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[WP] "Kid, if you're gonna skip school to hang around the magic shop, you might as well learn some real magic." | *Magical Aids & Accoutrements - The Greatest Magical Hobby Shop in the Country*. Kate wasn't about to argue - firstly because it would be useless to argue with a shopfront sign. But secondly, because she simply couldn't imagine how any other store could claim to be better.
The first time she had wandered into the tiny shop, she had been looking for a birthday present for her Mum. Mr Xander, the owner, had shown her two interlocking metal rings. She tried her hardest to pull them apart, but no matter how she twisted and turned them, they stayed locked together.
Mr Xander smiled as he took one of the rings from her, leaving her with the other.
"Woah," she breathed. "How did you do that?"
Mr Xander, now smiling even wider, had shown her. Somehow, knowing the trick had made it even more magical. Magic wasn't real, of course, but Mr Xander had managed to fool her senses into believing that it was.
Soon, Kate was spending every afternoon at *Magical Aids & Accoutrements*. Mr Xander had taught her progressively more difficult magic, but like most children her age, she had a knack for deception. She practised whenever she had a spare moment - walking to school, during dinner, even going so far as to use a torch to practice under her bedcovers at night when she was meant to be sleeping.
***
It was cold, and her fingers kept fumbling a particularly tricky false shuffle. She breathed on her hands to warm them up slightly and kept trying. Finally, she perfected it and smiled to herself in satisfaction. Mr Xander would be so impressed when she managed to fool him that afternoon.
Kate looked up and realised that she had accidentally walked several blocks past her school. She was going to be so late! She spun around and started walking briskly in the other direction. Not that it would do her much good. She'd walked so far that she could probably get to *Magical Aids & Accoutrements* faster than she could back to school.
She stopped suddenly. If she was going to get in trouble for being late anyway... Did it really matter HOW late she was?
Mr Xander was busy with a customer when she entered *Magical Aids & Accoutrements*, so she went to sit in a corner and warm her hands by the heater.
"Damn it, you can't hide out here forever!"
Kate jumped. It was Mr Xander's customer, but he was being incredibly impolite. She couldn't remember ever hearing someone raise their voice in *Magical Aids & Accoutrements* before.
She heard the door open, and Mr Xander's soft voice, though she couldn't make out any words. She strained to understand what he was saying, but suddenly he was right beside her - as if by magic.
"No school today?"
She didn't say anything. He knew the answer.
"Well. If you're going to skip school to hang around in here, you may as well be learning some real magic. It's about time I told you anyway."
Kate looked up at him, confused. He'd never mentioned anything like this before. Mr Xander sighed and sat down next to her.
"What is the secret to magic?"
Kate knew this one. He'd asked her this many times.
"Misdirection. Deception. Make the real into the impossible by fooling the senses."
Mr Xander smiled wryly. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
"Real magic - and yes, I do mean real magic, in exactly the way you're thinking - is the same, but opposite. Instead of fooling the senses, we fool the physical world, and make the impossible into the real. For example - "
He held out his palm, and a small flame appeared there, flickering gently.
"Mr Xander, I've seen you do this one before! You've got a small amount of alcohol mixed with water in your palm, so you don't burn yourself as you..."
Kate trailed off. She'd never seen the flame in this trick last more than 5 seconds or so, but his flame had been burning the entire time she'd been talking, and it just kept going.
"How are you doing that?" she asked in amazement.
"This is the first real magic you learn since it follows on so nicely from the mundane magic you've already been doing. I've managed to fool the physical world into believing that I had the alcohol in my hand when in truth I didn't. So the physical world has no problem with me starting the flame since it knows that's how the trick works. Once the flame is burning, the difficulty is in maintaining it, since it slowly becomes more and more obvious that something isn't right."
He let the flame go out.
"And for my next trick - "
He appeared behind her and she yelped.
