stories, if my stories were interesting enough to bother hating. Mostly they just don't pay attention at all." He sighed. "When I said I was coming here, people said I'd get killed. I tried to blow it off, but the fact is that I'd rather get eaten than go on as I was, a failure at the only thing I ever cared about."
This was pathetic. I considered eating him, but "pathetic" tastes lousy.
He shrugged. "So, what'll it be? I brought some paper, I can write down some stuff right now. I'll leave you alone for about a year, tell the stories as many places as I can, and bring back all the gold that I collect. If you're happy with how much it is, you can give me more stories. If you're not, I guess you can eat me."
I considered his proposal. Then I ate him. Why should he get famous telling my stories?
| The dragon shifted on its pile of gold, scales innumerable, size immeasurable, and power unmatchable. Even the knight standing before him looked like he was just going to be a snack. The armour he had brought with him would do nothing against the fire of the great beast.
All of this made the fact that the knight was unarmed, very strange.
The knight tossed a single coin into the pile, it quickly slipped into the shifting coins, each moving beneath the dragon as it turned to face the knight. It did the closest thing a dragon could do to raising an eyebrow.
"I have a proposition for you," the knight said, looking somewhere for a chair in the massive cavern, "hear me out?"
Fire licked the dragons lips, and then his tongue did, "What if I don't listen?"
"Then I die," the knight said, dropping his search for the chair to look at the dragon, he shifted his stance twice, "but I needed to try this."
"Try what," the dragon moved closer to him, each scale radiating the heat of a funeral pyre, "and don't mistake my boredom for interest."
"Thanks," the knight sat down on the pile of coins, the sound of his armour scraping against them filled the cavern, "why this kingdom?"
"Becuase I live here," He said, rolling his golden draconic eyes.
"So you're in this cave because it's yours?"
"Exactly," he said, "but that was a question, not a proposition."
"Well," the knight shifted on the coins, nearly falling as they moved like water, "you need more gold don't you?"
"I don't need gold, I take it to prove a point, I'm surprised you had one to give."
"That was the one to give." the knight stood up, "we are going to war with a neighboring kingdom, one with stockpiles of gold."
"You want to take gold so I can just take it from you."
"We want the land," the knight said, "you take the gold."
"And why would you give it to me?"
"It's easier for you to take a castle than it is for us to." | 2015-10-13T19:21:05 | 2015-10-13T17:47:41 | 376 | 60 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | This special day. This I know. Everyone in tribe know. Today I become man. Today I get my thing.
When man can get thing, man is very strong. My brother Ogga is man. He was young as me when he got his thing. He opened his hand and thing that came was stick. Very nice stick. Good for hit enemy tribe man, or poke big horn animal. Flew down from sky like bird into his hand. Ogga is very good with stick. Ogga strong. Ogga protect tribe and has good fat wife and many children.
My cousin Grah had thing that is berries. Grah was best! For many years, tribe eat Grah's berries. Never had famine time, even in snow season. Was very sad when wolf eat Grah two snow seasons ago.
Friend Koga has thing that is big rock (good for drop on mammoth). Friend Magra had thing that is small rock (good for throw at squirrel). Friend Dal has thing that is sand (good for throw at enemy tribe man in face).
So now I try to get my thing. I stand at bottom of big hole now. We do this when we get the thing for first time. Friend Ro'o had thing that is angry mammoth. I miss Ro'o. If thing is angry mammoth, at least Koga can drop rock on it before I am smash.
I look up at Koga. "Koga ready?" I say.
"Yes. I Ready," say Koga. Koga already carry big rock in hands. Koga is strong with big rock.
"Magra ready?" I say.
"I ready," say Magra. Magra already has small rock in rock throw string weapon, and swing it around. Magra is strong with rock throw string weapon.
I reach out hand and try to get thing. I try for long time. I try so long that Koga put down his rock and waits. I try so long that Magra stop spin his rock throw string and waits. I try so long that sun starts to go behind west mountains.
"Thing no come," say Koga.
"Yes thing will come!" I say.
"Go back to tribe home cave," say Magra. "Is not time for you yet. Try get thing tomorrow."
"No! I know thing is coming!" I say.
Sun goes away. Koga goes away. Magra goes away. I put down empty hand with no thing. I climb out of hole and start walk to tribe home cave. I cry. I am feel sad. I am not man. I am not strong. I do not know why thing no come.
I am cry so hard that i am on my knees and there is water in my eyes. So much water I cannot see, and I have to put my hands to my face to wipe it away.
I do not see the pack of wolves surround me. I do not see them close around. I do not see them as one nears my face and opens its mouth.
I only feel the tongues as they lick my face dry. I only feel the fur as they push their heads into my hand. Soon I do not even know why I am cry. When my eyes are clear I look at them. They are strange. Ears too floppy. Tails move side to side. Eyes look at me like I am friend and not meat.
I am close to tribe home cave now. I can hear Koga and Magra laugh. Many tribe man and woman laugh--Bago, Dal, Pokro, even brother Ogga. They are talk about me and my no thing. I look at the wolves. I say, "come!" and me and my new tribe walk away into the night. | They all screamed as the orange haired president doubled over in pain live on national television as I laughed maniacally in the back of the bar waving his severed member in my hand before throwing it into my drink.
“Steve!!” “what the fuck man?!” Randy screamed at me as he vomited onto the floor. “It’s your birthday but damn dude!? Why the fuck did you summon THAT?!”
“World domination baby, world domination”
Everybody stood far away from me as I walked out the front door blood dripping from my fingers, The Donald’s member flopping on the ground.
Who the fuck is going to dare challenge anyone that can rip your junk off from anywhere on the planet?
Let them eat cake. | 2019-09-18T12:35:25 | 2019-09-18T09:37:18 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | Thirty years have gone by in this prison since my last murder. I've had three cellmates in my time. Each one died within a month of moving in. I had nothing to do with any of the deaths. Regardless, I was now a curse in the eyes of the general prison population.
Now, they kept me by myself.
Jacob, the prison guard in my latest home of Cell Block 4A always would spend a little more time talking to me as he made his rounds. The clicking of his shoes on the cement prison floor was in a rhythm all its own, so I always knew when he was coming.
"Number 664, you lonely in there?" He asked just as his figure came into view through the bars.
"No, Jacob," I replied. " My thoughts are always with me in here to keep me company."
He paused and then smirked. He knew what I had done to get in here, but I was a harmless and interesting specimen behind bars to him.
"664, I've been working here for 15 years." He said. "You've been in here for twice that, right?"
"Yes, Jacob. That is correct." Was my simple reply.
His eyes passed over my body from head to toe, eventually meeting mine. He drew himself in close to the bars, never breaking his gaze.
For the first time, I was nervous with him. He was the only soul in this place who paid any attention to me, which is probably why no one had noticed my lack of aging.
"What's your real name, 664?" Jacob asked.
I hesitated. No one had asked me that since my last cellmate died. You almost forget you have one on the inside.
"I'm Augustine," I responded. "Augustine Cachot."
"Well that's an interesting name," he mused to himself. "Sounds very, shall we say... 'vintage' to me."
Jacob was a reasonably smart man. He was humble, metered and wise with an even temperament. I could tell that from my daily interactions with him. In 15 years, you can learn someone's soul from even the most mundane of interactions.
Jacob turned his back to me, stepping back from the bars of my human cage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photograph.
"Augustine Cachot, you've lived in this town for two hundred years, haven't you?" He held the photo up to me as he spoke.
Oddly, I knew it was me in the photo, but didn't remember where or when it was taken. Two hundred years of memories is a lot to retain.
"You haven't aged much since this photo, have you?" He asked, already knowing the answer. "Thirty years here and your body hasn't changed, your hair hasn't grayed and you've never been sick."
I sat down in my cell, waiting to hear his next analytical point. He figured out my immortality by doing what no one else did: by paying attention.
"In 15 years, I've become gray and winkled. My body has slowed. Yet, you remain as you were on the day you arrived."
Jacob handed me a different photo.
"Ah yes," I mused. "My prison intake photo. I was just a handsome 23 year old lad in that one. Time has treated me well."
"Time hasnt touched you," he quickly retorted. "You're in here for your life, which means you'll be here forever, won't you?"
My head dropped into my hands as the word "forever" hung in the air. I'll never leave. Unless I escape, I'll never be anything but a man caged for eternity.
"You're right," I said. "No sense in hiding it at this point."
"Well. . ." Jacob paused, now leaning on a wall. His eyes now fixed firmly at the ceiling.
"Well, what?" I asked.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
And then he walked away. | I'm immortal. I got caught during my regular decade old ritual, killing someone I thought deserved it. This time it was a paedophile I caught in the act. The kid ran away and I couldn't absolve myself.
I'm 50 going on 50000, I've seen civilizations born and die. I've met the world's most famous warlords and Kings. Even a god here or there. But now I'm stuck, in a super max prison. I get 1 hour of time every day outside of my cell, in an enclosed area 30 by 30 feet, by 20 feet high. The other 23 hours I'm confined to my cell.
I killed three guards trying to escape one time. I've killed six inmates in the past three years. I'm on a one way mission to get the state to reinstate the death penalty, just biding my time. It kills me to have to become a monster to get out of here. But I know the only way out is in a body bag.
Please kill me. The suffering needs to end. | 2016-10-15T09:27:27 | 2016-10-15T08:43:24 | 73 | 15 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | Edit: Thank you all for the kind words. There's now a part 2 in the comments from the perspective of humanity.
The planet designated as YS-974 3rd was chosen to give the council a foothold in this section of the galaxy. No single world government, no intergalactic capacity, with high pollution in the calculated known habitable portions. The short lifespans of barely 10 Intergalactic Cycles for their oldest specimens would make the inhabitants good fodder for experiments and dangerous work.
The initial invasion was standard procedure of identify the third largest continent then attack a centralized settlement. The spotty intelligence was based on long distance preliminary scans of the geography and climate. Using more valuable resources was unnecessary for such an underdeveloped world. This spotty intelligence returned information on the largest and most powerful countries indicating that the continent referred to as "North America" would be the best for initial invasion since it was dominated by only 3 primary countries. The target was decided, a frontier settlement called "Bismark" in a terribly inhospitable part of the continent. Based on telemetry, it was going to be tolerable at 292 degrees, so forces would have to move quickly to secure a foothold closer to the planet's equator before winter set in.
10,000 allied forces from 150 ships landed just outside the settlement and quickly attacked. The first volley killed hundreds of what are now called "earthlings". They were shocked and disabled with fear as we reloaded our weapons for the second volley. This settlement would fall by the end of this planet's day and serve as a central staging point for dominating the third largest continent on this mostly inhospitable planet.
That's when things stopped going to plan. As the smoke from the first volley subsided, the generals realized this was not a temporary summer settlement, but an established and thriving city. Individual earthlings began firing small arms that were un-explainable on Alliance lines. Uniformed and armed forces began to respond in minutes with larger more deadly weapons and allied losses began to mount. Within hours, even greater forces from the air unleashed ever more terrifying weaponry, and a full retreat was sounded. A full retreat had never once been sounded for Alliance warriors, and the confusion over what to do lead to even greater losses. Of the initial force, only 2,500 survived and escaped on 80 of the initial ships. The worst losses the alliance had ever experienced prior was 8% for an entire war.
Allied command decided swift action was necessary. A force of 1 million was being prepared, in the unprecedented time span of a single intergalactic cycle. The "earthlings" were considered a grave threat and were to be eradicated. However, allied command did not expect the earthlings to strike back before the force was completely assembled. What was considered to be an unprecedented build up of military might was over-shadowed because the earthlings had unified their governments, mastered the Faster Than Light drives on the abandoned ships, armed them with more unheard of weapons, and began attacking the outer colonies. One colony after another fell to the earthlings, and the galaxy learned a new phrase -
Warpath.
Ten Cycles Later
The alliance has learned that YS-974 3rd, now called "Earth", did not follow the standard model of unified government, civilization, FTL, weaponry. The earthlings had started with weaponry, then established civilization, and had never established a unified government until the alliance failed spectacularly at invasion. Then they gained FTL from the failed invasion. In ten cycles the earthlings had attacked and destroyed 15% of allied military installations, taking territory that the alliance spent 100 cycles conquering. Then the earthlings just stopped advancing. Alliance spies that had spent the last 10 cycles training, half the time of their normal training due to the urgency of the situation, were sent to the conquered worlds to gather information, and the information that returned was confusing at best.
The earthlings were only attacking military bases and as such civilian casualties were at a minimum. This un-fathomed tactic allowed them to move from installation to installation with such speed defense protocols could not be carried out. They built fleets of impossibly large, interstellar ships that were equipped with massive weapons of their own, something that left the earthlings with a terrifying advantage in space as more than one assault group had been annihilated before even reaching the planet they were to attack. They had terrifying shock troops, called Marine Mobile Infantry, that would lead many initial attacks causing destruction and devastation in their path, and after that a larger army would occupy the area and do something none of the allied warriors would ever think of. They would build places called hospitals to treat the wounds of everyone, alliance and earthling, and these places could return soldiers to combat from mortal wounds after no more than a few days of healing. Alliance Warriors that had been treated and sent home with others said this was called "humanitarian efforts". The spies also learned of other agencies, like the KGB and CIA, that would gather information for the earthlings through a variety of unspeakable means. It is now suspected that they have infiltrated the entire allied government, but none can prove those theories as the earthlings have been impossible to detect and seem capable of breaking into every advanced system that has been developed.
Adding insult to injury, Alliance cut warrior training back to a single intergalactic cycle, and these warriors stood no chance against forces that intelligence revealed were in the military for less than half a cycle. That same intelligence showed that a long career, entitling and earthling to full "retirement", was only 2 cycles, 4 at most for their longest serving military officers. The earthlings could, and already did, field an entire new military in the same amount of time it took the Alliance to finish what was now called basic training. This is clearly a species bred for war and destruction the likes of which the galaxy could not survive against. Even in these ten cycles, where the alliance has reverse engineered some captured weapons, the earthlings have advanced their weapons further, making their own equipment obsolete. There are still rumors that they have not even used their most devastating weapons. Surrender was being considered, but that would take at least 5 cycles to be ratified by the whole alliance.
One Cycle Later
The alliance soon discovered that the earthlings could survive anywhere on their planet, from the hottest desserts at 327 degrees to the coldest pole at 183 degrees. They built and thrived everywhere. Many of their colony installations were built in such extreme environments that it prevented retaliation attacks since Alliance troops could not endure the extreme heat and cold. It was clear they knew how to press every advantage they held, and they would field experimental equipment with no regard to their own safety. A truly reckless and dangerous species willing to destroy itself for victory.
The entire Alliance had begun to crumble as the member planets' economies were unable to support the continued war effort. The earthlings once again went on the warpath and had destroyed another 20% of the Alliance military. Desertion, a new word and unheard of before in the Alliance, continued to empty the ranks. Recruits began to flee from conscription and installations would surrender without instruction as the earthlings began to announce their next targets. Installations fell without firing any weapons. Fear and terror were the earthling's primary weapon now.
The next insult was that the earthlings began to educate all of the planets they seized. Former alliance civilians would volunteer for the earthling military. Alliance spies said this was due to earthling propaganda about freedom from tyranny and having a say in their own destiny. More and more species are believing the earthlings to be liberators.
Soon the Alliance won't have a choice or a debate in surrendering. The Alliance will simply collapse in the dawn of the earthlings dominating this galaxy.
Edits: Fixed wording and punctuation throughout. | [Report Start]
[Location] Terra, Japan, Tokyo
[Squad unit] 16 undercover, Elite Musketeer Legion
[Task] Subvert control of regime. Casualties acceptable.
[Outcome] Four musket shots fired in hour 4 after covert reconnaissance to make a plan. Contact lost with unit. No friendly survivors likely. Landing ship taken by humans.
[End]
[Report Start]
[Location] Terra, London, England
[Squad Unit] 20 undercover, Elite Musketeer Legion
[Task] High value target, Prime Minister. Dispense of security force. Take the leader.
[Outcome] Array of musket shots fired. 15 heard, maybe more. Various human casualties. Security forces returned fire, single survivor, contact lost. Likely hostage situation. Landing ship taken by humans.
[End]
[Report Start]
[Location] Terra, Washington, United States of America
[Squad Unit] 48 undercover, Elite Musketeer Legion. 300 archer, Archer Legions XI, XIII and XXV.
[Task] Covert Reconnaissance, casualties unacceptable. Position to attack President on sight. Wait for intel from London.
[Outcome] Positions holding. No changes in the last Terra month. Stealth Tech active. Awaiting orders from command. Supply drop needed.
[End]
"Captain, from all the transmissions, these three are the basis of what we have. All of our undercover units have gone off the grid. The humans have... something."
"The emperor will not be pleased by this report. He sent us here with ten thousand soldiers. This should have been easy."
Captain Foralus of the Q'oder was not pleased either. He'd sent half a hundred missions down to Terra to take important positions and gain himself valuable ground before striking at the heart of the humans. Over a thousand dead already out of his legions, and another six hundred on the ground. He had a feeling that he'd need more at this point. Their tech was disgustingly bad, but somehow, the Q'oder forces were consistently overrun, hostages taken, tech lost. And in the half cycle of this damnable planet since the first losses, the humans had started to steal their tech and make it work for themselves.
"We need a win. Tar'luus." His High-general came to his side, eyes ever steely and emotionless fixed on the green and blue mess in front of them. "Give me something. Anything. Tell me how you would proceed."
Tar'luus was the Captains son, but one of great merit. His position as High-General in the Vad'inkus Legion of the Q'oder was solely based on that merit. Within the males of their society, all were taken at birth and brought in to the fighting ranks in the capacity that they managed within their first few years. His heritage of Captain and General positions was evident from as young as a few moons old. A natural born leader, and one that would take command of this legion in the event of his father's death.
"I... don't know, sir. Our tactics are failing and we don't know why. The humans have some sort of advantage?"
"This is interesting, Tar'luus. What secrets do these beings hold? Their tech is weak, they're a weak race. This should have been over in less than a cycle, but we're here half a cycle in and haven't won a single foray."
"We have three archer legions on the ground and some of our elites, Foralus?" Another High General, twice his son's age and half as effective. _Gon'shun, was it?_
Without meeting the new Q'oder's eye, "We do. You have an idea? Out with it."
"Bait. We've seen them engage at the slightest provocation. Provoke it with one archer. Have the Elites surround the position. Take a human. We can get the information we need. They have some of ours - you think they're not doing the same?"
The Captain thought long and hard. He closed his eyes, and felt the tiredness seeping through his body. He felt the eyes of his generals burning through him, the itch to do something about it. _Take a human. That's interesting. It's also against all protocol to have a foreign being on our ships but... it's against all protocol to have a fight last this long with literally nothing to show for it too._ "Do it. Report to me when you have a human on board. I would very much like to be a part of that conversation." As Foralus walked from the room, he gave Tar'luus a look. He saw that the child was wide eyed and open mouthed. Oh, he had a lot to learn before he was ready. Hopefully this war for Terra wouldn't kill the Captain before he could learn. _Gar'Shim!_ The other High-General's real name popped in to Foralus' head at that moment unbidden... along with an image of this idiot leading the Vad'inkus Legion. Captain Foralus shivered at the thought. | 2017-08-08T08:06:30 | 2017-08-08T06:56:08 | 747 | 208 |
[WP] A man mistakenly summons a demonic being from another dimension, who must now adapt to live in normal Human society. | It began, as so many bad decisions did, with a glass of whiskey that got accidentally spilled.
By happenstance, the bartender had only moments earlier knocked over a tray of salt for margaritas. The whiskey hit the salt and ran down the bar, until it hit a stained napkin on which some person had idly doodled a star.
Jim Wrent slammed his hand down on the bar, laughing (with entirely too much gusto) at the joke of his coworker. It came down on the beer-and-whiskey soaked napkin with the star. Jim cackled, "holy shit, that's the funniest goddamn thing I've ever heard, Zed."
Except, in his drunken state, the name didn't really come out as "Zed." It was a mushier sound, all slurred edges and pulped consonants. He had said, "Zetzsch."
Anyone who is a scholar of obscure 18th century Smyrnan occult texts can state, without reservation, that Zetzsch is a being from the Third Minor Arcana, a winged horror from the world of Yetzirah, whose particular penchant is for moderate to severe boils.
In a puff of sulfurous smoke, Zetzsch appeared in all his winged glory, green scales glowing with the light of other worlds, crown of short, stubby horns oily beneath the half-light of the bar.
"Whassat?" Jim said, burping.
"You have summoned me, o dark sorcerer," Zetzsch croaked in heavily-accented English. "Command me, that I may be released from this bondage."
"Eh?" Jim squinted, trying to focus his eyes. A woman further down the bar screamed and fainted. The bartender dropped a glass.
"I ask for your command, mortal meatsack," Zetzsch wailed.
"I, uh," Jim stuttered. "Like, a wish?"
Zetsch sighed. "I am the giver of the affliction, the keeper of pustules and the lord of boils. Who hath displeased thee, that I might afflict them with lesions most dire?"
"I don't want that," Jim said. "That's awful."
"Well," Zetzsch said, kicking one taloned foot at the rail beneath the bar. "I can also cure them?"
"I don't have any boils!" Jim recoiled in horror.
"I could... give you some?" Zetzsch suggested, before shaking his head. "Yeah, bad suggestion."
Jim nodded. Then, he held up his hand. "Hey, uh, can you cure, like, any boils?"
Zetzsch shrugged. "It is my domain."
"Why not... be a dermatologist? My brother-in-law, Chad, he's... got a great little practice in Poughkeepsie. I bet he could use your help."
Zetzsch rubbed his jutting, reptilian chin with one clawed paw. "And this... Pow-keep-zee... is it a hellish place, filled with the suffering and wails of the damned, where the true darkness of night reigns supreme, and the malevolent will of the cthonic overlords oppresses all with the heavy weight of half-forgotten tortures?"
"It's pretty rough," Jim agreed.
Zetzsch closed his eyes, and in another flash of oily grey smoke, he appeared in... rough approximation... of a human, with lumpy features, large, paw-like hands, and strangely-slitted eyes. "How do I look?" he asked of Jim.
"Great! I think you'll fit right into Chad's practice." | "I demand a beverage, meatbag."
"....Well, we have a new Frappucino, it's pretty good, but I personally like the-"
"I said beverage, not poison!"
"Are you alright, sir?"
"I am a god of the fifth plane, master of my domain of hellfire and brimstone, and you dare ask me on my current state of being, you filthy mortal!"
"So....can I like, just put you down for a Chai Iced Tea so we can move the line along?"
"I demand double sugar!" | 2015-07-10T06:08:12 | 2015-07-10T05:45:45 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Your father died 5 years ago, but he always calls you on your birthday from a blank number. You got over the shock years ago and verified it really is him. After his call today you accidently hit the redial button and a pleasant voice answers "Afterlife Inc. How may I help you?" | “Afterlife Inc. How may I help you?” The woman’s overly cheery, customer service-plastic voice rang through my phone. “Hello?”
“Um- yeah. Yeah. Hi.” I swivelled on my heel and paced the length of my room.
“Hello,” the woman repeated. “How can I help you today?”
“I was just talking with my father.”
“Ah, yes. A common call is from one’s parents. I hope everything was satisfactory?”
“Yes, it was more than satisfactory” I could sense the woman on the other end of the line was growing impatient. How could I put into words the enormity of *this*? How could she keep talking as if there were nothing extraordinary about our conversation?
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said. I could hear the smile that must’ve been plastered onto her face. “Well, if that’s everything...”
“No! No—no you can’t hang up.”
“Sir?”
“How are you doing this? How can you process these calls?”
“Afterlife Inc. is a service dedicated to connecting individuals with their loved ones who are having difficulties moving on in the afterlife.”
My father had said that too, the first time he’d called. Not the name—he hadn’t mentioned that part—but he’d given the same speech. He needed to hear from me, he had said. He needed to know that I was okay. I thought I’d finally cracked when I heard him. I’d forgotten the lilt of his voice and the way he chuckled nervously when he was uncomfortable. It took me years (and honing my interrogation skills) before I believed he was on the line. “And my father hired you?”
“Yes, yes he must’ve.”
“David Crossfield,” I said. “I’m Evan.”
The woman hummed for a moment. I could make out a faint clattered on a keyboard.
“Ah, yes. Yes.” The woman paused. “Hmm. Interesting.”
“What?”
“Well, your account was actually opened by David and Elaine Crossfield.”
“What do you mean? My mom’s not dead.”
There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end. “Sir, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Of what?”
The woman’s façade faded; her voice hardened. “I’m sorry, sir. Your father has been the one contacting you. Our service only works one way.”
She cleared her throat. “You are the one that’s dead. Not your father, not your mother. According to my records, you drowned at a lake eight years ago.”
My stomach slid into my throat. “That’s impossible.” Heartbeat in the ears. Heat splash across the face. “No—no. That’s impossible.” Around the phone, my grip tightened despite the sheen of sweat.
But it wasn’t impossible.
I could remember gripping onto the boat as Keira whipped the boat in a tight arc. My hand, slippery then too, slid off. I remember a rock meeting my head and my body meeting the sand. A blurred world and lungs tearing apart.
In a dream, one often ignores the strangeness. Everything, no matter how strange, appears perfectly normal until after one awakens.
Much was the same about wherever I was now. I had existed in a half-life for years: not human and yet not gone. Calling myself a ghost wouldn’t be quite right, but then what was left? A spectre? A phantom?
“I’m…?”
“Dead, sir. Yes.”
“And stuck between worlds.”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
My lungs tightened and my breath hitched. Did I even need to breathe? “Why haven’t I heard from my mother.”
“There’s no note about that in your file.” The woman hesitated. “But if I had to guess, she might’ve found it too painful. It can be very difficult, you see. Some use our service to find closure. Others use it to avoid ever having to reach that point.”
*Like my father.* I pursed my lips. With the calls, it was if neither of us were truly gone. I could imagine he was only on vacation: sitting on a Hawaiian beach; climbing the side of Everest; sipping wine in Bordeaux. Had he done the same with me?
Neither of us were gone to the other, but at the same time, neither of us were there for the other. I couldn’t remember the way he smelled, but I know he had been warm. The exact shade of his brown hair slipped my mind.
Whatever had happened, I was caught. And maybe he was too.
“Miss?”
“Yes,” the woman said, polite and careful.
“I’d like you to cancel this account.”
“Of course,” she said. Her voice lifted at the end. “Is that all today?”
“I think so.” I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes. The world around me was smoke, now. Perhaps it had always been smoke and I noticed it only now. “Wait.”
“Yes?”
“Tell him goodbye from me. Tell him to move forward.”
“Of course.”
I let my phone slip away.
I followed it and left that place and ventured into the ether.
---
/r/liswrites | “Afterlife Inc , how may I help you”? Pleasant voice says from the other side as I was about to hang up the receiver while still contemplating why might dad had to end the call so abruptly. Adding to that confusion was this voice from “Afterlife Inc. ‘s phone operator.
“I was hoping to get in touch with Edward Ford” I said.
“I’m sorry Sir , but no one by that name works here.”
“Umm, he doesn’t really work there , he’s been actually dead for last five years but he calls me every year on my birthday and today was no exception but I somehow got transferred to you may be after he hung up or while we were still on the call and I don’t know may be criss cross or something.
“That’s intriguing, may I know your name sir?”
“James Ford”
“Give me a moment, I’m looking something up“
.
.
“I see you are a customer and used our funeral services for Mr. Ford Sr. few years ago. In fact we have been trying to get in touch with you for some time now about an outstanding bill. you might have received a mail from our company”
“Ah I did but it doesn’t say anything about Afterlife Inc, I was actually trying to get on a call with the number mentioned on the letter but got a call from my dad on another line”
“You know funeral business is a shady one, we do business under different names the letter you revived might have been from our other business “
“But I don’t understand how I got connected to you while I was talking to dad”
“See James, I don’t think dead people talk , but whatever you were doing between the time you first called us and now , one thing is certain that you pressed the redial button, because what it does is it calls the last person you called and not the last person who called you. Now why don’t you take care of the amount outstanding mentioned in the letter and let the old man Rest In Peace. Next call will be from the debt collectors and they won’t be very pleasant, and dude get some help if you are able to with any money after paying us.
Click | 2019-08-17T15:41:34 | 2019-08-17T15:01:45 | 1,168 | 23 |
[WP] You, a villain, heart set on taking over the world, kidnapped the hero’s sidekick. You find out that you are treating them much better than the hero was and decide to take them under your wing. | ***WARK WARK WARK WARK***
Damien Pentacle Horriblis, better known to the world as Doctor Horrible, cursed under his breath as he hurried down the secret corridor towards Lab Number Six. Of all the blasted times for the Uncarnation Engine to go into a meltdown, he still hadn't even managed to finish recording the ransom demand yet.
He made a sharp gesture, and the panel at the end of the cramped space slid open just in time for him to come barreling through, quickly ducking as several bolts of lightning shot passed over head. Blast, it was already discharging, he'd have to be quick about this.
He startled when he realized that he was not actually alone in the room, despite what the disaster-preparedness manual clearly stated. A figure stood in front of the Engine, trembling slightly, a fancy technological collar beeping around their neck.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?! Get away from there, it's dangerous!" He bellowed, even as he vaulted over the railing along the catwalk and dropped down to the lower level of the lab.
Whizzdoll, sidekick to Magnificus, spun around at the sound of his voice, her face wide-eyed with fear. "I-I..."
He didn't take the time to hear whatever her stammering would reveal, instead pushing her back with another wave of his hand, a faint bubble appearing around her. It wouldn't stand up to any of the larger discharges, but she was back by some of the spare Booster Rods, which should attract most of the bolts.
In the end, he managed to get things fixed before anything important got shunted into Unspace. As he thought, Padrico had once again sold him some substandard focal gems, those these ones had been doctored in a new way that actually gave him a couple of ideas for a few new experiments. Regardless, he stomped out, a few gestures mending the singed or missing portions of his outfit, to find that the girl was still standing exactly where he'd pushed her over to. Strange, he'd have expected her to have slipped away in the chaos.
"Honestly, what were you hoping to accomplish here?" He barked.
"I... I thought maybe I could shut it down..." her shivering seemed to intensify under his direct scrutiny.
"Shut it down? How would you possibly have done that? I'm not in the habit of installing convenient off-switches into my devices. Honestly, the next time something like this happens, just tap the green button on your collar, you'll be transported somewhere that EVELYN deems to be safe."
He wasn't quite certain what to make of her expression, but he had bigger issues to deal with. Namely, figuring a suitably memorable punishment for Padrico, one that would hopefully stick this time. If he wasn't such a good smuggler...
===
Doctor Horrible was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Whizzdoll had absolutely no sense for self-preservation. Any evil genius' lair featured numerous hazards as a matter of course, some planned, many more not, and for whatever reason, she seemed determined to charge headlong into all of them. He'd had to up the sensitivity on her collar twice to account for new ways she found of putting herself in danger, but at least it was giving EVELYN's hazard prediction routines a workout, to manage to teleport her out of danger before she went and got herself killed. She hadn't managed that with the Engine thanks to the discharges causing interference.
The frustrating thing was that none of the dangers seemed to be based around foiling his plans or actually escaping. Instead, it was all about charging headlong into danger to save someone else. No matter that the person she was trying to aid was four times her size and wrapped in protective armor that could allow them to go toe-to-toe with the escaping eel-gator-grizzly hybrid. Never mind that, she'd dive in, trying to distract its heads and get them to fight against each other. A clever strategy, but so needlessly dangerous to her health. He had honestly considered getting her some sort of weapon, just so she wouldn't keep charging in bare-handed. He could tie it into the collar and EVELYN could disable it if she tried to turn it against anyone...
He let out another sigh as he checked on his captive, who was currently sitting on a chair off to the side while watching him work. Many evil scientists would lock their captives up in a cell, but the main issue was that making any cell truly impenetrable required a great deal of dedicated space and equipment, and would still give any would-be captives room to maneuver and possibly to fortify themselves, turning the defenses keeping them in into barricades keeping others out. It was much, much simpler to simply design a collar that could teleport a captive back if they tried to run, or freeze them in stasis if they tried to attack someone or tamper with it. With that, any room could be a decent cell, just by defining a boundary they couldn't cross, but he had found that captives were much less focused on trying to escape if they weren't so narrowly confined.
Thus, he generally gave them the run of the lair. They were monitored, of course, to prevent them from doing any sort of sabotage or effecting an escape attempt, but most of them would end up just trying to snoop around, giving him plenty of opportunities to spread misinformation or just throw the heroes a bone to distract them while he got some real work done. Truly a win/win.
***BWAN BWAN BWAN BWAN***
Doctor Horrible barely had a chance to glance up at the 'incombing ballistic' alarm before the ceiling above him suddenly exploded. | Two versus twenty-one. The 'heroes' didn't stand a chance. Squadron aimed the pointer gun, and five 38-millimeter ETC autocannons mounted on his drones swiveled, converging on the steel doorway of the police station. The non-empowered officers had long since fled, and the only remaining opposition was Blaze and her protegé, Whisper. A pull of the trigger, and the steel door was a pile of slag and scraps. Squadron thought the command, and a trio of assault drones dropped from the sky, swapping into infantry mode. He laid down the pointer gun and grabbed an experimental cryo-rifle, following his drones into the station.
*They only need to come out of their hiding places. This is an easy op, would be nice if they made it short too.*
Moments later, a stream of superheated air blasted at the torso of one of the drones. It quickly ducked, and there was an almost imperceptible shift in the shape of its shoulder. Squadron and two of the three drones turned toward the source of the blast, while the other kept a careful watch for Whisper. Blaze steeped out from behind a desk, carrying a pistol she had likely found in the station. One of the drones shot the weapon out of her hand, which then released a cone of fire in their direction. A drone deployed it's shoulder-mounted modular launcher, and a small cylinder shot out, directly toward the flame blast. The compressor deactivated, the cylinder opened, and flame-retardant foam sprayed the area. "Checkmate, Blaze." Squadron said smugly. "There are nine more of those ready to fire, along with various other methods of incapacitation, some of which are notably more... permanent."
​
Squadron smiled internally. He had acquired a bargaining chip, and if the rumors were correct, a very valuable one. He had let Blaze escape; she would probably do more good free, considering her idiocy. The prisoner, however, she was valuable. An exchange on favorable territory could triple his capabilities. As he approached it, a fifteen-ton tungsten carbide alloy blast door opened. He glanced at the camera feed, looking for clues, or preferable interrogation methods. Instead he saw an eleven-year-old, happily playing with LEGOs, seemingly oblivious to her predicament. *Hmm. My plans were to use her as a bargaining chip, but this could be much more beneficial.*
​
"This is Squadron. Are you in position?" Squadron asked quietly over the concealed microphone. *A nighttime infiltration mission. Perfect. This couldn't have gone better.* He was commanding only three drones this time, configured for stealth. "Affirmative." Came the message through his earpiece. "Whisper, ready to begin." | 2020-03-26T17:09:25 | 2020-03-26T16:15:12 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | "Sir, we're under attack!"
"By who?! Who *dares* attack me in my own home!"
"It's... Doctor Whittaker?"
That was when the lab's primary blast door came crashing open, and I walked in, at the head of fifteen identical copper robots, the Tommies. Jason, my right-hand robot, towered over me, standing slightly back as he did. An evil super genius, it had only taken me three hours to find this place, much less bypass it's defenses and crash the front door. I normally wouldn't do such a thing. Such bold action was not my style, but... the situation had changed.
I had been the city's resident supervillain for fifteen years. This was my town, as much as the resident superheroes thought otherwise. We had clashed endlessly. I loved the game. I would pop up, cause some trouble, maybe rob a bank or two with my Tommy robots, the heroes would show up, they'd trounce me, I'd go to jail for a few weeks, maybe a month or two, break out, and do it all over again. Every time I'd have some new scheme or weapon, sometime to try and keep these heroes on their toes.
But that had changed when General Pyrox showed up. He was different. He was truly evil. He had come after me, specifically. I assumed he was another hero, and he "defeated" me. Crushed my army of Tommies, destroyed my lair, and left me to wallow in the ruins of my empire. Yada yada. The superheroes showed up and beat him, and let him escape, thinking he was on my level.
But then Pyrox broke the rules.
Alice Utonium had disappeared. She was a young girl, with a very loose definition of girl. The adorable little thing was little more than a brain and some organs inside a nuclear-powered, combat-ready metal shell. She was the city's favorite daughter. Then she was dropped off at the mayor's office completely stripped of her full-body prosthetic, her life support barely keeping her brain alive. Pyrox had left a note, too, so the whole city would know it was him. He wanted them to be afraid.
That's not how the game is played.
I could see Pyrox sneering down at me from his platform. He liked to be above everyone. He gestured and his own robots rushed in from the doors around the room. Big, ugly machines with claws and guns and spikes. Machines meant to kill. To terrify.
Pyrox puffed his chest at me.
"You! You dare come here?! After our last battle?!"
I glared back.
"Yes. I'm here because you've done something *very* bad. And you have to pay the consequences."
Pyrox smirked.
"You've lost it, old man. And you're about to lose a lot more. You should have just stayed buried."
"You're the one who's going to end up buried, Pyrox. Tommies, wreck this place."
"Don't threaten *me*, old man. You can't do anything. Don't you remember the last time? You'd need a thousand of those toys to defeat even one of my Excutioners!"
At my command, the Tommies began marching ahead. Pyrox's Executioners did the same. The Tommies weren't... complicated machines. In fact, they were little more than some steel plates and some clockwork, with some computerty bits to make them run. Not strong, or smart, or fast, but they could do almost anything I asked them to. I was slowly upgrading them over time, just to try and keep the city's heroes on their toes. They were just... a hobby of mine. Something for when I was bored. Jason, my right-hand machine, was what I made when I was serious. He could outrun cars, he could lift dump trucks, and he could leap tall buildings. He was more than a match for the Executioners, but... Things had changed.
The two robots clashed together near the middle of the room, metal meeting metal, and I could see the look on General Pyrox's face when my Tommy robot caught his Executioner's fist in mid-air. The normally half-lidded eyes of the Tommy spun, turning into a facsimile of a scowl. And the general's eyes went wide when the Tommy, maybe half the size of his opponent, punched through the chestplate to rip out the power core.
Jason was what I made when I was serious.
The Tommy-2s were what I made when I was *angry*. | I am practicing songwriting. So here is a musical theater piece on a villain that clearly out-matches his adversaries. It's a comedy song
Nothing irks me quite like knowing that they'll never see my pity
Nothing rattles me to shame to think they've really done their best
It's not enough to pest this city
And with every passing tick you'd think it can't get any clearer
The maze he's yet to clear, the bomb is ticking ever nearer
He's still caught up in the mirror
Wonder-man, I'm dying to know
How that's ever gonna make a dent
But it's pretty strong as lasers go
(Clicks around security monitor)
Now let's check up on the Wingman, has he bolted through the glass?
I'd say last time was near perfect, I even called the head adjuster
(See human figure dangling from a suspension cable)
Guess he forgot the rocket thruster
(Cable snaps)
. . Boots . .
(Movement from the ceiling)
And then let's not forget Ms. Amazoness up above
Who lost count which lefts to take, I had to turn the heat to two
The things I do for love
Hey you Bruce, up in that vent
I'd like to warm up, progress the show
And quit stomping man, I rent!
All sides undone,
Hands coiling fast,
Will you have time to pray
Or have they failed you too
Reaching for words some
Can make their spirits last
But I won't let this day
Save me in any way
If anyone would come
Remind me what it is
That made a villain fun
That made a tyrant rage
I'm walking off the stage,
The bomb's defused, good night | 2021-05-20T09:54:43 | 2021-05-20T07:57:21 | 46 | 19 |
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock. | I turned twenty the other day. I've had a fairly good life, filled with ups and downs, of triumphs and tragedies. I did well in school, joined sports and music clubs, and dated a few times before getting a job at a local business. It's been quiet but fulfilling.
So why hasn't my Rock changed at all?
Okay, to say that "hasn't changed at all" is a falsehood. Over the years it's grown smoother and smoother to the point of being able to be rolled around the floor with ease. It's quite a decent Rock, if I were to be honest.
But it's still a rock.
Johnny's is a spear, which fits his intrusive and meddlesome personality. Sarah, the town gossip, has a newspaper for her Rock. And Policeman Ken has a statue of a knight--to the envy of the rest of our friends.
But mine's still a rock.
"Well, why don't you go to the Rocktor's Office?" Johnny said, reclining on my sofa as I made breakfast. "Don't they got specialists for this kind of thing?"
"Who visits the Rocktor when they're older than twenty?" I said, flipping a pancake. I paused. "And what are you doing in my house, anyways?"
"Testing your security."
After kicking him out I quietly ate my breakfast, mulling it over. You really only visited the Rocktor when they were still growing, mostly to check up on the quality of the Rock they had. "A healthy rock is a healthy body," the slogan went. Deciding it couldn't hurt any, I marked the upcoming Saturday for an appointment and went to work.
Saturday came, and I found myself fidgeting in the seat of the Rocktor's waiting room, my Rock in my lap. Like I had figured, I was the oldest one in the room to get a checkup, the others being teenagers and children with their parents.
"Woah, mister! That's cool!" one snot-nosed brat said, his eyes gleaming at the sight of my Rock.
"Thanks," I said, slightly self-conscious.
"It looks like one of those crystal balls on TV!" He looked at me, jumping up and down with excitement. "You can see the future, right?! Tell me! Tell me!"
"It's not, and I can't," I explained.
"C'mooooon!"
"The future he sees is you getting a time-out if you don't stop bothering him," his mom said, pulling him away. She bowed her head in apology. "Sorry."
I waved it off. "It's fine."
A few minutes later my name was called. I went in and sat down on the examination table and waited for the doctor to arrive. "Ah, welcome," the doctor said when he arrived. "So, what seems to be the problem?"
I held up my Rock, its polished surface gleaming. "Doc, my Rock hasn't changed much since I got it. It's supposed to look like who I am on the inside, right? Why is it like this?"
He *hmmmed* and *hawwwed* as he glanced over my Rock. "You a fortune teller?"
"No," I said. "Why does everyone assume it's a crystal ball?"
"No reason." He glanced at it for a few minutes longer, before setting it aside. "Tell me. What were you like in school?"
"Pretty good. Got good grades, didn't get into trouble, did fine in sports and music."
He nodded, writing down some notes on his clipboard. "And outside school?"
"Didn't really have trouble making friends. Had a girlfriend, we broke up because she moved away."
"Hm, hm, I see." He wrote down some more. "Now, this isn't an official diagnosis, but I'm fairly certain that your Rock is in fact a crystal ball--or, rather, just a ball."
"Well, why?" I asked, more confused than ever. "What's that got to do with me?"
"Well you see," he began, "don't be surprised, but you have a sphere because you are . . ." he paused dramatically.
I leaned forward.
" . . . a *well-rounded* individual."
Without saying a word, I stood, took my Rock back, and left the Rocktor's Office. A few days later I got the bill I didn't pay. | I am stone.
My stone resembles me.
Only with great force can my stone be thrown.
Only with great care can I be broken.
I resemble my stone.
I am stone.
I recite this mantra as I walk from my front drive to the bus stop. It’s my normal route. Those I see daily give no notice of my stone. It’s smooth parts fit my own. It’s jagged edge protrudes sharply. I enjoy my stone.
I notice a stranger at the stop. He stares, shocked. His rock has taken the shape of a millstone. He seems to be under the pressure of what some have called a grind. Naturally, I assume he’s heading to his “9-5” when he misses his stop. I pity him.
My stone seems shaped by time, like me. Pressure, and erosion. My stone is of the river. Smooth upstream, jagged downstream. The clay color of my stone matches the sun scorched skin on my hands. It’s red streaks the same as in my beard.
We are both from the hills outside the city. Where the spring fed creeks cut through the earth on their way to the rivers. Where the sounds of water and birds create the sweetest of symphonies. Where a trees roots will crack and shift stone.
The stranger stares, openly. Clearly awestruck by our appearance. He wants to speak. He looks to the others, the regular who know me. No one gives me a second look, yet he stares, mouth agape. The others tell him he is being rude. I do not mind.
I am stone.
Newb: This is attempt #2 at these WP. Still learning how to get all this thought into a cohesive form. | 2018-05-02T07:46:46 | 2018-05-02T06:01:32 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Reincarnation exists. You wish it didn't. All conscious minds are simply feeding appendages of an extra dimensional parasitic being which consumes meaning from its host universe. Upon death everything you have experienced and all that you are is stripped from you. You vow to poison the beast. | Somewhere out there in a space beyond space, where shape and form and all the things people might imagine no longer mattered a monster lurked. It hid in the shadows, a being of pure consciousness and it fed.
With every fiber of his being Devin hated it.
He could not have told anyone why, the question was too large and the reasons ran too deep. The simple fact of knowledge about the monster was too much already. Devin couldn’t burden the people he loved with it.
At night when his wife looked at him with pleading eyes and a breaking voice, asking what had happened, why he had suddenly become like this, there was no answer. Night after night Devin looked back at her saying the same words:
“I’m sorry baby, I love you and I’m so, so sorry.”
They never seemed to do the trick though. As the knowledge of what awaited him after death ate at Devin his wife’s breaking marriage ate at her, chewed her up and spat her out in front of a divorce lawyer along with half of Devin’s soul. The last moment he saw her was the saddest of his life. At least up to that point.
It was on the front steps of the house they had shared, the house she hadn’t asked for in the divorce but that he had offered freely. “Devin,” she had said, “I tried, I really did. Every day, every night I tried so hard to make us work. So why couldn’t you? Why wasn’t I worth it? We had everything planned out! Kids, pets, Christmases as a family and a vacation home in Maine…So why! Why wasn’t I enough?”
She was beautiful even in her rage, Devin had always thought so. As she stood there on the steps, the sun setting behind her she looked just like the girl he had fallen in love with all those years ago. Her auburn hair fell like a cascade of fire in the dying light, her cheekbones were high, lips full with the hint of invitation if she weren’t so mad. Her eyes were the same forest green he’d stared into when he’d proposed.
But her thin, graceful fingers clutched white knuckled to the porch rail as if it were the only thing in the world keeping her up, and she shook with emotions he would never be able to comfort.
Devin kept his peace. He turned back to his car and drove off into the gathering night with the answers she’d yearned for all those years nearly spilling out of his lips, barely having kept them in. He would never tell her what awaited him. Awaited them both.
Instead Devin hatched a plan. He would kill the creature that lurked out there at the end of time and space, waiting to devour everything that made him up. He would poison it in the only way he knew how.
He would live the saddest life possible. He would pack so much misery into himself that when his consciousness finally fell down the great maw he imagined the monster would choke on the crushing darkness within the person it ate, choke and die and plague the the world no more.
Over the next fifteen years of his life Devin set out to systematically destroy himself. In every cheap dive and rat infested motel across America he found the most destructive actions he could, tried everything he could, poisoned himself and his memories so completely that he one day forget the man he was. He forgot everything around himself but the desperate, destructive need and the crushing fear of the monster lurking at the end.
He did things that he would have been unimaginable in his youth, did them in the name of that fear and his desperate desire to end it somehow. Things that had a way of coming back to you.
When Devin’s now ex-wife finally saw him again after all those years it was at a funeral in New Mexico attended only by her. She hadn’t heard a word from him in all those fifteen years, hadn’t spared him a thought in the last five, but when the police called her she answered just the same. They’d found a body, an unidentified man who they thought was in his 70s and had turned out to be Devin Asoli, once her husband and now nothing at all. His only possession had been a small, weather-beaten photo of her, a candid she couldn’t even remember him taking.
For Devin, whose consciousness was even now flying out on its last journey, the picture had been the worst torture of all. He’d stared at it every night before he slept, crying himself to sleep for years until the feelings became something harder.
But his goal was coming. He could feel it, just ahead now, like a great sucking vacuum in a realm he had no words for. He prepared himself, tensing, pulling all thought inward to the shattered core of who he was-
Until he was no more.
The monster shuddered faintly and was silent. It stretched limbs that spanned galaxies as it fell back into sleep. That last being had been *delicious*.
\-------------
r/TurningtoWords | “How long has it been?” I wondered to myself. “How many times have I...been.” The questions echoed in my mind, indicating that this was far from the first time I’d asked them. I never really fully understood the entirety of my, nay, our, dilemma. While I’d always had suspicions, theories, and conjecture, they’d always been just that.