"This one is a lot harder. You have to convince the physical world that you actually moved - the world cares a lot about intentions, you see. So in my head, I walked over here - not just visualising it, but actually sending the brain signals to move my legs and body. Only at the last moment, I blocked those signals from reaching their destinations, and so I remained where I was. Hence my brain held two states at once - one where I was behind you and one where I was in front of you. To move, I simply let go of the old state."
He looked at her. "I know you probably didn't understand most of that. But would you like to learn?"
Kate nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Good. Because we don't have much time."
***
By request, [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/petrichorparticle/comments/6l549v/magical_aids_accoutrements_part_2/). | "I have no idea where all these sacrificial goats came from." As I spoke, I knew the Head of The Institute could see right through my lie. After weeks of careful training, I had transported sixty-four demonic goats right into the lobby of The Institute for Peculiarity.
Mardroog Mabeelzeborg stared at me. If he had been using the Lookskankill spell, I would have been struck dead on the spot. "Mister Smotherscrumpet, this is not Hogwarts." He drew out the syllables of my Peculiar Title slowly and with as much condescension as he could muster. "We can't just fix this with a wand wave and a silly Latin pun."
"I was just trying to finish my chores before soccer practice," I said, looking down at my feet. "The Hellpit was extra filthy today, and I figured that if I did a quick stamina Incantation I could scrub the demon semen off more quickly."
Mardroog scoffed. He twisted his pencil-thin handlebar mustache angrily. "Nearly a month of training and you confuse basic Peculiarity? You're a disgrace to this hallowed institution. Tell me, what is the proper procedure for a stamina Incantation?"
"Six black candles, the scream of a dying ferret, and sixty milligrams of adrenaline from the glands of a sacrificed virgin."
"And what was your mistake?"
"I tickled the ferret instead of torturing it."
"Wrong!" Mardroog's long, red cloaks whipped around him as he pointed a spindly finger toward me. "A tickled ferret would produce a long-lasting erection, which you clearly do not have! You used white candles, and you used dimethyltryptamine, not adrenaline."
"I apologize, Honored Peculiator. I will double my training as soon as soccer championships are over."
"Your foolish sporting events are a distraction from the slightly-off-gray arts! I command you to cease them this instant!"
"But Great Master of Oddities, we only have 3 games left in the season. Championships are next month!"
"Blast your championships! I shall open the mouth of Hell beneath your teammates and their parents will behold their demise from the bleachers!" As his voice reached a fever pitch, Mardroog's eyes began to smolder a deep red.
"I'll quit tomorrow, Mighty Demonfister." The man had a litany of Titles, each more fearsome than the next. Using a mixture of them sometimes appeased his anger.
"Get the Petrified Sack of Summoning and conjure a Ravenous Heckbeast to eat these goats."
"Yes, Sir," I stammered.
"And Smotherscrumpet, you're on thin ice. Thinner than those Pringles that snap in half when you try to dig them out of the can."
------------------------------------------
Feel free to request a continuation of this. I had a lot of fun writing it! | 2017-07-03T18:16:18 | 2017-07-03T17:42:56 | 287 | 11 |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | Roger was a lot of things, he was an office worker, he was clumsy, he was too picky about his bedsheets and he was an amputee.
People avoided Roger's eyes in stores, which was something he'd never understood. Sure, he caught on that nobody wanted to deal with the awkward of looking at a prosthetic, but his eyes weren't prosthetic. By avoiding Roger's eyes the passersby were only increasing the odds of getting caught staring at his plastic arm.
Even that was assuming that Roger was wearing his prosthetic that day, which was a 50/50 chance depending on how recently he'd damaged it. Roger had considered buying a spare arm, but he figured he'd fall on it and break his spare arm with his current arm and then he'd be out 1000 dollars instead of several hundred. Roger had just been reminded of the price of an arm when he placed the order last afternoon.