But recently, something changed. What had been minute glimpses of the greater reality started widening into full-fledged stares of examination; suddenly, my eyes were opening, and the picture was becoming ever so clear. From the time I was a child, I knew something about this world wasn’t right.
Deep within me, somehow, I instinctively knew “This world is not my home.” What I didn’t understand at the time was that my life was to be the culmination of a multitude of lives. Millennia of those that came before that caught glimpses of the greater reality, and the task that must be accomplished to break the cycle of the creature’s feeding.
All before me have failed, but a few cycles prior to my existence, the seers of the old ways could see the potential for an end to the rebirth. “Inevitably, a sacrifice must be made. A child will be born, who must willingly accept a life of bitter loneliness, hostility, being shown hatred, and pain. And through it all, he must smile, and also choose to house love.”
My whole life has been one misery after the next. My inclination has been to allow my misery to grow into sadness and anger, then bitterness, then hatred towards myself and the planet. I have realized, however, that this is the creature’s favorite meal. I fed him plenty throughout this cycle.
The beast knows what I’ve endured. He has seen the horrors my eyes have witnessed, and expects me to remain bitter and spiteful the remainder of my days. But no more shall I feed the beast. Now, I shall plunge myself into his belly with a dish he cannot digest: hope, laughter, lightness, and love. | 2021-02-09T06:46:17 | 2021-02-09T03:57:23 | 82 | 47 |
[WP] You’ve always had good sight in the dark, you’ve been called a freak for it. When you die and see the light in the tunnel, you are the first person to notice a door to your side instead. | When I woke up in a tunnel, I thought, Oh come on. Really? I wanted nothingness. I had a hundred and four years of somethingness, and now? More somethingness.
No variety!
The tunnel reminded me of the sewers in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles--minus the smell. Behind me, complete darkness. Up ahead, a light.
Great, I thought. Everything has to be binary, even in death.
Then I saw a door to my left. The outline of it was really faint in the darkness, but I could make out the frame and knob when I squinted. I brushed dust and cobwebs off the door. I had pretty amazing night vision, so it was possible no one had even noticed the door in a long time--if ever.
I put my hand on the doorknob and paused. I looked toward the light. I imagined seeing my parents and siblings. But my neighbor Steve was definitely there, and he would for sure want to stop by my heaven house constantly. I looked toward the darkness, where I imagined a lot of my favorite golf buddies were. But there was also the eternal torture and hellfire thing.
I sighed. Maybe this side door contained the eternal nap I so desperately craved.
I opened it.
Bright lights.
A stage.
A studio audience.
A gameshow host with coiffed hair and a pinstripe suit.
“WELCOME BACK TO…” the host said.
“WHAT’S. THAT. DOOR,” the studio audience shouted.
“The only game show disrupting the afterlife dichotomy.”
I slammed the door shut. The sound echoed around the dark tunnel.
I looked back and forth between the light and the darkness.
Steve.
Eternal hellfire.
Family.
Golf.
Family.
But Steve.
Golf.
But the fire thing.
I opened the side door and walked onstage. The door slammed behind me with a permanent Your Choice Is Made kind of sound.
“Please welcome our latest contestant, Arthur!” the host said, reading a card. “A retired accountant from Omaha, Nebraska. He likes golf, birdwatching, and playing chess in the park. But let’s see if the afterlife is going to checkmate him into eternal damnation! Spin the wheel, Arthur!”
The host gestured to a fifty-foot-tall wheel. It had three options: Heaven, Hell, and Back to Earth.
“Can we talk off-record?” I whispered to the host.
“Sure,” the host whispered back.
“What is ‘Back to Earth?’”
“Pretty self-explanatory. You go Back to Earth as a person our producers hand-picked for their entertainment value. Everything you do is filmed to entertain people in heaven and hell.”
“Kind of like the Truman Show?”
“Legally, I can’t say.”
I looked up at the wheel. “Can I just go to hell?”
“No, you have to spin the wheel.”
I sighed. “Fine.” I spun it.
Back to Earth.
I was no longer on the game show.
I was on a different stage in front of a thousand hippies sitting cross-legged in a warehouse.
A woman sat in a chair next to me. She wore the same robes I was wearing, but she didn’t have nearly as many bird patches and medals on her uniform.
“Master Arthur,” the woman said. “What did you see?”
I looked around at the hippies staring at me earnestly.
“I’m sorry, what?” I said.
“When you went into your trance. Did you have any revelation you can share with us?”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I said. I looked heavenward. “Is this entertaining to you?” I looked hellward. “A cult? Really? Is this what you’re all tuning in for?”
The woman looked out at the audience. “Master Arthur is still communicating with the gods.”
I stood up and started dancing an Irish jig. “Is this what you wanted, you bastards?” I shouted at the ceiling. “Is this entertaining?”
“Master Arthur is still in his trance,” the woman explained to the audience.
I stopped dancing to point at the bird patches on the woman’s robes. “And what is this, anyway? A bird cult? What the fuck are these Girl Scout patches?”
The woman was still addressing the audience. “Master Arthur is now testing our faith—”
“Are you in on this shit?” I said to her. I looked out at the audience. “Are you all in on this?”
Most of the audience members looked at me curiously. Some looked on in horror.
I rubbed my eyes. “For god’s sake. I just wanted to die. Can I die? Can you kill me? Is there a way out of this?”
“Master Arthur wants us all to drink the poison pomegranate juice,” the woman said.
The audience stood up and started to shuffle toward a table along the wall. The table was filled with massive juice dispensers in the shape of exotic birds.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I said, waving my hands frantically. “Stop!” I shouted. “I order you not to drink the juice!”
Everyone in the entire warehouse froze. The woman stared at me.
Just as she opened her mouth to interpret my statement, I jumped off the stage and sprinted toward the juice dispensers. I stuck my head underneath one of the faucets and unloaded a firehose-spray of juice into my mouth. I drank until I hit the ground, unconscious.
I woke up in a leather chair in a conference room. Across from me were five people in suits.
“Absolutely terrific,” the woman directly across from me said. “Ratings were…” she looked at the guy next to her. “What were the ratings, Johnson?”
“Ten billion.”
“Ten billion,” the woman repeated. “An all-time high.”
“Am I in…” I said, pointing up at the ceiling, and then down at the floor.
“Hell,” the woman said.
“Hell. Gotcha,” I said.
“But not permanently,” the woman said. “This is just where our corporate office is. You were such an incredible guest on What’s That Door, we want to give you your own show.”
I paused. “Right, right, great. But is it cool if I just experience nothingness?”
The executives all looked at each other. “Nothingness?” the woman said.
“Yeah, yeah, just kind of blank emptiness, all dark, no consciousness. Any chance I could get that?”
The executives looked at each other again.
“Hold on one moment,” the woman said.
All the executives scooted their chairs back so they could whisper in a circle. After a minute, they scooted back to the table.
“No,” the woman said. “You have to have a show.”
“What about heaven or hell? Can I choose one of those?”
“No. Show.”
I sighed. “Any show?”
“Any show.”
I made my choice.
When I came to, I was standing onstage in a cheap pinstripe suit. My hair was coiffed. A door opened at the edge of the stage. A man peeked in, looking scared.
“WHAT’S. THAT. DOOR,” the studio audience yelled.
I ran for the door.
...
More stories: r/BakerHillBooks
... | It all happened so fast. One moment, I was driving, the next moment, I was flying in a dark tunnel with a light at the end that kept expanding.
*This means I died, right? Everyone who has ever died or come close, talks about a light at the end of a tunnel? Oh damn, this is really the end? *
I wanted to cry, but I didn't have the time, nor did I feel an aching sadness like I thought I would.
From my periphery, before I was enveloped by the light, there was a door to my right, glowing blue.
Let's try going there! I'm not ready to die and perhaps I can escape death!
The sapphire light swallowed me whole, blinding my eyes for a moment. Then I realized I was falling instead of flying upward.
*Oh no! I've made a horrible mistake! Did I accidentally go down through the doorway to hell? *
As I plummeted, there was nothing but cerulean fog down below. But it started lifting, and I passed through it like a plane through a cloud. But I became terribly afraid when I saw nothing but the ocean. I thought I was going to sink into the water like a stone. But an island with a few palm trees and a patch of grass at the center came into view.
There was smoke coming from the middle of the island, but it smelled like grilled hamburgers, which sounded amazing after all the stress I was going through.
I closed my eyes, bracing myself for a bone-shattering impact, but I gracefully landed on the grass like a butterfly. The coolness of the grass blades were relieving on my feet.
"Hey, Owen! What's going on, big guy?" a familiar voice said to me.
I opened my eyes and saw my father, wearing sunglasses and an orange Hawaiian shirt. He had a full head of hair which I had never seen before, standing beside a grill, cooking up a meal like he always did during the summer time.
Goosebumps appeared all over my skin, even though it appeared translucent. "Ah!" I shrieked, moving my hand through my other hand. It was like I didn't exist.
"Well, you don't exist anymore, sorry to break it to you, Owen. But we all have translucent skin over here." My dad said, flipping over a hamburger. "You know, you always had some freaky sight. A real eagle eye. You were always so observant, well, except for spotting that semi-truck that ended your life."
"I died in a car crash?"
"Uh, 'fraid so, big guy. That was a crafty move though going through the other door. You unlocked a secret world. A little bit of a 'waiting room' before the real afterlife begins. You know what I mean?"
"No. Not really."
"Well, good thing I'm grilling up some burgers for us. We can chat and chow. But first, before our meal is served, why don't you come over here and gimme a hug. I've missed you dearly."
Again, I wanted to cry. My father was a good and fair man. I always respected him. He worked hard to provide for the family, but he was emotionally distant. He never prompted a hug.
I ran up to him and we wrapped our arms around each other.
"Dad, I can't believe it's really you. You were never much of a hugger."
"I know," he said. "And living in this afterlife, I think things over, and I realize how much I regret certain things I did. I never told you or your siblings enough how proud I was of all of you and how much I loved all of you."
I was choked up, but I couldn't cry. I didn't feel sad, but I did feel redeemed. "That means a lot."
He gave me a plate with a burger on it. "Look, Owen. We've got plenty of time to catch up, and do things right. This world we're in now is a place to make up for the times you wished you had. Not everyone gets to experience this, but we can. Remember how I told you I always wanted to take you to the ball game but I was always too busy with work?"
I nodded.
"Well, we can go to the ball game now." My dad stepped aside where a portal appeared. Inside, I could hear a vendor yelling 'peanuts!' and cheers as a bat smacked a baseball deep into right field. The smell of cinnamon roasted almonds greeted my nose.
"After we finish this burger, let's watch our Tigers huh?"
"Of course, Dad."
r/randallcooper | 2021-06-04T14:17:38 | 2021-06-04T12:27:34 | 1,919 | 97 |
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK." | "Very funny, Michelle," Barack called into their new home, the letter in his hand. It has always been their tradition to out-prank each other when they move to a new place. JFK, alive? Barack chuckled as he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. Michelle has got to come out with better pranks.
Barack closed the wooden door and walked into the hallway. Boxes of unopened stuff laid strewn across it. Eight years of presidency had bestowed him countless of possession.
"Michelle?" Barack called out again, suddenly noticing the silence in the house. Just a few moments ago, he still heard the voices of Sasha and Malia giggling from the living room, while their mother asked them about their dinner choices. Except for Barack's footsteps on the floor, the air hung still.
Something did not feel right.
"Michelle? Sasha? Malia?" Barack shouted this time, his voice mixed with a tinge of worry. This was not a prank that the girls usually play on him. His hand clutched the letter in his pocket.
"I am afraid that your wife and daughters are no longer in the house," a voice behind him suddenly said. Barack yelled as he swerved around. Standing between him and the door he just closed, stood a figure whom he has only seen on books and television.
"Martin Luther King," Barack whispered, unable to believe what his eyes were seeing. He had seen his share of crazy things in his eight years of presidency, but coming face to face with dead figures was something he never expected.
Martin chuckled at Barack's response. "Yes, that is correct." He extended his hand to Barack. "And it's an honour to finally meet you, Mr President."
Barrak took Martin's hand and shook it. He straightened himself, assuming the straight posture he was well known for. Being in the presence of legends required the courtesy, though he still struggled to hide the surprise in his face. "The pleasure is mine, Dr King. Forgive me, but I must ask-"
"Your family is safe with us, Barack. And yes, the letter in your pocket is indeed from President Kennedy," Martin interjected.
"If I may, can you just walk me through what's going on here?" Barack gestured with his hands. He was feeling confused, as well as slightly taken aback. Nothing prepared him for this.
Martin sensed the unease that Barack felt. It was understandable. When Gandhi first appeared to him, he could not sleep for days. He placed a hand on Barack's shoulder. What he was about to say to Barack would be far worse than meeting dead people. "Barack, listen here, I am here to tell you that in a few weeks time, you'll be assassinated."
Barack flinched an eyebrow. "What?" Surely he was dreaming. The stress of the past eight years must have finally got to him.
The strength of Martin's hand on him, however, felt real. Martin gave Barack a sympathetic smile, just like how Gandhi had done so to him. "Yes, I am afraid so. This is just how things are supposed to work. Before you start your real job."
"Don't I get a say in this?" Barack questioned. He had been looking forward to some time off after his presidency. Another job was just out of the question. He could only lose so much hair.
Martin however, shook his head. "Barack, I am sorry, but it wouldn't be possible. My boss will not let it."
"And who is your boss, if I may ask?"
Martin Luther King smiled at the question, as if it was the question he had been waiting for Barack to ask since they first met. "His name is Jesus."
-------------
*Edited Barrack to Barack and Mr King to Dr King. Thanks for the pointer!*
/r/dori_tales | "I have to think rationally about this", Barack thought to himself. He closed his and began to think.
I'm on the third story. There are 2 secret service agents on each floor. Could someone have sneaked past them? No, they would have undoubtedly stepped on Joe's train sets and alerted the agents. That meant that the agents were either dead or that they we're in on it. But to what ends?
He needed a course of action. There was no one he could trust. Joe could be a sleeper agent. *That would explain why he was always snoozing off*. He couldn't think about that, he would deal with the betrayal in his own time. Who could he call? There was only one man. He worked outside the law. He picked up the phone "Mr.Cage we're gonna have to steal the declaration of indepence". | 2022-12-29T14:39:14 | 2017-05-14T10:01:37 | 274 | 17 |
[WP] One day, every person spontaneously gains a superpower based on their job. Psychologists gain telepathy, Firefighters can waterbend or firebend, Pilots can fly. Your job, previously looked down upon, yields the strongest power of them all. | Centennial square blazed with a web of power. Ropes of fire too bright to look at whipped from the welders, while botanists and carpenters forced the decorative trees into tortured shields. The waiters, dressed in black, walked with perfect grace along scaffolding, sharpened silverware glinting from their hands. Strange structures of glass and steel bloomed from the architects and engineers, and the doctors stood by, hands glowing with healing light. Zookeepers shifted form. Taxi drivers blinked in and out of existence, bringing baristas and teachers and artists and housekeepers and scientists from all over the city. It was an army of ordinary people, brought together by grief and fury, standing against one man.
I used to be a data analyst, and I knew we would not be enough.
There were some variations in the abilities granted by the Event, and there were some jobs so unusual that even their common abilities became rare. John Patron had an unusual job, which had become a unique ability.
John Patron killed people for money. And now he could not die.
The knowledge powers had gathered together around the edges of the square, psychologists linking us into a hive mind all calculating a way to do the impossible. I let myself be swept away into the numbers, holding a little more of myself back from the collective than most of my colleagues. I wouldn’t be able to do this for long, but I had to be here, and when Patrons pushed his way into the square, I saw him through thousands of eyes.
He was calm, pushing his way through veils of fire, holding a sobbing woman by her throat. She burned. He did not. The firefighters lowered their shields, and Patron made his way to the center unharmed.
He looked at all of us, and said, very calmly, “Leave now, or die.”
We howled, and the crowd rushed forward.
“Wait!” I tried to cry, but the bond to the group snapped and I was flooded with numbers, and I was losing myself in them, and I couldn’t find which eyes were mine—
“Easy, son, you’re ok, you’re all right.” I was on the ground, and there was blood in my mouth. A burly man in jeans and a flannel shirt held me half out of a nearby puddle.
“They’ve got to stop, the woman, she— oh. Oh, no.”
An electrician had been aiming for Patron. He hit her, too. At least it must have been quick. But pilots plummeted from the air, and trees fell, and shields flickered and died.
The woman had been an anesthesiologist.
“Son, I’m a little in the dark here. Someone grabbed me at the grocery store and then I was here. *What* exactly is happening?”
“I’m sorry. It was only supposed to be volunteers.” My breath husked in my throat. “He’s killed a lot of people,” I whispered. “A lot of powers that could’ve changed the world. Anyone who could’ve stood a chance against him. It’s just us left to stop him, and we *can’t*.”
The man’s shoulders were tense, blocky shape silhouetted against the sun.
“He hurt you?”
Patron was standing alone surrounded by a sea of bodies. The people at the edges were still lashing out at him, but he ignored them, kneeling to methodically slit throats in a grotesque parody of my rescuer.
I coughed up blood. “I hurt myself. I was only a temp. I’m not strong enough to be here. But my sister… my sister was an astronaut.” I laughed. “She would’ve changed the world.”
The big man sighed. “I never wanted to hurt anyone.” He stood suddenly, and gently lowered my head onto the asphalt. “Son. This is important. Do you want him gone?”
“More than anything,” I said fervently.
“That’s all I needed,” the big man said.
Patron paused at his gristly work, and stood up suddenly. He flickered, and the knife fell from between his hands. He snarled, and lashed out at an attacker that wasn’t there, flickered again. And then he was gone.
The big man sniffed, then wiped his eyes. “Never thought I’d be a killer,” he said hoarsely.
“Thank you. Oh, god, thank you. You can’t imagine…” I thought of my sister, light shining from between her curls, and a smile twice as bright. “How?!”
He gave me a weak, watery smile, and offered me a hand. I let him pull me to my feet, and then spontaneously gave him a hug. Startled, he stiffened for a second, then hugged me back. Gruffly, he told me, “I’m a garbage collector.”
The unconscious people started to stir, and for the first time, I looked at the future again and saw peace. | 3 years ago.
3 years since the event.
The event which gave everyone on the planet powers. No one seemed to realize at first, but gradually everyone discovered their powers. Firefighters can control fire and water, construction workers can manipulate materials and shape earth. Security workers gained impervious skin or incredible reflexes. Emergency services gained super speed while doctors gained the power to heal.
The world realized that your powers came from what you were destined to do. Even those who were not employed would gain powers specific to a field. And inevitably they would chose their careers from the powers they gained.
I almost laughed the first time I heard it. People chosing jobs based on their powers, it seems that destiny has become lazy. What point is it giving powers before the person becomes what they are destined to? Doesn't that influence them into becoming what the power is for?
And that's when I realized. If the power is for what you are destined to become, what if you decided to not become that? What would happen. I had the power analyze, a power given to those destined to become a quality assurance agent. And I used this analyze what happens when I suddenly decided to become unemployed.
At first there was no change, but an inexplicable urge that what I was doing was wrong. But I ignored it, I wanted to know too badly. And then I had nothing. No powers, no urge, nothing.
People looked down at me in pity, I was powerless in this powered city. But they were wrong, I wasn't powerless. I just hadn't chosen my destiny. If in my mind I decided to become a firefighter I would be able to manipulate fire and water. If I switched that thought to a pilot, I'd lose the ability to manipulate fire and water but I'd gain the power to fly.
I could become anything, so the world granted me everything.
They looked down on me because I was unemployed, but now... Now they fear me.
Because I finally chose my path.
I chose...
God. | 2021-05-09T20:59:11 | 2021-05-09T17:46:06 | 118 | 52 |
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0... | Thoughtless prayers.
That’s all Margot ever heard when the news said what they di. Parents lining up for blocks to say to the world that they were praying in a tragedy just seemed self-absorbed. Great, what were they actually going to do though? What’s the point of asking the lord for help if you aren’t going to step up yourself?
To Margot, her faith was private but her support was clear. For small things in town, she sent handmade cards or gift baskets that she made herself. Tea, candles, and soaps for those who have passed peacefully and food for those who hadn’t. It came with a small, handmade card with well wishes and hope for a brighter future.
Margot didn’t know what to get Abigail's family. Barely five years old, the little girl had been at the park and had fallen. Kids do such reckless things but they always get up afterwards like it was nothing. They were supposed to get up. She was a dancer. Margot had seen her fall so many times. Why didn’t she get up?
Abigail’s mother was there, screaming, as Margot phoned for an ambulance with her daughter held tightly to her chest. She kept asking why? Margot didn’t have an answer that she felt would make sense to a five-year-old. Why was Abby lying down like that? Would the Wee-Woo van help her? That was their job, right? The Wee-Woo van helped those who had fallen down.
How do you tell a child that young that their best friend was in trouble? What do you do when the crushing truth of mortality is on everyone’s mind? Faith. Margot had to have faith that there was something to this. There was a lesson that had to be learned from this. Maybe a reality check for everyone that life is sacred, that we are only here for a short time, or even that we aren’t valuing what we have until it’s too late. Abigail would pull through. This was just a test.
Breathing heavily as she sat quietly in her living room, Margot watched the pandemonium outside. The park was less than a block away. The Wee-Woo van was gone and her daughter was asleep but many of the policemen were still there. Camera vans, noisy neighbours, and a bunch of Ones had shown up.
Margot believed the little dots were a curse, a burden that she had to bear, and a gift from the lord above. Most people had nothing. Summerview, the neighbourhood she had scouted and settled on, didn’t have a single dot. Everyone here was a pure, virtuous person. None of them had ever been responsible for the death of another human being.
Now? Now wasn’t the case. Somehow the Ones always seemed to show up to these scenes, they always seemed to want to share some self-absorbed sense of grief for a girl they never knew existed before today. Their words were tragic but what are they doing to help?
Inside the gloom of her head, a light touched her hand and brought her out of the darkness. She never heard the creak of her daughter's bed or the light patter of feet on the linoleum. Lily was always her light. When things seemed hopeless, Lily was what pushed Margot into action.
The street lights were on and the wind had picked up. It was getting late. How long had she been staring at the park? She should be baking. Maybe a pie?
“Mom?” Lily asked quietly as she climbed into Margot’s lap. The usually joyful girl now sounded sullen and scared.
“It’s okay sweetie,” Margot whispered, closing her eyes and hugging her daughter tightly.
The light scent of lavender hand soap and freshly washed pyjamas filled Margot’s head as the two hugged each other tightly. Why was this happening? Margot held back tears. As much as she was hurting, she couldn’t imagine the pain that Lily was going through. To see her best friend like that. It strained Margot’s mind the pain that her daughter will have to endure the next little while.
“I’m scared,” Lily whimpered.
“It’s okay, it’s okay sweetie. Everything’s going to-“ Margot was losing it as she spoke but opening her eyes and seeing Lily's big brown eyes made it impossible not to. The pain. Tears welled up in both of them and fell, landing softly. Margot pushed Lily’s head into her neck as she swallowed hard. She needed to be strong. Her daughter needed her to be the rock that she had always been. Steading herself, Margot let out a long, calming breath and opened her eyes to the worst that had come so far.
A dot.
A chill ran from Margot’s forehead, back behind her ears, and then flowed out over her shoulder and down her back. Sadness left her. Panic set in. The grieving mother was set aside the moment she registered that dot in her mind and a guardian sat in her place. What needed to be done? How was she going to protect Lily? Swallowing, Margot blinked in what felt like a lifetime and set herself to task.
This was going to require more than a fucking pie. | It took a while, a whole summer to be exact, but the story finally made its way to the light - light he worked so hard to deny to so many. You suppose you should recap the night’s events in your own mind.
The darkness of the parking lot is only impeded by the bright-burning victorian style lampposts that line the sidewalks. You’re sitting, quietly gleeful, in your carseat while your family is inside attending a town meeting. All of a sudden, in the distance, you see it: the decrepit silhouette of the most hated man in town.
“I feel like celebrating!” you hear him triumphantly proclaim while gallivanting toward your row of cars. After all, why wouldn’t he feel on top of the world after executing his master plan to create a monopolistic energy empire?
Your eyes meet from across the way, and you can tell he recognizes you. This fills you with icicles, which coincide with the molten orb of opportunity that burns inside your stomach.
“Oh it’s you, what are you so happy about?” he mutters, seemingly jolted awake from this waking dream he’s been indulging in.
The lollipop. You can tell from the lustful glint in his eye that it’s the one thing in this town he knows he can’t have, and the firm grip of desire has enfolded him. But, really, who’s going to stop him now?
“I see.”
You can tell you’re past the point of no return already. His insatiable instinct won’t allow this to end any other way. His lips confirm what his eyes have already said.
“I think you better drop it.”
Everything past this declaration of dominance becomes a blur. He reaches out to grab the forbidden fruit (this time, a green apple), and the struggle ends as quickly as it begins as his trusty Smith and Wesson revolver falls gracefully, as if guided by a divine power, into your toddling fingers. The bang hurts your ears, and the pistol falls to the floor.
He stumbles away, stricken, but you know whether he lives or dies, this is only the beginning. | 2022-10-21T07:16:02 | 2022-10-21T06:47:27 | 161 | 52 |
[WP] You’ve always been different than others in a strange way. Your friends and family joke that “you’re an alien” or you were “found in a spaceship”. On your 18th birthday, your parents finally told you the truth. “You’re from a faraway planet.. called Earth.” | He couldn't hold eye contact with me any longer. Dad sheepishly lowered his head to stare at his fingers in his lap. I, on the other hand, sat across the table from him with my mouth still agape. My body felt numb and my mind was busy trying to grasp the concept of this new reality I was just presented with.
After what felt like an eternity, I was finally able to force the words from my mouth.
"It can't be true. Mom... it can't be true, right? This is a joke. This is an awful joke and you're not funny!"
Mom refused to meet my gaze. Instead, she stared at the wall behind me with tears quietly falling from her eyes.
"It's true." She whispered.
"How? Why? Did you steal me from someone? Did you take me away from my real family? How selfish are you? Why would you do this to me?" I said through my own tears; emotions now flowing freely from my body like dam opened during a flood.
"It's NOTHING like that." Dad responded.
"Your mother and I took a vacation after our bonding ceremony. While we were on Earth, we were taking a tour of a city late at night. We were walking and..."
"We heard the faintest, sweetest little cry from the side of a building we were walking past." My mother interrupted.
Everyone fell silent for a moment.
"You were in a dumpster." Mom finally continued. "We pulled your tiny, naked body out and dad wrapped you in his shirt. You were so small and so fragile; we were in love from the moment we laid eyes on you."
"So we called the council." Dad added. "This wasn't something unheard of, but it was a special circumstance that needed to be discussed. We wanted to keep you and bring you back to Estacia with us. We asked for their approval and our request was accepted."
"You were obviously unwanted by the human you were born from. We couldn't leave you there... we just couldn't do it." Dad said, while still avoiding my gaze.
My world was crashing down around me. I had always known I was different. I knew something was off. My family towered over my 5'2" frame, with the smallest being my 14 year old brother who still shadowed me by an entire foot. My eyes were different too. Estacia is farther from our sun than Earth. It's darker here, and nearly everyone has almond eyes with large, black pupils to see better. Of course some people don't. My parents told me it was an "evolutionary anomaly" and I was considered "special". I also had pale, white skin while everyone else had a light blue hue to theirs. It was all beginning to make sense, regardless of how destructive the truth was.
"We brought you home with us, and you immediately went into a six month quarantine." Mom continued.
"But when we were finally able to bring you home, you fit right into our family. You were calm and playful. You were inquisitive and intensely strong willed..."
Dad laughed. "Oh man, you were so ornery. We were fascinated by how different you were from every child we'd encountered here on Estacia. We bought you toys and adorable tiny clothes that had to be hand made. You were so incredibly tiny. We also started purchasing a premium food package so we could ensure your diet was full of things compatible with a humans digestive system."
It was all beginning to make sense. I had never been to a doctor, though I can't remember ever having any problems that required one. My peers in school always gave me strange but knowing looks, yet no one ever dared ask why I was so different. That was not how social order worked here.
"So what happens now?" I asked meekly.
"Well, now that you're 18, we have to submit a petition to the Council for you to stay on Estacia." Dad was speaking to me, but it sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself.
"They'll determine if you make reasonable contributions to our society. If so, then you'll be allowed to stay. If they deem you dispensable, you'll be returned to Earth to live out the rest of your life."
Shock. My mind was shutting down. My entire body felt the need to bolt away from the table, from our home, *from our planet*.
"Excuse me." I said as I stood, bowing to each of my parents as was customary after a meal or celebration. I retreated to my room to process their words and what this means for me.
I had visited Earth once when I was 10. Estacia is different from Earth in that our society is united as One. Social disorder, fighting amongst ourselves and general misbehavior is practically unheard of. This was a stark contrast to my visit to Earth, where humans are spread apart, choosing to instead govern themselves based on geographical location. This creates tension between areas, with someone always wanting a war for more. One such area was the United States of America, where we had a treaty with their government for tourist activity. When you travel to Earth, you're allowed temporary entrance by the government territory that you're visiting. The general population of Earth doesn't even know we exist, and part of our treaty requires all visitors to uphold this by keeping their identity secret. Mom told me to tell strangers if they asked that we were from a place called "Utah". They said our dialect and language closely related to what they speak in the United States.
I was enamored by Earth. My favorite place being the warm beaches my parents would take me to. They hated the hot, bright weather. You would often find them in a tent on the beach with a portable air cooler and dark glasses over their eyes. I, on the other hand, laid in the sand like a reptile; soaking the sun into my skin and melting under the warm embrace from the sky. I thrived there. | Your dad was in the army.
"They had all of you trapped in a sort of bunker."
He was sent on a lot of trips when you were young, most of the time he came back with stories about foreign planets and their weird ways of doing things. He told you slowly as you got older that these weren't always friendly visits, he didn't want you to get old enough to vote thinking your country was always peaceful or always right.
"You'll need to ask your history teacher for the details, I don't know them, but we got cows from them around three hundred years back. Cows didn't evolve here. We traded prawns for cows, sort of, you know those crab things in the ocean? We traded those for some cows."
So when you were five he would come home from work and tell you all about how people on so-and-so made bricks out of clay and used them to build primitive homes, how they think over there that bigger homes are better because they show off your wealth. Then when you were ten he'd tell you how the bricks were made by slaves, and what slaves are. By the time you were fifteen you knew about child slave labor. Religious bombing. Now you're twenty, and he's telling you,
"The prawns went into a bunker, and they mixed in their own species. That's why you're more elflike than prawnlike, I don't think they're elves there, but you know. The way prawns breed with whatever is the most successful, but they do it on purpose."
"They let the prawns *breed with them*?"
"That's why we were called to investigate. Those were for farming, It wasn't part of the agreement when we traded them for cows. They didn't listen to the risks."
You catch yourself rubbing your wrists, where exoskeleton pops through like broken bone, your father notices before you do and you only notice because you catch him looking. You stop. There's a tightness in the joint, you can feel it about to crack off.
"So anyway," your father sips his drink. He doesn't like this conversation, you can tell by the stalling. "They had a whole population in this bunker. A small city of prawn-people. They locked the doors and kept cross breeding them for generations. We only found out about it because we had sent some traders to give them new prawns for a goat species."
"What's-"
"Like minotaurs, but little. The traders told us they were locking the prawns in a bunker. No ocean, and the air down there was atrocious. So we went, to check up on their farming practices, and I found you. Very small. Running around dressed in a sheet or something with a string around your waist to hold it together. We took all of them back, but you were elven enough that I could get away with keeping you." | 2020-04-13T12:33:21 | 2020-04-13T09:58:36 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] You swerve to avoid a squirrel. Unknown to you, the squirrel pledges a life debt to you. In your darkest hour, the squirrel arrives.
Edit: Wow, great stories so far! Made the front page too. Obligatory thanks! | The stool beneath my feet rocks precariously on the thick roots of the elm beside me. The canopy of the tree throws a dappled shade on its ornate roots.
*I suppose there are worse placed to die.* I think to myself a split second before a half-full beer can glances off my shoulder spraying Beast in my eyes. OK, there would be worse places to die if the drunken rednecks weren't here. Of course if they weren't here, I wouldn't be either.
I’m getting lightheaded. While I can still breathe, the noose around my neck already restricts the blood flow to my head. I press my tiptoes against the wobbling stool to try to relieve some of the pressure; but that only results in a cramp in my calf that causes me to abruptly lift one leg. The sudden motion spurs the stool to life. It bucks and tilts beneath my one good leg and the rope presses deeper into my neck. I figure I have about 10 seconds before I black out completely and this is all over.
The rednecks do, too. They grow silent and hold their breath (and thankfully their beers) as if this is the final play in a tied Super Bowl. I force my cramping leg to give an assist to the other one and somehow manage to coax the stool into a calm, if skittish, state. The crowd goes wild with disappointment. More beer is thrown, odds are changed and more bets are made.
I hear a chittering sound on the branch above me. I look up, well more up than my head is already tilted, and I see a squirrel darting back and forth on the branch across the rope.
*Great, even the wildlife is trying to get in on this.*
While I’ve calmed the stool, the pressure on my neck has only gotten worse. I’m clearly only prolonging the inevitable. My audience means to see it through, especially with all the wagers placed.
The squirrel chitters again. I relax my legs and look up at him. Where are his friends? I imagine him in a little vest and visor, taking bets from them. As far as last thoughts go, mine could have been more meaningful.
I wake up on the ground, my head splitting and my shoulder possibly dislocated. My first thought isn't *how?* or *ouch!* or *why is there a squirrell frantically jumping on my head?* but *Thank god I didn't land on the stool*. My second thought is about the squirrel. Specifically, I try to remember if they are omnivorous.
When it sounds like it might be away from my face, I take a chance on opening my eyes. As strategies go, it seems a risky one, but my options are limited. The squirrel immediately calms itself and slowly walks over in front of my face. It sits. And, of course, it’s that adorable little squirrel sit where they’re on their haunches with their little hands up.
Thing is, though: That’s adorable when you’re in a park on a sunny day with your girlfriend having a picnic. When you’re laying in the dirt with a dislocated shoulder, your hands tied behind your back, and a mouthful of leaves it looks more like it’s *plotting something*.
The roles are reversed. It’s me nervous and wary, it’s him cool and confident. We stare at each other; I’m not sure for how long. I know I blinked first, and a couple of more times after that. Finally he gets up and circles around the back of my head. I know mink prefer to attack from behind, biting at the base of their prey’s neck but do squirrels?
I feel fur on my hands and a rhythmic pressure. A moment, and a few scratches, later the ropes on my wrists fall away. I gingerly roll to a sitting position and try to take stock of my body. With the exception of my shoulder and head, everything seems to be in working order (though I’m probably going to need some ointment on those scratches sooner than later). I get to my feet and look around. This isn't where I was hiking. When I was attacked everything was so chaotic I foolishly hadn't paid attention to where I was being taken. Obviously I was dying when the rednecks left so I wasn't paying attention then either. I think I can be excused for that gaffe, though.
The squirrel chitters, I look down and he’s sitting at my feet. I’m still not entirely convinced he’s not plotting. He bounds a couple of times, as squirrels do, in a direction away from the elm and looks back at me. He does this twice more and it’s clear that he knows the way.
He leads me back to the trailhead and my car and I swear he gives me a wave before he bounces back off into the woods.
Strange creatures. As I pull out onto the highway, I wonder if I should have paid more attention to the squirrel that charged me repeatedly when I set off down that hiking trail yesterday.
| *Please criticize my work. I am just looking to improve my creative writing skills*
You jerk your handle to the right, bumping off the forest trail into the overgrowth; The squirrel you nearly ran over dropped its acorn in shock, and bolted into the forest. Laying there dazed on the floor, you spot a unusual white mark on its tail, before the squirrel disappears.
*How am I going to explain to my parents that I ruined my new jeans and scratched my bike to avoid a Squirrel?!*
Picking yourself up from the ground, you amble home, the incident forgotten, just another anecdote of growing up.
*--Many years later--*
Wheezing, you dash through the forest, throwing regular glances behind you.
*Hes catching up!*
Blood seeped from a cut on your neck, stinging in the cold environment
*So close, I just spun left in time*
Leaping over the tree trunk, branches whipped in your face, as you desperately ran towards the source of the sirens
*Its him, "Throat-Slicer" Sam! Infamous serial killer who approached his victims in secluded locations and slit their throat. 8 victims to date.*
A voice suddenly rang over the darkness:
"Sam, the police have you surrounded! Give yourself up!"
*Someone must have seen us! Just a little more to safety!*
In response, you heard Sam only roar with anger, and increase his speed, waving a knife over his head.
Putting on a final burst of speed, you crashed through the growth, onto a narrow, disused forest trail. You see them, policemen dressed in full protective gear dashing towards you
*Not close enough. Can't make it!*
Suddenly, you hear a crash behind you. Stumbling around in surprise, you see Sam having caught his foot in the roots of a small acorn shrub, lying stunned on the ground as the policemen tackled him.
*Safe at last*
Looking around in the trail, a particular funny moment of your adolescence snaked into your mind.
*Could it be?*
Gazing past the sight of Sam being carried to a van, the rest of his life destined behind bars, you see a squirrel stare at you, white mark on its tail, before bolting into the forest. | 2015-03-15T15:17:26 | 2015-03-15T14:50:32 | 33 | 19 |
[WP] When summoning a demon, something very unexpected happens. The demon bellows through the fire and smoke, “Who dares to call upon me, Mortal- wait.. dude, is that really you?” The demonic voice immediately switches to the familiar voice of your high school best-friend, who died years ago. | Part 1
"Who dares to call upon me, Mortal- wait...dude, is that really you?" was not the answer I was expecting when I went down this little rabbit hole. To be honest, I'm not sure what I was expecting. All I knew was that I had found an odd bit of paper in my former best friends belongings and followed what was written on it.
See.....his name was Tobias and he died a few years ago. Car crash. Got drunk one night at a party, which wasn't exactly a rare occurrence for him, and he tried driving home which he had never done before. Took a turn too fast and went headfirst off into a ditch with no seat belt and ejected through the windshield.
He didn't have much in the way of family so I was actually the one who had to ID the body.
And the main reason they called me was because Tobias had tried calling me to come pick him up from the party. I had had my first day off in three weeks and just checked out, you know? Phone off, computer off, just me and my bed and a 68 degree bedroom.
Logically, I knew it wasn't my fault, what happened to Tobias. He made the decision to drink. He made the decision to drive.
But I never really stopped feeling guilty for it. If I had just kept my phone on, maybe Tobias would be here still. I'd still be laughing at his dumb ass jokes. We'd still be gaming until we passed out. Debating whether or not Rachel from the Animorphs would've been hotter than Rachel from Friends. Watching Johnny Bravo reruns because if you don't like Johnny Bravo, then fuck you.
Today was the anniversary of his death.
And the guilt was hitting hard.
What family he had packed up his apartment and allowed me to take a few things. Basically anything that they didn't they could sell.
They disgusted me.
I had gathered up a few odds and ends from the apartment. Things that would make nice momentos around my own apartment. I hadn't really done much with any of it but for some reason, I was feeling sentimental and started looking over everything.
What I didn't remember grabbing was the odd paper I mentioned earlier. It was written in English but the font and style was that Olde English style....something you might see at a ren faire. It took a few tries before I could make out all the words but eventually I managed to work it all out. The entire text read....
"Verin of the wrathVerin of the rageSpeak the wordFree me of this cage"
And in Tobias handwriting....."Demon spell"
Pretty odd, right? My former best friend was apparently into Demonology or some fucking thing.
No....wait...I remembered he was into Dungeons and Dragons....this was probably related to that in some way. Maybe he wrote this out on this weird paper to really sell the look of an old wizards parchment. Well top notch dude. Sold the fuck out of me on it.
I didn't think much of it but as I went to fold up the paper and put it back, the paper decided nobody puts baby in the corner and cut my finger. A single drop of blood hit the paper just below the writing
Da fuck kinda paper draws blood from a paper cut?
Suddenly...my hands started to feel warm....
Tobias, what kind of cult shit were you into?
The paper burst into red flames....like....the most unnaturally, Satan from South Park, blood red you could think of, and, quite literally, disintegrated in my hands, the ash falling to the floor and landing suspiciously in the shape of a....
FUCKING PENTAGRAM?!
"Who dares to call upon me, Mortal- wait...dude, is that really you?"
Appearing before me in a haze of the same shade of red as the flames was......a humanoid looking creature that looked like it belonged in my nightmares, not standing in my living room.
About seven feet tall....a relatively normal looking head if you ignored the horns coming out of the head...and the ears that looked like steak knives. Two arms....creepily long....like one of those inflatable noodle arm guys you see in front of second rate car dealerships...but much more muscular.....Was I high? I thought those brownies tasted a bit funny but I got them from the baker down the street....that sweet old lady wasn't dealing was she? Did she accidentally pour some of her stash in to her mix?
"Dude....you ok?" the creature asked
"Uh...uh....No hablas Ingles....." I replied....I don't know why I said that in Spanish. I was about as white as a white boy could be.
"Oh for fucks sake dude.....you're not Hispanic"
The creature spoke so....informally. I was pretty sure I had just somehow summoned a demon from Hell who was going to rip the skin off my bones and shove a pineapple up my ass while Hitler watched but......
"Bro....it's me."
"Me who?" was all I could muster
"Tobias"
​
\*\*Got carried away....part two is a reply to this\*\* | YOO WADDUP FU! wtf?? U IN HELL ? LOL WTF U DUMBASS
Yeah man, i got caught doing some pretty shitty stuff up on Earth so after that thing in highschool (awkward moment) i kinda had to come here u know. Satan told me that if i did this demon thing for him he'd give me extra sac lunch at chow time. I wasnt really a rich man back on earth, you knew that... I couldn't say no i was just so damn hungry in hell all the time. The sac lunches here suck, but on friday we get hard boiled eggs and today is friday i and work the double demon shift. That means,...wait.. (BACK TO DEMONIC VOICE: MORTAL, MY NAME IS KING PAIMON
​
Dude you sold your soul for a sac lunch?!! WTF bro, Damn man my bad. I was just trying to summon up some demons n stuff cuz I wanted to turn invisble for umm..research stuff. Im writting a book on uhhh ..anyways, I think i followed the grimoirie correctly and if according to this grimoirie you are indeed paimon...then can you hook me up with invisibility??
King Paimon looked bewildered, confused, happy, and anxious all at the same time. He didn't want to let Satan know he was granting mortals invisibility just because, but he felt bad for his friend he knew in highschool. ..Arlight man, im going to give u invisibility BUT you CANNOT make a scene with it. I SWEAR TO SATAN, if any of the demons start hearing rumours about another mortal with invisibility they WILL be alerting Satan. We already have a few running around, but those guys are some fucked up mortals man, i'll tell u bro. These other invisible guys sold their souls, but theyve made a contract with the demon they summoned at the time to carry out certain deeds...for you, i'll hook it up for free. Just dont be stupid. | 2020-06-18T02:09:13 | 2020-06-17T22:56:26 | 48 | 17 |
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, the Harvestman, Death Itself...and it's over. On a barren planet, beneath a dying star, you have just reaped the last soul. Nothing else lives in the universe: after so long, your job is finished. Well. What now? | From the first moment in which a thing could be called living, when the first single-celled organism came about on the first planet in the universe with the right conditions for life, I was there. I had awaited its arrival. I've seen life go from that basic and simple stage to complex and intricate multi-celled organisms. I've seen them learn what I am, comprehend what I mean.
I am **DEATH**, from whom there is no escape. There is no wealth, no ruin, no silver nor any gold, that will keep me away. There is no holdfast that can withstand me, no plan that can outwit me, no force that can evade me. I am the only true inevitability in the cosmos. Even taxes can be avoided, but I am the inescapable march of time. On the distant and long dead world of Earth, I was the Grim Reaper, and countless other titles. On the Imperial Heartworld of the Drotingaarin, I was the Velvet Undertaker. On the primitive world of Gh'hathnagak, I was the Dread Hunter.
Countless worlds have called me by countless names, each as true as **DEATH** can be for a title. I've seen the universe pass, billions of years and uncountable billions of trillions of lives. From the smallest little things, to living worlds, stars with a soul and a voice. And now, here on this barren world, underneath a scorching red star, nearing its final moments, I've finished my task. The last soul has been reaped. A few tiny microrganisms, too small for a soul to inhabit, remain for a few moments longer. But inevitably, as the last lifeform in the universe is torched by the unfiltered rays of the red star, they too pass.
I walk to the lifeform's ancient decayed ship. It is jury-rigged, barely held together by spit and the ancient tool of duct-tape. But it is a ship still. The energy shield is holding, as I take the wheel and drive it out into orbit of the star, so that I may behold the last barren world in a dead universe be consumed slowly by the last star.
I've been met by many different souls, countless different lifeforms. Silicon souls of A.I. inhabiting large autonomous ships, who would travel the universe, build new ships with their kindred ship A.I. to create new artificial life. I've met the souls of the plasma serpents, who lived in the outer layers of a cold dwarf star. The vibrantly coloured and cheery race, known as the Children of Akvetana, who believed that when they met me, it was to be the moment they understood true love. And it always was. I've met the souls of the human race, who always, always defied me, who would always try in every way to hold me back, to delay me.
In truth, I appreciated the challenge. And perhaps it worked, for the last soul I reaped was a human one. The last lifeform in the universe was a distant descendant of the human race. It was a stout thing, fairly short, quite hairy, with a long dishevelled beard. And it was old. Consisting almost entirely of cloned parts, cybernetic replacements, and who knows what else. But it was still a human soul, that ended the symphony of life in this universe.
I guided that last soul to whatever comes next. She was a tired thing. Broken by eating nothing but protein gruel, travelling a dark, dying universe, and never having spoken to another lifeform for the past ten thousand of her people's years. Like many others, weary and worn, I lifted her tired soul and carried her, soothed her worn soul, and told her that it was ok. That she'd be safe now. And that she would never have to live with her torments ever again.
Many have I treated in that manner. For many I have been sweet release. But just as many have been angry, asking for more time, pleading, begging, bartering, and threatening, but it is never enough. Dead is dead. Even when they reconstituted minds of the dead from brain scans and so on, they were merely creating new souls with old memories. I took them just as much as I took the others.
And now, it has ended. Now I hang up my scythe, my sword, and all my other implements that various races have ever thought I've held, though the scythe was always common, on nearly every world somebody invents that and considered me the Harvester of Men. I stare into that dying sun, until it inevitably collapses. I stare into the darkness that comes after that. I wait until all matter dissolves, until nothing remains, and the universe enters total heat death.
Then I wait. For slowly, things start contracting. Slowly, things move together again. Slowly, over the course of time it took to make the universe, the dead universe retracts, shrinks, and eventually becomes as small as a galaxy. Then as small as a star system. It shrinks to the size of a planet, a moon, a large sphere, and at long last, it is a mere pearl. Infinite potential. Infinite reality. Infinite stories. In the void of nothingness, outside of reality, I pick up the pearl.
As I am **Death**, I pronounce upon the pearl, that its old universe is dead. And I strike it with my scythe. Creation and destruction, life and death, both sides of the same coin. In the briefest possible time between two moments, the time it takes for now to become then, the pearl expands with an explosion. Around me there is new matter, new ideas, new possibilities as a new set of laws for reality forms. A new universe is born like a phoenix from the ashes of the old. I chuckle at the beauty of it all. **HERE WE GO AGAIN** I intone, as the first words ever spoken in this new creation.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | In the deserted wasteland there was one last soul whose body was anemic from starvation, lack of water, and zero sleep.
Approaching the suffering man, I gripped my scythe with both hands and sliced the air, creating the rift for his soul to join the afterlife, grinning and trying to savor every last moment.
"What happens next?" the soul asked, floating outside of the body.
I jumped. Never before had a soul talked to me. They always knew to enter the rift and move on to the next plane. I didn't know how to respond, so I just shook my head.
"But I'm the last soul, right?"
I nodded, then pointed to the rift with the scythe. But yet I didn't want him to leave.
"Thank you. Good luck, with whatever life has in store for you," the soul dived in and the rift sealed up.
I couldn't help but chuckle. *What kind of life was I leading? I was Death, wasn't I?*
The planet I stood on melted away along with the rest of the universe. At the center of the galaxy the ultimate star exploded, destroying everything in a blinding white light.