Which meant that Roger was out on a date without his arm. In fact, he was early for a date while missing an arm. The waiter had been nice enough, making sure that he was comfortable and giving extra attention to assure him that she wasn't discriminating against him.
So Roger sat at the table, alternating between reading the menu and drinking his water. Time ticked by as the waiter came back with a refill and Roger refused it. He was going to be leaving soon. He'd been on enough dates to know when someone had turned around at th-
"You Roger, mate?" a man asked as he slid up to the table. He didn't wait for Roger to respond before taking his seat. "Sorry I'm late, sholda known better than to hop in the car at this time of day."
Roger didn't respond, the man was Australian, accent and everything; That required a mental note to thank Taylor.
"Anyway," the man started, "I'm Marcus, Tay told ya about me, right?" Marcus held out his hand on the wrong side, and Roger shook it anyway.
"Yeah she-" the gears in Roger's head started turning as he caught the man shaking the nothing on Roger's right side. Wasn't that hilarious? But still, Roger could feel it. "What the hell?" he asked.
"What I thoug-" Marcus started. Roger jumped back of his chair, ripping his phantom hand away from Marcus. "Roger!" Marcus called out before getting up from the table- "Shit, you're Roger right? Look I didn't mean anything by it if you're not, I was just supposed to-" Marcus kept talking, but Roger stopped listening.
For a moment, half a glorious moment there, Roger had his arm back. He felt it in Marcus' powerful grip. He could feel a friendly handshake instead of the awkward left-handed one. It had been there. "My arm," Roger finally got out as he stared at the blank space where his limb was supposed to be.
"What about it mate?" Marcus turned back to Roger once he was done assuring the staff that everything was alright. "S'all good."
"How did you touch my arm?" Roger asked.
"With my hands," Marcus pointed out. "Look mate, if I crossed a boundary just let me know and I'll scoot on outta here. Didn't mean to cheese ya."
"Of course I'm fucking," Roger thought about the word for a moment, "cheesed, how the hell did you touch my arm?" he asked, "it's fucking missing."
"Hey Mate," Marucs said, "you feelin' okay?"
"I'm!" Roger realized he was making a scene, "I'm fine, how'd you touch my arm?"
"Well I grabbed it mate, not like I went for the left side or something."
"You should have gone for the left side," Roger waved his right elbow wildly in the air. "There's nothing here," Roger paused, "mate."
"Stop waving your arm around," Marcus said, "you're all turned aorund. Maybe I'll get ya a glass-a-water and we can chat about what happened there?"
"What?" he asked, "I'm missing my right arm."
"Nah mate, you're missin' your left," Marcus pointed out before putting his hand through Roger's intact left arm.
**Enjoy my attempt to write an Aussie accent? Want to bug me about contiuting this? Find me over on /r/JacksonWrites** | I would recognise that hand anywhere, the shape of the callouses, the slender fingers, the tight grip. This was a hand formed by hard labour in the garden every weekend, until I came out with a drink, or she came in with a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers that you ever saw. They always lasted much longer than anything from a shop. She would kiss me on here cheek, I would promise to finish work before 9 and she would go into the kitchen and start dinner.
She wasn't a great cook, as I never had time to teach her, as I promised to a long time ago. But I would always eat every bite. At 9:15 i would stop and sit in front of the TV as she would pick out a film that I *had* to watch and I would promise to make it to the end this time. I never did. I would wake up at anytime between 1 and 2:30 on the sofa with a blanket and a pillow, and check on her as I when to bed. Reiterating a old promise from long ago.
"I will never let anything hurt you."
In the end I would break that promise, as I had broken so many before. But now, real or otherwise, I would die before letting go
| 2017-03-08T12:40:36 | 2017-03-08T12:22:13 | 1,042 | 75 |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "What the bloody hell you mean the whole country's dark?"
Jackson stopped strapping on his gear and looked towards the cockpit of the transport copter. Apparently Hurst got some news regarding why their squad was just dispatched at 5 AM to Washington DC for a search and rescue mission. Jackson wasn't one to question or dwell on orders, that's why he's one of Britain's most elite soldiers, but something about this was very wrong. It made sense for his squad to be chosen, they were stationed on a naval vessel in the Atlantic. However, a surprise operation on American soil? Sounds like a good way to shit the bed with an ally.
Hurst took off the headset and exited the cockpit to address the rest of the squad.
"Alright boys, we got one shitstorm of a mission on our hands. Word from HQ is Uncle Sam is fucked two ways up his own ass. All forms of communication and any signs of electricity have ceased within the continental United States. No word on Alaska and Hawaii. The last official word they got was an emergency alert about three hours ago from a secure bunker below D.C.," Hurst paused to let the situation sink in as much as it could.
"The POTUS and about twelve other VIPs are believed to be in that bunker. Our job is to, first, successfully enter Washington DC airspace and try to establish radio contact. If that fails, we are to infiltrate the White House, where we believe the entrance to the bunker is located, and extract any VIPs that we discover."
Hurst paused again, and stared out at his squad of four elite soldiers. They looked unfazed by the news, which gave him to confidence to continue undeterred.
"Within the hour, we will have reached Chesapeake Bay and our mission begins. However, HQ has expressed something very important. They *do not* know what the fuck this is. It could be a coup, it could be terrorists, it could be motherfucking Martians for all we know. Regardless, this is a covert operation, so unless you see little green men shooting lasers, keep your fingers off the triggers. Gear up boys."
With that, Hurst nodded and returned to the cockpit. Jackson finished attaching his equipment and then looked around the transport. Ramirez, Cooper and Kershner were silent, staring down at the ground. They had family and friends in America. They didn't give a rat's ass about the American President when their brothers and sisters could be dying.
Jackson stared out the window at the dark waters of the Atlantic. A whole country gone silent. No military technology he knew of could pull something like that off. Maybe on a tiny state like Luxembourg, but the USA?
Jackson's thoughts were interrupted due to some turbulence. He looked up along with the rest of the squad. Hurst popped his head out from the copilot side of the cockpit.
"Just crossed over into American waters. Ramirez, make sure-"
His speech was cut short by another bout of turbulence. This time the whole transport rattled intensely for several seconds. Kershner lost his footing and fell forward, bracing for a fall with his arms extended. Before he could stop himself, the transport rocked violently to the left and he struck his temple on a seat. Kershner dropped to the floor of the aircraft, body limp.
Ramirez and Cooper moved to his aid while Jackson carefully worked my way up to the cockpit. He could see warning lights flashing from several points on the dashboard, while alarms began to fill the air.
Hurst had the headset back on. He was trying to make contact with HQ to see if they could get any readings. Cooper began shaking Kershner by the shoulders to no avail.
"Radio's dead!" Hurst shouted to the pilot.
The pilot looked over, his eyes wide with fear.
"The warning alarms are going crazy for just about everything, but the meters themselves say everything's fine. I honestly don't know what the-"
Another vicious round of turbulence struck the transport. Everyone held on tightly until it passed. Cooper strapped Kershner to the deck to prevent him from flailing around the bay. Jackson positioned himself in the doorway to the cockpit.
Then all the warning lights and alarms stopped. All the dials went to zero. The whirring of the copter blades was absent. For several seconds, there was pure silence as they glided through the air. Silence quickly gave way to screams and orders from Hurst as the transport began to drop.
Jackson looked out the front of transport. The Chesapeake Bay began to give way to the Potomac and its many tributaries. Washington DC. unmistakable with its landmarks, lay upon the horizon. But the world below then was so very still. No cars moved, no people on roofs or in their yards, no lights shone.
Jackson stood in the doorway and closed his eyes to avoid seeing their descent. He could feel the inertia of the transport falling to the Earth. Hurst was screaming indescribably, but sounded miles away.