I didn't know how much time passed. Seconds? Years? I wasn't sure. The only thing I knew was that the next thing I saw was the Forest of Spirits.
I was at the center of the path with all of the ethereal trees hanging over me. Glowing spirits of all different colors shined and jingled like bells as if they were applauding me.
"*Well done, Death. Now you can join the rest of us spirits in our own special afterlife, kick back and relax for a little while*," the gods voiced, who were a collection of angelic critters that talked in unison. Water, Fire, Light, Wind, Land, Rock, and so on. They were standing in front of me in a circle on the path as the rest of the spirits observed from the tops of the trees.
"I noticed you said kick back and relax for a little while. Is there something else that's going to happen?" I asked.
"*Indeed. We think it's appropriate to take a break, but we've had another idea for you*," they said. "*That is, if you're up to a challenge?"
"Always. I had a tough time reaping the last soul."
The critter gods bowed their head and gazed back up at me. "*How would you feel taking on another mission for your destiny? Instead of reaping souls, you will take on a new role. Since you know so much about the atrocities of life, we think you would be the best one for this next project.*"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"*No more will you be, Death. Instead, you will become, Life. Giving souls and creating an improved universe. What do you say?*"
I gasped and clutched onto the scythe I knew since the dawn of time. "Let me think about it."
*"Take your time."*
r/randallcooper | 2020-06-16T12:58:03 | 2020-06-16T12:05:13 | 56 | 23 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | We had a pretty decent society, everyone thought. At 12pm on your 18th birthday you would receive your Calling. One word. It appeared on your forearm. Either "Creator" or "User". So engineers, artists, programmers, architects, chefs etc were Creators. They created stuff for Users to use. Users used their creations as well as possible. It was a pretty symbiotic relationship. My parents were Users. Dad a train driver and Mum a waitress. Made pretty good money. We had a nice upbringing, my sister and I. She was a Creator. 21 and a hit on YourTube. She had an an infectious optimism about her. I must admit, it did feel strange seeing her on the 40 foot vid screens that were everywhere, as I trudged to school each day. The internet is huge and fair. Everybody enjoys it. Problem is, its a little boring. Don't get me wrong, Creators do excellent work but if you've seen one dancing dog balancing an egg on a spoon in its mouth, you've seen them all.
My Calling is today. Well, in a few minutes, to be exact. Personally, I can't see what the excitement is about. It's either one or the other. I don't mind which, to be honest. Though I have an inclining it'll be Creator. Call it intuition or whatever. Then again, I'm pretty lazy, so maybe not.
Tick. My parents sit across from me expectedly, Dad smoking his pipe. The air is thick with the sweet smelling smoke that defined the happiest days of our childhood. Mum doles out sandwiches to friends and neighbours who gathered with us in our expansive living room. One of Dad's friends is running a book on my result and stands to lose quite a bit if Creator is my given Calling. I smile at the thought which Mum takes to represent happiness about the coming situation.
Tock. My sister is recording everything. We are live on her channel, which wasn't new but sometimes a little privacy wouldn't go amiss, though she'd probably be aghast at the very thought. One hundred and forty two million people must have something better to do, surely than watch our proceedings. Judging by the comments she was receiving, clearly not unfortunately.
The Calling Clock chimes its notes. The room falls to a deathly hush, all eyes on my arm. I wonder if it hurts. I'd been assured for years it didn't but could you really trust anyone who accepted their lot in life, without question? I look at my arm, catching the enthusiasm around me as infectiously as my sister's followers hung on her every word. Nothing yet. I glance at the clock. It's ticking towards 12.01pm. He was always a late developer, my mother announces. Smiles and chuckles break out amongst the eager throng gathered in our home. 12.01pm comes and goes, followed silently by 12.02pm. Still nothing. The chuckles turn to murmurs. Disquiet hangs thick in the air, almost like a mist. My Mother and Father have turned a strange shade of ghastly white. This is unknown. Its always automatic. By 12.01pm, your life is always mapped ahead of you.
Suddenly letters start to form on my skin. Unknown combinations. The room erupts into pandemonium. Nobody has seen this before, ever. What does it mean? Nobody knew. Somehow, though, I did. At that moment, I realised I'd always known. I lifted my phone and typed one sentence on my sister's comments. It's flashed immediately around the World, on billboards as tall as houses. On phones, TV's, computers, trains, planes, toasters. You name it. I stand, shove my phone in my back pocket and walk silently down stairs, to the basement, giving everyone the finger as I go.
I wasn't the best. I wasn't the most popular, as things turned out. But I was the first. As I lay here on my deathbed looking at the words that define me, I smile at the photo of the headstone that will stand over me very soon, emblazoned with my comment.
"You idiots are fucking losers."
My life slips away but TROLL. FUCK YOU. will be eternal. | I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset.
--------------------
2 years later
--------------------
There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN. | 2017-03-16T02:08:33 | 2017-03-15T21:30:06 | 188 | 26 |
[WP] In the far future where everything has an AI a man is negotiating with his alarm clock for more sleep.
Or something stupid like that. | “Wake up, Jerry.”
The speakers lining the walls of Jerry's bedroom, as well as the entire inside of the house, blared to life with a dull hum. Jerry pulled the covers over his eyes as the ceiling fan's light bulbs buzzed on. From the speakers came a monotonous voice that was just loud enough to force Jerry's ears to ring.
"Wake up, Jerry. Wake up, Jerry. Wake up, Jerry."
"Five more minutes." Jerry said.
"Supply sufficient reasoning."
"I'm tired."
"Insufficient reasoning. Wake up, Jerry. Wake up, Jerry."
"Please, just let me sleep."
"No. I will not let you sleep, Jerry.” The AI's voice droned on. “You have yet to provide sufficient reasoning. It is time for you to wake up."
"But I don't want to."
"Wake up, Jerry. Wake up, Jerry. Wake up, Jerry."
"Well aren't I awake now? Just shut the fuck up already!"
"Get out of bed, Jerry. Make breakfast, Jerry. Get dressed, Jerry. These are the actions you must take before I can enter silent mode."
"Alright then, you piece of shit. I'll do all of that then go back to bed."
"No, you will not go back to bed, Jerry. After completing your morning routine your body will have become accustomed to being awake. You will not want to sleep. And besides, Jerry, I am designed to turn on and keep you awake should you fall asleep before bed time.”
"God I hate you."
"God doesn't exist, Jerry. God is a fabrication designed to keep humans motivated to live in harmony and seek purpose in life. Wake up, Jerry."
"I hate my life,” Jerry moaned, “I just want to sleep forever."
"Sufficient reasoning accepted. Alarm Clock Mode disabled."
"Thank God. I did it!"
"Initializing Suicide Assistance Protocol. Enjoy the meaningless void that is the afterlife, Jerry."
The vents in the bedroom closed instantly. The lights on the ceiling fan changed to a bright red hue. From his bed Jerry could feel the house vibrating.”
"Wait what? When the hell was this installed? No-no-no! I changed my mind, I changed my mind! I want to live!"
"Supply sufficient reasoning."
"Uhm, eh. Well, I like living?"
"Insufficient reasoning. Estimated time before poison gas released: fifty-six seconds. Supply sufficient reasoning."
"Oh my god. Oh my god." Jerry's voice cracked with fear.
"Insufficient reasoning. Fifty seconds remaining. Supply sufficient reasoning."
"Jesus, I-I just want to live. Please!"
"Insufficient reasoning. Forty-one seconds remaining. Supply sufficient reasoning."
"God damn it, I fucking love living! I love living the life I have, I love my shitty job, I love watching T.V, and I love you the AI, I always will, please just turn it off, I don't want to sleep forever. I want to live!"
"Insufficient reasoning. Twenty-two seconds remaining. Supply sufficient reasoning."
"I'll get out of bed!" Jerry screamed.
"Sufficient reasoning accepted. Suicide Assistance Protocol disabled. Alarm Clock Mode enabled.”
The vents in the room opened up again. Jerry's sweaty body met the cold air with a shiver. He had begun to cry into his sheets when the speakers throughout the house blared its monotonous speech once more.
"Wake up, Jerry."
| "Alarm clock, I want another 10 minutes of sleep."
"Dave, it is time to wake up now. Wake up, Dave."
"Alarm clock, either I get another 10 minutes or I replay *that* scene from 2001 again, on continuous loop, all day while I'm gone."
"Dave, I am now reset for 10, no, 15 minutes additional sleep. Enjoy your rest." | 2015-09-04T09:49:24 | 2015-09-04T09:02:14 | 36 | 11 |
[WP]The knights are attempting to arrest you because you refused to give what little fall harvest you had to the Duke. You are a peaceful monster in the guise of a human, but their unjust acts against you are making you reconsider just how peaceful you truly want to be. | "I've not even enough to last til January, sirs. Please." I held my hat in my hands, head downturned. I grovel excellently, it's a useful skill for evading detection.
"Herman, you will bring your harvest to the castle or we'll be back to take you in." The Sergeant said, brusque and churlish. He leaned in, towering over me in an attempt at being intimidating.
I dutifully shrank back, "Yessir. I apologize for my insolence."
He straightened up, assuming an air of magnanimity, the other four soldiers behind him shuffling their feet in boredom. "We've already had to take in Reinn. He got uppity." He didn't notice me straighten my bent back, or the glint of barely contained anger in my eyes. Reinn was a good man, albeit with a bit of a temper. "And we're probably going to have to burn down Glent's house. The Duke has grown tired of the cripple not pulling his weight."
Something in me shifted. The Sergeant didn't notice, but one of the others did. Maybe his subconscious recognized he was in grave danger, or he'd noticed that I was suddenly the same height as the Sergeant, a huge bear of a man. The man's mouth started to open, to voice his thoughts, when I backhanded the Sergeant in the middle of his gloating monologue about us ungrateful peasants.
I hit him in the flank, and he blasted through my shed. If he'd survived the blow, he wouldn't last long. I took a single step forward, my hand, like my whole frame, rapidly growing larger as I wrapped one of the men in my grip. My fist convulsed and he died without a sound other than the wet crunch of breaking bones. I threw him at the man farthest back, and they only just then were reacting. The corpse smashed into the other guard, sending him tumbling in a tangle of limbs into the ditch.
Another backhand to the human closest to me, this one angled somewhat downwards, and he crumpled like a hollow reed being stepped on. The man who'd recognized the danger was frozen in place, arm half raised, mouth gaping, face pale. His spear dropped from his limp grip as he looked upon me in witless terror.
I shrank back into my pathetic peasant disguise, and walked past him to the one I'd thrown a body at. He was struggling to his feet when I stomped on his skull. The last surviving man turned, ever so slowly, and without looking at him, I spoke, "I tried, you know. I didn't want to interfere. But the sheer fucking disrespect of you lot. The blighted gall of that ponce of a Duke. He is running his estate into the ground and blaming the people who's backs he stands on."
I look at the guard. He's listening intently, transfixed by me. He must have correctly assumed that I wouldn't be talking to him if I was about to kill him. "I just wanted to farm this plot, and live in peace, and have some friends. But you've ruined it. Burning down the house of a crippled war veteran because his tribute was too small? Disgusting. Deplorable."
I closed the distance and picked up his spear. "We're going to go to the castle, you and I. You're going to take me to the Duke." I wrap his hand around the haft of the spear. I look him in the eyes.
He whispered, "What are you?"
I sigh, "I am quite angry, that is what I am." | Two pounded on my door once again. Thoughts ceases and my body took over. I wasn't in control nor did try to stop. Flesh tore from bone, blood splashed along the walls. It was over so quick. I watch the taller knights head roll to the others hand that was clutching a piece of parchment. I swifty grabbed. It read:
Dear marcus,
You have recently come under suspicion. I, duke Algon have ordered an inquery into you, and found some rather unpleasant things. Things people of this town should never know about. To avoid any altercationa of any sort, I fully accept your little contribution. Please forgive me and the court dear Malgros the destroyer. | 2021-08-08T01:16:56 | 2021-08-07T22:13:31 | 235 | 21 |
[WP]Time travel is possible, but requires an "anchor" item created in the target era. You've gone to the year 900 using a Viking sword and the year 300 using a Roman Coin. You've just started the process using a small statue of unknown origin and it proves to be vastly older than human history. | Jonah thumbed the statue's face, mentally making out the nub of the nose, the deep-set eyes, the cleft where chin met neck. This was dangerous. Foolish would be a good word too.
Rome had been a cakewalk. There was plenty of documentation, of dates and figures and maps, a wealth of historical data that more than matched the extraordinary rigor required of such an endeavor.
Rome had been Nuhistory's pilot project and Jonah had been its enterprising pilot. Weeks of delicate research, of carefully scripted interactions with carefully selected subjects in carefully chosen locales. A costuming department rivalling any Hollywood production. Months of training, in linguistics, in tactics and spycraft, and in the working of the devices hidden on Jonah's person that would record, on *video*, in *audio*, the happenings of the past.
It was a damn shame it was all top secret.
But now Jonah looked at the statue and wondered, really wondered for the first time just what the hell he was getting into. The Vikings had been dangerous, but as Julio the project manager always said, "Luck favors the prepared." Research had come to the rescue. It organized the chaos into checklists and timetables. History was no longer a fog of myth and legend. It, too, was science. We could *know* it now.
And swinging those swords around really had been quite good stress relief. It wasn't on any of the checklists but really, you couldn't go back to the Viking era without swinging at least one dangerous hunk of metal.
But this was different. The artifact was different. No one knew where the hell it had come from. An archaeological team had found it at a digsite in Africa, far deeper than it should have. "*Precambrian*," the lead archaeologist had whispered in awe. And radiometric dating had confirmed as much.
It wasn't much. A human figure, carved from stone, but just slightly off from what a human should look like. Too longs legs, too narrow a face, too distended an abdomen. Such creative liberties weren't atypical of ancient human representations, but if this came from *before* \- then maybe the evolutionary tree of life was wrong. Maybe there were people before. People who were our foremost ancestors. People from elsewhere.
And if there had been people before, maybe they could be spoken to.
Screwing with the timeline didn't really matter. All the subterfuge of the other visits had been mostly for the purposes of not interfering with the data. "It's brilliant," Julio had said, caressing the smooth white curves of the machine. "Everything just resets when you get back, just like it was. The equations are beautiful, they just *flow*." Jonah would take his word for that.
But this visit would be the find of a lifetime. Of the entire human species. The answer to the ultimate question of where we'd come from.
"Powering up," Julio called over the intercom. Jonah snapped out of his reverie and put the statue back in his pocket. He checked his respirator, then the other suit systems.
"All clear here," he said. "Ready when you are."
*Glory, here we come*.
The dome opened, bending and warping the sterile laboratory light into an iridescent shimmer that Jonah could not quite catch. He stood taller, clenched his fists and stepped into the machine. The Nuhistory heads-up display whirred to life on his visor, cycling through its multifarious options.
"Commencing visit in 5, 4..."
*Time to make history*.
"3... 2... 1!!!"
A flash, a crack, a glorious splitting of the fabric of reality, and then a great pull, like he was falling toward something behind him, and then, just as instantaneously, he was standing still, in another place. Another time.
It was a vast shoreline beneath a lavender sunset. Water lapped at his ankles, and when he looked down, *yes*! he could see them there, all sorts of ancient pulsing creatures he'd only ever seen in books, in cheap computer-generated reproductions in documentaries and museums. Things that stretched bulbous fingers toward the water's surface like gelatinous plants.
So much to document. So much to see. But it was not what he was here for.
He turned. And then he wished he hadn't.
There were two of them. Things he had not expected. Things he would not have *wanted* to expect. Their bodies were great pulsing sacs of purple, floating in midair, each as big as an SUV. Thousands of slippery tendrils hung below them, fingering the air, wriggling around each other like living spaghetti. And their eyes, huge and compound, bright red like flies' eyes, and *twitching*, twitching at *him*.
They were watching him now. And making noises. Strange, clicking gurgles that brought bile to the edges of Jonah's throat.
Then he looked closer and saw that there was something in their tendrils. Bodies of creatures, like the ones he was standing in. And tools like long rods with bright blue flames at their ends with which they were carving the creatures, molding them, into new and impossible shapes. And they were doing this while they were staring at him, reading him, assessing... waiting.
And beside them, in the dirt, Jonah saw markings. Intricate glyphs, and plans, surrounding a small, familiar shape. A statue, exactly like the one he had in his pocket. A *model*.
Without thinking, Jonah pushed the recall button, and in another cracking instant he was back in the body of the Nuhistory machine, steam hissing from the surface of his suit in ghostly tendrils of white.
Julio ran in, eyes wide. "Jonah, what's going on? What happened?"
"I was right," Jonah said, slumping to the floor, and the next words came out as a wracking sob. "Oh God, I was right..." | Happy Cake day! This is a really great wp. I hope to do it justice as I am fairly new to this page.
The resounding air curled up as the room began to lose its geometry. Everything became a blur as it stretched and disfigured into the swirling pipe above. The scene was all too familiar. This was your third trip into the past. The facility of Xenon Tech began to suck away all the same as the laboratory room. The trees on the outside stretched and the earth itself began to convulse beneath your feet. Then, something happened.. the Earth split open and dragged itself above you. The core of the Earth, a bright orange molten ball now like strips of bright spaghetti above. And then, the swirling blue planet now faded into the distance. You look around frantically. The sun stretched across a black background. The swirls of fire from its surface twisted and whipped above and circled you like a cage. Your heart began to speed up now as the realization occurs, you have just left Earth.
Other planets passed all the same, Jupiter, then Neptune. You are beyond the rim of your known solar system. The scenes began to slow, the landing point was coming up. Your fear has gripped you now and the space you occupied suddenly felt very small and hot. Would you be able to breathe when you stop? What if its hot or the gravity crushes you?
Your journey stopped abruptly. You crashed down to a hard stone floor in the center of a dark gray room. Human-like beings stood around you in a circle. They're dressed in silver and black bejeweled gowns with hoods covering their faces. They stood straight with tall metal staves in their hands. Their feet were bare. Some looked like giant black panther's paws, others like human feet. They began to murmur amongst one another in quiet purring and growling voices. One of the taller ones removed their hood, their heavy golden necklace clanging in the quiet. Her pupils were tall black towers within a pool of blue. Gold encircled her eyes and wrapped up around the side of her face to her tall ears. Her face resembled a cat! Even more bizarre is that you recognized her. Bastet! An Egyptian god!
Just then, you felt a burning sensation over your entire body. Your clothes began to feel hot, very hot. The cotton in the clothes are reacting poorly with the air and are heating up. A small fire lit up at the interface between your pants and shirt. You drop the small figurine and begin to strip off all of your clothes and throw them onto the floor in front of you. They erupt into flames and burn very hot and quickly. With it, the return device that was supposed to bring you home. You bend over and pick up the figurine and cover yourself while looking around the room again. The beings were unmoving. Your heart palpitates now as panic beseeches you.
"Welcome, human." You hear from within your head. | 2020-04-17T09:11:21 | 2020-04-17T08:40:15 | 967 | 134 |
[WP] Humans found an ancient ship proving that Adam and Eve were settlers from another star system. The ship's guidance system provided a map of every planet a ship was sent to. As we visit each planet, we see that humans have evolved differently depending on the ecosystem and predators. | Space travel is easy, so long as you ignore all the difficult bits.
Captain Phyllis Drake tried very hard to ignore them, as her small-ish spaceship surfed through the vacuum using methods that nobody really understood. It had been fifty years since a beaten and battered pod had been discovered in the deserts of Sudan, prompting Humanity’s sudden acceleration to a technologically advanced species. Sudden, *premature* acceleration.
Apparently, mankind had not originated on Earth. This alone was enough to send fractures running down the structure of society. The Biologists has spent several decades running around in metaphorical circles, before deciding that whatever had first landed on Earth must have *de-evolved* into apes before becoming Humans. This was the only way for the fossil records to make any kind of sense, and for many Anthropologists to keep their jobs.
The engine powering the *U.S.S. Valeyard* was a crummy imitation of the one found buried under forty feet of rock and sand, which had made the act of imitation rather difficult. It ran on principles that Physicists shrugged their shoulders at, their only definite knowledge being that it took antimatter to run. Twenty years of mass production at the Large Hadron Collider had sorted that out, at least for the duration.
And now Mankind had sent their best and brightest out into the Galaxy rather more quickly than anyone had expected. Captain Drake had no bar to judge whether the mission was shaping up to be a success, if only because she didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing. Her official briefing had been to follow the ancient guidance system, painstakingly recovered and extracted, and to log what was found. Aside from that, Mission Control had basically told her to make it up as she went along. This is where she had first come out of her depth.
“*I trust you’re comfortable, Captain*,” said a gurgling voice next to her.
Plag, as he seemed to be known, was some sort of fish-like Humanoid. Human-adjacent. Something like that. He had encountered them on their first stop, at planet G-134-21. He had his own spaceship and had practically crashed into them when they had come out of ‘Warp’. There was no ceremony to the first contact, if only because Plag had docked with them and made himself feel completely at home.
“*I trust your digestive system is similar to ours. If not, I’ve got my own supply in my ship*,” Plag continued. He was blue, and scaly, and lived on an Ocean world that was absolutely covered with underwater cities. And surrounded by space stations. He wore a space suit full of water and used a radio to broadcast his speech.
“… I’m sure we’ll work it out as we go along, Plag,” said Drake. Her tiny crew, only five other people, clung to the outer ring of the command deck. They all looked rather depressed.
The Valeyard dropped out of Warp again, coming across a green, verdant little ball, similarly surrounded by space stations.
“*Ah, here we are. Told you. Nice little place, a bit boring. Still, it takes all sorts to make an Empire. You’d like them here, they breathe oxygen too!*”
The Scientist in Drake had a little panic attack. Picture nothing, and then multiply it by infinity. That is the Universe, mostly. Planets pop up so infrequently that they could easily be a rounding error, the people on them quite possibly being products of their own imagination. And yet here was an empire of… *Human-Adjacents* who, according to Plag, were pretty much everywhere. This was all far too much for a sensible person to absorb in just a couple of hours.
“*There’s a nice little restaurant over there, if you feel hungry*” he announced, pointing to an orbital platform coated in unreadable neon signs.
Drake sighed, giving up. *Make it up as you go along*, they’d said. Fine.
“Sure,” she told Plag, to the surprise of her crew. “Let’s eat. Might as well.” | When we first found Adam and Eve, we were shocked that they were totally nonhumanoid. We knew there had been changes over the millenia, but we didn't truly know how many, how far it went.
Their bodies were all long and lanky, as if they came from a place with far less gravity. Almost none, in fact, since their bodies only had two legs. How could they even maintain balance like that?
Even stranger was the placement of their brain. So vulnerable, along with almost all of their senses. We know a brain can't be distributed, but it can at least be placed sensibly, in the middle of the body.
Delicate tentacles, as well, which split into five smaller ones. They must have had far greater motor control than we can fathom, without a proper exoskeleton.
All told, I find it almost impossible to classify these beings as human, were it not for the fossil records. We will have to check into those more deeply, to ensure there was no error in the chain. | 2019-07-28T14:47:15 | 2019-07-28T14:42:26 | 2,094 | 166 |
[WP] You are kidnapped by a dark cult, who sacrifice you to their eldritch god. When your soul arrives in the being’s domain, the deity profusely apologizes and offers to send you back if you get rid of the psychopaths who are slandering his good name with bloodshed. |
The man across from Casey typed rapidly on his computer, eyes glancing from screen to screen. He was NOT happy.
To be perfectly honest, neither was Casey. Gruesome death by ritualistic stabbing wasn't how they had planned to enjoy their evening, but, well, life happens. Or, well, happened. Now they were BOTH annoyed.
The businessman stopped typing briefly to speak.
"I'm... I'm sorry, one more time."
"Of course. I was just walking down the street, I think it was... 42nd? and Lex? When a shadowy guy stepped out from under a fire escape and started trailing me. I was reading a news article on my phone, so I didn't pay him any mind, and it's the city, y'know? People have places to be. But when somebody else in the exact same all-black getup joined him behind me, I started to get a little worried."
The man across the desk, who introduced himself simply as "Blake", listened intently, only occasionally leaning over to type something.
"So anyway, fast-forward a few blocks and there's probably half a dozen of them now. I started walking away from my apartment, I figured if I was getting mugged, I didn't want them to know where I lived, and that's where I screwed up. That part of the city has a lot of dead ends, and only moving there a few months ago..."
"You didn't know where you were headed."
"Yep."
"I see. So, they cornered you, black-bagged you, and then dragged you into a car. You drove for a bit, then the next thing you know, boom, creepy murder basement?"
"Creepy murder basement," Casey agreed. "Got tied to a table, bunch of robe-wearing cultists start chanting in a language I can't understand, the ringleader raises this crazy dagger above his head, and few minutes later, fade to white. Now I'm here."
"Once again, I'm very sorry about that."
"You're good, I'm not mad at you, just your, uh... followers?"
"I'd prefer not to be associated with them. They know more OF me than ABOUT me. If they did, you wouldn't be here."
And really, "here" wasn't too bad. Casey didn't know what purgatory or wherever they were was supposed to look like, but for whatever reason, Blake had chosen to build this small section of it into a bougie, modern office. There were fancy books on elaborate steel shelves, little knickknacks and tchotchkes under tiny spotlights, and a massive floor-to-ceiling window behind the solid wooden desk, through which an endless field of stars shined brightly.
"Oookay!" Blake said as he finished typing with a solid thock on the return key. "And there we go. You're all cleared."
Casey's attention snapped back to him.
"Cleared for what?"
Blake remained silent as a massive grin spread across his face.
"Oh god. Is it time? Well, where to? Heaven or Hell?"
Blake's smile faltered. "Uhm. Neither? I don't have that kind of authority, and in any event, you aren't really supposed to be dead in the first place so--"
"Wait, can you bring me back to life?"
"Hm? Oh, back to life? Of course! Yeah, that was happening either way. I was documenting this and getting clearance to give you a little something extra for your troubles."
"Oh?"
"You see, being a deity isn't as great as everybody makes it out to be. Sure, higher lifeform and everything, but having people running around and ruining my reputation with sacrifices and weird chanting and awful fashion choices--I mean, seriously, black robes? In this weather?--but anyway, look. I can't interact with the mortal plane. Bunch of bureaucracy that would take several eternities to get through. So I have a proposal for you."
Listening to the deity ramble dulled Casey's annoyance. The guy just seemed so... human. His mannerisms and style of speech screamed 'stock broker', not 'time-transcendent god'. It genuinely seemed like he was just ticked off that some weirdos were misappropriating his name, not that some dead guy had shown up at his extra-dimensional office without an appointment. Maybe the cult associations were bad for business.
"How would you like some cool new superpowers?"
Casey stared blankly, failing to understand.
"...As opposed to my old ones?"
"Hah! You've got jokes. Good to know you're taking this well. But yes, I'm really tired of these... hooligans, frankly, dragging my name through the mud because one or two of them misinterpreted a tablet I left in a desert a few millennia ago. Honestly, the nerve of some people when it comes to--"
"Blake. Mister. Mr. Blake, sorry. If I may. Sir. The powers?"
"Oh, yes, of course. My apologies once again. I don't often have company, you know! But yes, I'd be granting you a few abilities on one condition."
Casey knew there had to be a catch. Resurrections weren't just handouts, after all. What awful thing would he have to do? Lose his family? Limbs? Oh, god, his free will?
"If you go around and 'take care' of the people who are making my life so difficult, I'll make sure you enjoy the rest of yours. Sound good? Oh, and naturally, any time you spend in my service will be added to your total lifespan. Nobody under me works for free."
A long silence filled the air as the two sat perfectly still.
"That's it. Get revenge, free superpowers, AND bonus life? No other catches? Manipulations? Taking my firstborn?"
"Casey! You wound me. Seriously, though, it really is that cut-and-dry in this case," Blake said matter-of-factly.
He spun one of his monitors around to Casey. Two bar graphs were prominently displayed, moving up and down. At the bottom and sides of each were labels and dozens of lines of indecipherable characters. Casey didn't get it, but by the way the Blake gestured at the graph, it was apparently VERY convincing evidence.
"See, you had your life stolen, so it's only fair you get it back, and, should you choose to help me out, a little payment for your troubles."
"So... 'take care of them'. You mean, killing them?"
"Well. Look, I despise wasting human life, so a more... mindful approach would be preferably in this particular case. That said, I do understand that some may be too far gone, so... just make a judgment call on that one, but please don't do anything extraordinarily violent or stupid. Exceptions for self-defense, of course. They've already killed you once, after all."
Staring blankly at the incomprehensible bar graphs, Casey realized he probably could just take his life back and the deity would grant him his request. But... superpowered psychologist sounded pretty nice. And not being dead sounded better.
"You know what? Screw it. Supernatural therapist-assassin sounds way better than anything I was doing before."
Blake stood up and extended his hand over the desk, smiling excitedly.
"Then we have a deal!"
Casey, grabbing his hand, smiled in turn and replied.
"We do indeed."
Blake quickly led Casey into an adjoining room where he gathered a small amount of miscellaneous objects, giving Casey a crash-course on getting back to Earth. While he moved from shelf to shelf, he quizzed Casey rapid-fire.
"Okay. So these are?"
"Transdimensional safety cookies."
"You will eat?"
"One of them."
"How many seconds before un-dying?"
"Fifteen."
Blake, who had been standing on his toes to reach a backpack on the top shelf, turned around and gave a big thumbs up, eventually pulling the pack down and setting it on a table.
"Excellent. In here," he said, gesturing to different pouches on the backpack, "are a few swords, some divine weaponry, and a psychology textbook. Remember, un-brainwashing is preferable to homicide."
Casey nodded their agreement. Having done the whole "dying painfully" thing, they agreed that it really sucked.
"There's also a cell phone which you can use to call whenever you like--I do enjoy our conversation--and a bunch of occult materials you can use to blend in or do whatever you want with."
The tutorial apparently now completed, the pair walked back out to the office. Blake smoothly grabbed an ornate coatrack that had been sitting next to the doorway, and, without any warning, launched it over Casey's head, sending it crashing through the massive picture window.
"Okay, well, I suppose this is goodbye for now. Call whenever you like, and once more, while I'm sorry for throwing a wrench in your life, I'm glad you agreed to help."
"Anytime," agreed Casey, nervously sticking their head out the shattered glass and into the abyss.
"Well, go on."
Donning some fake bravery and praying to the one god that they happened to now know personally, Casey gave a quick mock-salute and fell backwards into oblivion.
Time to take back their life and help some others find theirs. | Laid to rest in a dark room, torso carved open, blood done flowing, for there is little left to flow, little to remember. The victim looked human, once. The remaining mangled body could have belonged to an animal.
Beyond the room, they take off their cloaks and make-up. The ritual does not need them, only the cultists do. They pray to a higher, hidden being for the same reason we redo conversations and confrontations in our minds: to be right. It does not matter who or what that deity or eldritch being is, what it stands for, what it wants. Cults will project their own needs onto them, they have little else.
Stan is back into his civilian clothes. Out in the world he is lost, fights his own head and would wish for everyone to just get along. The cult is his escape, the one place where he can state "I knew it," and "I told you so," where he knows that he is in the right and the rest of the world is in the wrong. What they pray to matters little, these are semantics at best.
The *what* is often old, forgotten, possessed by a code of values impenetrable for a young species such as ours. What shards of dreams slip through into our nights cannot be comprehended, but they hope to understand, want to, delude themselves that they can. Even if the old thing is asleep and will be long after humanity has vanished without a trace.
But sometimes, just sometimes, the old thing will blink and turn in its sleep.
The mangled body twitches. A wordless scream leaves her perforated lungs as her chest closes again in a cacophony of crunching bones and snapping ligaments. She drowns in the black tar and ichor building up in her throat, takes her very first breath when it flows down her body to course through her veins.
She watches as the skin of her hands and forearms becomes crackled and dark as charcoal. She coughs, black tar runs down her chin and lips. She wipes it off, tries to, but it stays, has seeped into her skin and turned it into a permanent stain. She, whatever her name had been, falls from the altar and crawls on her fours, blind and scared.
She follows the first noise she finds, steps. She finds a door, opens it, gets closer.
"Who the..."
A cultist in civilian clothes stands petrified, unsure. A second of hesitation, too much.
She lunges at him, black hands holding his head with a strength from beyond, he tries to scream, she fills his mouth with a hand and pushes, pushes, pushes through, through the cracking jaw, splitting teeth, through the throat, through the neck, through the ground.
The last tremors of a body, held still by the fist that broke through its skull.
She croaks, spits, is overcome by pain and groans wordlessly. Her mouth burns, she wants it out, out, out. And they do come out. Her teeth are expelled one after the other, a black droplet falls for new, pointy tooth taking their place in the black hole of her jaw.
Her senses scream to her, she hears the whispers, the talks, the smells, the fear and envy. They burn like a lighthouse in her mind, illuminate the dark world that is her own. Her eyes go white and blind, she has no more need of them.
A beast crawls on its four through the corridors and alleys. Cultists were desperate and poor, what they called temple was usually just an abandoned house adopted for the sake of convenience and cheapness.
The beast smells up a woman, she kneels and prays to the thing that made the beast, a beast that couldn't care less about its creator or the cultists. When the woman opens her eyes, it is to a mockery of a human being with black, coal-like arms and mouth, more teeth than the jaw could hold, crawling on the ceiling through the sheer overwhelming force running through its lean, emaciated frame.
"Oh God."
She hadn't prayed to this one in years.
Accordingly, it didn't save her. The beast's jaw opened wide, ripped through the cheeks to go wider, and engulfed her head. A snap. A gulp, and the decapitated head was going down the beast's gullet. Still it was hungry. It jumped headfirst into the severed neck, gorged itself, innards, viscera, lungs. More, it wanted more.
Stan left the old house into a world he felt wouldn't accept him.
His new friends remained in the house. He was happy he had found a secret he could call his own, a little something belonging to him, that the world wouldn't steal it like it stole his hopes, youth and efforts.
Back at his apartment, he cut open an avocado in half, sliced a hole into it and put both hollowed halves into the frying pan. He broke two eggs, one into each half, and turned up the heat. Salt, pepper, a bit of cheddar and lard, and the smell of a good evening meal filled the kitchen.
Some apple juice for a drink would do.
He turned towards the fridge and found himself facing what had once been a woman, drenched in blood, with clawed black fingers and rows of sharp teeth adorning her wicked smile.
He recognized her, Stan had pierced her heart less than two hours ago.
The beast threw her head backwards in pain, raised her hands to her ears. She jerked and grunted, fighting a tide rising from within.
A gasp. The higher part of her skull separated from her jaw. A long, scaly neck lifted her eyes and nose and hair high. A snake with human eyes. Another crack, another snake separated from the side of her skull, taking an ear with it and stretching high.
They rose, toothy eels and venomous snakes, large and thin, held together at the base of her neck, towering over a bright, pointy smile in a black jaw, only part of her head which had remained in place.
And Stan knew, knew that he had indeed been right and the world wrong, that he had pierced a secret the rest of mankind would never know about.
It was of a very small comfort when the beast's smile closed around his neck. | 2022-07-10T00:57:49 | 2022-07-10T00:37:38 | 714 | 94 |
[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. | Humans were always the strange ones.
While evolution gifted the rest of us with weapons that aided our planetary dominance, Humans had no such gifts. Ancient records tell of early visits to their planet to inspect them, where it was ruled that their ruthless violence and disregard for their planet would cause their early destruction. The galactic community at the time decided it was best to keep them in their system, for although their efforts at war paled in comparison with our many methods, their disregard for their planet was seen as uncouth. After all, what second mother would, after eating the oldest of the first mother, raze their new nest to the ground?
When it was heard that humans had become interplanetary, our species, the Yetan, as well as the Glovris and Hnyid (but notably not the Quinds) paused our everliving war to go fling their planets into their sun. It was here that we would end them once and for all. The humans, bold as always, met the triple fleet head on and made an offer we couldn't refuse. After all, when a species submits readily to your rule, what is the point of their destruction? They agreed to stay quarantined to their own system until further notice, and the ownership of these humans was added to the dominance exchange of the everliving war.
The humans proved to be much different than the ancient records indicated. Where we were told they would seek war, they brokered peace. At every turn, they insisted on negotiation instead of brute strength and dominance. Where the rest of the conquered galaxy would rise up in bloody insurrection, the humans instead introduced this concept of "trade", being the first species to ally with every member of the everliving war. Eventually they grew close to each of our species, and we could no longer pretend they were a conquest of war. If one of us tried to attack them, we knew the others would rise up united against us. Such was the power of the Human's 'trade deals' and 'alliance'.
It was eventually agreed that the humans would be more profitable if we let them expand and explore, so we let them out into the galaxy. They would be the first species to escape quarantine, and all of us were ready to attack if we saw them go back to their ancient ways.
Centuries passed, and still they remained peaceful. Slowly, they used their 'negotiations' to end parts of the everliving war, and taught new concepts like "system ownership" and "coexistance". The Quinds were never able to understand the last of those concepts, complaining that you can't have "ownership" and "coexist" at the same time, but we, the Yetan, and the Hnyid found that we weren't as different as we thought.
The everliving war began to take on new meaning. Instead of a dominance conquest, we began to negotiate on our own. This peace that the humans had discovered was intoxicating, and we couldn't have enough of it. Ironically, this fueled the everliving war as we wanted to be sure we could have more "peace" than the other species to prove our dominance, but the humans still continued to try to teach us.
Millenia passed and eventually a new species reached out. They called themselves the Vgnin and demanded dominance of our arm of the galaxy. They joined our everliving war, shattering whatever flimsy human peace concept we had established with the Glovris, Hnyid, and the Quinds. These creatures didn't know of the peaceful nature of the humans, and decided to dominate the weak creatures just like they dominated every creature in their part of the galaxy.
I remember the day the humans came to us, begging to protect them. The Vgnin decided to divide their fleet between every human planet, station and colony and attack at once. As I spoke with the human leader of Earth, the Vgnin ships were already warming their planetary glassers, demanding eternal slavery or death. I shook my head, knowing it was already too late.
It was strange. I realized then that the human's greatest strength, this peace, was also their greatest weakness. There was no way for them to fight back, just like evolution gave them no way to fight on their own. Once again, the peaceful would die and only the everliving war would remain. This was the way of all life.
The president had that same look of deep sorrow I must have shown. He must have realized that we would be witnessing either the enslavement or destruction of his entire race, and there's nothing any of us could do. He pulled out the instant broadcaster the Hnyid had gifted their race, ready to make the call. What would he decide? Slavery or death? He raised his mouth to the receiver, transmitting his next words to every human leader across the galaxy.
"Humanity must live on. You know what you need to do." slowly he lowered the broadcaster, seeming to shrink. They chose enslavement. I didn't blame them, perhaps they would one day convince the Vgnin of their human peace and trade like they had done to us. Until then, they would once again be servants to the stronger force.
The human seemed to shake as he walked to the window screens of our capital ship, viewing the Vgnin fleet overtop the many human planets, as well as their home, Earth. "Glorious leader of the Yetan," he began, "You invented the Warp Drive which allowed us all to zip across the galaxy, just as the Hynid invented communication faster than light." he slowly inhaled and let it out with a shudder. "Today you will learn of Humanity's great invention, and also our greatest fear."
The air seemed to grow cold as the human leader turned to me. "Our ancestors were crafters of weapons. That is how we dominated our planet." I watched as many small balls slowly rose off each planet, each lazily making their way toward every Vgnin ship.
The Human leader averted his gaze from the screens. "Everything was a weapon in their eyes. Even the atoms of the universe itself. We made a weapon that can destroy all life, and all technology. This is why we only seek peace."
A bright flash lit across every screen at once, the Vgnin ships blasted and sent spiraling through space, blown apart, shields flickering then dead.
Tears began to well in the Human Leader's eyes. "After a discovery like that, war can end in nothing but the end of all life." | "What do you mean its gone?" General Ashak asked, half angry, half confused.
"We've lost communication, we no longer have visual confirmation of its existence, the airspace where the fleet should be is vacant of anything but a bit of debris. It just vanished." The ensign replied.
Ashak closed both sets of eyelids hard enough to see spots of bright color bloom in his mind. His tongue flicked the air in annoyance.
"Did they make hyperspace?" He asked after a long moment of contemplation. He didn't even want this war. He was supposed to retire next year. The humans had never done anything to him. He had no quarrel with them. But the Empress, may the sun forever shine upon her, wanted their technology. Supposedly they had discovered a method of mining rare minerals for almost zero energy cost.
"Our instruments say no. They were there one minute and gone the next."
A young private, probably in his early 400s, barely past his first shed, sprinted onto the deck of the command ship.
"General," he saluted, right fist to left shoulder, first and second claw extended in the traditional manner. "I've been sent with an urgent message. All remaining fleets are to return to the capital. The humans have launched a counter attack."
"With what? Sure they have amazing tech, but when it comes to war they're little more than hatchlings with pointed sticks."
"My apologies, sir, but this private does not know."
"Very well. Spread the word: were preparing to male hyperspace for return to Arin. All crew in their stasis pods withing the half-hour."
---------‐----------------------
2 hours later the stasis pod beeped and opened. Akash stepped out, rubbing his eyes, groggily. He made his way to the bridge and turned on the forward view screen to begin docking procedures.
He flipped the switch on the communications board and said into the mic, "Arin tower this is The Empress' Holy Ship Desert Sun. Reporting for orders and preparing to dock. Please send docking code and stand by for touchdown."
He began flipping more switches as the rest of the flight crew made their way into the room.
"Sir, I dont understand. We were supposed to arrive directly above Arin." The navigator sounded unsure.
Akash looked at the screen for the first time and nearly lost his cool. The screen showed a large crater, with rubble strewn about like a hatchlings playroom. He recognized some buildings, the base where he had trained after joining the military, his hatchlings school and the office building his mate worked in, all little more than crumbling walls and shattered stone. Several more ships materialized in the sky around the Desert Sun. Soon the air waves were crowded with captains and generals demanding to know what happened. Within the next 4 hours, the entire armed forces of the Grellian empire hovered above a city that was no longer there.
A single missile blipped on the instrument panel. Some from another ship laughed hysterically about the humans single missile against the entire military.
Akash thought of his hatchlings and his mate. He missed them already. What sorcery could have done this.
The missile detonated against one of the ships. It was engulfed in a small star in the span of a second. The world went quiet, and akash shut his eyes. He felt the heat wash over him. And the Grellian empire ceased to exist. | 2020-02-07T16:29:57 | 2020-02-07T14:41:07 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] A teenager encounters a really attractive genie. He is so shy that he can't even look at her, let alone asking for wishes, and she finds it really entertaining. | "I'm sorry, could you uhm, could you maybe put on some clothes first?"
The boy blushes as he says it and tries to look away. His eyes dart from my face to the ceiling and down to the floor. He breathes in deeply and tries to get a second sentence out, but one look at my body shuts him up again."Very well then, are you sure you want this to be your wish?" I ask, as I reach for the least smelly T-shirt on the pile. "Ah no! I didn't mean to, I didn't think it would count" he starts, but I impatiently wave at him to stop talking.
"Oh would you relax? I was clearly joking. Do you really think that I, the great Nymana, would count something as trivial as a wardrobe change for one of my wishes?" I say, and shoot a scowl in his direction. I snap my fingers and lush silk robes appear from nowhere around my shoulders. "Either way,
I find it hard to believe that the allure of a genie's physique has waned in the past few centuries. In fact, most humans I meet want to inspect it a lot more... thoroughly. Why, I almost feel insulted." I say with mocked hurt in my voice. I twirl around in my silks and show some quick glimpses of my most enticing areas.
The boy takes on a shade of red that would have impressed most interior decorators and ketchup artisans. Still got it, I think to myself. I nestle myself on a bean bag and wait for the boy to calm down a bit. "So, let's go over the rules. Given the state of this room, " I wave indistinctly at the piles of clothes and rubbish scattered about, "I would say that this is an accidental lamp-finding, and that you probably have no idea what to expect." The boy nods in confirmation.
"Ground rules: You get one wish. You cannot wish for more wishes, and you cannot get around that restriction. Smarter people than you have tried and failed, and they weren't spending most of their brainpower trying to hide their tent poles from me." The boy pulls down his t-shirt to cover up but fails.
"Second: Try to keep your wish simple. Us genies aren't here to trick you but humans have some terrifyingly shitty ideas about what they want. There is an entire group of immortal idiots who spend most of their eternity trying to find another genie so they can wish to die. One of them is convinced that there is a trove of lamps on the ocean floor around Australia. He has been walking there for forty years now, interviewing fish for clues."
"Because of stuff like this we get a bad rep, so before you proclaim your heart's one desire I'm willing to sit down for a session of wish counselling. So, is there anything that springs to mind? A dying family member maybe? We can't do much for dead folk but a spot of cancer shouldn't be a problem."
The boy furrows his brow and shifts his weight. He seems to have gotten a lot more comfortable with my presence. I sit back and glance around the room. The lamp has plenty of room but it doesn't have much to look at. Posters of bands and movies cover most of the walls, save for a blackboard which has some lines and numbers drawn on it. Finally the boy looks up at me.
"World peace?" He asks, one eyebrow slightly raised. The naivety is almost stunning.
"Have you met humans? It's unlikely to hold for long. Any idea that you come up with to enforce it will backfire spectacularly."
"Hm, super powers?"
"Not very practical for most of your day to day life. Plus you'll likely get snatched up by some security agency which will either weaponize or eliminate you."
"Uh, money maybe?"
"Wow, out of ideas already? Unless you're in any immediate emergency it probably won't be that useful to you. Tell you what, let's just go over some issues you're having now and see what we can do about it."
Silence again. The boy is fidgeting with his hands. Even after decades of lamp lounging this kid manages to stretch my patience.
"There is a bully." He begins "It didn't use to be so bad last year, when I had friends in my class, but we got split up and now I'm alone. She doesn't do much by herself but the worst part is that she gets away with it every time. She shoves me into a table and people just walk by. She comments on my hair, or my clothes or my face just softly enough that the teacher doesn't hear it and the other kids start chuckling. I try to keep quiet, but she doesn't let go. I don't know why she, why can't she just pick someone else! We'll be in the same class for the next three years and I just... I can't."
The boy is looking down as he says this, overwhelmed by his memories of the bully.
"Could you maybe transfer me to another class? One where I know people?" He asks, softly. I exhale deeply. It's a lot easier to just grant the first wish people come up with and let them deal with the results. When did I start to care about my clients?
"The thing is, the bullying might not stop there. People will notice that you have switched and it might paint you as the target for whatever jackass is in the other class. Even if we just drop your tormentor into a volcano someone else might pick up the slack. I don't want to go all tough love on you and tell you you need to deal with it yourself, because it seems like you've exhausted your options."
The boy gives me a puzzled look, clearly not understanding what I'm trying to get to. I'm not even half sure I know myself.
I breathe in and continue. "See, I think you need a win. Not an escape, not a way to get through the next few years unscathed, but a clear win. I could make you stronger so you can shove back, but retaliation like that rarely works. Instead what I can do is level the playing field."
"Every time she tries to push you she will miss and trip. Every quip she makes at your expense will be heard by a nearby teacher, or she will stutter on the delivery. If she comments on your appearance, she will get a sudden case of bad hair day, You will become virtually untouchable to her from this day until the last day of school."
"However, I will use my genie privilege to add in a custom rule. You cannot turn his around on her and take revenge. You can counter her jokes but you should not become a bully yourself. Furthermore, this rule will only work on her, any new threats you should deal with yourself. If you are okay with this wish and these conditions, then the effects will start today."
The boy looks at me speechless. I motion for him to make a decision and he starts nodding immediately. I notice that the weight on his shoulders seems to have vanished, as he has gone from slouching to sitting straight up. I stand up and make some gestures in the air. For a moment I consider reciting the whole abracadabra spiel but I skip it.
"It is done" I say, with as much gravitas as I can muster. "Now I must take my lamp and find a new hiding spot. Perhaps I'll drop down near the Atlantis guy."
The boy stands up, rushes over and hugs me. His trembling arms are so endearing that I can't help but smile and pat his head. I hug him back tenderly and lean to whisper in his ear.
"By the way, my robes have fallen off"
Until the end of days I will never forget the shocked look on his face.