For the last time, Jackson felt fear, then oddly, a sense of relief. He would die in the crash, this he knew. They all would. But for some reason, Jackson felt that dying quickly was a mercy compared to whatever awaited them in America. Whatever happened here was beyond human comprehension.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT," shouted Hurst.
Jackson relaxed his grip on the doorway and started to fall forward into the cockpit. There was a loud metal screech, a sound like the sky being torn asunder, and then, nothing.
| Within the clouds there was no noise, only the constant whir of the chopper blades pulsing above the men and I. I shifted my legs so that they crossed each other and looked out the sliding door. Water hissed as the blades passed through the damp air. It was eerie. Usually, my men where being the assholes they were and giving each other shit; but not today.
Today, the were solemn and silent. Earlier, we had tried to make some jokes, but no dice. Here we sat in the unnatural quiet that comes with flying in the clouds.
"3 minutes 'till touch down"
I sucked air in, inflating my chest and exhaled slowly. I moved about rhythmically. One gloved hand gripped at my rifle loosely and the other thumbed gently at the holster for my pistol. We didn't know what to expect. What was going on? my team and I had only been briefed that it had gone completely dark here. No posts, no calls, hell the President hadn't even contacted us. the U.N, naturally was concerned. More so because the U.S provided most of our oil rather than actually being concerned for her citizens.
"Descending. Hook up and get out."
My stomach dropped as the bird dipped down. It wasn't just clouds, the fog was everywhere. I almost didn't see the marker for drop off. I landed hard, the impact going up through my ankles.
Six other thumps followed me. "Hey, Fox!" I turned my head and peered at my masked team member and nodded.
"Do you hear that?"
I closed my eyes and frowned. I focused on nothing. There was a noise floating through the air. It was low and growing. A cold wind suddenly started ripping past us, taking the mist with it as it went. I watched, captivated. It furled and unfurled. Twined and twisted through the air. My team and I watched until it was all gone.
Shark was the first to scream.
"Holy shit!"
Below us it was all red. Crimson with gore. The sound was clear now. It cut through the air now that the mist was gone. Moaning.
I looked out and stared in horror. There were thousands of mutilated people shuffling in the streets covered in guts. Some were even, I retched, eating eachother.
America had become the ground zero for a zombie Apocalypse.
Behind us, the chopper grew louder. They must have seen what we did and they were coming back to pick us up.... thank God.... Well, if there even is a God anymore. | 2017-03-07T12:32:32 | 2017-03-07T11:17:45 | 678 | 33 |
[WP] The entire court stared at you. The judge said, "But the bullet was fired from the gun. Why would we sentence the man who was holding the gun?" It was a risky strategy, but you replied, "What if we started imprisoning the person who USED the weapon... instead of imprisoning the weapon?" | The Judge stared at me, mouth agape.
“Mister Smith, you’re trying to convince The Court that, in the two-hundred-fifty-plus years since our country’s founding, and the laws and legal precedents set therein…that you want to upend this in favor of sentencing the person holding the weapon…*and not the weapon itself!?*”
His disbelief was palpable.
This was mirrored by everyone in the courtroom, and from their looks, I assumed they all held one thought in their heads as they stared at me.
From the similar wide-eyed-mouth agape poses, I guessed that thought was, “WHAT?!?”
The opposing attorney, Mister Jason Wong, stood up while straightening his jacket and tie. “Your honor, the counsel for the plaintiff must be joking. Now is not the time for a trial to redefine a law that has existed, with proven success, for over forty years. And not only that, I wonder if he should be evaluated for being of sound mind,” he glanced sideways at me.
I continued. “Your Honor, I am of perfectly sound mind. Not only that, there have been legal precedents challenging the idea of jailing the person holding the weapon, and not the weapon itself. Consider Hewett versus Smith and Wesson, in 2061—”
Wong interrupted me. “Objection. The counsel for the plaintiff is bringing up a verdict based on circumstances not even remotely similar to this case.”
“Sustained,” the judge rapped his gavel, and turned to me. “Mister Smith, that court case had a unique set of circumstances around one particular firearm’s A.I. reprogrammed by a mentally ill person post-purchase; this case is about two sane, rational people in the heat of an argument.”
“I agree, Your Honor—but in both cases, and firearm in question originally had the same A.I., originally programmed by the same company. In this case, the fail safes had been observed, and as the weapon’s records tell us, it was used with discernable malice. So, I ask you this: Should we jail the weapon for something the user did?”
“Your Honor, I object! We have heard both parties in this case, heard the witnesses, and have seen the evidence. Ever since A.I. technology was introduced as a means of firearms control and regulation, placing the weapon in a police-maintained lock-up –“jailing it” per the layman’s term—has reduced firearm deaths by thirty-five percent since it was first introduced in 2050. To jail the person at this point without going through rehabilitation and court-appointed violence counseling is the barbaric practice of a bygone era—"
The Judge, now furious, rapped his gavel harder, sounding like gunshots in the silent courtroom. “Order! Mister Wong, you and Mister Smith will approach the bench immediately.” I could not think Judge Henderson-Garcia could look more furious, but it looks like Mister Wong and I crossed a line. We approached the bench together, like disobedient children approaching an angry, ruler-wielding Mother Superior at Catholic School. Judge Henderson-Garcia Looked down at us from the bench, and spoke in a low tone to make sure only Wong and I heard him:
“Mister Smith, I don’t know where you studied law, but this case is not the time to overturn over forty years of established law based upon an outdated concept of jailing people. You will refrain from this topic any further, or I will find you in contempt of court. Do you understand me?” His furrowed brow and permanent frown spoke volumes.
“Yes, Your Honor.” I replied.
“And Mister Wong,” he continued. “While I appreciate your vehemence and passion, you will observe proper etiquette in my courtroom. This is a trial, not a high school debate team match.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mister Wong stated. Both of us looked quite chastised.
“Good. Return to your seats, and we will continue.” | I look at the judge, I had done these experiments for years. The gun never commits a crime unless someone was holding it, this same person was way more likely to make the guns commit crimes, henceforth it was logical to conclude that the person was responsible, not the weapon. The judge looked at my tests, the other judges, and me.
"Please, sir, give us a demonstration of the experiment."
"well, your honor, you see the gun has yet to commit a crime."
"I do, continue."
I pick up the gun and point it at the person to the left. "Yet if I pick it up, and put a little force on the trigger," I say, as the bullet rips through them, "It kills. but if someone who has no reason to commit a crime picks it up, it remains dormant."
The judge looked at the body.
"We will consider your...proposal, thank you, kind sir."
"Thank you, your honor." | 2021-07-02T00:09:16 | 2021-07-01T23:57:52 | 56 | 17 |
[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. | When our worlds collided, we were unprepared for magic. All of our technology was useless against the elves and their sorcerers or the dwarves and their powerful enchantments or the orcs and their shamans.
You would think that bullets, tanks, and fighter jets would carry the day easy but no. Not even nukes did squat. Oh nukes worked fine, but then some dwarf would come along and purify the soil, an elf would restore nature, and a fucking orc shaman would summon the spirits of the dead back to the living world.
Soon, our world was just another part of their “over-realm” and mankind?
Without magic, we were nothing, less than nothing, not even slaves…
We were livestock, literally livestock, to be bartered and traded and consumed.
If you were lucky you were given to the orcs, who would just eat you. There was a simple honesty in that, far better than having your life force drained by the elves to power their infernal “technology” or worked to death in the dwarven mines where your enchanted chains turned you into nothing but a meat puppet, denying you even the peace of death as your corpse continued to labor until your very bones turned to dust.
A few of us were able to escape to the wilderness, sometimes by strength, sometimes by guile, mostly by luck.