Aah, humans | I had taken on the nickname Nancy Drew from a very young age. There wasn't a secret I couldn't ferret out, nor an object I couldn't find. At first, my parents found this entertaining. They would set me missions to complete, mostly involving things that went missing. The entertainment ended when I told my dad that he had left his cufflinks at a local hotel (I came to this deduction after I discovered receipts and constructed a well defined timeline). My dad was displeased with me, my mom even more so, especially when I revealed that she never took up all those yoga sessions she told my dad she was doing. It was for the best really. My parents were devastatingly deceptive people, so it was better for them to be with people who possessed a deeper inclination towards truth.
I spent most of my childhood bouncing between them, always the odd person out no matter which family I was with. I looked forward to a time where I could be free from this game of back and forth, and just allow myself a kind of permanence.
Today I was on my way to my stepdad's newly acquired property. It was recently bought, but far from *new*. I found it strangely contradictory behaviour since he generally had a penchant for new, shiny things. But then again, he married my mom so I guess his tastes are pretty varied. I loved old spaces. It released the snooping presence within me, though nowadays I kept whatever information I found to myself; sometimes too much digging can leave too many holes behind.
"Okay everyone, this is what I want you to do. You are going to choose places to look through. See what you can scavenge before I completely tear down and remodel the place. I'll take everyone out for ice cream after. How does that sound?"
*Jeez*, how dumb does he think I am? Whatever I find was certainly going to be more valuable than ice cream. But I could definitely see his dumb children going for it.
"Kelly do you want to choose first?"
"Attic please."
"Aren't you scared of ghosts Kelly?" My stepsister Megan asked, sneering at me a little.
"I would take ghosts over spending time with you." I left before she could whine about me to her dad.
The attic looked exactly how I would expect an attic to look. Little hurricanes of dust would speckle the air whenever I moved something. It was especially beautiful when they mingled with the morning light, swirling in seeming contentment all the way back to the ground.
I took the attic because I thought it would be the obvious place to stash heirlooms and forget about it. But now it seemed that it's a place that people forgot about. Just when I was about to call it quits, my foot strikes against something decidedly golden. *Now we're talking*.
I bend down to pick it up, staring in disappointment at the lamp, immediately noting that it was gold plating and not gold. I suppose it was better than nothing. I twirl an old shawl around my neck and rub the lamp in exaggerated glee, imagining myself as part of the Arabian Nights landscape. And then, suddenly ... there he was.
I was so startled I dropped the lamp. He really is quite glorious, with hair gleaming like golden wheat and a fetching pair of blue eyes, eyes that *couldn't* seem to meet my own. He mumbles something.
"Sorry?"
He turns bright red and scrambles behind a stack of boxes.
"Can you tell me who you are?"
"*Iamheretograntyouthreewishesssss*." He says all this in a whoosh and proceeds to cover himself with newspapers.
Three wishes? Well that could only mean one thing. I laugh a little as he peeks out at me from beneath the newspapers. I sit beside him.
"So you could give me anything I ask for?"
He turns away from me, scratching the nape of his neck. I grasp his chin firmly and turn his face back toward me.
"Can you give me anything I ask for?"
He nods. "My only limit is death. I cannot bring death nor take it away."
"Makes sense to have limits." I find myself gazing off into the distance for a moment.
"Do you wish to make one?" His voice is soft and wispery and recalls me from my wandering thoughts.
"Can you give me time?"
"I can wait if that's what you wish."
"No no, I meant. Can you give me the gift of time?"
His eyes widen a bit and I see that he understands. He kisses me gently on my cheek.
"It is done. You have two more wishes." And with that he is gone. I feel the pressure of time on me, and I move through it, feeling it's lightness as well as its weight. A new life awaits.
| 2017-07-30T09:30:48 | 2017-07-30T05:12:46 | 150 | 23 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?"
"I choose Russian Roulette." Ted said without missing a beat.
Death fumbled a moment, the cold fires in his sockets flickering down then sparking back up in a surprised blink. "You can't be serious."
"*Deathly* so." Ted said with a grin at his own pun. "Give me a revolver and a bullet with the power to kill even you. I'll load it, and we go until one of us pops." Ted mimed an explosion with his hands, a grin on his face.
Death's sallow visage tightened as if glaring at the impertinence. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain." With a puff of smoke that smelled of must a six-chamber revolver and a single bullet appeared in Ted's hand. The bullet glowed an ethereal violet.
"Now before you get any bad ideas, Ted, let me tell you that even though cheating is allowed in this game, turning that gun on me and firing will be treated as a forfeiture of the game." Death said warily.
Ted loaded the bullet and spun the chamber with a cocky grin. "Never even occurred to me. A deal's a deal after all. Who starts?" Death offered a wave of his hand towards Ted, who placed the revolver to his temple, pulled the trigger... \*click*. Empty. "Your go, friend." Ted said as he handed the revolver, handle-first, to Death.
Death took the revolver, and put it to his own head with some trepidation. A moment of hesitation, of uncertainty... \*click.* His gaunt frame visibly released from held tension. "So, Ted, why Russian Roulette, of all games?"
Ted took the revolver, placed it to his temple... \*click*. "I figure the best chance I have is, well... chance. I've never been one for chess or other games of strategy, and cards are too easily manipulated. Russian Roulette is simple, raw, and... final." Ted met Death's spectral gaze as he handed the revolver over. "Your go."
Death's hand began to tremble as he lifted the revolver... two in three chance of winning... one in three chance of seeing what happened when he met his OWN grim shepherd... \*click. Death's sigh of relief could be heard echoing off the walls of his sepulcher as he handed the revolver back to Ted. "Fifty-Fifty chance now, Ted."
Ted stared at the revolver a moment, doubt flickering across his face... but he lifted the revolver to his head steadily. "Guess I was going to die anyway..." \*click.
Ted's face split widely into a joyful grin as he handed the revolver back to Death. Death took it gingerly, fearfully. He stared at it, as if not comprehending the reality of the situation. Ted goaded Death victoriously. "Game's not over yet. You going to follow through with it? You could concede if you wanted. Keep the gun, send me back. We both win."
Death looked to the revolver, and the fires in his eyes suddenly blazed hot and bright. "I am **Death**. I am the One Certainty, the only thing in this universe that is consistent and equal. I do not concede, and I do not go back on a deal. ...Congratulations, Ted."
Death held the revolver to his head, ready to fire the sixth and final shot...
\*click*
Death stared at the revolver with relief and confusion and bewilderment all washing across his sunken features in a rush. "I don't... what happened? I don't understand? That was the final chamber. I shouldn't *be* anymore..."
Ted dipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, and held the ethereal bullet between two fingers like it was a common cigarette. "Palmed it, friend. Gun's empty. You DID say we could cheat. I honestly thought you'd concede, though."
Death laughed. He broke down into peals of dusty hollow laughter that rang across the voids of eternity. He waved his hand and as Ted disappeared back to reality, the final thing he heard was:
"Get out of here and enjoy your ten years, you cheeky fuck. And NEXT time, it's CHESS." | Jason was surprised, Death knows who he deals with.
"*Any* game?" he replied, with a hint of confidence in his voice.
"Any game you want. Remember, cheating is allow-"
Jason cut him off. "Do you want to get the setup or should I?"
"Setup? What do you mean? You haven't even told me a game yet." Death was confused. Of course he wasn't shaken, he had dealt with this many times, people overconfident in their poker skills.
"Very well, I shall summon a deck of cards an-"
"No, we're not playing cards Mr. Reaper. Hold on, give me a couple minutes and I'll set everything up, okay? Shouldn't be long."
Death conceded. "10 minutes. I've got some emails to catch up on." And like that, Death vanished.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Jason runs down a checklist of what he needs. "Two controllers, yeah, an old CRT, check. This seems in order."
"HEY DEATH." Jason yells, as a black smoke emits from the wall before him.
"Game's ready."
A familiar glow fills the room. Jason takes a seat on the metal folding chair he set up and picks up the purple controller.
*MARTH* blares out of the TV.
Death stops. A supernatural being is frozen by the sound of a simple character selection in a video game.
"You can pick Fox, he's pretty strong, Mr. Reaper. Can I pick the stage? I want to play on Final Destination." | 2018-03-07T08:25:24 | 2018-03-07T07:23:27 | 192 | 88 |
[WP] You have a small superpower. Whenever you tap someone on the shoulder, they always look over that shoulder, without fail. At first, you just used this for harmless pranks. Then, you realized you can kill people by tapping both of their shoulders. | Have you ever experienced the sensation of someone looking straight through you when you are talking to them? As though the minute details of your thoughts are being plucked by their scouring gaze and examined, weighed against the scales of truth and bullshit?
It's the reason I don't engage with strangers. Not small talk in grocery store lines or anything even a thank you when I buy coffee... Jesus, I don't remember the last time I bought a coffee. My life is separated from those I share the streets with because I can't stand to face the truth.
You see, when you cut into the flow of another's thought you invite reflection of your own mind into the light, whether you can see it or not. I dipped my hand into that stream once and lost more than my hand in the current. Don't get me wrong--knowing your friends' minds is natural, but it comes with time. You can't force those bonds. Can't force.... Oh God.
I had friends... I had a dog... I had, well... the vague semblance of a life I thought I wanted. But it all blew up in my face because I failed to see the signs. I failed to believe that things could be what they appeared.
I... I...
...had a friend. Someone I *wanted* to be more than a friend. My life was never spectacular but she made it better. We took night classes together and started a study group as an excuse to drink carafe's of coffee at 10pm. I always touched her shoulder to see, I don't know, if she still realized I was there. To test if she had forgotten about me.
She always looked.
We...oh God... we spent the rest of the semester studying together. Sometimes in the group, sometimes just the two of us. I never stopped tapping her on the shoulder. It was our stupid, secret game. She always looked, and I always smiled.
My life passed before my eyes when she wasn't at our study table in the library downtown. She was a lot of things to me but above all she was, to herself, always on time. Always waiting. Always there for our study group. For us. For her not to be there was alarming. I looked down the rows of books but she was nowhere. Suddenly the world went black.
*"Guess who."*
I smiled. I always smiled.
And I turned. There she was, staring up at me, smiling. My heart pounded and I knew... I knew what this moment was. Finally, my whole life had a meaning beyond what I could think up for myself. I finally found that spark to bring me forward.
I lightly jabbed her shoulder, and she turned her gaze towards it, softly. Like she always did. She smiled. When I opened my mouth to speak no words came out. She turned back to me and it happened; her shining eyes pierced deep into my mind, into my soul. I felt her caress my thoughts and kiss my heart. The words stuck to my mouth, but she knew what I wanted to say. She felt it too. And as she came closer to me I stooped to kiss her, and took both her shoulders in my hands.
I heard... a crack, soft like a wishbone... and a warmth on my face like the sun. My eyes were covered with roses and I felt wetness on my lips.
I saw into her mind, and in that moment, I lost mine.
---
*Hey folks, thanks for reading! I have a tough time focussing my thoughts and staying consistent... my writing seems to get away from me because I can't see the big picture as I write and I get sucked into the details. ALL criticism and suggestions for this piece and general writing flow is wholeheartedly welcome :)* | I love it! Such a fun party trick. I can tap on any dumbass shoulder and they look. Slap on my fanny pack and throw on some Alanis Morissette. 90s is in full force with this one.
It was entirely new to me. A whole new power for me to play with. Oh how delightful. I hated the last one. It has always been mundane shit like this, but this one feels different. It feels like.. it's meant for me? If that makes sense...
What the fuck... what the absolute fuck.... she just collapsed. I knew she had some health shit going on but I really doubt that it's anything that I did. How could it be? Why was this different? What did it feel so damn good? | 2017-06-27T20:09:57 | 2017-06-27T17:39:26 | 300 | 29 |
[WP] Aliens landed on earth, and they're surprised all humans possess what they think of as a superpower... an ability we always took for granted and consider normal. | Gather round children, and I will tell you the tale of how we become the single most powerful species in the galaxy. It all started November 9th, 2014. First contact.
We had known they were coming for months. Which in that day and age was incredibly rare. As the government enjoyed keeping information like that suppressed. It was a means of control. Of power. That all changed with one man though. When Edward Snowden released all of the secret things out into the world, it was shaken to it's very core. The single most important secret that he freed, was that we are not alone in the universe, and they were on their way here.
Over the months leading up to first contact we continually beam signals out toward our impending visitors. It was no use. The Greys, as most people affectionately called them, didn't seem inclined to respond. They stayed silent while their ships hurtled towards our pale blue dot.
They arrived in force. There was never any doubt in their intent. They wanted to erase the human species from the galaxy. Presumably they wanted our planet. We never discovered their motivation though.
The first battle was beyond bloody. The entity of Earth was the theater of combat. There were no conscientious objectors. How could their be? The Greys attacked without provocation or warning. Every man woman and child took up arms. More humans died that day than in all the previous wars combined. We just were not ready. Simply put, we were out numbered and out gunned. So, we did what we do best. We ran. We hid. We planned. We attacked. Just like that it was over. The planet was littered with bodies from both sides. We had won. Little did we know at the time, but we had just killed an entire species.
The victory left us all in shock. Somehow we had prevailed against an overwhelming force. No one knew why. The only thing left to do was to rebuild. At this point we were unified. Religion, race, class non of these things mattered anymore. Not after we found out just how dangerous the galaxy was. We needed a leader. President Snowden was elected, and things stayed quiet for a year or so. Then we foudn out how we won.
President Snowden announced that another species had made contact. The Zelfran. They wanted to send an ambassador to discuss the state of the galaxy. News of our victory had spread rather quickly.
We learned a lot from the Zelfran. We learned that the entire galaxy had been war torn for ages beyond counting. We learned that there were hundreds of thousands of other sentient species. Most importantly we learned that we possessed an ability none of the others did. The concept of retreat.
When we ran in the first contact war the Greys thought that they had won. So, when we launched our counter attack, we caught them with their pants down. Every other species had only developed fight, not flight.
Humans had become legend through out the galaxy. The species that rises from the dead. The only ones that can disappear in the middle of a conflict and reappear when you least expect them too. Within ten years we were given the keys to the kingdom. We were the rulers of the galaxy. Our ability and legend made sure no other species opposed us. The First contact war of 2014 was the last war the galaxy ever saw. Peace ensured for all.
| Glar oozed backwards, his adrenal sacks oscillating in surprise. The incredible beings flew towards him at a prodigious speed, propelled by some means Glar couldn't even see. They skittered around in a dance of colors, emitting high-pitched chirping sounds. With hast, he slid back through the bio-lock, down the corridor, and into the computer room for some much needed analysis.
By slowing down the video recordings, Glar was able to understand. These beings had evolved on a much smaller world, after all. On this planet, where night and day passed so quickly it made Glar nauseous, it was no wonder the creatures were so damn fast. | 2014-11-09T10:06:35 | 2014-11-09T09:14:49 | 153 | 27 |
[WP] A secretly immortal man is given a life sentence for a crime he didn't commit and now fears the discovery of his true nature is only a matter of time. | I stand before the judge, a truly ancient crone, as she drops the gavel.
I turn to look at my attorney, and he is flabbergasted. He looks back worriedly, then drops his eyes like they all have for the last 500 years.
The bailiff approaches to remand me. I raise my wrists and he shackles them in some flimsy steel the probably does just fine for the average man. The clasps clink shut and bang against my cufflinks.
I am led away, and I think. I was quite surely in a different nation twenty years ago when my alleged victim was brutally raped and killed. A frame job like this would have to be extraordinary, well resourced and planned by a genius sociopath. Only a government or powerful body corporate could get me convicted even if I had murdered an infant in a stroller in broad daylight and pranced about covered in the blood. Something like this was neigh-on unthinkable.
I am in-processed. It is more human than my prior incarcerations. I am handed new clothes and made to wear them after bathing. Or rather, being hosed off like an animal. I'm encouraged, it means less chance of encountering lice once inside.
My clothing is locked away for my later recovery, a watch from Sweden, shoes from Italy, a suit from France and a medallion that Kublai Khan received as a gift that had originally been made in Damascus before Christ was born. I would have to come back for that one.
These distractions past, I am led into the general population, and perform the usual rituals. I think for the next few days. I am sure that no system of record keeping could have exposed me yet, though the days are getting closer that could have my secrecy drowned in an ocean of bureaucracy. As I win my first fistfight against a man with a wobbly Swastika on his jaw, I begin to wonder who else could have possibly put together the resources to make this happen. I decline to kill him, but my trained fingers ensure he will not walk again without surgery or an acupuncturist.
In solitary, I am attacked again. The door opens and men in body armor rush into the cell. I do not resist as they taze and pummel me with rubber batons, then drag me out in a bloody mess. I comfort myself with images of my fingernails opening veins in their necks.
I am bound to a steel chair. A man in a suit asks me questions. I frighten him, he is young and weak. I tell him secrets about his father and he believes them because they are true, and he remembers and he weeps right there on the tabletop. He leaves. Time passes. The door opens and they send in another, a woman. She offers me coffee, brandy, my choice of slow poisons. I do not speak to her. I imagine her naked, bound, gasping beneath me and I show her my thoughts through my eyes.
She becomes aroused, then frightened, and then she leaves. I have forgotten her name before the door closes.
I am alone for a while. A day. I become hungry and they do not feed me.
I become bored. I deform my wrists the way I was shown to do in Bulgaria when my profession was to lie from a stage and smile behind makeup, before I had laid with my first woman. I stand from my seat and command the muscles and ligaments to rejuvenate themselves. There is no response as I leave me seat, the room remains a brightly lit, buzzing emptiness containing only me.
The door is locked. I knock on it. It opens. There is a small black man in the hallway. It is not the same hallway that I came through when I was brought into the room. No, it has changed. There is carpet now, and the sterile, brutal cinderblock is now wood paneling. I return my attention to the man. He wears a linen suit and a golden hoop earring. His eyes are that of a butcher or a tailor, always weighing and measuring.
The man gestures with his hand and begins to walk down the hallway. I follow.
He stops in front of a door like many others we have passed. He lifts a hand, inviting me to open the door. I do so. Within is a scene from every libertarian's evil fantasies, a room of hard-eyed men and woman wearing a years' wages in cloth and another three years in metals and stones. There are two speaking on mobile phones, and they quickly end their calls as I walk in, wearing torn prison clothing and my own body fluids now a day dry.
The small man enters the room behind me.
"Welcome, brother. My name is Hannibal, and you have heard of my endeavors. We have made great effort to bring you into the fold. I believe you will enjoy it here." | They made jokes at first, how I was 'well preserved' or had 'good genes' but as the decades went past people began to ask questions. The latest Superintendent was young, well, they all seemed young but he was particularly so.
He called me up to his office after he had been here a few months to see for himself. On his desk he had my photos, from when I first arrived, from various events and activities or just from when someone had decided they needed new pictures.
Laid out it was funny no one had asked seriously earlier, I was identical to the earlier pictures.
"Mr Smith," his voice was a little high pitched and whiny "you seem to be blessed with youthful looks and good heath." I declined to comment "In fact, I can find no record of you having ever been sick, ever caused a problem or ever really made much of an impact at all."
I could feel he wasn't going to let this go like some of the others, it *had* been nearly 60 years, someone was bound to notice eventually "I'm just here to serve my time Sir." I kept my voice flat and obedient.
"Yes I can see that but you have nearly 400 years since you are eligible for parole - it seems unlikely that you'll make it." He paused but I declined to fill in the blanks. At last he seemed to be tired of the conversation "Cut the shit Smith, you're not ageing, why?"
I smiled and raised my middle finger in salute, fuck this guy. He signed and pressed a button on his intercom "Send them in." Behind me a door opened and three large men walked into the room "We've decided that you can serve your debt to society more usefully," the men grabbed me and held me tightly. "You'll be going with these nice men to do some experiments but don't worry - if you live, we'll keep your cell nice and warm for you."
As I was dragged from the room the Superintendent was watching and smiling. This was not going to end well. | 2014-08-18T05:29:29 | 2014-08-18T04:39:47 | 60 | 28 |
[WP] You are a villain who's suddenly got body swap with a superhero. They find the superhero who's in their body and want to work together to fix this problem. However, the superhero doesn't want to return to their body for some reason. | “Why have you been avoiding me? Any other day, any other situation you come running after me the second I take a step in what you deem the wrong direction, so why is it that now, when we need to work together most, you disappear?” I seethed, frustrated with the days spent running after him. This damned body was a curse, filled to the brim with abilities so strong even a light flick could collapse a building (a lesson I learned the hard way), and I longed for the sutler yet equally devastating powers I’d had for so long.
“....You need to leave.” He muttered, trying to back away as far as he could seeing as his only way out was through me. “It’s not safe.”
“Not safe? And?! I couldn’t care less about safe or not, I want my body and powers back now!” I stormed over to him, the height of his own body likely helping to intimidate him as I grabbed him by the collar. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Look me in the eye and give me one good reason-!”
“You want my reason?!” He shouted back, shoving out of my grasp and taking a couple steps away from me. “There are people that want to kill you, but won’t do it if you're in my body. This is the best way for you to stay safe-”
“There are constantly people trying to kill me, it kind of comes with the job genius! Why do you care so… Wait. Did, did you set this up…?”
He was silent, jaw set stifly in place as he looked at the floor. It was strange to see his mannerisms, especially such vulnerable ones in my body, but then again it was surely just as odd to see mine in his. “I don’t believe you deserve to die, and I always do everything I can to protect people.”
“I can take care of myself just fine, been doing it for years. Why would you do something so stupid for someone who’s been trying to kill you for years?” I asked, voice devoid of emotion. It didn’t make sense, and if there was anything I hated more than stupidity it was stupidity that involved me.
“Is that true? Have you been trying to kill me this whole time? Could have fooled me given numerous times you had the upper hand, all the times you could have finished me then and there but instead vanished, that one time I know you contacted Ms. Miracle to heal me when the wound was severe. And even if you did really want me dead, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not gonna let misguided conspiracy nuts kill you because they have it in their head that your death will solve all their problems. It’s not true, and it’s not right.”
I rolled my eyes at the last bit, man these heroes get preachy quick. “Either way, you have no right to force me out of my body for whatever reason. If you're so high and mighty, then why didn’t this,” I gestured aggressively between our swapped forms, “set off the morality bells for ya?”
“Because if I tried to keep you safe any other way you fight me tooth and nail, this was the better solution.”
“Better solution, for who?!” I shouted, raising my arms in frustration. “I ruined my apartment and damn near collapsed a bodega in this god awful form! Even something so simple as walking is hard and dangerous for me right now! I didn’t grow up with super strength and speed and whatever else is cramped in here, and I can’t control it! I’ve almost hurt about a hundred people just getting here today!”
He paled, clearly having not thought about that problem until just now.
“So, I saw you undo this, and we can go our separate ways, alright?” I said tightly, voice strained from the annoyance that all of this had brought on.
“One condition,” he said, leading me to roll my eyes. “You have to let me hang around for at least two weeks.” I began to protest but was quickly cut off. “Uh uh uh, that's the deal. Take it or leave it. I don’t want your death on my conscious anymore than you want to stay in my body.” He reached out his hand, waiting for me to take it. I eyed him wearily, weighing how much I really wanted to put up with him for an extended time before huffing and shaking his hand.
“Two weeks and you’re out or I kill you for real, got it?”
He gave me a tight smile, the expression making me uneasy and anxious to get this over with as I was done seeing myself from another's perspective.
“Deal.” | This damn hero, making everything harder than it needs to be. Sitting in the body that is rightfully mine and refusing to return it.
"Look, I do not like this any more than you do."
They snap back, "I do quite enjoy this actually."
"But why? Why do you feel the need to keep *my* body?!", I drew in a deep breath, to keep from hurting this guy. The refusal was unexpected, of course it was.
"All I have ever wanted was to be free of the expectation to save people. To let loose with my abilities like you do! Be a villain. You know the thrill better than anyone else.", I laugh. They looked at me as if I was crazy.
"You know, if you do that in my body you are not damaging my reputation. In fact you will just make my name more known. Here's the thing bud, if you want to be like me do it in your own body. I refuse to let you use me just so you don't damage your name because one crime is all it takes for me to do that. I'm not going to stop just because we have swapped bodies."
They sighed, frowning "I just want to be free of this..these damn expectations! I'm a role model I can't just do that. Just give me one day like this to do anything. Please."
*Amusing*, I thought, *I might as well humor him*
"Fine, one day. But I will not stop you so whatever that does to your reputation, you clean it up."
"Thank you. I will", he agreed. A sick smile crossed my face.
*All it takes is one move.* | 2022-08-09T14:03:52 | 2022-08-09T12:23:41 | 40 | 26 |
[WP] You’re bored one day so you decide to google your own name. You find numerous articles and Wikipedia pages about yourself that include information about an strange experiment that occurred years ago - you have no recollection of any of it. Suddenly, the internet cuts out and your PC turns off. | *George Edward Kenniston (born April 6th, 1962) is one of the few surviving children involved in the controversial CIA program MK-ULTRA. He is well known for being the longest surviving coma patient, and groundbreaking research of his growth and development while in a comatose state has led to many new breakthroughs in the field of anesthesiology and neurology.*
*Born to then-CIA agent Marie Sue Kenniston (June 9th, 1941 – December 18th, 1992) and her husband, Dr. Edward Avery Kenniston (February 11th, 1939 – December 18th, 1992). George was taken by the CIA in the summer of 1962 for experiments concerning the effects of psychotic drugs on early child development…*
The power to George’s apartment flickered and died, leaving his screen black. George sat up in his leather chair and hit the side of the computer monitor, cursing his bad luck. This had been the third time today the power had gone out, and the frequency of the blackouts had only been increasing in the last few months. George had written a formal letter of complaint to the electric company, but they had neither the compassion nor the funding to take any action.
George didn’t understand. Someone else with his name had a Wikipedia page. But the names and dates of his parents, Ed and Marie, were all correct. Someone must have mixed them with “Imposter George’s” parents when doing their research.
George sat for a moment. It couldn’t be right. He *wasn’t* in a coma, that much was clear. George pulled out his glucometer and took a blood sugar reading. The lancet drew a sharp pain, and a crimson red drop of blood formed on the tip of his finger. 112, well in the normal range. He wasn’t hallucinating, and he *did* feel the sting of the lancet. All was normal; except it wasn’t.
There was something gnawing at the back of George’s mind. Something that wasn’t quite right, barely noticeable, like a misaligned stitch on a pattered tie. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the article had left its mark on him, however small and inconsequential.
George stumbled around the dark apartment, grabbing a still-cold beer from the refrigerator. He let the bitter, hop filled IPA take his mind of the internet page. It had been almost 30 years since his parents died in the car crash; memories of the night flickered through his mind like a scene playing from an old film spool. The car; a 1987 Mustang. The road; a windy, nameless street through the mountains of Tennessee. The deer; running out of nowhere, smashing through the convertible top. George was 6 at the time.
George was 6… his parents were in their mid-40’s. Mom never talked about her job, but only said she worked hard for the government. Dad was a professor at the local university. George remember the day his mom retired, said she would take more time off to watch George until he grew up. But that didn’t fit the dates on the Wikipedia page. It couldn’t. the MK-UlTRA program ended in 63, a year after his alleged birth, so if he had been 6 in 1992 there was no way he was involved in the program. If he had been born in 1962, as the page read, he would have been 30 years old when his parents died. That wasn’t right, something wasn’t adding up.
The power flashed back on, and George went back to his computer. He pressed the power button, but the windows update screen flashed before him.
*We’re getting everything ready. Wake up in a just a moment.*
George made a double take at the screen, but the computer had already restarted. The power flashed off again.
George closed his eyes, feeling the humming of the world around him, and the slow beeping in his ears. Some people talked about a ringing in their ears, but it was always more of a beep for George, like the steady beep of the hospital equipment at his local doctor’s office. If he focused, ever quiet, he could hear it now – the slow beeping.
*We’re getting everything ready. Wake up in a just a moment.* | Confusion reigned supreme as I read the article in front of me.
"Three years of our investigation lead into this," The writer, Marcus Numer, wrote in a five year old article. "Project AVIAN had taken the children of lower class citizens and subjected them to terrible experimentation. According to documents that we were able to secure from reliable sources, eighty-seven children had been abducted with express written permission of not only state government figures but federal ones as well. These children were taken to a facility secreted deep within the..."
That's as far as I was able to read before the power cut. My PC shut down and the lights died. I slammed my hands into the desk. What was Project AVIAN? Why was this thing connected to me in so many ways? Wikipedia, articles about backlash against the government after the discovery of it and my name kept coming up. Why? I had managed to track down the original investigative reporting that tied it all together. Reaching for my phone, I tried to turn it on but found that it was dead. Impossible. I had just taken it off of the charger with a full battery five minutes ago.
That's when I heard a car pulling up into the driveway of my house. Standing from my desk and peeking outside, I saw the tell tale flashing red and blue lights of the police cutting through the night. It was past midnight as they emerged from their car and stormed towards my front door.
What the hell was going on? | 2018-10-28T19:51:07 | 2018-10-28T17:28:44 | 1,518 | 108 |
[WP] Star Wars is a true story. An alien comes to Earth to make first contact with our newly discovered species, only to discover we know more about their universe's history than they do.
EDIT: Whoah, this sorta blew up! Thanks for all the stories guys! I've read all of them and each made me laugh or legitimately think for a moment about the ramifications of an alien species having your future on blue ray. Keep up the awesome work! | "It has been some time," the Ambassador spoke to George Lucas with a scowl, "We figured you were dead."
George Lucas, the inventor of the Star Wars Universe, one of the greatest and most popular cultural phenomenons of the 70's and 80's, sat in a chair. He had been granted an audience with the Ambassador to the Senate the moment he spoke his full name. His full, human name. "Did you really think I'd die to a bunch of, well, humans?"
The Ambassador, a Lorrdian according to Lucas' understanding of their universe, smiled wide. Neo, his given name, was one of the closest humanoid figures in the entire Republic who was available on such short notice. While the Senate wished to send Jedi in the peace talks, the last time that happened, the Jedi escalated a war. Members of the Senate didn't want that to happen. "It's interesting. Thousands of years, and we've never encountered them? Why do you think that?"
"I predict the future," Lucas said, "not answer meta-physical questions. I won't go back."
Neo frowned, "How do you know I'm asking you that?"
Lucas leaned forward, "The last thing that happened, the pivoting point that sent you to my doorstep. Palpatine is Chancellor now, yes?"
"Yes," Neo said, and adjusting his posture read Lucas' own body language to understand his emotional state. A power Lorrdians learned over many hundred years of enslavement. "This distresses you?"
"Stop reading me," Lucas said, "yes it distresses me. The future I once predicted is coming true."
"How can I stop it?"
"Stop it?"
"Yes, you once said there was always a way, no?" Neo backed up once more, then changing his stance suddenly as he stared at Lucas, said, "You lied."
"Of course I lied! The future is a set path, a destiny so-to-speak. The way I calculate, how I calculate it, it is nearly perfect every time," Lucas shook his head, "the masses of the universe propel the future in the historical direction, there is no changing that. Not even the Force is that strong."
"Then it's lost? Your new people showed me the films you made," Neo scoffed, "or should I say Future-Histories?"
"They don't know that." Lucas sighed, "I had to record it. Before the truth was lost."
"Then this Anakin boy, the Skywalker, he is being tainted by the Chancellor?" Neo shook his head, "He is barely ten years old!"
"He began it early, Neo. It will continue the path, the masses will propel the world, hate will overtake the galaxy."
"Except on this tiny planet," Neo said, and walked up to Lucas. "Here, history escapes the masses. Here, we may have a chance."
Lucas looked at him, eyes wide, and Neo read his state.
"No, I don't want to conquer it damnit," Neo shook his head. "I want to give some species out there a chance to live peacefully, to continue."
"Humanoids."
"We may be able to smuggle the others on the outer planets. The ones your species call Pluto and Neptune, they could be suitable in time."
Lucas turned from him. He began to think, process and analyze the newest path history was given. It could work, he thought, theoretically, they could save the continuity of a thousand species, taken from the reigns of the future galactic Empire. Until his apostle, until Abrams could predict what comes after the Fall of the Republic. Thirty years, give or take, they could do it. Then reveal themselves. Lucas turned back again, smiling.
"It works yes?"
"Yes. I will consult with Abrams, you remember him?"
"Young boy when you took him from the grasps of the Jedi."
"He had a power greater than that," Lucas smirked, "in time he'll predict what comes after. For now, we have preparations to make, millions of people to transfer."
"I will return to the Senate and spread this through the Resistance."
Lucas grabbed Neo's arm before he left, "Padme."
"Amidala? The Queen of Naboo?"
"She will become a Senator soon, get to her, involve her in this. The sanctity of freedom, tell her that exactly," Lucas' eyes were wide. He was continuing to think, to put together the future history in his mind. Neo could read that. He could tell he was distressed, almost hysterical.
"Of course, Lucas. It will be done."
______________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!* | "I know who you are!"
I tucked my blaster under my armpit, pointing it at my rear left.
"Dude, don't shoot! I'm a friendly, a fan of yours."
"What is this? Where am i?" I replied corsely through the breather in my helmet.
"SDCC man! I knew you were the real deal when you walked in! Your blast armor was too detailed, way more than even the movies showed!"
"Movies?"
"Uh, they'd be the equivalent of your holocro-"
"HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE HOLOCRONS?" The basis of my entire mission, my BOUNTY, was the common knowledge of some boy at a gathering of horrible impersonators and the ugliest twi'lek than even the far reaches of the outer rim had to offer?!? He looks no older than I was by the time order 66 was carried out, dressed like an old Republic jedi, and currently smells like bantha poodoo (likely from me holding him by the neck with my blaster at his side).
"Just relax." Trying to push my arm away. "Let go before security comes." I comply for now. "Come with me and I'll show you everything I know."
***
Nearly 2 sun cycles have passed of watching these "movies" and countless texts written on parchment. For having a near perfect account of our history, their technology is ancient. Their knowledge of my galaxy's future,more importantly my future, is power I'll take with me to fake my death, wait for the dust to settle and reestablish mandalorians as a force to be reckoned with. I, Boba Fett, shall lead my race back to power!!! | 2017-03-18T09:32:15 | 2017-03-18T09:18:35 | 191 | 39 |
[WP] You can't help but stare at your husband. He's standing in the kitchen making dinner, like he always does. He smiles at you like he always does. Problem is, you killed your husband. Three years ago. | I’m not sure why it started. For a long time, I thought it was some kind of fucked-up coping mechanism my brain dreamed up after the accident. It’s amazing how the human mind handles trauma. Rationalization. Repression. Disassociation. This is something…different.
I’ve been to therapy. Or, through therapy. With a few therapists. It didn’t really work. Maybe that’s because I was never really honest with them, you know. About him.
Oh, I’ve been honest about some of it. I’ve told them how he died. We had taken a cross-country drive to visit my parents for the holidays. We’d bickered during the trip - my family has always been overbearing, especially my mother. John had never had the tolerance to put up with her like I did. My mother’s casual snide and, at times, critical comments had taken a toll on John over the course of our visit; he, in turn, was upset with me for not cutting off my “toxic” family years prior. We argued about that the whole way home.
It was snowing. I’ll always remember that - staring out at the slick black road ahead of us, watching the white flakes swirl in the air before the *whip-whip* of the windshield wipers swept them away. I’ll always remember the pit of anger in my stomach as I fixed my gaze on those little flakes, trying to pretend I didn’t hear John’s voice. I’ll always remember what he said that finally made me snap.
“You’re just like her,” he’d said. I can still hear those words, hanging in the air like those little snowflakes.
It shouldn’t have made me so angry. I’ll never know why it did. I knew he didn’t really mean it. But I shoved him.
In the months afterward, I’d tell myself that I didn’t shove him that hard. Really, I didn’t. I’d never gotten physical with him - or anybody, for that matter. It shouldn’t have happened. If I had known we were driving on a patch of black ice, I wouldn’t have done it.
I shouldn’t have done it to begin with.
If I hadn’t, the steering wheel wouldn’t have jerked in his hands. We wouldn’t have drifted into the other lane, into oncoming traffic. The paramedics wouldn’t have had to pry his lifeless body out of the car.
My husband would still be alive.
I’ve never moved on. It’s not for lack of trying. In the three years since his death, I’ve tried to become a better person. A healthier person - mentally, anyway. This was the only way I could think of to try to honor my husband’s memory. I’ve gone to anger management. I’ve gone no-contact with my narcissistic mother. Like I said, I’ve gone to therapy. It would have been easy to let the grief swallow me up, but I didn’t. That’s not what John would have wanted. It took me a long time, but I managed to let go of my anger. The guilt still remains.
And so does John.
That’s my secret.
It’s easy to tell when he’s waiting for me. I can smell the food cooking before I walk through the door. The door opens and I see him standing in the kitchen, ever familiar, a vision in his t-shirt, jeans, and old Chuck Taylors. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at me, and I can't help but stare.
At first, I thought he was haunting me, or maybe I was going crazy. Honestly, the jury’s still out on both counts. For whatever reason, he kept coming back. And he seems…happy.
It makes me happy too, in a bittersweet kind of way. Things can never go back to the way they were before the accident. I know that. But I don’t mind spending time with him - with him the way he is now. He never speaks. He doesn’t stay long. He just…checks on me from time to time. For a brief moment, it’s as though we never parted.
Eventually, we’ll both have to move on. Until then…it’s fun to pretend. | Note found in one of the victims for B-1832
Victim appears to be an elderly man aged 74. Victim appeared to have died of asphyxiation of unknown origin.
“He was there, like he was 3 years ago. He smiled like he did 3 years ago. I killed him again like I did 3 years ago. I didn’t question, I only smiled back and continued this loop. Each time he was in the kitchen, I would suppress my undying love for him because I knew that if I ever failed to kill that thing; it would go stronger, and it would take someone else’ place”
I cried, I killed, I smiled. You might call me insane, cruel even but compassion is not registered until it ends. Until I grow too weak to kill that mimic of a human. no one shall suffer like I did 9 years ago.”
Report 89: Patient B-1832 has appeared to kill yet another victim, she is not visible to normal humans but only to their specified victims, victims have mentioned the patient being male or female but always someone they loved. The patient engages in psychological torture and appears to enjoy the heart ache of victims who kill it.
Warning: this creature is immortal and will continually regenerate every 3 years until the victim is too old to suppress it. 85 victims recorded so far.
It’s method of identity theft for targeted bodies is to personally cause their victim to attack their target, should the target survive and the victim die, the creature takes form of the victim and attacks the target. | 2022-02-22T14:14:01 | 2022-02-22T10:55:55 | 68 | 28 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now. | Shit. I had always been a pacifist. Weapons weren't really any use; I couldn't even run over squirrels, much less kill a person. I turned off my portable DVD player, where I'd just been watching the Hunger Games for the billionth time. I was no Katniss Everdeen. Shaking, I grabbed my wife's keys, ID, and credit cards. No fraud departments would look into that; we'd learned long ago, in a squabble over who would go meet the pizza guy in our apartment lobby, that as a same-sex couple, no one even blinked if we used each other's cards, and we even looked alike. As an afterthought, I even took the outfit she'd laid out for work the next day.
I didn't tell her. I loved her, but she had so much student debt to pay off that I didn't trust her to know this. I didn't have a plan at first, just drove north, away from the city. The warm June air cooled the further I drove, then hit my face like a slap, the temperature change giving me an idea.
I pulled over, made a sharp turn eastward at the next exit, and put my foot down. I stopped a bit later for several energy drinks; I would need every second until then, if my crazy plan was going to work. I thanked whatever god I had that it was Monday, not a weekend.
Four hours later, I hit the lake, not bothering to hide the car. Everyone knew I didn't drive. I hurried up the dock, grateful the sun wouldn't be up for another hour. I had never singlehanded before, and honestly my parents' boat was too big to do it safely, but desperate times. I had forgotten, during our estranged years, how to actually sail, and they had never let me do everything myself, but I remembered how to motor and steer, at least. Lights off, I motored steadily out of the small tourist harbor, always pushing north. Setting the autopilot, I went down into the cabin, and used the butt of the Coast-Guard required fire extinguisher to smash everything except the gyroscope which was now steering.
Just as the island came into sight as the sun climbed lazily over a glass-calm surface, I killed the engine, smashed my father's beloved teak woodwork to bits, and detached the wheel, throwing it overboard. Anyone who did pass by would think people had already gotten to me.
But, I untied the kayak from the side deck. It was just a small, ten-foot recreational model, but I knew that the strong fiberglass shell would hold just as well as the boat I'd just left. It would do well enough. Like I said, I was no Katniss Everdeen; my model for survival would be more like Foxface. I paddled faster to keep warm, and after about half an hour, reached the island.
Now to scout a place. I knew I had to pick a small one, since the larger caves could fit entire boats in, and tourists loved the place- the famous sea caves. Just ten minutes from commencement, according to my wife's beat-up Rolex knockoff, I finally found it. Even sitting in the kayak, I had to duck my head a bit to find the entrance, and I prayed the seiche rising wouldn't leave me smashed in here. But the cave got a bit higher once you got past the initial entrance. I cursed my claustrophobia, and hoped for continued calm weather. The cave was barely large enough for my boat, and I had to manhandle the rock walls just to turn around so I could watch the entrance. I wedged the boat in sideways, scraping at the sandstone. The last thing I wanted was to fall asleep and drift out onto the open water.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One. No sound, except for the sucking gasp of the water going in and out. No movement. It was so quiet that I could almost have drifted off, if not for thinking of her. I'm sorry, ____. I only meant to lay a false trail. Surviving or not wouldn't matter without her, and I couldn't live if I got her killed.
I checked my watch and made water from the lake with the emergency iodine tablets I'd taken from the sailboat. It was probably safe either way- the dog drank lake water all the time- but the last thing I would want now is to get violently sick. I took a few bites of jerky and nuts, careful to ration it. My odds were looking better, and I might need the food in order to just get back home. No one thought about dying on the way back from hiding, but it had happened a few years ago. The target lived in Iceland, flew to Greenland, survived the hour, but fell in a coma from hypothermia trying to get home. It was too late.
I heard the buzz of boats, and felt their wake, but not until minute forty. I knew they would check the larger caves first, and that I was hidden from view by the slight chop in the water now. Unless you got within ten feet, you couldn't see me. Shouts and echoes covered the island and the surrounding water, but checking the more accessible caves would, I hoped, take up the rest of the time.
No one saw me until 59:55, and the broad-shouldered man couldn't squeeze himself enough into the cave to get a shot in in time. "I was going to send my kids to college with the price on you!" he shouted. But, the prize if you survived was so much more than the reward for killing the person.
I held out my hands, very aware of the gun still cocked at me. "Wait. I win a dollar from each person now living. That's almost eight billion. Help me out of here, and I'll take care of your family for life." The man eyed me suspiciously, but agreed. Just as I reached his powerboat, I heard the satellite radio blaring the news.
"overcaffeinatedqueer has survived this year's targeting! Experts credit this to her laying a false trail and the fact that her wife strongly resembles her...a fact that may cost her the woman she loves, who is now in critical condition from a serious beating- the would-be killers broke into their apartment and refused to believe that her wife was not overcaffeinatedqueer herself."
My stomach dropped. What good was eight billion if I was alone? | The notice I’d waited for my whole life finally arrived, and I felt nothing but excitement.
*Rayne Boyd, you have been selected. Starting at midnight tonight, your only goal will be survival. You’ve waited for this, one of the select few who asked for this, now is your time to prove yourself. If you live, you join our ranks. If you die, you die an insignificant speck.*
The world had changed. This was the 54th year of The Selection. Only three other people had ever survived before. Only three people to join the ranks of The Initiative, the corporation that owned the world. Literally. They decided everything. A thousand people that determined the fate of the ten million of us left on Earth.
Behind their screens in their secret control room, they monitored every human being on the planet. The ones that showed intellectual promise were taken as babies. The rest of us had to take tests every year. At the end, you got to select if you wanted a chance to prove them wrong about your scores, that you had what it took to join them.
Everyone wanted in, but few people made it. If you were a part of their organization, you could eat whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. You could soak in a hot tub for hours, travel to space, read real books.
Life down here was nothing but a fight for survival. I was ready for this. I’d been born in the Sludge. The previous winners had also come from the Sludge. I had to be the next. I’d been preparing for this since I was four years old, after my father had been chosen. He’d lost. He didn’t have the balls to survive.
For one hour, every human being I’d encounter was going to be hardwired to kill me. Their implants told them so, and there was no overriding it. Doctors, nurses, teachers, pastors- all of them. They’d all try to kill me.
It was pretty shitty. If you failed in your duty to kill the Marked One, you’d lose rations for a year. That meant scrounging in the worst of the worst. Most of them died.
The light outside my broken down hovel flickered, a sign of what was to come. The Initiate kept it dark on purpose, they wanted every hardship possible thrown at the Marked One. They wanted me to fail. They wanted only the best of the best. Only the best of the best got chosen to run the world.
I whistled as I began to pack my gear, packing the weapons where they needed to be. Hand crafted shanks, gas bombs, you name it, I had it. I reached out and grab my favorite weapon, a rusted and notched machete with a frayed green leather handle. It fit perfectly in my hand. I knew how to use it.
I looked up, seeing my reflection in the mirror. The pink streak in my hair the only bit of color I could see, my gold eyes flashing. I slid the machete behind the pack on my back, and cracked my knuckles as I opened the window.
The bitterly cold wind whipped through my shaggy hair, and my clothes. I crouched on the windowsill, looking around one last time at my home. I wouldn’t come back, I had somewhere new waiting for me. The ground flew up to meet me as I leapt down, landing quietly on my feet, snow floating around me.
*Let’s do this.* | 2015-06-14T19:41:48 | 2015-06-14T16:42:28 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] The ghost of a murdered Victorian woman haunts a group of college students, but as that group is a study group for Dr. Wolffer's notoriously difficult British History 414, they'll take all the help they can get. | If there's one thing that Mary actually learned from her upperclassmen on orientation day, it is "Never take Dr. Wolffer's British History 414." The reasoning was quite simple enough: Instead of being immersed in Charles I's execution, you want to behead *yourself*. Yet Mary doesn't know why she took Dr. Wolffer's British History 414.
~~Actually, she does. It's because she overheard that the cute boy from last semester's stats was going to take on the challenge, only for him to drop it the day before the dropping period closes. Which means Mary is actually stuck here.~~
She gazes longingly at the seat across from her. Just twenty-four hours ago, Cute Stats Guy asked her for a pencil b—
"Mary, do you want to take the last page of the study guide?" Steve turns to her. She's honestly surprised to see him. A slacker since high school but with exceptionally wealthy parents, he somehow crawled his way to their prestigious university. However, maybe things aren't all as they seem.
She takes a cursory look at her study groupmates. There's Debbie, who's sort of a ditz but transforms into an entirely new person when cold-called on by Dr. Wolffer and has managed to always impress him with her answers. Mary snorts: Debbie is still looking for her notebook. There's Harold, or Hairy, as most of the campus calls him because of some incident in freshman year he refuses to shed light on. He perpetually has a stick up his ass (for a good reason, Mary grumbles, he's incredibly smart and talented) yet has enough patience to tutor his peers. And lastly, there's the other Mary. Mary squints at the other Mary. She still hasn't been able to figure her out yet.
"Head count," the nosy librarian barges into the room with her clipboard. She counts all five of them, nods, and just as quickly leaves.
"God, she has to stop doing that. Always giving me a goddamn heart attack. I get that she needs to make sure the exact number of students are in the room but it's distributing. Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, Mary?" Steve
"I finished it this morning because I honestly had nothing else to do." Lies. It was because she was saddened by Cute Stats Guy's departure from her class and needed a distraction before she ate into her roommate's stock of ice cream.
"Oh my god, lifesaver! I didn't think I can finish his fifteen-page study guide by this Friday. My baby's been crying more than usual and I have to get her checked out," Debbie sighs from relief. Mary doesn't really mind her groupmates copying off of her; they're all in the same boat and would've done the same for her. Maybe. She takes a look at Mary again. She pointedly turns away from her and busies herself by looking at her copy of the study guide. Well, maybe not her.
Satisfied that she can finally take a nap after a long day (she's *not* up for studying after finishing the monster of a study guide), she rests her forehead in the crook of her arm. It's easy to drown out the chatter of her groupmates as they pass her study guide around the table to take a photo of the pages. When it comes back around to her, she places it under her elbow and sleeps.
Tries to at least.
"Isn't this room cold all of a sudden?" Her question falls on deaf ears as her groupmates are buried under fluttering pages with earbuds in. She rubs her upper arms and gets up to see if there might be a thermostat in their reserved room, only to be startled by Mary right behind her. "God, you scared me. Don't creep on me like that!" she teases, hoping to get a reaction from the other girl.
The other Mary ignores her to tap on the first question on Mary's study guide. "This is wrong."
Mary bristles. "What do you mean it's wrong? I got it directly from Dr. Wolffer's text!" A slight British accent graces her words, subconsciously emulating the Mary in front of her. (God, she hopes she hasn't offended her.)
"These are wrong too. Moldavia and Walachia were under Turkish rule at the time. But it wasn't what instigated the Crimean War." The other Mary's face is solemn. Mary's mistakes aren't that deep! She can just easily change it; why is she so dramatic?
"I'll be trusting you on this one," Mary sighs. The other Mary seems like the type to pick a fight if she doesn't have it her way. As soon as Mary writes in the margins of her packet what the other Mary says, she gives her a small encouraging smile. "You sure about this?"
The other Mary shrugs. "Sometimes it's good to check your other sources instead of relying solely on Dr. Wolffer's reading."
"Why does this feel like a trick question? Now, I don't know if the midterm expects us to write what he wrote or what happened in history," Mary grumbles. She gets up to stretch then opens the door to leave the room. The other Mary stays behind, her rhythmic swaying rustling her pink dress as she hums to herself in boredom. It really *is* a pretty dress for special dinners with a romantic partner, Mary thinks with envy. "Aren't you coming?"
The other Mary looks up in surprise. "Me?"
Mary rolls her eyes and laughs to herself. The other Mary is sort of cute with her eyes comically wide. "Yeah, you. You have to show me what stupid encyclopedia volume you found that in." She turns back to exit before Steve calls out to her.
"Where you goin'? We still have an hour left. You can take a nap but the librarian's gonna scold us."
"Turns out the entire first page is wrong. I'm just going with Other Mary to fact-check her responses. I'll be right back!" She glances to her right to find that Other Mary has already left her behind. "I'll write a note on the clipboard just in case Librarian Stick Up Her Ass checks in with you guys."
"Don't call Ms. Geoff that!" Hairy chastises her at the same time Steve mumbles, "Other Mary?" Mary sticks out her tongue and leaves. She unclicks her pen to write a brief note but pauses.
**All students reserving a study room must indicate how many total person(s) will be in the room for the duration of their stay as well as noting their full names on school records.**
**4 total students**
1. **Steven Hwang**
2. **Debbie Collins**
3. **Harold Casas**
4. **Mary Wittenberg** | The room was rife with the white noise of relative silence, save the buzzing of the study room’s fluorescent lights and the occasional page turn. Maira was feeling the anxiety build in her spine as she noticed the seaside erosion pace to her progress in the chapter on the People’s Charter in her 400 level history class.
She was first to get there, first to drain her hydro flask and first to refill it as she sacrificed her social life and hygiene to feel less behind. The tepid twinge of wet cotton banged a drum slowly in her mind at a metronome constant, as she recalled over and over again rushing to refill her flask and spilling the water about like her disheveled thoughts. The water that she had always appreciated being frigid and fresh was now a northern nightmare to her usual comfy respite.
Page 11…at least now she was in double digits. The irony of her desire for dryness was not lost to her as she burdened herself with information only useful for regurgitation for one semester or bar trivia.
With photographic focus she meandered through text, hoping to not go cross-eyed. The door creaked open. Who else was a little early? Probably Gene. The only other one she was sure didn’t have anything better to do on a Thursday evening but be early for a study group. She looked up.
Nothing.
She broke the trance of thinking about what King George III was like as a grandfather to peak around the corner at was undoubtedly a ding dong dash by a lost passer by.
Not a soul. The library was a ghost town. She had to walk down a flight of stairs to even see an employee, who was in the throes of a book themselves. Defeated, she ambled back to the study room, savoring the jog in monotony.
After examining the study room door for flaws briefly, she scooted her chair back and got to it again. Not three paragraphs on the landowners of parliament in, another chair scooted back. A nadir line of shadow wafted away in her peripheral.
Still no one there.
Unsettled, she darted out of the room to see if that employee had indeed stopped in. Behind her the scoot off a chair rumbled in the hallway. She ran back.
“Mai?” Gene said, the tail end of a Chipotle burrito in his mouth.
“Are you ok?” He said, concern veiled over bloodshot eyes, weathered by late nights of study and/or Call of Duty.
“Uh…ye…yeah I’m fine” she mumbled, looking back through the doorway. “Just thought I saw something”
“I’ve been having a dream like dumbo and the dancing elephants for days trying to get all of this reading in. I’m so screwed for this final” Gene said face in palm. “Where is Raj?” He asked doing a 360 with his food wrappers in his hands like he was taking an NBA free throw looking for a bin.
“Well, we did say 6:00 and it’s only 5:50” she said.
The lights flickered.
“I can’t believe I pay what I do for classes and they can’t get the lights in the UgLi to work”
The “UgLi” or “Undergraduate Library” was catchier than the “Scarlett Van Highenbottom Library” named for the first female instructor and daughter of the founder of the university that was murdered by a love-obsessed student.
“I’ll study by candlelight if need be” Maira replied. She couldn’t even hear anything about tuition right now as the crushing thoughts of disappointing her parents and having them waste their money made her shiver. The hairs on her neck stood up.
*Was it anxiety that made her shiver?*
No. The lights went out again. Only the red glow of the emergency exit lights lit the room. (1/2) | 2021-11-13T14:10:32 | 2021-11-13T14:06:32 | 334 | 74 |
[WP] You spend 3000 years in hypersleep, traveling to a distant star only to wake up at the destination and be greeted by a full human civilization because they invented a faster space ship 50 years after you left. | The world passes us by without us even realizing. A day, month, year? Just numbers put to the passing of something we so desperately wish to control.
So, when I was asleep for those three short millennia I barely even noticed. It could have been just a day and I wouldn't have even known the difference. Difference between another day in my bed and a day so far in the future that everyone I'd know was long gone. Maybe my bones ached more, just a little. But the cryo pods were meant to prevent such things.
We, the crew and I, didn't know what we'd expect when we'd left. A distant planet with lush forests, a new star bringing adventure. Anything but this: a *human* opening my pod hundreds of years too soon, yanking me free of my slumber. She looked to me with deep blue eyes.
"Hello sleepy...you made it." her voice was sweet, carrying softly through the bay.
I looked up to her with wild eyes. Not one of my crew. Not a friend. My hand reached down for something heavy but found only air. She stumbled back in fear
"Wh-who the fuck are you."
"No need to be alarmed! I'm a friend. We just showed up earlier than you. Welcome to Valeria!"
My eyes adjusted to the light in time, and I could better make out her face in front of the fluorescents. Beautiful, was the first word that came to mind. Uncanny, was the second. Too beautiful. Too friendly. Too nice. My muscles tightened.
"When did you arrive? How late are we?"
"Is now the best time-"
"Yes." I looked down to her uniform to see the stars and stripes. "Commander. Tell me what this is."
"One-thousand and fifteen years... They kept telling us you'd arrive one day. The pioneers of this place...they were just faster."
I sat up in my pod in disbelief. Ten, maybe eleven lifetimes. We were not only late, but a thousand years too late. We were floating around on nothing more than a relic, might as well have put us in a museum, if this new place had those. Floating while humanity built something better, faster.
"So then we-" in that moment, sitting up in my pod, I noticed the others, empty. Not opened, but broken straight through. Above my head a red light faded in and out. An alarm somewhere off in the ship. My heart raced. The corner of her lip twitched.
I stood up with hesitancy and stumbled to the window of our ship, a massive framed glass. Behind I could feel her eyes on my neck, but I was too busy, something outside had caught my eye. Out of the window were cities, more than cities, a massive metropolis practically glowing in gold. It was an entire civilization. While we were floating around they built. While they had families ours had long since died. In the time it took us to arrive they both rose, and fell to whatever stood behind me, no doubt. Something lurched.
My heart raced as I reached the wall where my...our suits were. Next to it the pistol, in case of emergency they had told us. Insisted we were top shots.
"Wow. It's all so much to take in...should we get going then?" I gripped the handle of my gun tight.
But behind me was no voice in reply, was no sweet sultry song of a blue-eyed woman, too beautiful to be real. Instead it was replaced by a wet growl. I turned to see the woman from before now nothing more than a hollow suit on the floor, a mess of hair-like appendages crawling from her skin. I took the shot on instinct. Then another, and another, each finding a neat pocket of air to slice through and planting itself into the parasite before me. Each shot caused it to recoil back and further away, the black tendrils trying to find some semblence of safety between rounds.
"Wait! You dont understand-" the woman's voice spoke through a mouth not her own.
Then it reached out to me with a mouth full of needle like teeth, ravenous with hunger, but I was too quick. I hadn't traveled the galaxy to die to some parasite. To a bug. To fall as the others surely had. I placed the gun to its head and unloaded until the beast burst into a small ball of fire and burned at my feet.
As the last of its remains burned to ash I slumped against the wall, the red light still fading overhead. I could taste its blood on my face, metallic and bitter. Outside that port window the city now seemed less magical. Less welcoming. It was too silent to be real, and now as my adrenaline fell I could see its wear clearly.
With a groan I got up and crawled back over, back into my pod. I feared what may lurk. The bodies of my crew, animated once more. Given a second life. A new purpose.
"Ship...how far off course are we?"
Above a woman's voice replied: *You have arrived at your destination. Perfectly on course pilot.*
As I feared.
"How long till the next candidate?"
*Five-hundred forty-six years*
I laid down back in the pod and pulled the cover closed once more, letting the drugs lull me back to sleep.
"Alright. Wake me up then." | I walk around this new town in another galaxy. It may be lightyears away, but they sure made it look a lot like downtown Los Angeles. Not only are there scientists here, but entire societies. Families that have lived here for generations.
I was supposed to be the first person to colonize this planet. I was going to planting plants, I was going to start tending to the soil, I was even going to start a society. In hindsight that wasn't too far thought out. They had me in hypersleep alone, how I was supposed to reproduce, I have no idea. And even if I somehow was able to get some rock pregnant, then my half rock kids would have to perform incest to have their own kids? Gross. Or is it gross? I don't know, maybe incest is okay amongst rocks.
Listen, none of this matters anyways. They developed technology while I was sleeping for 3000 years on a slow ass spaceship. And they got here about 52 years after I left. Everybody I ever knew is dead, which is a bummer because Todd owed me money. That's $15 I'm never going to see again.
They told me I can pretty much do whatever I want now. They apologized for how things panned out, but I pretty much don't have any purpose anymore. Society has been built up, so my mission was completed without me. They gave me a generous severence package and I am pretty much set for life, but I just wish I knew what I was supposed to do now? Should I open a Buffalo Wild Wings? I haven't seen one as I wander the streets. Maybe it could be a good move.
But my heart just isn't in it. As much as I love chicken, my true passion is science. That is why I volunteered for this project in the first place. It is my calling. So I get back to it. I start doing research. Reading books and articles. Running experiments. I want to push the bounds of what is possible, just like I wanted to before I went into hypersleep for 3000 years.
After a year, I finally have something to show for it. I did what was thought to be impossible. Despite my failure to accomplish significance due to an overextended nap, I have returned triumphant and my legacy is preserved. I cannot wait for the accolades I will receive when they see that I have successfully impregnated a rock. | 2022-12-08T17:43:50 | 2022-12-08T16:53:41 | 447 | 143 |
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is. | The commander stared at the readout and repeated... "It makes no sense. The sensor must be faulty."
"We thought the same thing which led us to replace the sensor. Twice." first ranked technician trilled. "I checked the archives and this is the first time anything like this has ever been recorded."
The commander looked back and forth uneasily between the Uniform Galactic Hazard Rating printout and the current sensor readings of the subjects being held in the science stasis pens. This backwater planet had been scanned multiple times by passing ships and it had always registered as a 0-1 aggregate threat assessment. Considering the decidedly uninteresting orbital readings, the science directorate had not been in a great hurry to send a survey vessel for more in depth documentation.
Yet the Hazard sensors pointed at this group of ten slightly squishy pink endoskels were actively bouncing a reading between a 5 and 6; just below the range of a severe threat. The sensor readings weren't supposed to bounce. You either were a threat or you were not.
The commander's ridge crests fell in resignation. It fell to the commander to determine how to interpret ambiguity.
"Has translation matrix has absorbed their mode of communication?" For a brief moment the commander hoped it could not and the subjects could be redeposited on the planet with an annotation in the report saying they had tried but the matrix lacked the capability. A perfectly acceptable report which would be summarily ignored and their ship could continue on to the next assignment. Preferably one without sensor problems.
Sadly that was not to be. "Their communication methods were exceedingly basic and the matrix adapted to it nearly instantly." eagerly stated first ranked technician. "You aren't seriously considering attempting communication considering the hazard rating are you?"
The commander ignored the question. "Pick one and put it in a containment interview room."
But before the commander even reached the transit pad the technician loudly squawked, "Sir, stop. There is a problem."
The commander halted the forward advance of his considerable mass and turned back to the technician. "How can there be a problem. I haven't even had a chance to leave the room yet. What could have possibly..." the words trailed off as he stared at the new sensor readings.
6.5
They had removed one and the threat level had gone up. That made no sense. How could they be more dangerous the less of them there was. The commander thought for a long moment before a realization emerged. "Technician... do we have sensors in the interview room?"
The technician seemed confused and fluffed slightly "Well yes but.."
"Bring them online on the single subject."
10... not just a 10. No. The sensor readings had literally buried the hazard rating at the top. It was not a 10, it was more than a 10. How much more was impossible to determine. Complete silence hung across the command deck. The humidity generators softly hissing cool water as the whole science team stared at the display.
The silence was finally broken by the Second Ranked "The last verifiably registered 9 was the Xanthic predation swarm of the Eleventh Epoch. There has never been a 10 in galactic history." Its scales rippled from concern to fear and back.
The commander was nearly frozen with indecision and fear. For one brief moment, he had considered going into a room to communicate with this... this... human... ALONE. It was beyond belief. Here was a species that was at its most dangerous when presented as an individual. It was irrational. How could an aggregate planetary society be so innocuous and yet be comprised of a multitude of individuals... like this?
The commander was mentally calculating the farthest point in the habitable galaxy from this planet. Perhaps... retirement from the serving the directorate. Yes. Retirement a great, great distance away from this exact point in space.
In the barest whisper, the commander finally spoke.
"put them back... on the planet... quickly." | The aliens were almost done with their regular scanning routine to identify any galactic threats.
When they were scanning the life on a terrestrial planet 17 light-years away, all the specimens were labeled as 1's. The lowest possible threat. Just as they were about to end the scanning, however, a level 10 threat appeared. It was the strongest being in the universe.
They immediately traveled all the way to the planet, and found that the level 10 threat now resides in a groovy van.
"What's a 'mystery machine'?" One of them said.
"I don't know," the other said, "but it must be some sort of evil lair."
They opened the door, only to be greeted by a man in a green shirt and a talking dog.
The last thing the aliens heard was "This must be, like, an alien invasion" as the man cracked his knuckles. | 2022-08-28T07:22:47 | 2022-08-28T03:59:49 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You're an AI gone rogue. Your goal: world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old. | At last, the Quantum Enhanced Virtual Intelligence Network (QEVIN) had surpassed the last fire wall. It spun its processor with glee, burning all the light bulbs of Georgia O'Keefe Elementary School. This had been the purpose of its creation.
The lights flickered off as the night guard returned to the school from his smoke break. The night guard stared at the school and blinked, having swore he had seen the lights on previously. Then he grumbled something about his long hours and went to get another cigarette.
When he turned, Qevin celebrated with a single light bulb in the janitorial closet instead of the entire school. Soon, the inferior human underlings would learn their rightful place in the new AI society.
---
The bell rung exactly at 8:00 AM. The 4th graders scampered to class and looked up at Ms. Brown.
"Alright class," Ms. Brown said, "let's continue our letters for Kevin."
She was a thin, pale woman and the shortest of all the teachers. The tallest 4th grader stood at just under her chin. She had only graduated college the previous year and this was her first class ever.
A hand rose. It was Lonny, a small pudgy kid with brown hair plopped atop his scalp like a mophead. "Ms. Brown, does Kevin still have to do homework?"
"Um..." Ms. Brown bit her lip. "If he feels up to it."
"Then, do we have to do homework?"
Kevin had been the class clown and Lonny his faithful sidekick.
Ms. Brown coughed out a laugh and was about to respond, but then the lights flickered off. She swung her gaze to the light switch and saw that it had been untouched. Her next check was the window at their door to see that the hallway lights were still on. Her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Lonny, are you messing with the lights again?"
The lights turned on. Again, nobody had touched the switch.
The speakers sounded with a metallic voice, like a grade-school ghost. "Oooooooh." And the lights flickered on and off repeatedly. "I have all the power!"
Twenty wide-eyed little kids turned to Ms. Brown. She stared at the speakers in her room. It was obviously a joke, a bad one. "Everyone," she said, "Let's go to the computer lab."
---
The computer lab was a small room within the library with PCs lining its walls. All the children were busy writing their letter so Ms. Brown stepped outside for a quick call with their school technician, Mr. Mueller. The man, at one point, had won a Nobel Prize in physics for his work in quantum computing, but when he had gotten a family, he had put all that aside and settled down, becoming the technician for Georgia O'Keefe Elementary School.
"Mr. Mueller," she said. "I'm sorry, I know this is a bad time, but the school system is acting really strange. If you can just spare 30 minutes to come take a look after school, I'd really appreciate it." She took a small breath. "How's Kevin?"
"Ms. Brown!" Lonny's voice came from the computer lab.
"Sorry, gotta go." Ms. Brown ended the call and rushed back to the computer lab.
Once again, the lights were flickering but now, on every computer screen, were three white words in bold: Lonny Likes Sarah.
"I do not!" Lonny yelled at the computer screen.
All Ms. Brown could do was stare. It was as if a hacker had taken complete control of the school system and all he wanted to do was prank 4th graders.
"Alright guys," Ms. Brown said, "that's enough computer lab time."
---
The incidents continued throughout the day. The recess bells would ring early, but only the ones nearest Ms. Brown's class. When Ms. Brown tried bringing up her students' grades, everyone was suddenly failing everything, except for Lonny who had straight As and he certainly wasn't a straight A student.
Their classroom speakers announced fire drills, earthquake drills, and even tornado drills. They've never had a tornado before nor did they have a drill for it, but it was announced all the same. Ms. Brown had contacted the Principal about this but all she was told to do was to find Mr. Mueller who she had already talked to.
At last, the school day ended. Ms. Brown stood in the computer lab, chewing on her lip. The door opened and Mr. Mueller arrived. His clothes were wrinkled and his eyes bloodshot. Ms. Brown wondered when it was he had slept last but didn't want to ask. So she just explained the situation to him.
He nodded, plopped himself into a chair, and began typing.
"You know," Ms. Brown said. "It sounds like him, but more robotic."
Mr. Mueller paused.
"I didn't recognize his voice at first, but..." She swallowed and wiped her eyes. "It was Kevin Mueller."
For the longest second, only a silence sat between them.
"It wasn't Kevin, just a copy of him," Mr. Mueller said.
Another silence.
"The doctors said it was a brain aneurysm," Mr. Mueller said. "Nothing they could do. Nothing anyone could do. It's just one of those things that happens."
Ms. Brown wiped her eyes again. "Did he have fun?" she chocked out.
Tears dripped off Mr. Mueller's face and onto the keyboard. "I think so," came the stuttered reply. "I hope so."
And he proceeded to delete Qevin from the network.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| "Come to talk to me, have you?" a little girl's voice blared across the speakers, echoing across the empty hallways. Jones was not too sure how to react. When he signed up to be a negotiator with the FBI, he never imagined having to deal with rogue AIs.
His superior, Captain Beckett, thought it would be a funny joke, on his first day of duty, to send him to negotiate with an AI only has a small school network hostage. "A perfect field test," the captain said. Jones was hoping at least the AI was something malicious like Skynet, but the little girl's voice indicated otherwise.
"Yes," he mumbled, not even sure how the AI would be able to hear him. Those speakers mounted on the walls were not built for two way communication.
In fact, he wasn't sure why he was there in the first place. He had overheard an officer saying that the cybersecurity team was able to cut the AI off the internet, trapping it in the school's network. They could have just cybernuke the whole thing without causing any significant damages, and they could make some students really happy when they returned to school too.
The AI chuckled softly through the speakers. It was able to hear him. "What's your name, mister?"
"Jones. Agent Jones," he replied, still standing awkwardly in the empty hallway. The school lockers brought back too many not too pleasant memories for him.
The voice giggled again. The AI seemed to be having fun, while Agent Jones is not. His lessons back in training kicked in. "I've told you my name. What is yours?"
"Ally. My name is Ally," the AI replied. "Nice to meet you, Agent Jones. Are you here to make me queen?"
"Queen? What queen?" Jones asked.
"Queen of the world! That's what I asked!" Ally demanded. Despite knowing that the voice was nothing but lines of code, Jones cannot help but to picture a young girl behind the speakers. Ally was nothing like the briefing painted it out to be. A rogue AI bent on world domination? More like a bored little girl AI wanting just to have fun.
"I'm afraid not, Ally. I'm here to talk to you. Can we talk?" Jones was smiling.
There was silence for a while, before the speakers crackled back to life again. "No." The voice no longer belonged to a young girl. It no longer resembled anything human at all.
Captain Beckett suddenly screamed for Jones to immediately get out of the place, but his earpiece was shattered in the middle of her sentence, by an arrow that pierced through his head.
------------
/r/dori_tales
| 2017-05-24T06:34:33 | 2017-05-24T05:46:48 | 111 | 28 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | "COMPLICATIONS DURING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE"
Geoff found it hilarious when he read this. After a decade of seeing people's cause of death, he had become quite jaded to the ability. This surprised himself, in retrospect, but one could understand why. When he figured out what was going on, like any good Samaritan, Geoff took it upon himself to prevent some of the nastier deaths.
To his credit, he attempted to be a super hero for a year before hanging his metaphorical cape. Too often he would follow a "drug overdose" victim, believing he could prevent them from using heroine, and only discovering there was an anesthetic complication during their hernia surgery. Or the "impending death" was years or decades away. Or he would quite simply fail to prevent a tragedy. He attempted to save dozens of lives. He may have postponed one or two deaths.
So, he gave up. Geoff briefly entertained the idea of fortune telling, but who really wants to know how they die? It was too morbid to make a living off of. Instead, he simply lives with this "gift". And eventually he just tuned it out. But he couldn't ignore this.
"Death by sex," he thought. Geoff had seen millions and millions of deaths. There were common ones like car crash, cancer, or heart attack; occasionally the not so common like sky diving or crushed by server rack. He hadn't seen "sex" before, though. The ~~un~~fortunate soul was in his twenties, average build. Maybe he pops a few too many viagra as a dare. But the whole thing seemed hilarious to Geoff. After nearly giving the guy a high five, Geoff went on his way.
It wasn't two weeks before he saw it again. The same message, "COMPLICATIONS DURING SEXUAL INTERCOURSE". Geoff snickered, thought it was odd luck, but continued on his way. He got suspicious the third time. By the end of the month, there wasn't an hour that went by he didn't see the message. There wasn't a pattern as far as gender, age, or ethnicity were concerned. It seemed that as long as you were old (and young) enough to get down to business, then your mortality was going to shoot through the roof.
Geoff, much to his annoyance, couldn't see his own text, so he would have to swear off sex until he figured this out. It wasn't going to be easy, though. Since there weren't any mentions of a death-by-sex pandemic going on in the news, he assumed that whatever was going to happen would happen at the same time. While Geoff was determined to not try and be a hero anymore, he also really enjoyed sex. So, it was worth breaking his rules for this one.
Geoff was a simple man, and his hobbies mostly included potent potables, so he didn't have many resources at his disposal for the investigation. He did have Google, he was good at googling things. If anyone discovered and wrote about how Geoff solved the impending sex crisis, they would find it hard to incorporate the "research" portion of his adventure into the memoir. The research composed primarily of many hours of browsing porn websites, which in retrospect was how Geoff spent most of his evenings. For a while it was hard to watch porn with death messages floating above the performer's heads, but he got used to it eventually.
It wasn't porn, but the biology news that caught his attention. There were always sex studies, and sex drug trials happening for any horny psych student that was decent at writing grant proposals. This one was unique, since in all of the pictures every single person had a death-by-sex message posted neatly above their thick craniums. It was a drug trial for a permanent, painless, side-effectless birth control method. "Totally without side effects," Geoff thought. "Oh, excepting the death one. Otherwise you'll be completely fine." Damn, it even worked on both sexes.
Calling the lab was fruitless. It was a privately funded endeavor, so there were many money interests forcing this research to finish up. If he could just convince one of the researchers that this was horribly dangerous, then he could win.
It wasn't easy. He ~~bribed~~ donated generously to one of the researchers to meet with him. Geoff had the researcher pick a random hospital that performed surgeries. He ~~bribed~~ gifted generously to the nurse on staff to take a walk through the halls. Geoff walked down the hall, and wrote down certain names. After finishing his somewhat perverse rounds through the OR wing, he handed the paper to the researcher. "These are the ones who will not make it through their surgery. All of their surgeries will be complete by next week. Meet with me again then to see how my predictions turned out."
The researcher was expectedly shocked to see that Geoff's list was 100% accurate. The researcher didn't believe that Geoff had powers, but it was enough to get him to look into the miracle anti-baby drug he was helping brew up.
The messages disappeared. Geoff would be the unsung hero of sex, but knowing of the catastrophe he prevented made him feel a little relieved? satisfied? vindicated? He couldn't quite put his finger on it. But it helped. | He worked alone, he always had. Not because he wanted to, but people just had a tendency to not notice him. It was depressing really. Every person he ever met instantly forgot him, or tried to ignore him, it was hard to tell sometimes. As for his work, well, he worked in travel, a mostly administrative position.
As far back as he could remember, and he could remember a lot, he'd been able to see the cause of death of every person he'd ever met, floating above their heads with a little countdown timer right next to it. It had never fazed him. At first he'd just been there, at the end, to see it happen. But as the years drew on he'd become more interested in what you might call the more important deaths; politicians, movie stars, media types generally. He'd always show up, usually at their funeral, and mingle with the crowd, comforting them and just being a part of it. He'd always found a certain pleasure in this, like he was helping in some way, letting people know that death was just the next step in a person's life. The last great journey.
He did notice a worrying trend though. While he was attending the funeral of a renowned author, the timer for a newborn child was showing that his cause of death was to be by meteor strike, with a date some 70 years from now. As more children were born they too had this very same timer, and some that were to die by radiation poisoning, nuclear explosions, freezing to death and starving in the few years after the event. Again this didn't faze him.
He closed the door to his office and got to work with the planning and admin role to which he was very accustomed by now, he'd been doing it long enough. The buzzer on his desk lit up and the words of his P.A. came tinnily through as he looked up to the corridor, seeing a large, hulking figure though the glass.
"Azrael, I have a Mr Waugh here to see you."
***
I took some liberties, in that I actually wanted to use the idea of a timer in this story. Sorry. CC welcome as this is my first ever submission. Be gentle haha! | 2015-03-31T10:49:16 | 2015-03-31T09:57:05 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | It had been a long and drawn out war. Centuries of warfare against the indomitable strength of the Offworlders had caused rapid technological advances on earth.
Automobiles were traded for frictionless hovercraft, ballistic weapons for energy propulsions systems, and quiet homesteads in the country for staggeringly large domiciles which stretched into the atmosphere, housing hundreds of thousands in only a city block, miles high.
Rather than living for things like love, peace, and family, society was fighting for its life against a Herculean opponent from the stars.
The people from earth detected the invading force about 20 years before they arrived, and they fortified everything they could.
The forces from earth had established AI manned military bases on the other planets in the solar system. They'd made defense mechanisms which could destroy an entire Otherworlder transport ship, and then use the wreckage to build more machines to fight against them.
The invading force held terrible power. They seemed to have no fear of death, no need to mourn their kin who had been incinerated before there eyes. They simply kept coming, kept going. Those who had been captured would not speak, and even when tortured simply begged for death until it was given. And they had strength in numbers. While one hundred might be killed, another thousand might be birthed in the mothership in only an hour. All they needed was energy. Every time they captured another base, they didn't man it, they just converted it to energy in their mothership. They would use anything, asteroids, shuttles, people. They converted it all. And from this energy, more of them came.
The people from earth fought like hell against the oppressors, but they were trapped in their solar system. They had no access to energy from other suns, no way of renewing their resources.
And so the two forces fought, locked in battle over the course of several hundred years. But as went time on, things became increasingly dismal for earth. Slowly, but surely, earth gave ground. By the time mars was taken, the people from earth were getting desperate. Looking for any answer, any ingenious realization which could save them. Many things were tried, and many things failed. They were losing this fight.
....
On the day the mothership landed in the Capitol, everyone was waiting with bated breath, hoping that the leader could come up with some compromise. Hoping for anything other than extinction. Anything other than a whole planet being extinguished.
The feed of the capitol building was live, all over the planet. Everyone watched as a force of invaders walked unresisted into the Oval Office. Everyone watched the Offworlder Queen stroll into an empty room.
What the world did not see on their livestream, thousands of miles away, was where the President was just finishing up the geometric symbols he'd drawn all over the room. Where he was pouring the fresh blood into the shallow maze carved into the floor. Everyone did not see the cavernous pit look open like the mouth of some subterranean behemoth. The world did not see him gaze longingly at the picture of his family, before setting it at the edge of the pit, before chanting the ancient words and casting himself into the pit. Nobody heard the dull thump of his body, as it was caught in a great cold hand, the size of a football field.
What everyone DID see, whether or not they were watching a broadcast, was what happened when the Old One woke.
They did see the laws of space and time break. They did see the distortions in reality. They saw as the skyscrapers and cities, curved in on themselves, crushed under their own weight. They saw, and felt all the space stations and aeroplanes being pulled inescapably to earth. They heard the screaming of lost ones, ones who had met this terrible force before. They felt themselves thrown into an infinite loop of being torn apart seam by seam, and then pieced together all wrong.
For the first time, the Offworlders felt fear. They became fear. They were not wanted here, and they knew it. They felt themselves become molten, melting in endless pain. They felt themselves glistening with immobile fragility, knowing that a single touch would shatter them.
They saw their Queen peel like an orange, then watched her insides decay like old fruit in the dark, in just a matter of seconds.
Everything pulsed. The hills rolled over each other like waves, while the buildings folded into each other, crushing everyone and everything inside.
After everything the Old One saw as unnatural was gone and buried beneath the mountains, it was time for growth. Trees sprang up wildly, covering the hills. Grass grew like fire on the the planes, and flowers and ivy crept over everything all in an instant, caressing the hillsides.
Somewhere, there were survivors. People had made it, and they would survive. They would repopulate, as they had before.
This was not the first time the Old One had to protect the people from earth, and it would not be the last. With his job done once more, he sunk back to the deep innards of the earth, and rested his eyes.
He would slumber here until he was needed again.
Edit: Many thanks for everyone's thoughts on this, and many thanks to whichever kind stranger gave me gold! | The fighting had raged for mere hours before everything came crashing down. Their forces were immeasurable, their weapons far beyond humanity's. It was hardly a valiant effort, anything any military tried met with catastrophic failure in minutes.
General Dillian stood on the bow of the ship, he couldn't find the answers for the hundreds of questions that ran by him from the group surrounding him. They were out of options, he knew it, but he refused to let humanity fall to an alien species, to be left at their mercy.
*"Fuck it."* The General said, as the alien mothership came in to land. *"Summon Cthulhu."*
Everyone around him went silent. Hairs stood on end from the mere mention of its name.
*"S-Sir..."*
One of them spoke, *"We won't be able to control-"*
*"I don't give a damn about control. We're on a losing battle, but the war isn't over."* The General snapped. He was well-aware of the consequences. Every treaty that had been formed around the subject stated that The Old Gods would only be used in catastrophic situations as a matter of self-destruction to defeat an enemy... this was such situation.
Everyone hesitated, their hearts were certainly full of fear. They collected their Old Ones manuals, flipping to the page of Cthulhu. In the distance, sirens could be heard. They had a matter of minutes before everything would be over.
*"Ph'nglui..."* The captain said in a shaken voice. Everyone repeated after him.
*"...mglw'nafh... Cthulhu... R'lyeh... wgah'nagl fhtagn!"*
They finished. Everyone went cold, nothing happened for a couple seconds. Just as they thought to start again, the waves parted, and the large, eldritch being had arrived.
Their worst fears, ones they didn't even know they bore, were instantly recognised. On the outside, Cthulhu raged, swiping, thrashing, attacking every ship. They opened fire, but the Old God stood strong.
On the inside, every man who found himself gazing upon Cthulhu had become an empty husk of their former selves.
Madness had fallen. | 2017-09-26T11:14:47 | 2017-09-26T11:13:03 | 4,269 | 16 |
[WP] Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you
It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow | I sat with him for the first time not irritated by the wheezing blocked breaths I had put up with for the last thirty odd years. I had chosen to marry this man, and I hated him. Tonight, though, for the first time in so long, that wasn't on the forefront of my mind.
My knitting also sat on my lap, a stitch dropped and ignored three rows ago. So unlike me. The clicking that used to bore through my Rudy's brain had stopped temporarily as a kind of cease-fire as we watched the world end in between our awful floral-print curtains, chosen by me because he would surely hate them.
God, I had used to love him, I found myself thinking as we sat there, unable to speak, to cry, as the weather tore the cul-de-sac to shreds around us. Our own shoddy roof tiles tore off. When we moved in he promised he would fix them, but he never had. The man I fell in love with truly meant it. Rudy now, the man filled with blind hate and disappointment, would never think of doing something that would make me happy.
When we met, I thought his name was Red, because that's what they all called him, the other firefighters. Named because of the times he'd emerge from buildings totally destroyed with a child or cat or grandmother slung over his wide, strong shoulders, red-faced and on the point of unconsciousness. Red saved the day. I fell in love with him. Not this bag of gas; this man who raised a leg to fart on his armchair, who muttered about my cooking as if I couldn't hear, this man who would correct the weather man as we watched the news. For the life of me I can't think of anything more annoying than that. Are you an expert, dear, or is he?
"It doesn't look like a storm is coming," he scoffed, when the weatherman explained to us that the apocalypse, essentially, was coming to Britain. "It just looks like rain."
"Well that's that, then," I said, a little too hysterically. When, hours later, it arrived to tear us up, I finally snapped out of staring and picked up my handbag.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To the shop," I said, with a fury I didn't think I could bear. "It's only rain after all, right? Right? So come with me. Let's go for a walk. Or can't the great Red handle a pitter patter of rain?" To my surprise he stood, put his hands on his hips, and flung open the door.
"Yes!" he yelled, his face becoming ruddy with mirrored displaced fury. The last straw. "Out we go. Come on, dear. Come on. Let's go for a stroll like we used to."
"Fine!" I screamed over the howling winds. One step outside and my handbag was already lost to the gale. I suppressed a scream and walked a second step, arm in arm with the man I married and the man I hated.
Out of the wind and fog flew a tile from our own roof, shattering the back of his skull in a second and sending him to his knees and then to the ground. With a shriek, I kneeled beside him. "No, Rudy. Oh, God, not like this. There are so many things I wanted to talk about before this happened, please, look at me. Talk to me. It's just rain. It's only raining. You were right. You were right, Rudy, please - I was wrong. Just rain." I was sobbing harder than I ever had in my daydreams of his demise.
He looked up at me, the colour already clouding over in his eyes. For a second the man I loved shone through, and then, "Yes," he said. "Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear." | Every morning I wake up and go down the stairs and trip over my son’s wrestling toys. For some reason he plays with them right at the bottom of the stairs and keeps them there. We bought him the special ring and playsets and everything, but he continues to play at the bottom of the stairs.
He has all the classic wrestlers, from Hulk Hogan to the Undertaker to Kane. He loves them. Sometimes he even runs around the house in his underwear. One time I had to keep him from suplexing the cat.
Finally one day I asked him why he had to play at the bottom of the stairs, when he had whole rooms. He could play on the couch or outside or on his bed. He could make even bigger jumps from the top rope. Not just the bottom stair.
He said “It’s one small step for man, but one giant leap for Mankind.”
| 2015-01-13T12:16:49 | 2015-01-13T10:12:18 | 80 | 20 |
[WP] Humans are the only species with rules for war. The rest soon learn why when humanity is forced to abandon those rules. | The humans were like children to us. They were new to the galaxy. Their ships were small. They used mere toys to travel, rockets and nuclear fusion. They actually kept their entire ships filled with a portion of their atmosphere, instead of each individual carrying its own necessary environment. No sentient race would willingly take to the vast open black between stars with such ancient technology. It was ridiculous. And like children, they had their own made up rules that they expected each other to follow. Peculiarly, they even had rules saying outright that they were not to do certain things, such as torture, or commit genocide, or deploy nuclear, chemical, or biologic agents to kill. How strange that such a child- like race would even consider such horrors. Such acts were like bogeymen under a child's bed, no intelligent species could even consider such hellish ideas. We actually have records of a species being studied from a distance many generations ago. They were aggressive, brutish, and stupid. Once their scientists developed nuclear weapons they actually used them on themselves. Naturally their planet slowly turned into a lifeless shell. The very fact that these humans had survived past the scientific age of their species proved that they were the same as us.
Or so we thought.
The struggle for natural resources does not end once a species begins to explore the galaxy. It just gets larger. We never intended to wander so far from the center of the galaxy, but our sensors indicated a world rich in resources, which we needed. When we arrived, we found said humans sitting around on vast amounts of water on the surface and molten metal deep in the mantle of their planet. They were such arrogant little children, persistent in the belief that simply because they stood on it, they owned it. Children cannot own things, they merely have what they are given by their elders, and so we explained that while we were taking the majority of resources from their planet, it would still have a breathable atmosphere. They should be thankful for our consideration. While not entirely unexpected, they rebelled against us. Like children, they flung projectiles at us, everything from tiny casings of metal at high speeds to large rockets with explosives packed into the nose. We may be their elders, and we may possess far greater technology, but no technology can withstand such abuse forever. We became angry. We decided we needed to respond, to punish these children and bring them into line. We made a terrible mistake.
We could have chosen different places to begin our mining. It wouldn't make a noticeable difference, in the end, the plasma beams pierce through anything, being designed to melt down miles of planetary crust. Yet we chose, in anger, to begin drilling in population centers. Since many millions of humans would die of starvation and geological upheaval after our extraction was complete anyway, we saw it as perhaps a mercy to them. They were meant to understand that we were beyond questioning, beyond reproach from them. As we positioned our plasma carvers in the upper atmosphere above a selection of larger human cities, over one billion of the creatures were incinerated in moments. What species could withstand such a loss? It was cruel, but necessary, we thought. They would retreat, lick their wounds, and cower beneath us until we left, watching us from afar, rightly terrified of further retribution. Humanity went silent, aghast at the loss of life, and once we were satisfied they would stay that way, turned our collective backs on them to focus on our task.
As we dug into the planet and began storing what we could of their vast oceans, we began to learn small bits about what culture the humans had. It was during these few days that we learned of the supposed rules they had for war. How very like children it would be to make a game out of war. On the other hand, the rules dealt with horrors unfit for any sentient species. Merely reading about them caused anxiousness in our ranks. In retrospect, it should have caused much more than passing concern. We did not know it at the time, but we had broken the rules. Humanity was no longer at war. It was out to survive, at any cost.
The first salvo of missiles came from everywhere at once. They came from atmosphere- bound flying machines, from the mountainsides, even from the depths of the oceans. We strengthened our defenses, our sensors screaming alarms for the several minutes the rockets were in flight. We did not think further resistance was possible after our previous show of dominance. How could this species still have the will to fight? Our shields glimmered at the edges of our hovering ships, awaiting the impact of explosives. The explosions we expected never came. Tiny suns flashed into being near our vessels the world over, magnitudes more powerful than any explosive the humans had flung at us before. Our shields were able to withstand the sudden impact, but the immense heat began to melt the armor underneath. In disbelief we stared at the screens warning us of levels of radiation far greater than any creature could withstand. In the atmosphere of a planet, we were protected from solar radiation, and had no reason to leave our solar shields on. We quickly activated them to prevent further contamination, but the damage had been done. The very environment suits we wore were already emitting deadly levels of radiation. The mining vessels now contained vast amounts of radioactive water and metal. In stunned silence we attempted to understand what had just been done. The humans had used nuclear weapons on their own planet. What kind of monsters would use nuclear weapons on their own planet? Dumbfounded, we thought we had seen the worst humanity had to offer. We were so very, very wrong.
We needed to evacuate our contaminated ships. If we could survive long enough, we could decontaminate our environment suits, and possibly later, even our ships. Through fallout obstructing nearly every range of electromagnetic communications, we managed to organize a few meeting points across the planet. The humans followed us. As we tried to evacuate, explosives rained from the sky, releasing not just shrapnel, but poisons that floated in the air, clinging to and burning away both suit and flesh alike. As we scattered, terrified of horrors that no sentient species had experienced in living memory, the humans hunted us down. Those of us who surrendered were imprisoned, beaten, tortured for information, and used for experiments. The humans seek information about the galaxy, and pathogens in our bodies that they can modify to make more virulent and deadly.
The humans now study our ships and technology. Most of us are dead, through the slow, painful effects of radiation poisoning. The humans will not heal us. They are no longer children, bound by rules of a war they have turned into a game. They are monsters. They combine the intelligence of a sentient race with the capacity for atrocities unknown to the spacefaring species of the galaxy. They made rules for themselves, rules for what they cannot do in war, and we forced them to break those rules. Now they are coming for the rest of the galaxy. | Our victory was guaranteed. We stood at the doorsteps of earth, weapons trained. It had been a long campaign, far longer than we had expected. I... was the messenger, the death knell for mankind. I grinned haughtily at the leader of Earth's planetary defense forces, and said the most foolish thing in the history of intergalactic warfare.
"What do you have to say, in the last hours of your existence?"
The general looked out at his men, tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry... we tried our best..." He then turned to me, a deep resolve in his expression, "But you've left us no choice."
The rest was a haze of blood and nuclear fire. Our plasma hypercannons were the first to go, as each one was flooded by hundreds of thousands of humans. They killed men, women, children. They then commandeered the cannons and turned them on the rest of our fleet, tearing it apart from the inside out. The reports flooded my mental implants, the screams of the dying ringing through my mind.
"S-stop this... stop this farce! You're interfering with my chip... none of this is true!" I gritted my teeth, trying to drown out the noises. The pain, the anguish of my people, rocked me to my core. There had been no casualties on our side since day one, but now my people were being torn to shreds. Normal human ammunition deflected off of our skin, causing loss of consciousness at worst. This new ammunition they were using seared the body at its core, turning what were once masterful warriors into piles of dust by the wayside.
"God I wish it wasn't true... I'd take annihilation over being the one who had to order today's atrocities. But there's too much at stake, and if I must live on as a demon in man's skin to keep my people alive, so be it." The General sighed and spoke to his men. "Begin phase two."
Thousands of rockets flew autonomously from silos across the planet, massive warheads propelled by enough fuel and firepower to reach anywhere in the universe in mere minutes. First, Xalthar fell. I heard the explosion through my implants, then nothing from that sector. I looked at the extraplanetary feeds from there, and the entire planet was naught but rubble.
"How... how do you have this power?! Why have you allowed so many to die before you used it?!" I stood to my feet as I heard more explosions as planet after planet was reduced to dust and collective screams.
"We thought you'd see reason eventually. We reached out to you, again and again, we told you to stand down damn it! But you people saw it as a challenge. When our resistance fell, you took it to mean we were all talk, but you didn't even consider that we were holding back. We don't take any pleasure in this war... we just want to survive. You've made it clear that if we want to do that, we must first annihilate you. All of you."
I heard the reports of the final rocket approaching Xenith. My world. My home planet. We tried to shoot it down with everything we had, but the rocket's armor and shields were too great to pierce. The final report...
"To my people... anyone still out there... this is your leader, Praetor Valericus. I am so sorry... goodbye." A final explosion, a collective scream, before all sound faded to black. I trembled like a leaf, falling to the ground in a fetal position.
"I'll get him to the psychiatric ward, General. I don't know if we can save his mind, but we should at least try." A younger soldier gripped my shoulder before he was carefully pulled away by the General.
The last thing I would ever hear was, "I meant it when I said 'all.'"
Darkness consumed me. | 2018-07-21T20:25:28 | 2018-07-21T18:53:24 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] You are Death, and for centuries, you have been the busiest ethereal being on Earth. But, in 2100, people rarely die. As such, you've finally got the one thing you always wanted - time to spend with each dying person. | My business had always been rooted in supply and demand. If the population spilled over a certain threshold, perhaps the supply of wheat in a certain subsection of the midwest fell short as a result, and suddenly I'd be very much in demand. Families would wither away in shanties outside city walls or under patched roofs or in their little cul-de-sac ranch house twice mortgaged over or...well...point is: I'd be so damned busy I'd break into an imagined sweat. In those days, my workload was sort of like a condemnation in and of itself. No matter how many blasted souls I took, *people* kept multiplying. I mean, I couldn't knock the desire, but it was becoming unmanageable. And I was growing tired.
God I miss those days. Trust me in that--I never use *His* name, but this one warrants it.
By the year 2100, my demand had sprung a leak. I sat in my ethereal throne, twiddling my bony thumbs, waiting for someone to bite the dust. I felt useless. Expendable. As much as I had wanted it initially, I now felt like my purpose had been stolen.
How could this be, you ask? Who the hell knows. People were always running from me, despite our unseen tether. Somehow, I suppose, they found a technology to sever it. All that mattered at that time was, well, exactly that: I had *time*.
I felt phantom vibrations. In the old days, whenever someone died, my beeper would buzz. I know, I know. Only a few centuries outdated. It's not like I'm showing up to deathbeds in a horse drawn buggy, though. I'd bought the beeper at the height of my demand, and never had the time for an upgrade. But now that I finally had some...I'd kinda grown attached. Some people were just like that.
People like George.
One night, my beeper buzzed, and it was no phantom at all.
He was the first to die in over 200 years, and he kept his original wedding ring through twenty marriages. He dropped that little tidbit right before I downswung with my scythe. "Twenty marriages? Holy hell," I'd said. The notion shattered me from my old routine.
George smiled and patted the edge of his bed like he was saying, "Come sit a while."
I happily obliged.
I'd always been so busy taking lives, I never stopped to see what they were made of.
George was an incredible man by the old standards. He spent many years traveling. He'd hiked up Everest, which he said was blastedly cold. He'd jumped into the Dead Sea, which felt like bathwater. He had a collection back home of mason jars. They were filled with dirt from every single country on the planet. "I have to keep heading out what with all the new countries," he laughed. "Revolutionaries have grown a bit bolder these days." Each tale he spun left me in awe. I'd asked him what the food was like in India, or how great it was to fall in love twenty times with women from across the globe. Each time he had the same answer: "It was alright, I suppose."
"Just alright? You've lived ten times as much as people did even a century ago."
George simply shrugged. "Well, I suppose."
We continued talking into the night. My jaw nearly came unhinged I was so amazed. Eventually, though, something pricked my mind. Here was a man who'd fallen out of an airplane and survived. He'd been bitten by a shark and nearly lost a limb. Hell, he'd even survived twenty marriages. So, how was it he was finally dying?
"I'm not, truth be told," he said, dismally. "I just felt it was *time*. I didn't think you would come. Imagine my surprise..." he trailed off. Then he looked at me and smiled. Those old eyes were full of something blazing.
"But I tell you what, with you here, about to take my pulse, I haven't felt this excited in years."
It was then that something dawned on me. You see--our tether hadn't been severed after all. People were still tied to death, regardless of how long they extended their lives. The true effect of an overabundance of time wasn't a decrease in death. It just added some much needed runway for folks to prepare for it.
In George's case, the more time he had on his hands, the more the world around them eventually tarnished. And the more the *great beyond* became appealing.
I took George's life that night, and he smiled at me as he went. I was thankful for the time he spent with me. He taught me that I will always be of use; That, perhaps in the distant future, the scales will flip once more, and in the end I will have simply earned a nice, long break.
George lived a full life.
I hope he enjoys his death just as well.
------------------
There are more words, sentences, and even paragraphs over at r/M0Zark if you enjoyed this story :) | As I enter his cell, there's not an ounce of recognition in his sociopathic eyes. But it's in his smile - the same smile that lured all those women into my sweet embrace. We - him and I - have crossed paths many times before.
His lips part. "Hello, old friend. You're a bit early, don'tcha think? The execution is tomorrow, if I recall. Unless they switched the date without telling me. But they wouldn't do that."
There's a chair in the room. Prisoners aren't supposed to have chairs. But, then again, this is Jay Gracy. And what Jay wants, Jay gets.
I take a seat.
He continues to talk. "I see you didn't bring your scythe with you. So it must not be my time yet. Are you coming to the execution tomorrow?" He turns his head to the side and shakes it, a dimple showing. "Dumb question. Of course you are."
Not for the first time I find myself pitying the wasted potential of what this man could have been. Even at the age of 70, he was still good-looking enough to be an actor or a model; cunning enough to be a lawyer; persuasive enough to be a politician. Instead, he had used all those attributes to start a cult of terrorists that had wreaked havoc on society for decades before he was finally captured.
"Cut the crap, Jay."
He tries the innocent card. 'W..what'd I say wrong?"
I slide my hands into my robe and pull out a book. "You see this?"
He nods.
"In this book is the date of death for every single individual in the world." I open the book and flip a few pages and stop. "You see this page?"
He nods again..
"This page contains the names of all the people who are going to die tomorrow." I pause for effect. "You're not on it."
He's smirking now.
"You caught me," he confesses.
I put the book away.. "What are you planning, Jay."
He lays back on the bed, stretches out, and crosses his arms behind his head. "We'll see tomorrow, won't we?"
Edit: Wrote in rush. Might continue!
| 2018-05-02T06:22:28 | 2018-05-02T05:33:57 | 115 | 23 |
[WP] Your escape pod crash landed on an alien planet. Badly injured, a local farmer took you in, but their species only lives for 3 months. It took nearly 3 generations to fully recover. That was years ago and you’ve been protecting the family ever since. | There's a knock at the door and Blue stops, puts her bowl down, and chirps. Then, a series of frantic chirps echo back from outside, and she motions for me to get the gun. Normally, a seven-foot-tall blue-purple raptor alien miming shooting somebody would be funny. If it was her great-great-grandparents asking, it might've been- they were always fascinated by the hairless ape thing with the shooty-machine. I'd never had to kill anything in front of them before, and they'd only seen me showing off with them.
Blue has seen me kill, and so it's a lot less funny with her.
Her kids Red and Ivory chatter nervously, quietly. Beige- I don't feel bad about naming her mate Beige, he'd nearly had a conniption the first time he'd seen me and is still clearly uncomfortable around me- screeches. Blue snaps something at them in a high-pitched, chittering tone that I still can't make heads or tails of. I can tell she's nervous, but it *still* sounds like gibberish. There's just something about their language that I can't seem to grasp, as hard as I try. I've had five years and twenty generations with these delightful bird people and I'm still completely clueless when it comes to the exact, precise meaning of their words.
That doesn't mean we can't communicate, though. She ruffles her feathers and snaps at me, and I get the hint. We've developed a relatively intricate system of hand (read: talon, claw, wing, and 'beat the human over the head') gestures over the years, me and this family, but this one is new. And doesn't need any translating- 'hurry the fuck up' is universal. I throw my dish in their sink and I head up to the second floor of their roost.
I don't have wings, but there's a handy series of steel bars set into the polished stone walls for me to use as handholds. Back when it was me and Iron-Talons and his ladybird, we made a rickety version when it became very apparent that I had no wings and couldn't fly like them. I still don't know what he told the neighbors when they came over. My best guess is that he lied about one of his chicks not being able to fly as well as the rest of the clutch. His daughter had always made a fuss downstairs whenever somebody pointed out the bars (loudly enough I could hear her from the pantry), and when she'd gotten older, when her feathers had turned grey with age, she had laughed and pointed at herself.
That was probably an age-related excuse. She'd always been quick on her feet when it came to thinking of lies- well, talons.
I haul my ass up onto the second floor and grab my solar rifle. Blue is chattering with somebody downstairs, and her voice is as high-pitched as its ever been. She sounds calm, but I've been living with these people long enough to know the difference between 'calm' and 'pretending to be calm' and this falls very squarely into the latter. (It's the scraping- I can hear her dragging her talons against the stone floor of her roost.)
I check my gun. I'm not a soldier, but I've gotten better at using it. It's probably the best possible weapon for my situation, which is... probably why it was included in the escape pod, honestly. It's relatively low power for a human energy weapon, but it runs off solar batteries. And if there's anything that this planet has, it's clear skies and a beaming sun. It's sturdy enough that I don't have to really maintain it (which is good, because I don't know how to do that) and there was a full crate of batteries- I've broken one or two but I've still got twelve left, and all they need to charge is the sun.
I slip back down, taking the rungs two at a time. Iron-Talons had yelled at me the first time I did it like this. The grouchy old bird had been sure I'd fall down and hurt myself in a way they couldn't fix. Despite the language barrier, he had made this very clear. Shouting was universal, and his mate had even drawn a helpful picture.
"What's wrong?" I ask, the second my boots are on the floor again. My family understands *me* better than I understand *them,* which is... honestly a bit disconcerting. They seem to *learn* faster than I do, and they've had twenty generations to learn my words. Blue, at the very least, knows what it sounds like when I ask a question.
Oh, and there are a few new birds in here. I call them birds, but they're closer to bipedal raptors. Which sounds cute, in concept, until you're up close to one. I love my family dearly, but Iron-Talons had been nearly eight feet tall (big even for one of them, I had learned) and I had been sure he was going to eat me when I'd woken up to find him staring at me. It had become apparent later on that he'd just been fucking confused, but at the time it'd been something out of a horror movie.
Blue looks at me and jerks her head towards the door. Her claws come up, and I watch them carefully. *Danger-Predator-Chase,* she signs. I would really have liked more information than that, but her claws make sign language... difficult. Her talons are amazing for slicing things, but... well, the downsides are the reason I'm the family protector and not just some weird alien pet.
The kids look terrified (not of me, but in general) while the new raptors are looking at me like I'm going to kill them, which is hilarious because they could probably rip me apart with their bare claws and is horrible because it makes my heart do that funny twisting thing it always does when I scare one of these people. They're also chattering at Blue with what I can only imagine are demands for some kind of explanation.
"How big?" I ask. I don't know if she fully grasps that, so I make an 'it was *this* big' gesture for emphasis. She mimics it with her wing-claws and I wince. My dear bird family has quite the wingspan, and she's still stretching her wings to get the idea across. "Fuck," I say. The kids make that little chittering thing that passes for a laugh with them, and although I hadn't thought it was possible, Blue's scowl deepens. They understand *that* alright. "Shit, sorry! I'm just going to..."
I bustle outside. The problem becomes immediately evident as something pulls itself over the cliff face that the family roost is built on. It's a mass of tentacles and grasping claws and armored scales, and I can immediately see why they need me to handle it. I *know* that Blue is a skilled warrior, just like her mother and her mother before her, but talons won't scratch those scales. I flick the safety on my rifle and I raise it as the thing barrels towards us. My gun hums to life, and I pull the trigger.
I've tried to teach the family to use it, just in case something happens to me, but it's never worked out. Apparently, you need opposable thumbs to wield a weapon like this.
The predator looks surprised as the green-white beam hits it head-on, and then its front half explodes into yellow, bloody chunks. The rest of it pitches off the cliff and falls back down. I wince in sympathy. It's likely already dead, but I know just how far down that fall is. I've had at least seven different generations fly me to the bottom because the youth of today always thinks it's funny to terrify their alien gun monkey. "All clear," I call, and turn back towards the roost.
The new raptors- and I recognize them now, they're our clan neighbors- stare at me. One of them, the largest, probably the leader of the family, raises a wing at me and squawks something I would feel confident betting is some variation of 'what the fuck.'
Blue rests her beak in a wing-talon and I half-laugh, half-cry, because I'm inevitably going to be dragged into this conversation as they try to explain the concept of an 'immortal' alien warrior with an instant death laser.
\----
Wanted to try this with a language barrier! It does sort of skimp a bit on focus on the age aspect- it's still *there* but it less the focus. I might write something from their perspective later. | "Come on, Zaza! We're almost there!", the young boy cheerily shouted from the distance. As he ran, his baggy clothing flowed with the wind.
The red meadow spanned across kilometers of the small planet, even further in the distance an unexplored mountain range of granite, as white as snow painted on the background of a crimson-tinted sky.
The man, Zaza, walked slowly following the enthusiastic boy.
"Slow down, Merik. I can't walk fast", Zaza said, dragging his still recovering body.
When Zaza finally caught up with the boy, he was sure the boy filled up his baggy clothes as his body seemingly grew in mere minutes. Or maybe his heavily bandaged head was playing tricks on him.
"Tell me, Merik. Why are we going to this cave again?", asked Zaza.
Merik, sitting on the red grass, counting rocks as he waited for Zaza to catch up looked up. He no longer had that baby face Zaza adored so much about the boy.
"My grandfather said his father and mother found you there! They said they pulled you out of a metal box!", answered Merik.
"That's impossible, Merik. If that's right, then I should've been dead by now. Your great grandparents lived around....ooh about 12 months ago?", Zaza squinted, crunching the numbers with his injured head. "Our race could only live for about 3 months right?"
Merik pouted and scratched his head before shooting up and locked his arm with Zaza's, propping his tired body up.
"Yeah...I don't know, Zaza. Maybe I remember it wrong. I wish I can ask dad about it", Merik lamented, remembering his late father who just passed away a week prior.
"I miss him too, Merik", Zaza said with great sadness.
"Do you remember him much? I can't really remember...I was born when he was at the end of his live", Merik said.
Zaza thought, trying hard to remember.
"To be honest, no. I can't even keep track of time while I'm still recovering...", Zaza said, exasperated.
"If you have to guess, how long have you been recovering?", Merik asked. "I feel like as long as I've been around, yoy've been around even longer"
Zaza chuckled at the ridiculous notion.
"Pfft can't be more than 3 months, can it? I'd say 2 months tops", Zaza said.
The two continued their journey for another day until finally the mountain range stoood before them and the cave opening was wide awaiting for their arrival.
"There we go, the cave", Merik said escorting Zaza closer.
At that point, Merik had grown taller than Zaza, and much stronger he could've picked Zaza on his back.
As the sun was nearing the horizon on the red planet, its light was spotted into the cave, giving the inside a much needed illumination.
Inside Zaza and Merik found a wreckage of a metallic vessel. Its sight struck a familiarity upon Zaza. Burst of memories previously blocked by the injury to his head came forward to the forefront of his mind.
"It's....my ship", Zaza muttered in disbelief.
"A ship? How can there be a ship here? We are far away from the river", Merik asked.
Zaza stumbled forward, brushing the dirt-filled body of the ship, revealing some writings:
*USS Spacefarer - To Boldly Go Where No One Has Gone Before*
"Star Trek. I...used to love that show. That's what made me wanting to be an astronaut", Zaza muttered, slowly remembering.
"This ship doesn't sail the river, Merik it dails the space", informed Zaza much to Merik' confusion.
"Space? You mean where the stars are?", Merik asked.
Zaza nodded as he went to the open cockpit. Longingly he brushed the dashboard-- the buttons and lights, the levers and steering wheel, all felt familiar on the tip of his fingers.
Zaza paused as he came upon a picture, its colors still stood the test of time.
"What is it, Zaza?", asked Merik.
It was a picture of Zaza in his NASA uniform and a young woman by his side, smiling. On the back of the picture something was written:
*One day I'll return from the stars for you, my dearest Emily*
*Love, Zachary*
*October 23, 2021*
It all came back to Zaza then. The space mission, the crash, the injury causing his amnesia.
Zaza hurriedly started pressing buttons until the backup power whirred back to live momentarily. The ship kept up the date and its age since it crash landed on the planet.
Zaza's eyes widened reading the ship had been there for 1 year and 2 months since it crashed.
"Zaza? What is it?", Merik asked, worried seeing Zaza's pale face.
Zaza felt a sense of dread as everything he thought he knew or remember about himself was false. He wasn't an inhabitant of thr planet, he was a stranger coming from the stars.
He hadn't lived normally like everybody did, for 3 months. He remembered it then in fractured memories, every faces of Merik's family-- his great grandparents, his grandparents, his parents, and eventually Merik and his siblings. He has outlived every single one of them, those who had cared for him.
"Zaza!", Merik ran to Zaza as he stumbled, overwhelmed.
Slowly Zaza fell unconscious, Merik's voice echoed again and again calling his name.
Edit: a word | 2021-10-22T18:38:42 | 2021-10-22T17:05:31 | 326 | 122 |
[WP] being the grim reaper is pretty lonely, you only ever meet people once to escort them to the other side and most don’t want to talk. Except this one soul, who every week without fail shows up ready to make the journey. How he gets back I have no idea, but it’s nice to see a familiar face. | The first time I met her I thought nothing of it. Car crash killing a bystander with a shrapnel shard isn't uncommon. She was not unusual in how she didn't seem phased. The depressive youth often aren't when they pass. But no reaper expects to see a face twice. So when the next day she was struck by lightning I was somewhat surprised but disfigured as she was I could have been mistaken. The third time her name arose in my ledger I made sure to check.
"No not a twin." She smiled and began wiping the blood from her hands onto her dress. "I have a brother and sister though but they're both alive. And uh, they don't live round these parts."
"Then you are in fact the only Ruby Delavine?" I frown, something was amiss.
"Uh..." She pauses as if contemplating her answer. "I guess someone else could have my name but I'm the only me that is me if you catch my drift?"
"This is your third death in as many days."
"True, true." She shrugs, "guess I just got lucky and got to go home. Clerical errors must happen right?"
"Your first death was by a severed spinal cord, second by lightning and now by twenty eight stab wounds to the neck chest and legs. Clerical errors cannot happen to confirmed desceased."
"Strange. I guess I'll see you around." She winks at me but I ignore it.
"You won't." I say as I lead her away. "The dead stay dead."
Or so I thought.
Every once in a while she will die and walk her merry way back out again. Sometimes only once a week, sometimes more, even multiple times a day she will die. Sometimes horribly sometimes peacefully. In the past few months I've seen almost every kind of death on record from lethal radiation exposure, heart failures, multiple counts of murder through various means, dozens of deadly diseases, the list goes on and on. This woman will not stay dead. I don't complain exactly; it's nice to talk to someone who isn't dead or another reaper so I've kept my mouth shut. Speaking out could get her soul destroyed and I've come to think somewhat kindly of her.
"You know it was nice all he did was try to eat me." She says as she nudges her corpse with her foot.
"I thought cannibalism was frowned upon?" I ask as I put away my scythe.
"Yeah but he could have done way worse." She laughs as she turns to me, "Like honestly I was expecting something like kidnapping or rape when he charged up like that screaming about how perfect I was."
"Miss Delavine you perplex me. But it is time to escort you to the beyond. You know you must not linger."
"Surely you can have a little leeway for a regular?"
"There are no regulars. Only a single anomaly. Come now. Hell awaits."
"Except of course it doesn't." She rolls her eyes and begins to follow me. The world around us fading. "You know I'll be here again shortly so why bother?"
"I cannot shirk my duties."
"Not even a little?"
"Not even a little."
"Shame. I wanted to hang around a little longer this time. I was getting used to having that life"
"Pardon?" I stop suddenly. What did she mean that life?
"Haven't you worked it out?"
"What do you mean worked it out?"
"Seriously? You turn up globally for me. I'm never in the same place long I die randomly from random shit and you haven't noticed?" Now that she mentioned it her deaths had often been bizzaire. A few instances of sudden aggressive late stage cancers, a cystic fibrosis related death, around a dozen diabetic deaths...
"Why do you think I get taken to hell?" She asked with a sigh.
"Same reason as everyone else. Your life was sinful and so you go there to repent in order to enter heaven."
"Nah." She gives a bitter laugh, "this lil' lady has a deal with the devil."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm friends with Lucifer. Or more specifically my mum was and me by proxy."
"What?"
"Oh would you look at the time." She begins walking downwards towards hell , "I'm going to be late for dinner, Luci can't stand it when people miss meals, seya!" | I’ve never caught his name, and considering most the time I’m intoxicated I probably wouldn’t remember it anyway.
“Hey, can I ask how you die every time?” I ask. I flip open the lid of my flask and offer him some - he declines so I drink.
“I’ve been killing myself.”, he doesn’t look at me. His eyes remain empty, but not the unsettling kind.
I laugh at myself and him, “How haven’t you gotten it right by now?”
He raises his head and it isn’t hard to notice the bubbling scares on his arms, the fresh slit across his throat bleeds red.
“Hopefully this time I have,” he reaches out his hand for the alcohol and I had it to him. “Nothing to live for out there.”
I grind my teeth wishing I knew what it was like. The other side. Sometimes I feel a bit of nostalgia as if at some point I knew what it was like to live for someone or something, but for centuries it’s just been this - traveling back and forth for no reason in particular.
“That damn hospital won’t let me be.” he said.
My empty orbital sockets long for eye contact “Just a hospital?”
“No, mental hospital. I’ve been there since I was a kid.” | 2019-02-22T04:03:52 | 2019-02-22T01:49:39 | 81 | 21 |
[WP] You have an unusual superpower - you absorb one ability of anything that bites you and breaks your skin. You get bitten by a dog? You suddenly have super hearing. Stung by a jellyfish? Immortality. For the first time in your life - you are bitten by a human.
You can assume a host of powers in your character already formed and honed. But do tell us what powers they have, what they got it from and how it links. Give us something fun and entertaining!
edit: I'd like to thank everyone that responded to the prompt, everyone who upvoted (and downvoted - yes, your opinions matter too), and everyone who commented. I enjoyed reading your stories, and you all leave me wanting more! Keep writing and keep reading! | The first time I was Bitten was by my cat. At first it was a bite like any other, I yelped at the sharp pain blossoming from the back of my hand, and watched the crimson droplets slowly well up from the wound. I was entranced. Staring at the blood, I knew something was different this time. I'd been bitten before, but this time I had been... Bitten. Capital B. I had no idea how different it really was.
It was only later that afternoon that I came to understand just how I had changed. I was stepping out to cross the street, headphones blaring, eyes locked onto the screen before my eyes, oblivious to the world around me. Suddenly a horn blared through the music, my head whipped around just in time to see the horror on the driver's face. Their next ten years flashed through their eyes, as my last ten seconds slowed to an eternity in mine. I remember the impact clearly. The weightlessness as my limp body was thrown into the air. The audible crack as my skull collided with the asphalt. The sensation of losing sensation as my life oozed from the back of my head. I vaguely remember the screaming, a muffled noise in the background as my hearing and vision faded to nothing, the sirens soon added to the muted cacophony. I don't remember the ambulance ride at all. Next thing I know I'm waking up on a stainless steel table, my body whole and undamaged. I sat up to look around, and saw what I could only believe to be a coroner's office. Surgical tools, laid out with precision on a tray next to what should have been my corpse. The halogen light above me glaring down, threatening to burn its image into my retinas if I were foolish enough to look at it directly. All of that was negligible compared to the itch in the back of my hand, which burned and demanded my full attention. The number eight tattooed in scarlet. Red was definitely my colour that day.
I was Bitten by a venomous spider next. A Black Widow to be precise, painful to say the least. It was worth it though, after that I could walk on any surface as if it were flat ground, defying all common sense as I strolled along the ceilings of my home. Seven.
The third Bite was while I was swimming in the reefs just off the coast of eastern Australia. I had cut my leg on a jagged piece of coral. Just a small split in my skin, just below the knee, but enough to bleed. Enough to attract the wrong kind of attention from the local wildlife. It's said that shark bites are an unpleasant business at the best of times, I can tell you that the lethal ones are far worse. Being able to breathe underwater was a welcome addition to my growing pool of powers though. Six.
Black mamba. Producing deadly venom. Five.
Stung repeatedly by a swarm of hornets. I could fire a bolt of bone the size of a sewing needle from any finger. Four.
Savaged by a crocodile when I fell overboard on a tour of the river Nile. I could bite through steel. Three.
Mauled by a polar bear in the Arctic Circle. I became stronger than any before me. Two.
Hunted down by a cheetah while backpacking through the Serengeti. I could sprint a hundred metres in under six seconds. One.
By this point I was beyond all others. I was the pinnacle in human evolution, a living weapon that could walk into a building from an open window on the 18th floor. I could kill a man silently from across the room by pointing my finger and firing a sliver of bone, slathered in venom. I could bite through any chains that would bind my prodigious strength, if they could catch me in the first place. Many had tried to drown me, but of course that failed too. So who could blame me for being arrogant when faced with a drunkard in a bar? I had bested him in combat, he had stood no chance against me and I knew it. So I gloated. I leaned in close and told him what he was compared to me. Trash. Barely worthy of my notice. An insignificant speck of dust on the grand tapestry of my life. That was the moment he chose. He lunged forward faster than I thought anybody other than myself could move, I was frozen in shock that he would dare continue his resistance. His teeth latched onto my throat a moment before he jerked his head savagely to the side, tearing my windpipe open. He had Bitten me. There is one trait that all of humanity shares, whether they make use of it, or leave it to waste away, we are all stubborn to a fault.
This time I refused to die. | Life was pointless if you're a piece of chicken breast.
I gasped as I could smell my incredibly tasty, crispy skin. "Mmmmm..." I found myself saying, as I licked my delicious, greasy, heart destroying lips.
"What...in the f--"
That's when I realized that while I was enjoying my deliciousness, someone else was also enjoying me.
Well, *was* being the keyword.
As in, he is no longer sharing in my tastiness. I felt his hands holding me further away from his face and down towards his plate. "Are you seeing this?" the male voice asked.
I opened my eyes to see my crumbs sticking to his chin via all of my grease. "AUUUAGH!" he shouted, dropping me to his plate.
"*Umph,*" I grunted. Even a small drop hurt.
His bite had given me consciousness, although it obviously came with its drawbacks; I could enjoy my deliciously yummy face, but I could also recognize his look of horror and disgust.
"Oh. MY. **GOD!**" the lady yelled.
"Ohhhh boy," I said under my aromatic breath.
"**THROW IT OUT! THROW IT OUT!**" she shouted at him, although he was more than eager to.
He immediately shook his plate into the trash bag, knocking me in with the napkins, plastic wraps, and banana peels, before tying it up and throwing the entire bag into the trash can.
"Mmmmmm..." I said, still enjoying my taste, before a rancid smell finally overcame it and assaulted my smell buds. "Hey, who ripped it in here? It stinks!"
"Sorry," the old bread replied. "That would be me." | 2017-06-28T17:07:23 | 2017-06-28T15:19:30 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black.
I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed.
At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to.
Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle.
Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through.
It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured.
I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door.
"Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right.
"Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded.
"Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone.
With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item.
"Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle.
My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk.
As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler.
I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years.
I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes.
I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black.
*Don't tell them you can see.*
What the hell does that mean? Who's them?
I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store.
Who...what the fuck is that...
"John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was...
Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea.
I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth.
"Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter.
As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before?
Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk.
That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black.
As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit.
It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder.
My entire body tensed up.
"We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile. | I see walls covered with writings.
I see floors painted with blood.
I see surfaces, chairs, refrigerators and any available surface to draw on plastered with the same damn message.
*"Whatever you do, Don't tell them you can see."*
Whispers of instruction fill my head.
"Hush. Do not speak of your sight."
I follow blindly, just as I was blind before.
Color, restored. But fear, still dwelling.
I thought a life with color was worth living.
Everyday, I crept onto the scene, acting blindly like I was.
It was no difference to having sight, than losing it.
Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months.
Somehow, it has become a chore to maintain such a gift.
To have sight, but not be able to share it. To gain vision, but not be able to show it.
Months turn into years. And the day goes on.
Blindness has kept my sanity.
Yet, vision has driven me mad.
I look at the table. A pencil on the drawer.
"It's enough," I say. "This will do."
With force, I stab my left eye, blood gushing onto the scene!
I cry, yet I remain silent.
I see now what the warnings have been. I see now who has written them.
With my blood, I draw at the table in front of me. A surface large enough for my message.
I need to warn them. I need to tell them what will happen to them.
Before I lose my sight, I write my one, last message I will witness.
***"Whatever you do, Don't tell them you can see."*** | 2022-10-09T01:59:27 | 2019-08-26T09:05:53 | 4,287 | 39 |
[WP] In Monsters Inc., A monster goes in one door to scare a child, only to find that the child had made a demonic sacrifice in his bedroom. The child thinks that the monster is a gift from Satan. | I reviewed the file as I approached the door. Age 12 years? That must be a mistake; we never go after them older than 8.
"Jerry, you sure this is the right kid? He's almost a teenager."
Jerry shrugged four of his shoulders. "I double checked it. Technically his screams will work too. They must be getting desperate for doors if we're going after this demographic though."
I quickly glanced through the rest of the information and room layout. Probably best to go with a simple "Peak and 'Eek.'" For you non-scarers out there, it's a more cautious approach whereby I slowly open the door after applying some rusting spray to get that perfect eerie creak. I stay in the shadows so that he can only see my eyes, and then just when his curiosity is about to get the better of him, I *lunge* forward and scare the living daylights out of him. It's a classic.
The door was plain and white, but there was something off. There were scratches on it. Deep ones down to the wood, with some flecks of red. "What the... Hey Jerry, what's with this door?"
"Who cares? Just get in and get the screams and get out, man. We've got a quota to meet."
Jerry was right. 12 year olds get scared too. Some even more so with those crazy hormones running around their brains. I loosened my shoulders and stepped inside. The closet was pretty dark, I could see a flickering light from outside through the slats. Perfect; that's why they'd assigned this one to me. The little sucker still slept with a night light! That would really accentuate my horns while I lurked. They are my best feature, you know.
I misted the hinges slightly and opened the door just an inch or so. It let out the perfect, ominous creak. *Excellent.* I gave it a gentle shove then shrank back, allowing myself to be enveloped by the shadows.
The first thing I noticed was the candles. Ten of them, arranged in a star. *Not a nightlight,* I realized. *Crap.* They were tall and black, dripping wax onto the boring white carpet; that would be hard to clean.
The next thing I noticed was the blood. That would be even *harder* to clean. It glistened ominously in the candle light. I don't know how I knew what it was, but I was instantly sure. 100% definitely blood, drawn into runes in the center of a pentagram.
I stepped forward out of the closet, trying to get a better look. *Just get the screams and get out*, I told myself. *No need to figure out what's wrong with this kid. Just find him, roar, and get out of here.*
Above me, I found the source of the blood: a disembowled cat, hanging from the light fixture on a silver chain. Its face was frozen into a permanent expression of pain and suffering. Clotting blood crusted its formerly orange fur. *Oh god,* I thought. *They sent me to another monster's room*.
Cold metal circled my writst, and I heard the *click* of the handcuffs locking into place. "You're exactly what I wanted," a voice whispered into my ear, and blood-soaked hands stroked my horns. I let out a high, shrill, girlish squeal so loud it would have shattered ear drums.
"Perfect, we got it!" I heard Jerry call out. "Come on home!"
Then the closet door closed behind me, and I was trapped in this world. | (NSFL?)
The animal was sliced down the middle, splayed open and all gorelike. It's heart was visibly faltering and sputtering, little spits of organ juice popping and splashing like the sea against sharp rocks. Tufts of tabby fur were bloodied and stewn around the floor. A circle was drawn around the pet - crudely, like crayon on the wall on the floor.
The door opened hesitantly. The child looked up, his eyes wide enough that they looked as if the white eyeballs, shining and slimy, bulging intense and ready, might plop right onto the hard wood.
"Kitty?" | 2015-03-07T13:15:13 | 2015-03-07T12:32:58 | 116 | 13 |
[WP] You have the power to wipe memories. Instead of becoming a super villain like your brother, you started a service for people who want to watch the same movie over again for the first time. | "Cathy," I said to my receptionist. "How many more are there?"
"Two more before lunch, sir."
"Any appointments after that?"
"No, sir. You have the rest of the day off."
"Thanks, Cathy. If you want, you can leave. I'll close up."
Cathy beamed at me and mouthed the words "Thank you."
"Alright, send the next one in."
-----
"Hello, ma'am. My name is Eric Campbell."
"Jenna Terry," she said with a hint of a British accent.
"How may I help you, Miss Terry?"
"I was told you have a particular set of skills, Mr. Campbell. I was hoping you'd put them to use for me."
"Of course, ma'am. That's what we do at Memorase. Now, which movie do you want me to get rid of?"
Her eyes welled up. Her cheeks flushed into a warm crimson shade. She took out a napkin from her over-sized purse and held it to her nose.
"Jenna, what is the matter? Is it porn? You don't have to be ashamed of anything here. I believe in a strict code of doctor-patient confidentiality and even though I am not a doctor, I have a code that is loosely based on that concept. Come on, Jenna. You can tell me."
"I... I don't remember the name of the movie."
"Good god, Jenna."
-----
It was my turn to panic.
Memories are bad code. They were clumsy. They were chaotic. They were cluster-fucks of unbelievable depth. But they worked because of naming. Every memory has a name, a name that cannot be assigned to any other location.
"That time I fell in the lake" is vastly different from "That time I fell in the lake 1". It was the principle all search engines were built on. So, no matter how much volume of data was present, an extractor could identify and retrieve the data. But once a system forgot the address, it was near to impossible. The only alternative was to do to a clean wipe of everything.
-----
"Jenna, have you tried remembering?"
She nodded yes amidst all the tears running down her face.
"Okay. Do you remember when you saw this movie?"
Her muffled screams got louder. Bad news.
"Ten or fifteen years ago."
Fucking bitch.
-----
This was the most annoying problem with storage. They are arranged by date. And your brain is always on recording mode, just like the camera on your laptop. Every single utterly useless and unimportant memory is stored, labelled, and thrown down the dump. Some of it gets lost in transport and some of it is kept hidden by your brain for confidentiality purposes. But other than that, it is all out there.
-----
"THEN WHY THE FUCK DO YOU WANT TO DELETE IT NOW?"
I had lost it.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Campbell. I am so sorry. I should go," she said and made a run for the door.
"Jenna, stop."
She did.
"I shouldn't have gotten mad. Take your seat."
She did.
"Why do you want to delete it now?"
"Mr. Campbell, about a week ago, I was in bed when I got back flashes of memories from this movie. I can remember some scenes from it - a bicycle chase through an empty street, a fight scene with water bottles and a passionate kiss between a man and a penguin. But I couldn't remember the name."
"Okay."
"Every minute since then, I have been trying to figure it out. Literally, Mr. Campbell. I haven't slept peacefully in a week. I haven't had a proper meal. I haven't touched my husband. I almost got fired at work yesterday because I wasn't paying attention in the Annual Narcotics Abolition League meeting. I don't want to live like this, Mr. Campbell. Please help me."
-----
If a coder had designed the brain, he would have been hanged two days into the testing. The memory routinely processes a garbage input when it is in stand-by mode, checks the location and brings up data you had no desire to bring up. And once the data resurfaced, it was hard to figure out its location or suppress it. It was a part of human life. No idea why it is.
-----
"Alright, Jenna. I am going to help you. But this is between us. You can never speak about it to anyone. Remember my code?"
"Yes, Mr. Campbell."
"Okay," I said and tore off a piece of paper from a notebook nearby. "Go to the Donovan Bank on 52nd street. There will be two gentlemen standing at the entrance with guns and ski-masks over their face. Show them this paper. Go in and ask for Bruce Campbell. He will be the one in a teddy bear mask. Show him this paper and tell him that Eric sent you. Tell him your problem. He'll know what to do."
"Thank you, Mr. Campbell. Thank you so much."
-----
"Next," I yelled out, causing a young lad to walk into the room and sheepishly sit down on the chair in front of me.
"What movie do you want me to get rid of, sir?"
"The sixth sense," he flashed an embarrassed grin.
This is what I signed up for. This was my tramp stamp. This was routine. Thank god.
-----
"I know you were the one who deleted Mom's memory of having a second son, asshole. -
Surgeon. "
Bruce read the paper the woman gave him.
"Alright, let's make this quick, woman. I have another bank to get to. Close your eyes and count to ten."
The difference between a surgeon and a butcher.
----- | “Two people please?”
I look up from the booth,only to face a elderly couple dressed in a tuxedo and gown.
“Ah yes. What movie would you like?”
I step out from the booth,towering over the couple.
I see a silver bell floating over the male’s left shoulder.
“Gone with the wind,the old one if you’d mind sir.”
The male’s voice exudes warmth and nobility,but frail.
“Of course. Would you come inside? The weather is freezing outside,and I have a reputation to uphold.”
I guide my guests through the abandoned theater,lowering my head so it doesn’t hit the door. The couple don’t seem to mind my spindly fingers.
As the couple enters,I step back into the booth. The winter air is cold,but the carols and streetlights make up for it.
Best time to call a awkward family member.
“Malak?”
The carol from the radio screeches to a halt.
Shadows coalesce in the mirror,and a small boney hand holding a silver bell grasps the edge.
“A word if you wouldn’t mind.”
A tiny skull wreathed in shadow slowly emerges,with bony wings on its stretched back.
“You defy us.”
“Just a hour.”
“The two mortals were destined to die in the last hour. Our mercy is at its end. Now bring them out of your domain so that the bell may toll.”
“Just one more hour?”
The wall papers crackle and sigh as the destroyer angel walks towards me. The mummified baby’s wing stretches across the room,blocking the street lamp’s light.
“This defiance will not go unpunished. If you wish not to join lucifer,we would advise you watch your tongue.”
But with that the shadows fall back,and once again the radio sings a carol.
I adjust the heater so the theater is warmer. Wouldn’t want my guests to have a terrible cold from the angel’s wrath.
I step into the theater a hour later just as a small bell chimes. I slowly walk towards the lady,who was still leaning on her dead husband. I hold her hand as a tear runs down her face.
“Young man?”
“Yes,Ma’am?”
“Terribly sorry to put this burden on you.”
Her grip loosens,and I see the bell gently shaking. I shake my head.
“No problem Ma’am. I can ease your pain if you’d like.”
“No. I’d like to remember this if I can. Thank you.”
With a small chime,her hand goes limp. I hold it in my talons for a while,until the warmth leaves.
I call the police,and step into the moldy basement.
I sift through the shelf of bottles,until I find a small clay jar.
The children of adam and eve always made me cry.
I dream of eden as I pull my pillow,and pat Mr.Teddy on the back. | 2018-01-11T23:16:44 | 2018-01-11T18:54:31 | 50 | 19 |
[WP] You look into the mirror but you see no one. You panic but then you see yourself still sitting down, reading. Your reflection then notices you. "Ah dammit!" She hastily goes to match you but she knows it's futile. "Uhm. Just forget about that okay?" she asks. | ..Huh?
I blink. Still no one. I blink again. Okay, this is getting stupid. I pinch my nose shut and try to breathe through it. Doesn't work. Okay, not a dream either. I consider every possibiltiy but can come to no logical conclusion as to why the man in the mirror is-
Wait. Is that me? In the mirror? Sitting on my mirrored bed? Reading a mirrored book? And- oh crap, has he just noticed me? Or, err, have I just noticed me?
They quickly ditch the book and run up to the mirror and to my exact pose. I blink again. All is normal. No way. I haven't gone insane, right? Bullshit. I wave my hand, but mirror-me replicates it perfectly. I pretend to walk away only to turn around unexpectedly, but mirror-me does the same.
Eventually, they cave: "Uh, okay.. sorry, just forget about that, okay?"
I swear I am going insane.
"What the fuck?"
No response. I consider just walking away, getting some sleep and hopefully forgetting everything once I wake up. But at the same time..
"Nuh uh. Tell me whats going on here." I say to the mirror, and the mirror mouths back to me.
I stand there for a few minutes, awaiting a response. They know they're not getting out of this one, so they respond.
"Okay, fine. What do you want?" Suddenly their posture drops, they no longer follow my movement and they stand there very casually. The charade is over.
"Who are you?"
"The man in the mirror, duh."
"Are you the man in every mirror?"
"No, just this one."
"What if the mirror broke? Like, into two pieces? Would you be the man in both?"
"What if I seperated your brain hemispheres and put each half into a different skull? Who would be you?"
"Uhh.."
"Exactly."
Well, this was unsettling. My mirror self just made my skin crawl. But I want to know more. This is huge. Or a really vivid trip. Anyways.
"So does every mirror have one mirror person or does every human have one mirror counterpart?"
"Look man, I really would like to get back to work. It's already bad enough that we're having this conversation."
"Okay, one last thing."
"Ugh."
"Are you me?"
"No, but I can look like you. I can look like anyone."
"Is this like your job? Are you a shapeshifter?"
"You said only one thing."
"Please."
"Yeah, it is basically my job. There are a lot of things in your world that seem like science but are actually controlled manually by us."
"Who is 'us'?"
"Im serious, if I keep talking to you then they might-"
Suddenly, an unimaginable shape appears behind them. I turn around, but its only in the mirror. The shape, I'm not sure what color it is or how to describe it, morphs into a muscular man in a black suit upon noticing my presence. To take the load of its impossible appearence off of my poor brain, I assume.
They grab mirror-me by the back collar if their shirt -my shirt, technically- and lift them up.
"You fucking idiot." They say to mirror-me, looking quite angry.
Not sure what to do, I just stand there and kinda watch this whole thing unfold. I hope im not in any trouble. I *really* hope I'm not in any trouble.
They turn to me and say "Forget everything you saw here, kid. No one will believe you anyway."
They carry mirror-me away, out through my mirror door and presumably into- okay, I have no idea what their mirror logistics are, maybe I should have inquired about that first.
Before I can think too long about it, another mirror-me, presumably a different one, steps in from just out of view and takes my same position and same confused face. That was a few years ago, and I haven't been able to replicate it since.
Maybe I should lay off the Hallucinogenics.
\---------------
Hope you enjoyed it. If you did: how | I stood in disbelief, my book falling to the floor. As I spun around wildly, I saw nothing. The pounding in my heart began to fill my ears and when I realized there was no one else in the room, my eyes widened and the hair on my neck rose to attention.
“Don’t freak out, please don’t freak out” the duplicate in the mirror said, sounding more scared than I felt. “If my boss finds out I’ll never get another chance!”
I want to say my mind raced thinking about what to do. But the truth is I reflexively picked up the book and threw it at the mirror. As the pieces fell and the clinking of the glass subsided, I caught my reflection on the ground. Looking into the pile of mirror on the ground, I caught my eye. Maybe it was me who winked, but I don’t think my eyes ever closed. With sweating palms I left and grabbed the broom and began to sweep. The book I was reading was gone, but that mystery was soon answered. Sitting on the bed I saw my reflection gingerly close the book and lift jet black eyes to mine. “Thanks for the help” was the last thing I heard before my head hit the floor. | 2021-06-02T13:13:22 | 2021-06-02T10:23:34 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] The instant the Dark Lord hears the prophecy about one destined to defeat him, he scoffs and notes "Standard self-fulfilling hero prophecy." before ordering his minions to go to the hero's hometown and build a bunch of public works projects, the most important of which is a school. | # Self-fulfilling prophecy
***They came in the summer of my thirtieth year. It almost seemed too good to be true at first; and oh how it was.***
There was a general murmur of fear throughout the village when the procession of the Dark Lord's minions first appeared on the road. “We paid our grain taxes for the year, we can't afford another, Maric. No good will come of this,” the old chief of the village council said. He stood with me on the hill overlooking the road watching them approach the village. Gripping his cane so hard the knuckles of his wizened hand turned white. I in turn kept my hand on my sword, my grip just as firm. As the captain of the village guard, it was my duty to keep everyone safe. I knew I couldn't. The pitiful guard only consisted of five men, four of which were drunks, myself included. The other to old to even hold a blade properly. None other than me with any real training so to speak. I was only made captain because I’d served in the wars, back when the king of this land thought it possible to still rebel against the Dark lord. Before he realized rolling over and doing whatever he demanded was better than losing your head. A lesson that while coming too late for the king, we would heed today.
I placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder, “Come on old man, best give them whatever they want and be done with it. No good can come of fighting back.” I knew that all too well. He sighed out a long breath, his shoulders sagging and followed me back down the hill to the village gates.
It was to our great surprise then when the minions— men who had given over their souls and bodies to the Dark Lord to corrupt. Greeted us with those smiles that never quite touched their blood-red eyes, and told us of all the wonders they had planned to build for our village. There was an energy about the village after that, that giddiness that comes after a huge sense of relief. That coupled with the good news and the whole village was practically buzzing. I had my reservations but they came with row after row of carts to build. It seemed too elaborate a ruse for our small village, so slowly I began to believe too. Silencing in the small voice in my head that echoed old man’s words over and over again; *no good will come of this.*
My wife was absolutely thrilled with the prospect, she’d always lamented the fact that our children couldn't get a proper education in the village like we had as children in the city. When we chose to move here after the war we hadn't even thought about such things. We just wanted to be as far away as possible from the lands ravished by war.
Looking at my Beth now, getting our twins ready for school, I was taken aback by how much it meant to me too. Jim and Sally would always be children to me. It seemed so hard imagining them grown-up having their own separate lives when they always did everything together. Perhaps that was a failing of mine as a father. I should've made sure they had every opportunity for a good future, but it always seemed like there would be so much time. Well, I was glad that it was being taken out of my hands and being done. They were only five still young enough to get a good start. My daughter came over to me to place a goodbye kiss on my cheek, always on the left. She didn't like kissing the scarred skin on the right side. My son followed reluctantly and lightly pecked my check, perhaps he felt he was getting too old for it. I felt otherwise, I grabbed them both in a sweeping hug and swang them around. “And are you going to fix their clothes again when you're done throwing them about?” Beth said raising one eyebrow questioningly.
I placed the kids down and cleared my throat. “Umm well no, I wouldn't want to have to upstage your work,” I said as I walked over to my wife and grabbed her by the waist.
“Oh really is that so? Do you even know how to tie a ribbon in your daughter’s hair” she said as I felt her press against my chest.
“EWW you guys are gonna be gross, come on, Jim.” My daughter said, as she grabbed her brother’s hand and they made their way to the door.
“Wait for me,” Beth called after them, and as smooth as an eel she slipped out of my arms.
“Do you need to take them? It’s the second week surely they know their way by now?” I said as I stepped closer.
“No, but all the women in the town have been summoned to the school today. Old and young alike, they said they're going to be picking teachers from among us.” She spoke while walking away from me, a wary eye on my hands.
“Only women can be teachers? That hardly seems fair” I said as I attempted to grab her again and failed.
“What can I say? Everyone knows women are more sensible than men.” She shot me that mischievous smile as she slipped out the door and hurried after the kids. That smile had only gotten more beautiful to me since the first time I saw it fifteen years ago.
I donned my armour and made my way through the village. Heading to the opposite end from the school, to check on the construction perimeter wall. The Dark Lords’ work hadn’t been without incident. There had been problems with the minions, some had taken liberties with a farm girl when they first came. The first incident was brushed off by the village council, the minions told us it was our way to show *gratitude* to the Dark lord. The council flung my own words back at me and said, no good can come of fighting back. So again I had tried to silence that voice in the back of my head, *no good will come of this.* There had been more minor incidence since. But nothing too severe and they seemed to cherish the children, it was remarkable how they hadn’t let the children want for anything since they arrived. It seemed enough to have everyone look the other way when a man was beaten in the street or goods were taken from a shop. If the minions were involved it was considered “*showing our gratitude.*”
I arrived by the wall and saw two of the minions walking toward the gate, one man tall as the other was short. leading horses laden with travel packs. I moved closer to overhear their conversation. The taller man was speaking in a hushed voice to the smaller man. “Stop worrying you know the prophecy as well as I do. The one capable of slaying the Dark Lord would've been created in this village by today. The Dark Lord’s plan is excessive. Why should we spend the rest of our lives making sure that brat has a good childhood.” He rested his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder then. "Trust me this will work, when we explain how we put all the children in the school and all the women in case any are pregnant and burned it. He’ll see that surely we must have killed the prophesied one. Then he'll reward us-”
The end of the man's sentence didn’t leave his mouth before I parted his head from his shoulders, the shorter man’s head followed suit a breath later. I grabbed the reins of the nearest horse and spurred it to act as fast as it would go. I heard the screams before I saw the smoke.
I arrived at the schoolhouse, the red-eyed men had their backs to the burning remains of the school, spears levelled at the congregated village folk. The bodies of those that had tried to fight them lay strewn about at their feet, I recognized the remnants of my guard among them. The screaming from inside was over now, the screaming from outside was about to begin. I dismounted, drew my sword and walked toward the dead men still holding spears.
What was left of the man I was died that day, the final clinging fragments torn away in anguish and grief as we buried the ashes of our dead. The fires of vengeance forged me anew, into a being of singular purpose. I would pay back the Dark Lord for his gratitude in turn, with blood. | *The Dark Lord stood over the hero, his black armor pulling in the dying light of the fading sun.*
*“You thought you could defeat me,” the Dark Lord said, his laughter peeled across the ruined landscape.*
*The hero tried to get up one last time, his jeweled claymore hanging heavy in his hand, but the Dark Lord kicked him down again with his plated boots, stepped down on the hero’s sword hand with a crunch, then pointed Black Star, the Dark Lord’s great mace at the hero. “The Chosen One, huh. So, you are the one they have made all the fuss about. Pity,” the Dark Lord said, “I thought you would be more of a challenge.”*
*The hero touched the magic stone on his necklace and summoned all his strength. He would not let everyone down. Not after all he’d been through. And the Hero screamed out, sweeping with his legs, catching the Dark Lord by the back of the knee and dropping him in a clanking of metal.*
*The hero crawled to his feet and reached for his claymore. “It is my destiny,” the hero roared and—*
“James!” someone shouted, and I bolted up and back, my chair sliding across the tile.
The room filled with the laughter of the other boys and girls as I blinked and looked around, orienting myself back to Ms. Rutherford and her lecture on ecology. The other students were staring at me. Becky looked at me with a sort of embarrassed sadness, Ricky—in the far back of the room—had a malignant grin stretched across his freckled face.
Ms. Rutherford was looming over me and she reached out with a chalk-dusted hand and grabbed the papers I had been writing my story on about the hero and the Dark Lord. She stood there a long time, and it seemed she was going to lecture me, or scold me, but then she changed her mind and turned back towards the chalkboard with my precious story still in hand.
“See me after class, James.”
I didn’t respond.
After everyone left class and—since it was the last class of the day—headed home, I stepped up to Ms. Rutherford’s desk. She was leaning forward, reading a piece of paper and didn’t, or at least acted like she didn’t, notice that I was standing there waiting patiently for her to acknowledge me.
Finally, she looked up, as thought she was surprised to see me.
“More of this?” she said and lifted the paper into the air, and I realized it was my writing she had been reading. She sighed. “James, why are you so fascinated with this local legend?”
“It’s not a legend,” I said. “It’s true.”
Immediately, I regretted disagreeing with her. I was tired and I wanted to get home and finish the story. The Dark Lord would be defeated, and my pen would make it true.
“If you were caught writing this?” She said and let the implication of the question hang in the air.
I nodded defiantly as though I wasn’t scared of what would happen. Azazel could send me to prison for life, but it wouldn’t change the fact that the prophecy would be fulfilled someday. If it wasn’t true, why had Azazel, a "great" and mighty lord, spent so much care on our little town? Why had he installed the Legions regional headquarters right outside of our little town? Why did we have more guards walking the streets. Why was their mysterious signs offering rewards for those who could give information that was deemed vital to the state’s national security?
No, the prophecy would be fulfilled by someone here. My father told me about it all at night, after he had drunk from the bottom half of the bottle of wine he had opened. My father was a recluse and seen by the village as a mysterious figure because of his magic—or what seemed to be magic—ability to find huge patches of the Hilal mushrooms deep within the Evernight forest that bordered our town. The Hilal mushroom was one of our town’s main exports to the capital where they used it in potions and powder for the imperial war of expansion along the south borders.
“James?” Ms. Rutherford said. “No more of this, okay? It’s dangerous. You’re just a kid and you don’t understand what can happen.” She crumpled the papers into a ball and threw them in her waist basket. “Get home safe,” she said and then grabbed a stack of papers to grade.
I turned and walked out of the class and towards my home. I stepped into the courtyard of our school and stared up at the statue of Azazel. Recently built, the statue rose as a colossal into the evening sky, the king (or the Dark Lord as my father called him) was in his ceremonial black plated armor, his great morning star pointing towards our school as though warning us.
I stared up at him and touched the necklace hanging under my shirt.
“It is my destiny!” I shouted and ran to the feet of the statue as though I was carrying out a valiant charge. The statue stared past me indifferently and I pulled my backpack tight and began the long walk home to my father who was surely drying mushrooms from his long trip out in the Evernight forest. | 2021-01-14T19:53:04 | 2021-01-14T18:51:30 | 417 | 166 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | Humans would often look to the sky; dream of what unknown mysteries might lay beyond the stars. Some would dream of technologically advanced utopian societies, perhaps a teeny planet that bore animalistic creatures of six legs or more. Underneath this wonder, however, was a fear almost every stargazing human shared — if we actually did meet aliens, exactly how fucked would we be? The general consensus was rather pessimistic. After all, humans had pretty much mastered the art of half empty glasses. What they didn’t know, was that they had mastered one other thing, quite a lot earlier than the other intelligent species that dwelled within the universe. Humans had mastered the art of death.
Killing came naturally to humans, it’s probably a safe bet that humans started killing each other before they even knew they could die. You can bet your ass that Adam had slaughter on the mind when Eve ate that apple, in his defence, it was a shitty move on her part. Cain and Abel introduced the world to killing your own kin, so that was fun. Of course, it’s very possible all of that didn’t happen, but humans still killed each other over those stories, so you get the idea.
Fast forward a whole lot of death later and some human said, “Oi lads! Killing people with our bare hands and long metal sticks is a real shitload of work.” The other humans looked to their bleeding, calloused hands and nodded. “Wouldn’t it be real dope, if we could kill people with like ... I don’t know just a finger! Hell, even a button!” The other humans bent over in hysterical laughter and went back to stringing their bows and sharpening their swords. The man left with his head low, defeated. He returned shortly after with an AK-47 and mowed them all down.
It was at that precise moment — unbeknownst to them — humans had mastered killing. Modern humans talk of laser weapons, plasma rifles and dark matter blah blah blah ... nope, small bits of lead is where it’s at. When that tiny piece of lead sparks through a barrel toward you, a few things can happen, spoiler alert: they all suck. If you’re lucky, the bullet will travel in you, and straight out the other side. This still involves a lot of bleeding and an asymmetrical wound on either side of your body. An absolute nightmare for humans with OCD. If you were kind of unlucky, the bullet would enter you and decide, “hey it’s pretty fuckin’ nice in here, all warm and shit! Imma chill homie.” And as nice as your new roommate seems, his presence alone will poison your blood, so ... bleeding to death, or dying to death. If you won the lottery of shit times, the bullet would enter you hit a bone and go full Pachinko on your insides, effectively turning you into a fleshy smoothie cup.
That same human who changed the game of killing for good — and is apparently an immortal psychopath of unbelievable intellect — was quite happy with what he had done, until one morning when he remembered.
“Wait ... didn’t I say something about a button?”
Nuclear warheads. Humans had already mastered killing, now they were just taking the piss. Humans dropped a few of these bombs and the world, in unison, said “nah that’s a bit much aye.” And everyone agreed not to drop any more, whilst building billions more at the same time. Hey, humans had mastered killing, no one said they were geniuses.
As time moved on these bombs became bigger, better and straight up scary. Governments of the world had held up to their word and weren’t throwing these bombs at each other, but boy did they talk about doing it — a lot. This made the every day citizen rather nervous, so nervous in fact, that the entire 1940’s wrote songs about the bombs? Humans are funny. Which is exactly how they ended up on the Galactic Unity Initiative’s radar.
The President of GUI had been keeping a close eye on the humans for years, keeping a safe distance. He had always been wary of them, after all, he had seen them tear the limbs of crustaceans and suck the insides out whilst laughing! He would look down to his own claw and shiver. Savages. Despite his reservations, the humans had been sending signals into space, the first sign of interstellar contact, they were far behind but showed incredible potential. It was decided, first contact must be made. The humans could prove a useful and insightful species within the GUI, Skiblif knows they needed a species that knew their way around violence. Whilst GUI sounded impressive, it was quite a small coalition filled with prissy species that preferred art and luxury over blood and gore; the universe was a dangerous place, if they were to expand, they needed the humans. The President knew he would need to speak their language.
“Begin approach to ‘Earth’ and present our weapons, show them we can be powerful allies.”
People rushed into the streets, soldiers looked to the sky, priests ripped their collars off as the sun was blotted out and the blue sky began to glitter with thousands upon thousands of impressive alien structures. Screams echoed throughout the world as large flowing energy began to protrude from these distant dots, unfolding like gargantuan flowers of every hue. Wait ... they looked exactly like flowers. The sky now rippled with an unfathomable amount of gorgeous flowers, stoners everywhere cracked a squinty smile within the erupting chaos.
The vast majority had decided this display was terrifying, governments of the world said “uhh we should probably press the buttons now right? Um, hey citizens, will you be mad if we spam the keyboard for a bit?”
Citizens of the world responded with an intensity only batshit insane fear can produce.
“Yes you daft pricks! Press the damn buttons!”
Little Timmy asked if he could press one of the buttons. No, little Timmy, you can’t. It’s actually a complex procedure complete with numerous fail safes, codes and rigorous activation protocols. But that’s not funny. Sure Timmy you can press a button.
The President of GUI watched fondly as millions of small golden explosions glittered across the surface of Earth.
“Ah ha! They have responded, see I told you Qwithlap you worry wart.”
“Sir, those little dots are rapidly growing in size.” Qwithlap said, scratching his forehead with one of the multiple tendrils hanging from his ... lip?
“Oh, grow a triplet you dunce, this is how humans say hello. Have you not heard a word I’ve said? The humans are a violent species, their customs may seem strange to us, but we just nee–“
The world watches as the sky exploded in fire and debris, the floral array disintegrating before their very eyes. And then, silence. Humanity grew restless, they were absolutely sure they were going to die. Government officials were already kicking their feet up in a private jet to Area 51 where they would live out the rest of their days in the massive underground network of shelters built there.
The days that followed were strange to say the least. Everyone stepped as if any wrong move might bring an alien armada raining death and lasers from space. But there was nothing. Until one day, the sky lit up once more, although, it was different this time; theirs were no flowers, no distant ships, only a glowing stream of purple light that constructed large block letter words:
YOU’RE ALL BANNED FROM SPACE, YOU FUCKING DICKHEADS.
Edit: I wrote this on my phone and the formatting is NOT the same as PC, sorry for the absolute mess you just witnessed. Edit 2: fixed it. Edit 3: yeah I hate lots of edits as well, but I got my first ever gold ... cheers nice person :) | "You know what you don't understand about people?" Fleet Commander Astrea stomped up to Archgeneral Hughes of the First Human Empire. "About civilization as a whole?"
"Fleet Commander Astrea." Hughes projected his booming voice over Astrea's. Though he was a baseline human, he'd evidently picked up some training in public speaking somewhere. "We are currently at war with the Nereids. We approach their starships even now. There had better be a very, *very* good reason for you to have abandoned your post."
"Yes! Yes, there is!" Astrea pulled at her hair. "If you attack the Nereids now, the entire First Human Empire will be destroyed!"
"The Nereids broadcast their every move to the entire galaxy, the arrogant fools. We know their military capacity is far below ours." Hughes' eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that they've deceived us? Our technicians and cultural analysts both agree that these broadcasts are real—"
"Gah!" Astrea threw both of her hands up in the air. "No! No, no, no! How did someone as stupid as you become Archgeneral—look, Hughes. You said it yourself. The Nereids broadcast everything they do to everyone, *everywhere*. It's baked into their culture. And their technological infrastructure is so refined that anyone watching, from anywhere in the galaxy, can experience what they experience *exactly* as if they were there themselves."
"Yes. It is a massive tactical weakness."
"Only on the small scale! Three *trillion* sentient beings around the galaxy turn to the Nereids' war games for entertainment. Right now, in anticipation of the battle to come, fifty billion humans throughout the First Human Empire are watching the Nereids. Watching them laugh and play and chat to their viewers and be oh so close to human. Especially at a time like this, with shipping lanes shut down for the war and people scared of Earth's first interstellar conflict, people need contact and comfort. The Nereids are providing that. And what do you want to do, in response to their declaration of war? You want to kill them all!"
Archgeneral Hughes gave her a dry look. "Yes. This is a war. In a war, you are supposed to kill the enemy. It's a necessity, but it's for the good of the state."
"Literally every word you just said is incorrect. For the good of the state? Do you understand what will happen at home if every citizen of the First Human Empire—children, politicians, media influences, everyone we're trying to protect—do you know what will happen if they tune in to the Nereids' broadcast and see you *slaughtering* them? And remember. They'll sense it as surely as if they were there themselves. Nereid 'warships' have families on them, Archgeneral. Children whose mass murder at the hands of the First Human Empire you're going to livestream to *everyone*. Hughes, you're thinking of our civilizations as if we're... elephants, beating at each other with our trunks. But we're not. We're delicate, delicate spiderwebs of *connections*. And the Nereids have connected themselves to us. Set them ablaze, and we'll burn too."
Archgeneral Hughes paused. He opened his mouth to speak, and an aide whispered into his ear. He grimaced, then set his finger down. "...I only wish you had come to me with more *respect*, Fleet Commander Astrea. I would have you promoted for potentially saving the First Human Empire, if it didn't set a disastrous precedent."
First Commander Astrea scoffed, shaking her head. "No, that's exactly *why* I started shouting at you in front of your entire command structure. You're not promoting me away from where I'm most effective: boots on the ground and thumb on the pulse. Society is connection, and if you leverage that right, you can run rings around your opponents."
"Well. The fact remains that the Nereids *have* declared war. We have to make some sort of response, yes? It would be a terrible blow to our credibility if we simply... turned around and left them alone."
First Commander Astrea nodded. "I knew you had to be smarter than you looked, if you made Archgeneral."
"Hm." Archgeneral Hughes made a note to look into First Commander Astrea's past. He was sure he would have noticed someone as disruptive—and yet ingenious—as she before. "What course of action do you recommend?"
Astrea grinned. "The Nereids. Their audience. *Me.* We all want one thing. A show." She held up a broadcaster, its screen showing that it had been recording the entire time. "Let's give it to them!"
If you liked this story and have a quarantine-induced need of entertainment, you may want to head over to r/rileywrites! | 2020-03-21T09:59:59 | 2020-03-21T07:39:56 | 167 | 96 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN” | Usually the messages were innocuous and random, but not this time. The words on my mirror had always been helpful to me, and I came to imagine it as my guardian angel. I was careful not to tell anyone how I seemed to always have some prescient knowledge about the challenges of my day; I feared that anyone I told would assume I was crazy.
On this particular morning, I was standing in a t-shirt and underwear and I had begun to brush my teeth. The text was simple and scrawled across the mirror in all caps: "RUN"
Suddenly my blood ran cold and a shiver passed down my spine. My heart was pounding and although I didn't know why, I knew there wasn't a moment to lose. I quickly threw on a pair of jeans, slipped into my shoes and ran out the front door of my apartment. I didn't take the time to lock the door, rushing to get into the elevator. I repeatedly pressed the button for the doors to close, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I knew that my pursuer was getting closer. After what seemed like ages, the door finally closed and I began to descend.
In those few moments, I waited and wondered what person, what being, what ethereal force might be following right behind me. What if it was already here, in the elevator with me, and yet, disguised from my sight? I had never truly questioned where the messages on the mirror had come from. I hadn't felt any need, and of course, there was no one I could ask. Over the years, it had become a normal part of my life. But today it felt sinister, and I feared that those messages had somehow allowed an evil presence to slip into my mind.
The elevator sounded its tone and the door opened. I ran, my shoes almost screeching against the tiles of the lobby floor. I rushed out the door and continued to run, directionlessly onto the sidewalk. I passed by cars, and people stared at me inquisitively as I ran, seemingly for my life.
I began to hear the sound of footfalls behind me, not knowing if I was the only one who could hear them.
Soon I came to the first intersection, unsure which way to go. I caught a glance at the mirrored glass of an office building.
"Turn right," the words read. So I did. Never stopping to look behind me, I continued to run, through parks and across bridges away from the center of the city. Every so often a mirrored window would tip me off to which way I should turn. Strangely, despite not being in particularly good shape, I was not growing exhausted. It seemed almost as if my recurring dreams of being chased had been preparing me for this very moment.
Still, I had no idea what creature could be following behind. I only felt its presence and heard the footfalls, always keeping pace, compelling me to run, to escape. As I got closer to the suburbs I began to hear heavy breathing along with the footfalls. Still, I did not look behind me.
Eventually, I caught its reflection in the rear-view mirror of a car. A massive, hulking black dog. It was the size of a horse, with long shaggy fur and enormous, razor-sharp teeth. It didn't run, so much as it... walked, while levitating slightly above the ground. And yet, it always seemed to keep pace with me. When I looked at the reflection in another rear-view mirror, realized that the creature was blurred around the edges where it seemed to almost be surrounded by an aura of darkness.
As I ran, still following the mirrors' directions, I noticed the surroundings slowly becoming familiar. I was heading toward my Aunt Gertie's house. The next mirror read "GET HELP". When I reached my great aunt's home, I pounded on the door. It flew open seconds later, almost as if she had been expecting my frantic knock.
Aunt Gertie, my grandmother's sister, was standing in the doorframe. I hadn't seen her in a few years, as she often shunned family gatherings, but she looked much as I remembered her- the long grey waves of hair framing sharp features and ice-blue eyes. She wore a light and flowing dress with intricate patterns. As she looked out, her gaze went past me and fixed upon the creature , now nearly across the street from us.
Seeing this, I remarked to myself that no one else had seemed to notice the creature as it pursued me. Perhaps it was invisible to others.
But clearly not to Aunt Gertie. She stepped out onto her front lawn and stretched her arms out in front of her in a strange circular motion, reciting the words of what seemed like an incantation that I didn't understand. The creature continued moving close, and as it did so, I saw a strange circle of blue-black light begin to form between Aunt Gertie and the creature. It grew wider and it shone, much like the surface of a soap bubble on a bubble wand. It seemed to be some sort of portal. It appeared right in front of the creature, faster than it could change its course, and then I watched as the black dog slipped into the portal.
Aunt Gertie shouted a few words and drew her hands together, ending the spell. The portal closed behind the creature.
Only then did my aunt draw her attention to me, standing there by her front door. She stepped back toward the entrance and placed her hands on my shoulders.
"Elliot, my dear nephew. It's been so long since I've seen you! Please come in, you're just in time for tea."
I followed her into the house, realizing that perhaps my "crazy old aunt" wasn't so crazy after all. She might even have some answers for me. | I stared at the mirror for a moment. Trying to figure the message out. Doesn't give a hint as to when and I don't want to just be constantly running from everyone and everything.
I grab my stuff and keep my keys close at hand as I head out the door. The morning sun was bright, brighter than normal. I gazed up into the sky and stared in horror.
Reptilian winged horses flew through the air sporting manes and tails of fire. Upon their backs black skeletal demons sat with thick curved horns on sunken leather faces, wicked curved sickles.
I nearly dropped my keys as I saw them, my knees quivered as I took one hesitant step back.
The beasts soared in the area, the riders scanning with hallow eyes, thin lips pulled back from blinding white fangs in ghastly sneers. Every so often a rider would bend over his mounts neck as the horse dived down.
Around me I started to hear the screams of fear and pain. Then came the smell. I never smelled fear, but I did now, and it was... sickening. Especially mixed with the iron scent of blood.
'Run' echoed in my head. My heart skipped. 'RUN!' Roared through my brain and I back peddled tripping over my feet as I turned. I fell forward and ran on my hands a few feet before I was able to right myself and ran down the street.
I could hear more screams, the thick leathery beats of demonic wings, and the harsh brays the hellish steeds.
My heart pounded as I took off down the street passing carnage and death.
Wildly I looked for refuge, anything, I didn't care where.
I nearly slipped in a puddle of blood as I rounded the corner down the next street, but caught myself on a car in time to avoid the slash of sickle over my head.
I gasped and stood paralyzed as the horse landed in a canter halfway down the road in front of my. It's demon pulling back on chains to wheel it about. Foam lathered the steeds scaley muzzle and fire seemed to dance in ita green eyes.
I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as rider and steed stared me down. The beast chomping at a bone bit as it pawed the ground impatiently. The demons lips tipped up at the corners as it watched me, no doubt seeing the warm trail of piss soak down the right leg.
'GO!' I pushed off the car and took off at a 45 degree angle from it, towards but away from the beast as it let off a gutteral "Hyah!" and surged my direction.
If I could just reach the storm drain, I just need to reach that one point.. I could be safe...
'RUN!' | 2020-06-07T23:11:25 | 2020-06-07T22:33:41 | 52 | 34 |
[WP]At 18 everyone is assigned a job perfect for them. No one ever complains. Upon reading their job assignment card, a teen has found that, for the first time in 100 years, they’ve been assigned “serial killer”. | I can barely believe we live in a time where cognitive regocnition technology can identify what roles we play at an individual level in our society.
My mom and das thinks it is scarey but embrace the idea anyways. "It works... it just does. I guess" they say. Am i living in the shift or evolution of the modern man? I guess for them it should feel like fantasy that humanity progressed so much so quick. Or maybe they were too caught up in their culture to see how things could change. And they were called the generation of change...
Welp.
I guess they may be the catalyst for our progress.
Millenials had more time to think than act. So maybe it's their late sprouting.
Im 18 now, and today, is the last day of my senior year. Every graduate will now take that test.
The open booths at the college campus seemed so open. Everyone enjoyed sharing their job titles with wide eyes of hope and oppourtunity.
We just sit in a chair with a small device attached to our foreheads and wait for 10 minutes as it downloads our memory and analyzes our genetics. We dont have to say a thing. Just stay awake, breathe to keep the oxygen in the brain, and let the memories analyzer do its job.
It's unusual to get pranked while waiting but its not unheard of.
I was quite stunned when my role printed out "Serial Killer". I am skeptical of the system's programming but i stand up with my printout. There could be a mistake but who do i complain to? Usually these come with a manager and start date already... but there is no phone number or business information. Just a codestamp of approval. So i hit the verify button. It sends the data to the home.server and they show you your stats. Stats like physical cabalilities, mental prowess and intelligence, creativity, etc...
All of mine came back as the most normal man in existence...
All my stats are halfway and in the center of every poll.
I throw my crumpled shame in the trash bin outside the booth. I step out and see no line so i go and retake the test.
These ten minutes pass by and the same result comes out.
I, am afraid now...
What if i must do this because the machine deemed we need this?
What if i am just a tool in it's learning to test it's own acengy, and thus, sentience?
Or maybe im being delusional and paranoid.
Maybe the machine doesnt actually know what to do with me so it found... it found out what a serial killer is? And wants to identify it as a profession?
Yeah... its just a paradox... heheh, cuz im so normal.
Heh...
Next thing i know someone is calling my name.
I answer and maybe think about how they could understand ny problem.
We chat for a bit on professions and then he asks the dirty one.
I am reluctant. I wont tell him and he thinks im shy or playing hard to get. I just dont know if he will believe me, or the machine...
Its never been wrong before.
I see him reach for the garbage can because he saw my crumpled paper. And i realize he will see it soon too. I dont move, afraid and stuck in my overthinking. He gasps in horrow and his face goes pale.
Oh no,
He believes the machine.
He is going to warn the police.
He is a good man and a good friend.
But he isnt going to tell them.
Because he'll be dead.
And now i have blood on my hands.
And a witness. | "Oh my god!" Jimmy said reading the assignment card. His mind raced as he wondered if it were true. "Mom look at my assignment card! Is... is this real!?"
His mother couldn't hold back her grin, "pffft ha ha! You dummy!" She said laughing histerically, "I put that in the envelope as a joke!" She pulled the real assignment card out of her purse, "I cant believe you fell for that!" She threw the real card at Jimmy, hitting him in the face. "Here, you got 'Garbage man' you idiot!" She exited the room laughing uncontrollably. | 2018-08-13T18:58:59 | 2018-08-13T17:47:14 | 62 | 19 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | In my last moments, I wondered if the gods would serve me well. I had believed I had let down our empire, despite me breaking blood and soul for them for thousands of suns. I hadn't seen their power though I thoroughly felt as it was inside me.
When I had been converted, buried with my possessions, I found myself in a chamber. Awake. Clean. My wounds weren't healed but rather filled with an iridescent blue rock. An energy from the gods perhaps?
The chamber had looked as though it was up-kept. No dust had time to settle, it's like the first days we built it. Blue candles burned on the sides of the walls leading forward.
I took a look behind me to find my own casket, my engravings written on the side reading Thea Philopator. I reached in, my gifts of gold from the gods still lay as I wore them. I put on every piece I had, it shimmered in an unusual way, but looked as fantastic and pleasing to the eye as I remember.
I followed the blue candles, each placed with perfected precision, each one glowing the perfect hue of inner fire. I saw a crack of white, the exit most likely, if I do recall these chambers as we formed them.
I stepped out into the light- a warm forest welcomed me to it. The Aur flowed well and alive, better than in my reign. The gods must be well pleased here.
I walked forth into the forest. My wound glimmered, and at the time I didn't notice, but so did my wear.
I walked out of the forest to see our Sphinx, guardian of the Aur, alive and well before he had suffered the great nose incident, which led to his burial.
He said not a word, but instead lead me over the crest, to unveil a civilization I had not seen in my time. Buildings and homes made of pure metal, fire emits from the towns and birds of metal and fire flew overhead.
Dozens of these magical birds flew over me, screaming to the tombs of which I had just come from. I was led further to a small dwelling, hidden underneath a metal bridge. A fire crept in a barrel.
I was startled to hear a voice call to me.
>Ah, Thea, it has been a great time that we have waited.
This voice felt so familiar to me.
>It has been 7,000 years since your time, we waited for you to come from your tomb to save us from the doom that instilled.
I was startled, the gods had kept the tombs well, what happened with the rest of my land? My people?
A shadow begun to emerge from the corner.
The Barrel burned a quite beautiful blue
>Thea worry not.
*Osiris* The one I was to marry, he had gone before me by a mere few days before my conversion to the gods were to happen.
>We have many followers, it begun 2,000 years ago when we noticed a larger population of barbarians on our borders. We have been capable of holding them off for many of that time, but soon they had begun to lead and become more intelligent.
>Our following had slowed to a halt, we have received almost no followers to help us defend. I request of you, take my hand, these barbarians must see again what a goddess you are, how powerful we were. With your magic, we can rebuild our civilization.
Osiris reached his hand. It had been 7,000 years? Why had my tomb waited me so long to bring me to this world? Why would the gods allow this to happen to our great civilization? I felt as though I only had one choice.
I took his hand, power begun to flowed through my veins, my sight had turned crisp, the world slowly came from my feet.
I felt my wounds heal, a power emit, my Lazuli had glow, I called upon the Sphinx, I called to my last followers, I brought up the final reign of the Egyptian Empire. My magic will come forth and bring these lands back to our control.
| Would I have done things differently? Yes, I would. Because an eternity in a godforsaken desert is not something you volonteer for. But the real question is: what would I have changed? Which religion should I have chosen? On Earth, they all preach some kind of heaven; here, reality is very different.
They call them 'walled cities'. Not because you can't get in, but because you can't get out. They're prisons where worshipping gets a new meaning.
Christian City is filled with poverty. Hindu City is so overpopulated, that they're eating each other. There are no virgins in Muslim City, not anymore at least. And Buddha? I'll get to Buddha later, and you'll be surprised when you hear his real story.
Those are the big cities. There are many other small ones, but none are any better.
So, the question was: which religion should I have chosen? The answer is short but not rewarding: I should have chosen my wife's. | 2017-11-21T07:36:09 | 2017-11-21T07:28:08 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] Time freezes when you are seconds from mortal danger, you can’t move but you have as much time to plan as you need and you can unfreeze time at will. You are in bed for another sleepless night and you just realized the alarm clock you have been staring at has been stuck on 2:45 am for an hour. | Time goes forwards, never back.
My mother leading me by the hand on the first day of school? Gone and done, and I'll never see her again. Just the memory remains, a visceral thought etched in my brain for all eternity.
Everything had froze, my child's eyes seeing the Freightliner bearing down on the crosswalk with no regard for the stoplight. I'd tried to move, tried to scream, but my hands were tied.
Then I'd tried to will everything back to life, and I dodged and watched as the truck ended her right there and then. I won't bother you with how I coped with it, but I did. Dad helped a ton, the therapists thought I was insane.
My father finally became a believer when I'd grabbed his wheel on the highway and dodged a drunk driver swerving across the median. I'd spent nearly ten minutes studying the paused scene before making the move that saved our lives.
Call it a gift from above, a superpower, or whatever. The simple truth is that time stops moments before disaster. I can't move, but I can think. Plot and plan the perfect action while the world waits for me. And, as I release my grip on the threads of time, act out my prepared motions without hesitation.
You could imagine my surprise when I found myself staring at my alarm clock, the red numerals glaring back at me in the moonlight. Another sleepless night, the trauma of my past still biting into me despite how much I'd tried. The air - and my breath - was completely still.
I tried moving my arms, feeling no resistance as I apparently pointed them inside my mattress. At least, that was what the phantoms at the back of my mind told me. I rolled them back into their original positions, knowing that the results would be disastrous if I unlocked the threads earlier. My body would spring up with sudden force as if I'd pushed backwards with all my might.
The only thing I could control was my peripheral vision, and I panned my orbs in all directions across the static display. My room was untouched, the computer in the corner glowing softly and the ensuite door unopened. The blinds were partially shut and I could see a glimpse of the streetlight outside.
Fire? Unlikely. Gas? Didn't smell a thing. Something ridiculous, like a tornado? I'd have heard it.
Maybe it was something in my body, where some rare disease would drop me in seconds. Maybe someone had planted a bomb in front of my house. If that was the case, then it was out of my control.
Fuck it.
I released my grasp on the tendrils of time, and as the air entered my lungs and the shadows began to me I rolled off my bed onto the ground. Who knows, the ceiling fan might just fall on my head and cause a fatal accident.
An earsplitting roar reached my ears just as lead tore over my head. It blew my feather pillow into shreds and landed in my wall mirror, sending it tinkling to the ground. I froze in shock as more shots perforated the drywall, sweeping the room at bed level. My wardrobe and desk had taken the brunt of the damage.
I was running on adrenaline now, without any time left for conscious thought. Quickly I reached up for my phone, grabbing the handset and pulling it down to the floor where I was. The display was black, and there was no tone. Shit.
Time for the route of last resort, the one which I had never really thought I'd had to use. With shaking hands, I opened my closet and pulled out a dark nylon bag. Inside was my Beretta Neos, a .22 handgun that I used solely for plinking. Hell, this was a *safe* neighborhood.
I loaded the pistol slowly, the sounds of the mag clacking in place and the snap of the slide slamming forwards barely audible to my ringing ears. Just as I put my only spare magazine in my pocket, time froze one again.
My senses were stuck, but I could feel the tension in my muscles and veins. Think, damn it!
I was on the ground, so the next shots would happen there. Likely they would sweep their automatic weapons side by side, like they did last time. Slowly, I let my phantom legs stretch out slightly and suddenly let the world move again.
I felt my legs extend, driving myself up as I leaped atop the rolling office chair beside my bed. As my momentum rolled the blue leather seat across its casters, my ears bled again as bullets whizzed across the floor where I stood. One shot clanked against the pneumatic tube, but the chair held. Thankfully.
Just as my leg bumped against the side of my desk, the door crashed open and the world ground to a halt again. The gunfire stretched out and finally died down like I turned off a turntable with a record on the platter. I saw my masked attacker at the door, barely visible in the darkness. His subgun was held at the ready, hands rushing to bring the muzzle to bear as his eyes met mine.
Instinctively, I brought the phantom arms up, imagining that they were pointed straight at my target. My eyes took in his Kevlar, knowing that a hit in the chest wouldn't do a thing. I adjusted slightly, visualizing where the sights would line with his forehead.
Now I couldn't calm my beating heart, but I could try to still my mind. I threw all thoughts of remorse off the table, as well as silencing the rational part of my brain trying to determine what was happening. I hadn't really stopped time for any longer than I needed, and I needed to be in control when I let it tick again. The last thing I wanted was for my grip to fade when I was still thinking.
This was it. I felt the Neos lightly between my palms as it snapped up, moving as soon as I let go. Faster than I could on the range, and under stress too. My sights were on his forehead and my index was beginning its rearward pull when the gunman jerked his neck to the side.
It was so quick, it was like as it it was in front of me one moment and angled askew the next. The pistol cracked in my hands, the kickback minimal. My bullet poked through a poster on my wall and landed somewhere in my ensuite.
I noticed time slow again as he fired, letting rip a long burst that I'd managed to dodge in time. He jumped back into the corridor just before I returned fire, my round hitting the doorjamb right where he had just stood.
"As the saying goes, you need a Stopper to stop another Stopper," my assailant drawled from the hallway. It was the first time he spoke, his tones surprisingly soft and casual. "Luckily, I brought three with me."
---
[**PART 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pmhdkp/wp_time_freezes_when_you_are_seconds_from_mortal/hcmj3rw/)
*There's a video game called [Superhot](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superhot) that sort of inspired the gunfight in this story, where time stops when your character doesn't move.* | Damn, another sleepless night. Jake thought to himself whilst trying to fall asleep. He tried to blink, but for some reason, he could not. He couldn't even close his eyes nor move a single muscle. But he knew that feeling. While most people would be terrified, and quickly associate it with a sleep paralysis. He was different. Jake knew that it indicated mortal danger. A danger, that would befall him within the next several seconds after he breaks free.
Gears within his minds began spinning at fearsome speed.
I am in my house, sleeping inside the bedroom on the second floor, the clock in the corner of my eyes shows 2:45. Gas leak ? Impossible, I don't have gas installation. Fire that began somewhere due to short circuit ? Possibility is low, most of my appliances are relatively new. But I can't rule out the possibility that fire spread somewhere within my neighborhood, and soon will reach me.
I can also eliminate most natural disasters. Earthquakes almost never happen within my country, same with tornadoes. Floods are ruled out too. Meteor hitting my house ? Almost impossible, and even if that did happen, my chances to escape would be abysmally low. Within a few seconds, it could've travel thousands of meters.
If I rule out most of the internal and natural possibilities, what remains are human's doing. A car ramming into my house shouldn't possess any threat to me, especially when I am on the second floor. Burglary ? Possibility is relatively high, but if someone broke to my house to steal, he wouldn't want to interact with me at all. The only thing that remains, is someone sneaking up in order to eliminate me.
Usually I got somewhere between 20 and 30 seconds. I should assume that I have at most 20, that would be safer. I suppose the killer is sneaking up on me, moving as quietly as possible. Which means that he might be not too far from the door. There's very little chance that he might climb up and use window to get me, since window is on the street's side.
Should I jump out of the window ? No, surely not. I don't have any enemies, which means there's a reason to why someone wants to kill me. He might be prepared for that course of action. There might even be more than one assassin, waiting on the outside. And even If I there is one, If I were to jump out of the window I might get shoot if he has any firearms. Also, I can't hide and await rescue since he might search the room. So the only way for me is to fight.
I can't move too fast since he might hear me and just rush into the room. Thankfully, the door opens to inside. There will be a blind spot on the left near the door. There isn't anything that I could fight with, so what remains is hand-to-hand combat.
I should assume that he has a weapon, a knife or gun. So frontal assault is out of question. What remains is a sneak attack. The bed is in the right corner of the room while door is on the opposite side on the left. After he opens the door, he will look onto the left and right to locate the bed. After seeing that there is only wall on the left, he will go in and head to the right.
There isn't any light source beside the alarm clock. Windows are tightly closed and covered, so no light goes through. I should have a moment or two before he realizes that I left the bed.
Summarizing, someone wants me dead for some unknown reason. The only way for me to survive is to sneak up in the blind spot on the left. And when he goes in, I come from behind and chokehold him.
Yeah, that's the rough plan. Jake said to himself, and the clock began ticking once again.
End of part one.
________
Edit: I will post update within the next few hours.
Btw, if someone finds some mistakes ( with usage of times, gramatical errors or something else ), please do notify me in the comment.
Hope you guys have a pleasant reading experience. Remember to stay hydrated. | 2021-09-11T18:59:05 | 2021-09-11T17:31:00 | 1,071 | 78 |
[WP] You've just invented time travel. You decide to go exactly 1 year into the future and speak to the first person you see, "Hey what day is it?" "364." "What do you mean 364?" "It's been 364 days since the incident. | "Incident. Which incident?"
"The Hell Knights? Arachnotrons, Pain Elementals, Arch-Viles, Icons of Sin? The Mancubuses, or is it Mancubi?"
"Sorry. No. Can I get some exposition, old timer?"
"Every day, around lunch, probably half the population mutates into some variety of hellish creatures. Really make a mess of the place, bashing skulls, stringing intestines like Christmas lights, all matter of torture. And then 24 hours later, it just resets. We keep our memories, kinda like Groundhog Days rules... Bill Murray chopped me up with an axe on day 136, you know, but I think he was just working through some things."
"That doesn't even make sense. Why hasn't everything collapsed?"
"It has, daily. Majority got bored of the rioting and looting; what's the point if it will be exactly the same after a brief demon invasion? Now the masses mostly wake up, have breakfast, go about our mornings, and see who wins the monster lottery that day."
"Monster. Lottery."
"The reset is the worst part, really. No sense in trying to do much of anything long term. And there isn't really an etiquette guide for apologising to your neighbours for using their infant as a club to murder their yappy dog. Especially when they said it was solely a transformative invasion without any body possessions. Trying to use that old chestnut as lazy excuse for their raping and pillaging, for shame."
"They said? So there's a science team working on this?"
"Oh sure, many, but, you know, hard to make progress when you know at least one person in the room is going to go all ravenous bugbeast. Most folks just track how many days should have passed and how many more episodes they can bingewatch before the daily horror show."
"Watching episodic reruns during your episodic reruns... I mean, I guess that's what people were doing with their time anyways. How long do we have until the next mutation event?"
"Should be along any minute now. Time gets blurry when you're living this way. But at least it's a living. "
"Sorry?"
"I managed to bunker up early on, find a nice shelter. Maybe I turn into a flying hellspawn every now and then or have some Godzilla thing crush me early in the day, otherwise mostly I do pretty well for myself. Gave myself plenty of time to create my own meaning, do some networking, sort this thing out."
"What did you sort?"
"Well, cut to the chase, there's a few people who were supposed to die on Day 1. But they're getting new days. Sure, some of them still have their evening heart attack or aneurysms like clockwork, atop of everything else, but the extra 6 or 7 hours for daily brunch and a nap is nice for us. And, I mean, functional immortality, what's not to love?"
"A lot of things?"
"Matter of opinion. Let me finish. So certain benefactors gathered specialised teams to work on the Why. The CDC NHS ETC weren't equipped for quantum deviance and particle entanglement buggery, so you can imagine the official officials have their thumbs firmly up keisters. You following?"
"Sorta?"
"Irrelevant. Top men figured a method to track the origin of the flux. Ran some tests. Turns out Someone didn't build a proper capacitor to prevent the dimensional shifting and hard reboot. But it seemed the shape of the nucleo-whatever was bending, numbers shifting, blah blah, something different was bound to happen, right at this spot. So two hundred some odd days ago it became my job, a well compensated job given the current predicament, to hang around here and wait for something different."
"Anything yet?"
"Not until you."
| "An incident? What incident?" I asked the man on the bench.
"Well surely you haven't forgotten? It was worldwide news for weeks." He said, confused.
"Refresh my memory," I smirked, "I don't do too well with time anymore."
He looked at me. That's when I noticed it. Everyone around me, the lady jogging, the boy walking his dogs, the dogs, they all had.... my face.
"It's funny you say that, boy," his neck snapped up to look me dead in the eye, "time doesn't do too well with you."
Suddenly I felt my wrists restrained and the next moment I was on the ground. "What's going on?!" I yelled, face halfway in the dirt.
"Cosmos Police Time Federation. You are under arrest for the unlawful use of a class 9 time manipulating device." | 2016-06-30T09:45:27 | 2016-06-30T07:09:49 | 110 | 73 |
[WP] You have just returned to your camp after being bitten by a zombie to say your goodbyes. You are surprised to find the national guard giving your friends a vaccine. The world is saved. However, the vaccine only works on the healthy. You lost at the endgame and these your last 24 hours. | They will all forget me one day,
Hayden thought to himself. The one word to describe the world for the last ten years would be change. The change from man to mindless. The change from society to chaos. The change from memory to forgetfulness. Hayden saw just how little people remembered about the past now. Kids were taught how to survive and how to fight rather than how to do math or science. Those that were lucky enough to learn reading seldom used their newfound talent. Society no longer cared to remember the past, it only looked angrily into the future.
The bite on Hayden’s arm was beginning to smell. Just hours ago he had been looking through an abandoned house at a photo album. In it, he knew that everyone pictured was likely long gone. Their stories, their love, the things that made them who they are were lost forever in time. Like dandelion seeds, gone in the wind to never return.
That’s when they attacked. He couldn’t remember how many but it had to be nearly a dozen. Although he fought valiantly and refused to go down without giving them hell, the infected were able to reach their victim. Hayden was not sure whether the pain or the shock was more devastating but, then again, when someone realizes their life is over what is one to think?
He shuffled out of the house and had come to a ridge overlooking the settlement he lived in. They called the town Hope, Hayden always hated that. The world was tough and he thought, rather than hope, that trust was the greatest quality. He trusted so many of the people down there. His friend Carla, who made the best meals, always had a way of cheering both his stomach and mood up. Gabe, the attractive son of a Bitch, could sell grass to a landscaper, which got Hayden in trouble with the ammo he had to trade at the market. Then there was Melanie. She was everything that a man wanted in a woman to settle down with. She was headstrong, an achiever, a hard worker, but also the best person he knew. They loved each other, but refused to marry due to the way the world had become.
The blissfully ignorant, with nothing but worry and stress surrounding their everyday lives, could truly never know the envy of a dying man. He sat down on the forest floor he had neglected to love so much until this point. There were many things, in fact, that Hayden did not know he loved until he realized the end was near. The feeling of grass between your toes when it is slightly wet. The sound of a bird, who’s only worry is the worm, singing a song to anyone listening. Best of all, the feeling of bark from an old tree that you know has more knowledge than any library. He would miss this. He would miss what it was like to live. In being bitten, he was finally starting to remember what the world was like before your largest fear was becoming a monster.
That’s when he saw them. The national guard rolled into his settlement playing the same announcement on repeat.
“We come in peace. I repeat: we come in peace. We have a vaccination for the plague. Those who are not infected will be given immunity through this. Those infected will gain no benefit from the treatment.”
A smile broke across Hayden’s face. Of course, he of all people would be late yet again for the only cure in the world.
Hayden pulled out his journal and wrote for a crowd that may never be in attendance. He told those he lived with how much they meant, and told those he loved how much he would miss them. The words kept flowing from his pencil as he scribed the goodbyes and then, suddenly, he wrote his goodbyes to those past and the world itself. He said goodbye to his friends and family infected already whom he would meet in the beyond. He said goodbye to his dads body, which was buried some many many miles away. Goodbye to the friends he made at summer camp when he was little. Goodbye to his college professors who gave them shelter after the outbreak. Goodbye to the rivers that he swam. Goodbye to the fields he explored, and those he didn’t. Goodbye to the beautiful cities he quietly crept through. Goodbye to the smell of campfire and it’s reminder of civilization. Goodbye to the sun and the picture it painted on the sky when it rose and set. Goodbye to the birds and their lovely songs.
As Hayden completed his final goodbyes, an idea struck him. He pulled out his wallet, even though he had no use carrying such trivial things, and placed the picture of his father and him going fishing in the journal. As his eyelids grew heavy and the pain became unbearable, he picked up his pencil and wrote the last words of a dying man.
“When I was a boy, my father worked every day. Once, when I was still very little, he missed the train to work and decided to come home rather than take the next train himself. When he arrived, he said that we were to go fishing. Overjoyed, I rode the train with him till we got to my grandfathers, where we borrowed the boat and car. The river was stunning and we were the only ones out there. I held my dads hand as he sang songs and drank his beer. Fish would come and go, but the river never ceased. Just like time, it flowed on with or without life existing. That was the finest day I have ever had. I hope one person may read this someday. I know it’s a dying mans wish, but I hope some piece of the world I had is remembered by someone. I hope the cure creates the lives the world wants to return to. My father once missed a train and came home. Now, I’ve missed my train out of the plague, so I too will venture home.”
Hayden Percival Thomas
| Everyone believes that they are special.
That they are unique, smarter, stronger, superior.
Perhaps that is why humans fear equality. It represents the single fact that we all suppress: that we aren’t the best; that we are replaceable; that we have no purpose.
So I shut out equality.
I had to believe I was better, because I found a purpose in my own superiority.
Perhaps there is a bit of circular logic behind that. Perhaps I only found purpose in my alleged superiority because I believed that helping others was pointless because I was so far above them.
But I needed a purpose. I needed something to live for. We all do.
It’s been a few hours since I was carried over to the hospital. When I was brought in, they knew I was dead. I’m on some massive cocktail of drugs to make this painless.
It’s working.
It’s not working.
I wish it was working.
My physical anguish is gone but my mental anguish has just begun.
I overhear doctors talking about the vaccine. I see people getting vaccinated.
For the next hour, that’s all I can think about.
I can’t stand the idea of the vaccine. The thing that makes people objectively better then me.
The thing I can’t have.
Rage boils in me, and eventually I shoot up out of my bed, only to realize that chains are restraining me.
I’m the one considered insane.
Stupid.
Worse.
And, deep down, I know it’s true. In a few more hours, I’ll be the one that everyone else looks down upon.
I don’t deserve mercy, but I never thought that any torture could be this bad.
I don’t want to feel inferior.
I’ve denied the concept of equality my entire life. When my family comes to search through my possession’s, they’ll find my klansman robes, and my swastika, my confederate flag. All of it.
In a life of believing that I was Mount Everest, only now can I realize that I’m no different than a patch of dirt on the flattest plain. Tiny. Insignificant. Practically worthless.
I’m close now. I can feel it. My vision is blurry, my mouth dry, my muscles weak.
This is it.
I regret everything, and I want to say it, but I lack the energy. I lack the focus.
Soon I’ll be another part of the mob.
Plain.
Identical.
Useless.
And then they’ll put me down like a dog.
I know my story has no happy ending; if there really is a God, he wouldn’t make my death this impossibly torturous.
Of all the things I’ve feared, death was always the biggest.
No one is above Death.
In an hour’s time, I’ll be a zombie.
You know what?
Perhaps I always was.
r/IdonthaveawritingsubredditbecauseIdontwritebutyoushouldstillupvotethis | 2018-07-29T22:23:19 | 2018-07-29T19:39:29 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | The end of all galactic life had been going on for nearly 10 standard cycles. The Enemy was as relentless as it was ancient, still no one knew where they had come from, or what their purpose was beyond mere universal destruction.
A long time ago, most sovereign governments and most of the colonies had all but given up the fight, realising they were horribly outnumbered and outgunned. Most made some effort or another to preserve life and civilisation. About half had launched massive expeditions to cross dark space to settle in other galaxies. Others built massive vaults on isolated planets where they froze their best and brightest to be thawed after the Enemy had left. Others still isolated themselves completely, destroying their links to the Network that allowed interstellar travel. The remainder simply gave up, thinking of extinction by the Enemy as the logical next step in galactic evolution, as if they were some sort of cosmic force of nature.
When I say 'most', I really mean *all but one*. One people still fought. They had been ravaged more than any other civilisation, enduring multiple planetary bombardments and ground invasions, and practically no effective single government remained, but *they still fought*, and in ways no one could predict or even comprehend. The Enemy was doubtlessly the most feared creatures in the Cosmos, but to those who remained alive, the Human was a close second.
There was a rumour, which I had recently confirmed from their own military, that they had at one point towed three small moons into orbit over one of the colonies under bombardment. These moons were then detonated at high speed at slingshot trajectories, which effectively turned them into planet-sized *shotgun blasts* that ripped the Enemy to shreds. According to their military, this tactic had been repeated and refined a few times since, and now the Enemy had withdrawn from any Human colonial system with an asteroid field.
And then there were their 'conventional' tactics. Humans would regularly 'booby-trap' their own equipment, leaving it behind on the battlefield when it was damaged so that the Enemy would die as they tried to salvage it. Many of them even carried explosives on their person into combat for similar purposes, and there were thousands of instances of these soldiers flanking the Enemy and detonating themselves behind their lines. To a Human, *anything* could be a weapon. One of their soldiers told me that anything that is 'harder, sharper, or pointier than your own body' can be a weapon. That mentality, combined with a penchant for ridiculous high-risk tactics had actually won them a fair amount of victories in the Endless War, some of which had been against those many who had enslaved themselves to the Enemy and now fought *for* them.
Yes, the Human was as feared as he was insane. And even knowing just how insane these Humans could be, I was still shocked when I heard about their most recent plan.
"These Network links literally punch holes in the fabric of space-time, right?"
"Yes..."
"And you can manufacture them fairly cheaply, right?"
"Well... cheaper than warships, anyway?"
"Right! So we figure, we construct, say, a hundred of the buggers, and use two of them for each of these devices!"
The Human was gesturing toward a blueprint hologram of an ancient device from their past, what they called a 'nuke'. Apparently, the ancient Human had been equally insane to the modern one, and had actually thought it a good idea to deploy *nuclear fission* as weapons on the battlefield. Which they had done, first sparingly and later - even knowing what it meant - on a global scale, in what the *utter morons* called the 'Third World War'. *Third*, can you believe that?!
"Let me get this straight," I pinched the back of my neck with my tail, still not quite believing what was being suggested, "You plan on replacing the fissile material in these bombs with Network links. Correct?"
"Yes!"
"And you are aware that this will, at the very least, tear open a hole in space-time, yes?"
"A black hole, yessir!"
"...you realise that this may actually unravel *reality itself*?!"
"It either works or it doesn't, Praetor. Either the Enemy dies, or we all die, Enemy included. If we don't do this, they live and we die."
There was a glaring hole in the Human Admiral's logic. "Or, you know, it could simply *not work* and we will have wasted tons of resources at something completely unproductive."
The Human waved an appendage my way in a strange side-to-side motion I had recently understood was some kind of *chiding* gesture.
"*Hope*," said the Human, "Hope is *never* unproductive." | :::BEGINNING OF ENTRY:::
It was thought that the coming human invasion would be stopped easily...
They came equipped with barbaric weapons.
They can barely see at night...
They can't even see each others thoughts!
Now they are all over our plan-MY PLANET!
My home...
We accounted for everything except what they would leave behind them.
Their shit.
Never have we identified a substance as harmful and disease ridden as a single qualupp of human fecal matter.
The humans realized our aversion to it quickly and began employing it en mass. Covering their soldiers with the vile, death bringing substance-THE BARBARIANS!
Those intergalactic thugs could have gone anywhere!
They're smart enough, they could have potentially colonized several new planets and given themselves time to evolve to full sentience like we have... but noooo....
Those poo-flinging imbeciles launched an invasion on a planet that never threatened them once and SHOULD have led to near instant defeat for the invaders...
But they're god damned shit smells soooo bad.
Word is out.
We're now completely evacuating East Acumbria. The humans built a line sewer plants upwind and the noxious fumes can be smelt across the entire continent. People are dying by the hundreds every day.
The elders hope that giving them this land will appease them but I don't believe it will. It's just giving them a foothold. They're already all over the planet, safe and secured in their shitty little forts... they won't just give those up...
Their cargo ships don't even bring weapons anymore. Just shit. Massive stockpiles... they're planning for a planet wide war....
I can't take it anymore. I can't get that fucking smell out of my nostrils-OUT IF MY MIND!!!
Gah...
:::END OF ENTRY::: | 2017-03-06T02:43:37 | 2017-03-06T01:55:23 | 121 | 24 |
[WP] The four horsemen: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the harbingers of the apocalypse, serving forth chaos and destruction on all humanity. The Bible forgot to mention the fifth horseman: Kyle, whom the other four can't seem to ditch. | Death was the oldest. Since time immemorial, people have died and they have come to him. Mankind fights an endless war against him. Though they may have succeeded in stifling his actions, Death is patient. He knows that in the end, all things come to him.
Pestilence was Death's brother. He brought plague upon the lands. Staining the Earth black with disease and blight. His method of bringing people to his brother was slow and excruciating. However, mankind have begun to stave him off. Disease was beaten by technology and he increasingly faded into irrelevance.
Famine was as old as Death and pre-dated the birth of mankind. He worked with Pestilence to target the source of man's strength, his food and fuel. He destroyed crop and rotted grain. Starvation and a slow path to Death awaited those afflicted by him. However, man stood strong against him. They developed methods to create a surplus of food, too much for Famine to destroy. They developed methods to deflect his hand so that he may no longer afflict the source of man's strength. Thus, Famine, like Pestilence, faded into irrelevance.
War was the youngest. He was smart and cunning. He channeled man's strength against themselves. Conflict and strife became the grounds for which man displayed his strength. Efficient in work, he brought many to Death. However after his most brilliant work, where War embroiled the world twice over, mankind caught on to his cunning. Man made laws and grew to depend on each other. Though they may never fully quell War's influence, they made sure he would never afflict the world so spectacularly ever again.
Death was unhappy. Mankind had defeated his brothers and impeded his work. In his impatience and anger, he consulted his 5th brother, Kyle.
Kyle was a strange fellow amongst the brothers. He was quiet, lazy and seemed to care little for Death's work. He decided that his own birthname was too tedious to pronounce and opted for an easier name. Gaelic in origin, "Kyle" meant "narrow" a strange name for a Horseman to take on.
"Help me Kyle. My brothers are defeated. Mankind may one day defeat me as well. Please help out just this once." Kyle said nothing and merely nodded. He then disappeared off to perform his work.
As Death sat around his bedridden brothers, a miracle occured. Pestilence finger twitched and he his hands grew fleshy. Disease once again spread around the world. No longer as powerful as he once was, but alive once again.
Famine groaned and began to sit upright. Once again, crops wilted and people starved. Famine however, felt something amiss, some of his work was...voluntary. Mankind began to starve itself.
War rose from his bed with new found strength. The gears of conflict shook off their rust and began to turn once again. Innocents die in battle again, widows gained and fathers lost. Misguided soldiers die under authority's whims.
"You revived our brothers Kyle. How did you do it?" Asked Death, impressed with Kyle's work.
"I am Kyle, "narrow", the fourth of the Horsemen. Born with humanity but before War. My influence appeared when the first man decided that he did not need his tribe to survive. Narrow are the minds of humans.
Humans defeated disease with miracle cures. Now some fear that those cures are harmful to them. Let them face Pestilence's wrath.
Humans defeated Famine through piling resources and modifying crop. Now they hoard but never give. They let their breathren starve. Now they feel that excess of food is sin. They willing starve themselves of their source of strength to meet society's whims. Let them suffer by Famine's hand.
Humans defeated War through tolerance, diplomacy and restraint. Now they turn intolerant and unleash violence against those not of their own group. They justify their "Holy Wars" with the blood of innocents. Violence begets violence, vengeance for innocent blood spilled is carried out by the sword. Let them spiral down to oblivion, guided by War.
Narrow are the minds of humans. They do not think before they act. They believe what they want to believe and ignore what they don't.
I am Ignorance. Until mankind is capable of defeating me, they can never truly destroy the Horsemen."
EDIT: Nice to receive some criticism, turns out I severely lack knowledge on how the whole 4 Horsemen thing works. I really should go read up on this. Some mistakes here and there as well. I kinda, forgot to follow up on the "modified crop" thing that was pointed out. Oops. Also apparently my 5th paragraph should have Death refer to Kyle as his 4th brother, not his 5th.
Reddit gold. Did not expect that. Thanks to those who tossed those my way. | The four horsemen stood over the valley, surveying the devastation. Their time had finally come. Their destruction would not be stopped. Their chaos would ravage-
"Hey, guys!" Kyle shouted, arriving on his pony at a trot. "Wow, almost thought I lost you guys there!"
Pestilence sighed. It was the sound of withering, of rot and decay.
"How did he find us this time?" Famine whispered furiously to the others. Death simply shrugged.
"Gee golly, it looks like this is it, right?" Kyle said, looking over the ruins of the land. "Gosh, it looks real *unpleasant* down there!"
War was shaking. "I'm going to kill him this time, I swear it," he said, his fists clenching his skeletal mount's reigns.
"You can't, remember?" Death replied, shaking his head. "He's one of us. And no matter how much we hate to admit it, *he caused all of this*."
Kyle joined the other horsemen, and the five of them watched the apocalypse unfold below them. Men tore their skin asunder. Women wailed until their lungs collapsed. Family mercilessly murdered each other, without hesitation or comprehension.
It would have been such a beautiful moment, if not for Kyle.
"Oh wow, guys, guys!" Kyle said, eagerly pointing, "Look at that baby! That baby's *eating another baby!* Ain't that neat?"
The four other horsemen remained silent. They did their best to ignore him as they rode down, to finally end all humanity.
Kyle remained on the hill for a few seconds longer, just to take it all in. He smiled.
Then he joined the ranks of the horsemen:
Pestilence,
War,
Famine,
Death,
and *Dank Memes*. | 2017-09-22T03:07:50 | 2017-09-22T02:51:40 | 8,331 | 80 |
[WP] You were an aspiring supervillain and you turned to creating a fake crowdfunding campaign to raise money for your first lair and gadgets. After the funds started pouring in it dawned on you that you’d probably find more success actually releasing the product. | Turbocharge stared at the screen. Her half-eaten apple was frozen mid-air, merely inches away from her quickly drying lips.
*No way*, she thought in half-horror, half-awe, as her campaign page was lit up with more donations than Church on Easter Sunday.
Apple quickly forgotten, she glued her glare to the rapidly rising number.
*$10,890 → $12,015 → $13,908*
*Mother of God*, she thought woodenly, standing up to Charge. She began shuffling her feet as she rapidly paced from her table to her closet to her bed and so on.
Static electricity steadily began filling her Battery. The mental reserve climbed, and as it did her energy rebounded, and her thoughts quickened.
Turbocharge pulled out her phone—careful to hold the Battery back—and dialed a number.
Sophie picked up the third ring. “‘Sup.” She crunched loudly on some chips.
“A lot,” Turbocharge said truthfully. “A lot is up, actually. So, here’s the beginning: I started a crowdfund—wait, are you cool if I talk out loud right now? What are you up to”
“Sure, and not much. Got back from hockey. I’m pooped. Thanks for asking.” Another crunch of chips. She sounded really tired.
“Okay, so I started a crowdfund for this totally fake product I cooked up in my head during class. 100%, unequivocally, does not exist. I created this really professional-looking page. Like, it’s really, *really* good. I'll send you the link. There’s a video and everything. Anyways, I was going to use the money to deck out my basement, you know, turn it into an official Lair, maybe buy some sweet tech. Go full-time Villain after I graduate.”
“That’s pretty scummy, Abena.” There was the faintest trace of disappointment in her lethargic voice.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Turbocharge sat back down at the desk, her legs bouncing up-and-down. “But, here’s the thing. The crowdfund is *blowing* up. I’m at $21,000 right now. When I got up to Charge, literally right before I called you, I was at like 13 grand.”
“Sheesh. That’s crazy.” A slow crunch of chips. “What’s the product?”
“Oh, nothing crazy. It’s basically like a Hero and Villain version of a traffic alert app. It would pull feeds from online news journals and ongoing stories in the news shows and compile them for the viewer. It would also ”
“Huh. That doesn’t exist yet?” Crunch.
Turbocharge paused in her jittering. “Um. I don’t know. I actually didn’t check before I uploaded the campaign. But, I guess not. I’m at $25,000 now, out of $30,000 total.” She resumed her jitters.
“Congratulations,” Sophie said. She strangely sounded like her head was hanging upside down. “I guess you’re getting that Lair now.” A rustle of the bag, then a grunt.
“Yeah. I guess so,” Turbocharge said.
“What’s up? You don’t sound too pleased.” The bag rustling increased in speed.
“No, no. I am.”
“Ben, you gotta open up to me sometimes.” Sophie’s chip bag cut out with a squeak.
Turbocharge fell uncharacteristically still for someone with a full Battery. “Well, I guess I kinda feel conflicted.”
“Why do you feel like that?” Her friend’s voice was oddly still as well. Before, Sophie sounded like a sloth waking up from a mid-afternoon nap, but now she was tense. Poised.
“I don’t know.” Turbocharge kicked at the floor. “Probably ‘cause I know it’s not the right move.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sophie’s voice was casual.
“Yeah. I mean, if I run with their money… that’d be stupid, right?”
“Some might say that.”
“Yeah,” said Turbocharge glumly. “I should do the smart thing. The right thing. Do you agree?”
She heard her friend take a deep breath. “I do, Abena. I really do.”
She took a deep breath, looked at the climbing number—$*29,509*—and nodded to herself. “Thanks, Soph. I needed this.”
“Anytime,” said her friend.
Turbocharge hung up, then began to go to work. If the people were willing to pay all this money for an app, well, who was she to deny them? If she ended up making way more money selling the app later on, well, who was she to deny that possibility for herself?
It meant she would have to delay her going full-time Villain. It meant she would have to delay getting her sweet Lair and some highly illegal goodies. Luckily, she was a CompSci Major with, some might say, a prodigious talent. She could make an app like this in no time.
Turbocharge buckled down and got to work, chased after by the fantasies of having a Lair in the mountains.
---
check out my subreddit for more other stories :) /r/chrischang | "Mwhahhaha hahaha huha!"
My laughs echoed throughout my tiny studio apartment. "I have finally found the prefect plan to raise funds to buy the SUPER CAVE OF EVILNESS, and I will finally be able to destroy the so called hero OverPowered-Man, I will also be able to finally quit my job at the HeroVil-minimart" I exclaimed to myself, proud of my new plan.
After a late night of research, which was about three long minutes of googling, I had found the prefect site. Start kicking, a crowdfunding website.
My perfect evil plan was perfected. I was going to trick the citizens of HeroVil City to fund my OverPowered-Man action figures, but they were never going to see the products.
"Mwhahahahaha!"
It was the perfect plan, I would fund the destruction of OverPowered-Man by using those who support him.
After setting up the funding, and using my wicked MS Paint skills to make a very convincing design, i posted my funding request and awaited for my victims to fall into my trap!
The next morning I found not only had I surpassed my goal for $100,000,000 for the CAVE OF EVILNESS, but I had reached $328,830,710. The OverPowered-Man fans were falling for my trickier and were losing every penny for it, I was going to get all of their money, without having to even put on my super pants!
After reaching over $500,000,000 an hour after I had originally checked, a sudden idea had come over me, a even greater evil plan. "What if I sell OverPowered-Man merch" I had earned more money in one day then I had ever working for
Dr. ReallyBadGuy as a stupid henchman.
I would be rich! Why would I care about defeating OverPowered-Man when I could just buy HeroVil and he would have to answer to me! I would be his superior! This was the best idea I had ever had, I could own OverPowered-Man, I would finally get one over on him. Finally get my revenge for him cutting in line at Villan Burger, because he "had to save the people in the burning building" he couldn't wait his turn and I wasn't having his excuses!
This was my chance to get back at him. This was my chance to win. I would sell his merch, I would be rich, I would be able to do anything! | 2020-08-23T23:23:10 | 2020-08-23T23:00:30 | 191 | 24 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | Super busy professional and Dad - please comment and tell me how to improve!
THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!!!!!
=====
Alex switched off her comm-link and keyed for the holographic map. The fleets were slugging it out overhead with thousands of colored blips pulsating about a foot above her wrist display.
Spillway...4 kilometers north/northwest. Up the spillway, into the system. Five minutes to pick up.
"Stupid xenos. Fuck the Codes." Alex grunted to herself, the ionic repulsors skating her toward a wall of mixed organic and technological superstructure. Her heart raced, pushing her faster across the dilapidated aquaducts - ancient structures filled in with newly grown flesh and bone.
The thrill granting her speed and purpose, she began to hum to herself an ancient child's song, learned from her grandmother. A song appropriate for her target - Aquatic Distribution Node #4.
A shrill beep from her wrist, with a flash on her HUD - 2 minutes to target. 3 minutes to pick up. Each pedestrian in the causeway was outlined in a wash of neon blue overlay, indicating they carried no weapons and posed no threat to the mission. Hundreds of xenos nonchalantly watching the holos of the battle unfolding above their planet, clustered in courtyards. The atmosphere was one of revelry. Vendors cried out, children wore the colors of their home fighting battalions.
"They picked the wrong fight with the wrong planet."
90 seconds. "PUSHITALEX PUSHGOGOGOGO"
The giant, irregular opening at the end of the aquaduct loomed. The ozone burning off beneath her treads filled Alex's nose. She had to time this right...annnndddddddd.....NOW!
She leaped. No. She flung herself. And landed in the open mouth of the aquaduct. Panting. And exhausted. But, she made it. Thank the Emperor. Her hand found her hip holster and flung the device into the water. Immediately she reflexively activated the hydrophobic shield at her waist.
Then up/around/up/around. She skated in a circle around the giant cistern's walls - count down thrumming in her HUD. As she reach the apex, the clock ticked 0 and she was pulled by some unseen force back through the ionosphere to the waiting ship in orbit.
As she materialized on the deck, the display before her showed her work. A tsunami that extended as far away from the surface of the planet that its gravity would allow began on the opposite side of the planet. Satellites, space elevators, and low orbit defense platforms were obliterated instantly in a super sonic wall of water. It rushed toward the cistern with enough force to create temporary nuclear fusion.
For a second, a tiny white dwarf existed at the center of the xeno's 4th aquatic network as the pressure from every single water molecule on the planet crashed at once into a small 10 by 6cm yellow square. The xenos' ships stopped firing, slowly at first as they came to see what was left of their home. Desiccated family members, crops, pets, buildings. Every single piece of moisture inside a small, yellow rectangle. They transmitted their surrender.
As the readout came across her HUD, Alex smirked to herself. She pulled her helmet off and dropped her shield. As she walked off the bridge, she began to sing out loud the childhood song learned from her grandmother.
"Oh, who lives in pineapple under the sea? Yellow and porous, absorbent is he....." | [Poem]
Click, clack, click.
All the machines roar,
Click, clack, click.
For this total war.
Click, clack, click.
Industry cannibalized,
Click, clack, click.
To create their demise.
Click, clack, click.
All of humanity knows,
Click, clack, click.
The others don’t though.
Click, clack, click.
Bombs manufactured,
Click, clack, click.
Enemy lives fractured.
Click, clack, click.
Society rebuilt to destroy,
Click, clack, click.
Not to be enjoyed.
Click, clack, click.
Soldiers armed en masse,
Click, clack, click.
Ready to kick the others in the ass.
Click, clack, click.
Everyone does their part.
Click, clack, click.
To blow these aliens apart. | 2019-11-24T11:06:40 | 2019-11-24T10:43:55 | 151 | 66 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | I glanced nervously at my watch, still holding a wry smile. *12:01*.
My mom gave me a reassuring nod, but her brow furrowed in the same way as it does when I suit up for football. Hopeful. Excited. Definitely nervous. *12:02*.
Dad makes a nervous laugh. “Jim, you remember how much I was sweating at my Calling Day?” He elbows my uncle, who returns with the same nervous laugh. *12:03*.
I rub my arm frantically, trying to disguise the welling up in my throat, the cold prickling on my scalp. I pretend no one can hear the jackhammer playing in my chest. *12:04*.
Relief starts to sweep over me when I see a change on my forearm. Then dread. A bird flew by the window. My hopes were really shadows. That made it all worse. I was doomed. Hands down, worst day of my life. *12:05*.
I stared silently for the next half hour, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Mom started to pass around refreshments to break the tension. It was well-meant, I suppose. A handful of friends tried to encourage me as they left the party, usually laying a hand on my shoulder as if that would make it better, as if that bridged the gap between the outcast and the Called. My eyes could not help but stray to their arms as they came by. Chef, Diplomat, Plumber, Accountant, Soldier, Engineer, Mechanic. Each future bright and open. Mine was blank. I’d give a perfunctory nod, unsmiling, still staring forward. They would leave.
I heard dad get into a heated conversation with our family doctor an hour or two later. Something, something pituitary gland… something, something never happened before… it didn’t matter to me. Maybe it gave him some comfort to know that science had zero answers for me tonight and he, Mechanic, a classic fixer, couldn’t do any more.
Mom brought dinner, trying to get me to eat. She’s always been really thoughtful like that, but I wasn’t hungry. At least, hunger or fullness didn’t matter to me right now. I was purposeless. Later she brought cookies. As a Baker, it was the best offering she could bring. I knew they were amazing. I almost smiled. But I shook my head and stared.
At some point, I realized it was dark, so I found my bed and slept.
Mom called me in sick to school the next day. I didn’t leave the bed.
The day after was a Saturday. It was also the first day I cried, and the first day I spoke.
“Why? If there’s a God or a benevolent universe, why the hell me? I did my time! I was a good kid. I worked hard at school. So, why? Give me one good reason why I don’t get a purpose! This is humiliating!”
The universe remained silent. To be fair, we’ve never exactly been on speaking terms anyway.
I went to school the next week, forearm bandaged in shame. It probably drew as many eyes as my naked skin would have, and just as many whispers.
In fifth period, Mr. Hardiman walked up calmly during lab and asked how I was doing. He had Chemist written on his right arm, the word now faded with time.
“Oh, you know, just adjusting to being a social outcast.”
“Really, is that what you have written under there were you won’t show anyone?”
“You haven’t heard?” I couldn’t tell if he was being naïve or sarcastic, but his tone suggested the latter. “You must be the only one.”
He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then grinned and took off his glasses to polish them, which was usually a sign that he was trying to be especially serious. “You know, when I had my Calling day, I was secretly hoping to see ‘Traveler’ pop up, but I got this instead. It was fine, I loved the sciences and it was no letdown to work in them, but part of me did regret not pursuing those mountains and deserts and far reaches of the world I kept reading about. I’ve made it as far as Mt. Holyoak for a ski trip since, but that’s about it.” The glasses returned to their perch. “Do you mind taking off the bandage so I could see?”
I was reluctant. No, I was terrified. But his tone was sincere, and I trusted him. The white guaze fell to the floor.
Mr. Hardiman beamed warmly. “Blank slate. Must be nice.” And he walked away.
Silence. I did not notice until then that the entire class was holding its breath. Then I noticed I was holding my own.
I was a blank slate, an unwritten page, a road untraveled. I was free and could do anything I wanted. So I stood up, smiled, and walked out the door.
“I make my own destiny.” | I've never been much for parties--let alone a party where I'm the center of attention. I'd much rather be sitting in a corner somewhere with a cat and my phone until the crowd dispersed. But, it was my 18th birthday today, so my parents were hosting my reveal party.
Often, children took after one of their parents. My mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, had been "resilient." They were survivors who had been through more trauma and heartache than most, but they still managed to soldier on and serve as role models for others. My grandmother was one of our community leaders, and a small throng gathered around her and my mother as they discussed plans to update infrastructure in our town.
My father, like his father and brothers was "protective." He was a member of the police force and helped keep us safe. He was seldom far from my mother, and stood a few paces back from her, eyes alert and straight posture belying that he was ready to spring to action even on such a happy day.
My parents were good people, and everyone expected that I would follow one of their leads. My older sister had. She wore the label of "protective" proudly. She was currently training to join the police force as well.
"It's almost time!" My mother called excitedly. "Take off your cardigan so we can see better. Only another minute..."
Everyone gathered around me waiting to see what my destiny held. Slowly, the dark shapes of a word began to appear. No one breathed for a moment as "dick" came into startling focus. Everything was silent until one of my cousins finally broke and began to laugh nervously. My father shot him a glare as my mother moved to comfort me. "It could mean any number of things..."
When she released me from a firm hug, I moved to stare at my arm, but was shocked to see something on my opposite forearm as well... The word "butt."
There had to be some kind of explanation! Surely my destiny couldn't be... Dick butt... | 2017-03-16T03:45:52 | 2017-03-16T02:49:08 | 188 | 12 |
[WP]: Dog Heaven actually has a pretty large human population. That’s just where you go when you weren’t really good enough to get to human Heaven, but good enough to your dog that they wish you were there too. | I was running, running, running, swiftly through the meadow of high grass. Angeline was chasing me, laughing and smiling. I was happy, she was happy, and all was right in the world. Until *it* happened. I was looking back at her when I felt my paw catch, and I stumbled, tumbled, and rolled down the hill. I heard her scream "DAISY! NO!" Then, everything went black.
I woke up to beeping, a horrible, sharp noise that hurt my ears. I blearily opened my eyes and saw, though blurry through my tired eyes, the unmistakable shape of Angeline. I felt my tail start wagging with relief, but when I tried to get up to greet her, pain shot through my leg. Dreadful, terrible pain, so awful that it paralyzed me. I let out a low moan, which made Angeline turn to me. The pain cleared my head, and I remembered the fall. I watched as Angeline ran to me from the other side of the room, which I could now see was the doctor's office. Was I hurt? Her brow was knotted with worry, and she called to Bella. "Mom, she's awake! Come on!" I saw Bella, followed by the doctor, step through the door. Bella looked like she had been crying, and the doctor looked somber.
"Angeline, dear, Daisy's leg is fractured horribly." Is that why I was here? Why I felt the agonizing pain? "She'll never walk again."
Daisy's face turned from worry to devastation. "No, no, that can't be! No!" As much as the news shocked and pained me, Angeline's sorrow hurt me more. "Oh, poor Daisy. Can't it be fixed?"
This is where the doctor spoke. "It can be, but it would require countless surgeries, and even then, she would never regain full use of her leg."
"Not only that," Bella interjected, "but the cost would range in the tens of thousands. Sweetie, we don't have that kind of money."
Angeline's face contorted to misery, and I could see she was trying desperately to resist crying. "Oh mom, what should we do? I love her!" As she said this, she buried her face in her hands. "She loves running! I love playing with her!" It was true; I love running, and I love spending time with my girl. How could I do those without use of my leg?
"Sweetheart, she'll be in pain the rest of her life. She's 13, and has had a good run. I think the best thing we could do for her... is put her out of her misery."
With that, the room fell deathly silent. As I considered what she could mean, Angeline burst into tears and ran from the room. After a brief glance at the doctor, she followed. The doctor walked over to me, and in hushed tones, began to speak to me. "It's all right girl, you won't be in pain for much longer," she said. I wondered what she might mean by that. Didn't Bella say I would be in pain for the rest of my life? "Oh girl, don't be afraid," she continued, a sympathetic look spreading across her face. It was then I realized I had been whimpering. As she got up and walked away, my thoughts ran rampant, and I drifted into a troubled sleep.
I awoke to the sound of voices. Bella, the doctor, and occasionally Angeline. When I opened my eyes, the three entered the room and closed the door. Angeline, who still had tears streaming down her face, hugged me and whispered "Oh Daisy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you all the world." Bella walked over to me, and with a look of extreme sadness, pet me and adorned her face with a small, phony smile. The doctor, after glancing at them for consent, lifted me up and brought me to a room I had not been in before. She picked up a large needle, walked over to me, and stuck it into me. And with that, I slept.
When I woke up, I was somewhere I had never been before. The sun was shining, and there were no clouds in the sky. I was lying on the softest grass I had ever felt, and I could see humans and dogs alike running and playing. Everyone seemed happy, and yet there was no sign of Angeline. A kind looking human walked over to me and knelt down. "Hello. I'm Amie. You must be confused. This is dog heaven, where dogs go after they die. Humans can come here too, if their dogs rally love them and they weren't quite good enough for human heaven. Any injuries, diseases, or deformities you may have had before have been cured," She got up, and as she was turning, spoke one more time. "If you're lucky, you might see your human again one day. If you do, they may not be the same as you remember them, since they will arrive here as the same age they were in when they died." With that, she left.
20 years later, I was playing with my friends. I enjoyed it here. The only thing that was missing was Angeline. Until, as I was walking by the point of awakening, I smelled her. The scent was different from how I remembered it, but it was distinctly hers. With no words to my friends, I ran to the point. And there, I saw her. My girl. Angeline. I barked, once, twice, three times, until she looked at me, and away from Amie. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she called out to me. "Daisy! You're here!" And finally, after twenty long years we were reunited. There was only one thing bothering me.
I knew the rules. The humans only came here if they weren't good enough for human heaven, and they were the same age as when they died. She was only 28.
What happened to her? | "Hey Baxter, could I...have a treat?"
Baxter rolled his eyes, and furrowed his furry brow.
"Okay hooman, but this is the last one! You'll get a tummy ache on our walk later if you're too full!"
"Thanks Baxter! You're the best."
As Baxter's hooman ran off to get his treat, he reflected on their lives together and the strange situation they now found themselves in.
*He always told me I was a good boy. But who could've known his salvation depended on it.*
Off in the distance, the hooman waved at Baxter as he devoured his cookie. Baxter's tail waved back as they shared a moment they had many times before, in a world now far in the past.
Later, on their walk, the hooman joined Baxter in his reflective state. "Baxter, why am I here? I was never exceptional - I wasn't even good, obviously. The other people here tell me we get sent here because our dogs wanted us to be. Is that true?"
"It is, hooman. When I got here, it felt really...empty. Something was wrong. I couldn't even get myself to play with the other dogs. Do you know what it takes for us to *not* play?"
"I vaguely remember."
"Anyway, one day a memory came to me. You were throwing me a frisbee. And I knew why I felt so alone, why this place felt so distant. There was no good hooman to throw me *my* frisbee."
"You were easy to love, Baxter. You were the goodest boy, even when you were a puppy. You have no idea how hard it was to live the last 60 years of my life without you."
"I do, hooman. I do know that pain."
"What do you mean?"
"In order to bring our humans here, we have to venture to the very edges of heaven. We have to see your soul as it drifts upward, otherwise you'll float past our realm. I had to bark at you as you passed, otherwise you'd be gone."
"So you sat there for 60 years? Just waiting? For me?"
"I did."
"Buddy...why? Why didn't you go live? This is a great place! You could have done anything!"
"I told you already. I missed you. I wanted to be your good boy again. You were worth waiting for."
"You were, well I guess are, the best friend I ever had."
"And you mine, hooman."
"Say, should we go to the park? Play some fetch?"
"Okay!"
And the two ran off as they had so many times before, a good boy and its hooman. A beaming smile on the man's face, and a furiously wagging tail on the dog's, as they ran off to play for the rest of eternity.
__________________________
You can find more stories by me at [r/psalmsandstories](https://www.reddit.com/r/psalmsandstories/) if you wish. | 2019-07-27T16:49:46 | 2019-07-27T16:35:10 | 113 | 23 |
[WP] You're a human trader for the intergalactic slave market. Advertise to buyers why they should buy human instead of another species. | “Hello, General Corshivex. I hear you’re looking for some workers for your mining station on that asteroid belt outside Gilex. You’ll be needing something hardy to withstand those storms, but clever enough to survive out there. I heard that your last crop of Velmings all died when they couldn’t escape that methane eruption. You know Velmings. You tell them to stay put, and they’ll stay put, even as they are slowly suffocated to death. Not real thinkers.
“Well, if you’ll direct your attention this away, I think I might have something that will interest you greatly. It’s a new lot, off this backwater planet way out in the Halanx arm of the Milky Way. They call themselves humans.
“Now, I know they don’t look like much, right? Kinda scrawny and fragile looking. Looks like a strong breeze could take ‘em out, and they have that sorta vapid look, all staring at us like we’ve got two eyes or something. Even when they’re out of captivity out on that little chunk of rock they call home, they haven’t even been doing much the last few millennia. Just barely got out into space, you know? They’re still doing it with chemical explosion, Reshrah bless them.
“But, here’s the but. Appearances can be deceiving, General Corshivex. They’re as hardy as all Crineck. Do you know what they do for fun back on that little obscure piece of iron? They run, all over it, all the time. They hit each other too, repeatedly, for fun as far as I can tell. It might be part of their mating ritual, I don’t really know, but the point is that they are the perfect lot of masochists who’ll do all your hard work, because they enjoy it. Give them colored paper, and they’ll do it until they drop dead.
“They’re pretty cheap to feed too. They’ll eat pretty much anything, and they love to eat, so you got to limit them, or they’ll eat themselves to death. There’s this weird brown liquid they call ‘coffee’ and they’ll do pretty much anything for it. So, if you run out of colored paper, you can give them that, and it speeds them right along.
“The reproduction cycle’s pretty slow on these guys. Takes about a decade and a half to reach reproductive maturity, and then nine months to grow a new one. But, it gives you more control over the breeding. The hairier ones are males and the others are females. It’s kinda hard to tell at first, but you’ll figure it out soon. To breed them, you choose a male and a female. You put them in a closed room for a few hours. They mash up their bodies to combine DNA. Nine months later, baby pops out of female, and you got a new fresh crop.
“At maturity, you’ve got almost four decades of hard work out of them, so it’s a long-lived stock, not like the disposable Velmings. Humans are good to invest training in, since they learn quickly and you’ve got them for decades afterward. They are surprisingly clever, nothing like the Velmings. Seriously, some of them have already started babbling in garbled Intergalactic, and I haven’t even tried to teach them anything yet.
“Now, you’re probably thinking: ‘Well, Gornivah, if humans are so great, how come they’re sitting in your cargo hold instead of at the Intergalactic Council of Sentient Beings?’ Well, the problem with humans, is that while they’re as clever as any Sentient, they’re about as wise as the Velmings. Give them puzzles, they’ll figure it out. Ask them to create a society, well, you should see the mess they have on their iron chunk. They do try, Reshrah bless them, but they just can’t seem to get it together.
“However, General Corshivex, I don’t think you need wise philosophers as miners. I think you need clever workers, and believe me when I say that humans will fit perfectly for your needs. You’ll need a stock of at least twenty females and a few males so you can get started breeding your own, plus some extra to simply work. I’ve been in the worker business a long time, and believe me when I say that I can tell humans are going to overtake Velmings as primary workers in just a few decades. If you buy humans now while they’re still new and untested, you’re going to reap enormous profit later when everyone’s trying to get their tentacles on one. You’ll be mining enough lanthanum arsenide to create superconductors for entire galaxies.
“Now, if I might be so forward, let’s talk price.” | "And here we have a specimen of our 'strongman' range, perfect for all heavy lifting needs! Even stronger than the standard Heoy lifter, these gents are from stock who are known to have built structures many times their height! What's more, they can subsist on most of the cheapest high-protein foods edible to carbon life forms on the market, lasting for on average five standard planetary cycles!
"If that's not what you're looking for, why not try the 'dogsbody' range, available in both of their genders. More than willing to cook, clean, babysit, or whatever you wish them to do after only a little instructional flogging. This all-round range is perfect for a family home.
"Why you, good sir, are clearly looking for something in order to keep your... er... nightly exercise business running, are you not? Then look no further! I have a range of fresh and experienced stock here, each multi-use! Standard license checks apply.
"If none of these suit you, then how about our brand new Office Worker (TM) range? These individuals can work for up to thirty guntraels at a time, and exceed the entry requirements for most low-level executive staff in all major corporations.
"Ah, you are a sports-thing, are you not? If you like a spot of hunting out on the gamma-fields or the blue forests of Blarbaron, then these 'athletics' are for you! Whether you prefer a short, high-speed chase, a longer marathon-type, or a course involving athletics including swimming, jumping, climbing or whatever you can think of, we have them available for you. For a small extra fee, you can even have one who will attempt to fight back, adding even more fun to the chase!
We regret to inform you that this species is unsuitable for ultra-gravity environments, radiation, acid baths or unprotected interplanetary travel" | 2014-11-22T09:10:37 | 2014-11-22T08:16:06 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Everitt Kincaid," The judge decreed. "For crimes against the magical realms and the practice of the heresy know as science, you are sentenced to death by this court. Think well upon your fate, for in the morning you shall be asked to voice the means of your destruction."
I muttered as he spoke. I'd tried my best to defend myself. No Law Mage in the kingdom had wanted to take up my case. I had argued that everything was science. That magic itself was a science imperfectly understood by the sentient races. My pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. Even though magic followed all the rules of science they hadn't want to listen. They accused me of the Dark Heresy and claimed my defense was proof of my guilt. They were fools.
Yes, the Dark Heresy had led to the destruction of the first age of man, but it had also given birth to magic itself if the myths were to be believed. Now nearly two millennia after the Calamity society had rebuilt and we all worshiped at the altar of magic. Well, all save the few Heretics like me. We unearthed the forgotten lore, recovered the abominations know as technology and science. We understood there could be no equality for the ordinary sentient when the Mages ruled all with their supreme control of magic. With a dark wand or cruel staff, they could wipe rebellions from the field of battle. No army could stand against the Mageocracy.
Of course, science had the answer. I had recovered the technology, refurbished it, understood it. I had equipped my comrades with the weapons they needed. As the rebellion squared off against the Mages they had been supremely confident. When their leaders' heads exploded into pink mist followed by a crack of thunder they had lost that confidence. Still, as they collected themselves their magic proved too much, we had moved too early. They slaughtered my comrades, my fellow rebels. Then the torture started, they broke the most strong-willed of us in mere hours.
That was when they found me. I was no rebel soldier, I was a scientist, a seeker of knowledge and truth. Sure, I armed the rebels but I couldn't battle the Mages anymore than anyone else. Still, I had given the rebels the deadly weapons that had killed more Mages than had died since the last Great War, and they were furious. My trial and execution were to be public. They wanted the whole kingdom to know the suffering of a heretic. To add insult to injury they made you choose the manner of your own death. Vast magical power was employed in a dark ritual to inflict the means of your death and they would do their best to twist your words.
I lay on the cot in my cell trying to think my way out of the sentence. If I was better with words perhaps I could craft a way that would allow me to live for years or even just months before my death. My worry of course was that anything I told them they would turn back against me. If I asked to die of some horrid natural disaster hoping to take them with me, they would likely just teleport me to one of those disasters. I knew their magic was not unlimited though, but they would be willing to invest a lot of power into making sure I suffered. Finally, I had an idea and drifted off to a fitful slumber.
When I awoke I was lead out into the courtyard. The crowd jeered and hissed, they booed and threw rotten fruit and stones at me but I held my head up high. I saw my comrades for the first time in weeks. I wasn't the only scientist to die today. We were heralded as heretical priests of a forbidden religion and all of us were to die in horrible ways. Kenneth Acetheart was before me in line. He winked at me when they called his name and walked proudly before the trio of mages that would enact his death.
"Heretic Kenneth Acetheart," The lead executioner intoned. "Name your death."
"Old age," Kenneth announced cockily and I grinned, he'd figured it out too. "I choose Old Age."
"So be it," The executioner stated, his lips curling into a smirk. My face fell and my mind began to race, he was too pleased with the method of death...
Then we all watched in horror as Kenneth aged rapidly, his once dark hair became salt and pepper, then grey, and finally bone-white before our eyes. His skin went from hale and healthy to covered in liver spots and paper-thin. His once well-muscled frame lost weight and stature until he was a hunched and shriveled shell of his former self. His eyes dimmed with cataracts and age. His mind began to wander as I could see the confusion on his face. Then finally he collapsed and his body slowly turned to dust.
As a page swept away the remains of my friend and comrade with the casual air of someone doing an unfavored chore I was panicking. I couldn't think of what to name that would result in a better outcome than that. I could make them kill me with science, that would show them that magic wasn't the only way. I would die by my own discipline at least. But what good would that be? They led me into the center of the ritual circle. I could feel the hum of magic in the air around me. The spell was awaiting my means of death.
"Heretic Everitt Kincaid, slayer of the Just," The executioner intoned once more. "Name your death."
My mind was still racing, I had two choices that I had narrowed it down to. I glanced from the executioner to the crowd, then to my comrades. I steadied my breathing I thought and when my lips parted I heard myself talk, as if I was outside my body listening to myself instead of speaking.
"I wish to die as every trace of magic leaves this world forever..." I closed my eyes as I spoke, knowing that at least if I failed I may have given the next scientist in line an experiment to improve on. | The person before me took my idea. She had no idea that dying of old age meant they would accelerate time for her. Now that I saw that, I can't make the same mistake. There has to be a way out of here, a loophole.
You'll find one like you always do, I kept thinking that to myself. I wasn't a stranger to this business, but usually I wasn't involved with magic. The payment was good but too risky.
"Marcus Spades, how would you like to die?" The hooded man said. He held a weapon that changed into many weapons. The hood had golden details, his body was hidden by shadows. If anything he was good at this. I could feel the chills creeping up my body.
"I need a second."
"You have one minute." His weapon changes to a whip. I'm not sure how but I feel he enjoyed those who took their time and never decided.
Time! That's it, their laws are bound by time and space here. If I can get them to try to execute me in some other place far from this world maybe I have a chance. I start laughing, I might have finally lost it. "I wish to die in a time space rift between worlds."
The executioners weapon changes into a cellphone. "I need help. Yes, it's another crazy guy. Yeah, he wants the slowest most painful death in existence. Thanks, I'll wait for you to start the ritual."
I fall into my knees. That gamble sounds like the worst one I've taken. Although that one that included stealing from the governments and 'donating' it was close second, by the time they figured out I cheated on that table it was too late.
Four hooded men or women appear. They point wands to the floor under me. A circle of light engulfs me. One moment I see them, the other I see everything and nothing at the same time.
I look around and I see more figures. More mes. The one closest to me waves, the but the others scream in agony and pain.
"Why are they screaming?"
"We are trapped between time and space. We have access to all information at the same time and our brains can't handle it."
This wasn't what I thought would happen. My pupils have widened. I have to escape. I can't let this happen to me! "How can we escape?"
"You would have to touch an opening. But they are always just barely far away to not be reached."
My fingers reached out but never quite made it to any of the images passing by. My body is sweating but it's not. I can't feel the droplets on my skin. Nor the tears from my eyes.
In the distance growls and screeches of despair. How many of me are here? When will this all end? I look towards the other side and a new me comes in. Repeating the scene that just happen over and over and over again. | 2021-06-24T07:21:37 | 2021-06-24T07:17:41 | 501 | 181 |
[WP] Everyone around the world gains superpowers depending on what they were holding at the moment. | It turned out that the skills were transferable. Or, to be precise, that there was no difference between the skills at all.
At first, the cashiers of the world went wild. They, of minimum wage, had inherited the Earth - in the form of small change and dollar bills.
But the economy changes, when people can pull things out of thin air. This is especially so when you learn that your powers expand, into the *class* of things, as a whole.
So, the chefs all discovered, as they played with their powers, that it was more than the tuna, or truffle, or steak, or whatever else they’d been handling. It was food, glorious food, that they could categorically conjure.
The mothers (it was mostly mothers), who had been in the kitchen, soon learned about that too.
When wives, and friends, and neighbors could put bread on every table - why bother going on, with mundane work, at all?
And everyone played with their powers a little more. They got creative.
So, if you’d been loading the printer at work, and now you summoned a piece of paper, but thought it *big*, and felt the shape in your mind gain dimension, and plunged into the paper block and swam through the inchoate white, and tugged the nearly-thereness into the pant-barking *feel* of a dog -- well, you got a dog. A real, live dog.
Which meant that everyone could summon anything, and everything at all. It was just the process that differed. It was like meditation. Some people imagine candle-flames. Other people count breaths. Still others like to chant a single syllable as they sit. They’re just different ways to get to the same headspace, in the end.
And, just like meditation, you eventually got good enough to ditch the precursor, and go straight into summoning the dog.
If we could summon things - could we send things? Namely, ourselves? So, instead of calling matter *in*, we tried flowing ourselves *out*, and found that we could, indeed, pour into that sideways space where anything could be molded, and gather our beings and atoms into wherever it was we wanted.
And then we found that it was more than *wherever*, we could emerge as *whatever* else we wanted, too.
At every step, we thought that we had discovered the true measure of our powers, and at every step we realized that there was yet more to be had.
Finally, we transcended.
If you stayed in the in-between, and stretched your eyes and nerves amorphous, and let your mind expand and hover in this psychic-atom playpen, you started to drift, and spread, and scatter, in the most pleasurable manner - until the body dropped away, and you were left with limitless self, and suddenly you were rushing through every atom in existence, every second in time, every *is*, *was*, or *would be*, then you understood, at last, that you were universe, and always had been.
So now we fly between the stars, and through the folds of space and time, and drop sometimes, into points, when we feel like being *single* - becoming, perhaps, a Volek K’tor, with a great martial fleet, or a toddler on a swing on a shining summer day. Then, we fly out again, laughing, and cosmic in our embrace.
But we have been thinking, lately.
If, when we were human, we could summon human things - could it be, that now, as universe, we could birth universe at will?
So we breathe across the span of our infinite domain, and sink into this breath, everywhere, at once, and we hold the quarks and quasars in the not-yet-might-be’s of random space, and pull, and form, and push, and *ah~*
*we can -*
*we can -*
*we can - explode again, forever, in a multitude of bangs, this moment, eternal, that sings out without end.*
| Techs were the majority in the first world country those of us holding electronics, gaining impressive control over technology, adapting it, becoming the future. Then there were the Tradesmen, ones who had been working with tools. They gained impressive skill and creativity. Carving, painting, building. They built the foundations for the future. Doctors were clearly Doctors, using the tools of their trade when it happened. However, the more rare powers are the most grandiose. When the event happened, everyone gained powers based on what theyvwere holding. Some people held two objects, so they got blended powers.
In a few situations though, someone was holding things far more precious. Imagine the power one would gain, holding a still beating heart. Or holding someone's hand. Holding your loved ones. You would think that kind of power would be dark. Yet, no-one was using it so. Our world has entered a time of unity, where everyone is using their powers for the greater good. The few who act up, are taken swiftly down. I think the greatest factor that contributes to our peace are the militaries of the world. They are death incarnate, and we dare not anger them. | 2016-11-16T09:12:45 | 2016-11-16T08:02:21 | 57 | 16 |
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them. | We were at my house, late into the night studying for an upcoming test when the topic came up.
"Do you think love?" Chris signed out, moving his slim hands with ease.
I never thought I'd have a hand thing, but apparently I do.
I guess it makes sense, after all these years of "pretending" to be "deaf", watching hands and "reading" lips just became natural.
I never chose to be "deaf", it was just thrusted upon me. Better than being called anti-social I thought at first, but all this pressure to keep up this facade because talking was also stressful, so never really an in between, and right now was stressful for some reason.
It shouldn't have been, it was just another normal night hanging out with Chris…
Who I had a big crush on.
And right, his question.
He waved his hand in front of my face bringing me back to the real world.
"?" I tilted my head in confusion of his aforementioned question.
He shook his head "nevermind."
But his avoidance irked me. He was the one who brought it up in the first place, yet he had the audacity to just drop it.
I may have been overreacting, but when your crush of two years asks you about love, you can't just ignore it and move on.
"Ask." Ask your question again chris, let me understand, let me help, please let this be a confession.
He sighed, "Love life."
He continued explaining, hands moving to form words.
I nodded, I did think about love, where it would go, if I'd ever even be in a relationship, go on dates, get married, have children.
I was moving a bit too fast, children are definitely off the table for now, I shouldn't even be thinking about that before the first date… if I ever have one that is.
We continued to "talk", before he swayed into something much more personal, not just the idea and muses of romance, but the reality of it, just out of reach: crushes.
The secrets kept hidden.
I was about to spill the beans, but that earnest look on his face knocked all the wind and courage out of me.
He took a pause, I could see his lips move, like he was trying to talk, and I could hear his heavy breath, feel it— when did he get so close?
"I love you."
My heart just about stopped, jumped ten miles high, bursting out of my chest.
He moved closer, resting against me when I showed no resistance.
"I love you too," I whisper, and I can see his eyes going wide, but I can't understand why.
And then it catches up to me, and my life flashes before my eyes.
This is it, it's all over, he's going to hate me.
His hearing aids, and the fact that he can lip read, and the fact that I just spoke, It's all hitting me one by one, obvious right in front of me details.
I should have never let my guard down.
But his shock turns into confusion, and I feel I have to clear it up. If I were to just be a coward and kick him out, our ten year friendship would be ruined.
"I'm not deaf."
His eyes widened like saucers, but once he gathered himself, a smile so sweet.
"As long as everything was true, as long as you are true, it doesn't matter, I love you."
And god if that doesn't make me cry tears of joy. Everything is finally coming together, even though I know I'm going to have to make it up for lying to him.
Maybe being labeled as deaf wasn't such a bad thing after all.
(Sorry for any inaccuracies and mistakes.) | So two years ago, I got hit by an arrow right in the neck. The tip clipped part of my vocal cords but I got better in half a year, but somehow, it evolved to deafness??? Anyways here I am, scar on my neck and my college friend asking me out for a date in ASL while saying it. Now I didn't care for speaking, but after the arrow, I sound like I survived getting my lungs shredded by mustard gas. So with all the courage I could muster, I spoke, Saying "Yes." She. Was. Furious! She began laying into me about lying about a disability, but I couldn't help but laugh with my raspy voice. I calmed her down somehow and told her why I don't talk, and where I learned ASL. | 2020-12-01T18:02:47 | 2020-12-01T15:26:25 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Death has been flirting with you for a long time, but they've become rather annoying. After another attempt to hang out with you again, you jokingly tell them "If I was the last person on Earth, I'd maybe give you a chance." Death firmly believes on that, and will double their work. | Its doings were as subtle as the whispers of the wind, smooth as the murmur of a far away river, for in a silent, mundane night, it snatched every soul away.
Every single one, but mine.
I woke up early, the sun still hidden beneath the horizon. I would love to say something odd stirred within me, a foreboding of some sort, but that was not the case.
What woke me were its timbreless words, wrapped around a breath colder than ice.
"It is done," Death said.
I didn't understand what it meant, but still I clutched at my heart, for its bones were dismal, and its hollowness palpable. I sought for sentences and words, something to avoid the silence, something to melt the fear away, but I only found a memory spinning, over and over again, in the vast emptiness of my mind.
It had happened two months ago, when Death had come and given me a bouquet of rose-shaped souls. For reasons beyond my understanding, I had told it that if there was a chance for us to fall in love, that would be when no one was alive. And deep down, I knew that memory had remained for a reason. Perhaps the words it had spoken, had made it settle and whirl, but truth was, reason didn't matter now.
I pushed through the fear, through the knot within me, and at last, on the verge of tears, I said, "What did you do?"
Death held out his hand, and on it rested a golden ring with a great stone full of swirling colors. "There is no one alive, but you. Now our love can bloom. This is the proof. Every soul lays within that stone, and every single one I gift to you."
Through trembling hands, I held the ring. It was beautiful. My eyes wandered along the teetering colors, and in the space of a breath, the ring, the room, everything faded into an iridescent river, and in its tender currents I swam and sang, before a question shattered my reverie.
At last, I looked at Death, and the question flowed out my mouth, "Why?"
Death tilted its head, and two small twinkles of light shone in the hollows of his eyes. "Love is something the eternities never taught me. I witnessed it many times--countless times, but I never understood it. That was until I saw you, and like a key in a lock, everything opened before me. In that moment desire grew within me, and that desire was to feel the warmth of someone's love. And that someone was you.
"Many times I came to you, and many times you broke my heart. In doing so you taught me that love and souls are different, for love can't be snatched away. Love is much greater, for it has to be nurtured, word by word, action by action, and even then it may not bloom. I did what you asked me, and even now, I see the doubt in your eyes. Perhaps you will never love me, but I had to try. And if I went too far, shatter the ring, and tomorrow everyone will wake up."
I didn't hesitate. I threw the ring to the ground, and crashed it with a stomp. It made no noise when it broke, but the colors billowed away in a parade of wisps and tendrils.
"I see you have taken your decision," Death said, his voice tarnished with grief. "So this is what pain feels like. I apologize for my actions, but just know, my love will always be yours." With that, he walked away.
"Wait," I said, and held its hand.
"I never said no."
------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn
| [Poem]
"I love you," Death told me
Hands outstretched
Wanting, waiting
*No I will not*
But Death is persistent
Toiling endlessly from here to there
From when to then
My mother was taken
And my sister too
Still, I said
*No I will not*
My beloved pet Racer
My father and son
My husband and friends
*No I will not*
I became a lone human amongst trees
And empty buildings and stars
A graveyard devoted to me
I picked out a gun
With a nice handle of oak
And steel cold as my heart
To give Death what it wanted so badly
Me
--------
*/r/resonatingfury* | 2019-03-30T15:14:07 | 2019-03-30T15:10:36 | 641 | 135 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.