We were a pitiful band, but we managed to survive by lurking in the shattered places, areas warped by the collision of worlds and the magics used in the great war that broke us.
Not much grew there, well nothing that you would want to eat, anyway, so we resorted to “raids” where we would swoop down on the unwary, waylay a wagon, or sneak onto a farm.
We didn’t have magic, but a club worked just fine. A gun worked too, if they didn’t see you coming. Oh their wizards, enchanters, and shamans were stupidly, unfairly powerful, but some average point-ear, stubby, or greenie? They died just as easy as anyone else.
We did ok, but eventually we hit the wrong wagon and killed the wrong point ear. Their cousin’s brother’s roommate in elf college or whatever was some minor whatsit and that was that.
It didn’t take long. They had all of us wrapped up nicely.
I figured they would just fry us in one of their soul-trees or whatever they called them but that point ear decided to have some fun with us.
He had some of those goddamn soul-trees all hooked up in some weird pattern and stuffed them with people, laughing at them, saying that we were why their very souls would be devoured and then made them thank us for ending their suffering.
God, I hated him for that.
Then he said that since each of us was thought ourselves their equal, (which we didn’t) we could receive their punishment. Each of us could choose how we died and the trees would grant our wish.
He then sat on a throne made of twisted living human flesh and laughed as each of us either tried to come up with an escape, a paradox, or at least tried to make the death as pleasant as possible.
Whatever wish anyone came up with was granted… In the worst way possible.
I was halfway through the line watching each of us get fucked over once again.
Soon I was second in line, just behind Mark, and wouldn’t you know it, that sorry mother stole my idea.
“I wish to die of old age,” he said hopefully.
That damn point ear laughed hard that time and waved his hand.
Mark turned into a rapidly vibrating blur, screaming with an impossibly high pitched voice. I watched in horror as he screamed, unable to move, blurring ever faster and faster.
Then he started to age.
They were forcing that poor sonofabitch to live out his entire life, standing in place, right there over just a few minutes for us…
But for him, it was \*decades\*.
Finally it was over, and Mark fell, withered and grey, to the ground.
Now it’s my turn.
That goddamn point ear is sitting there smiling at me.
He laughs… fucking laughs at me.
“Go ahead,” he snickers, “Choose.”
Oh I hate him.
I hate all of them.
I hate the elves. I hate the dwarves. I hate those fucking orcs.
I hate this world, and any gods that let this happen to us.
I want them all…
\*gone\*…
Suddenly it hits me.
\*I know what to do!\*
Our technology was worthless against them, but our science?
We know things that even that point ear lord didn’t know, things he wouldn’t know how to stop, or twist or pervert.
I grinned at him.
“Well, meat?” he sneered.
“Could I say something first?” I ask, the glee building within me.
“Why not?” he chuckled to the amusement of all the elves who had gathered to watch the latest entertainment.
“I would like to tell all of you that it’s been a lot of fun,” I say breaking into a manic giggle, “but now playtime is over. You probably won’t know it, but I just fucking won. I am now ready to choose.”
“Your impertinence will be justly rewarded, meat,” ol’ point ears snickers at me, “Choose.”
“I choose,” I giggle, “death by false vacuum decay. If the Higgs field, or any field for that matter is in a false vacuum state within my body I desire it to be free to find it’s true vacuum state.”
Point ears is looking really confused right now. He’s not sure how to handle this.
“You don’t mean you don’t know what a false vacuum is?” I sneer, laughing, “Even we lowly humans know about that.”
“Of course I know what it is!” Point Ears snaps and starts to wave his hand.
I laugh and extend my middle fingers for the last time. | I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... " | 2021-06-24T07:58:17 | 2021-06-24T05:58:59 | 140 | 45 |
[WP] When humanity went extinct another life-form rose to dominance on Earth. But it was not one anyone would have expected. Instead of chimpanzees, dolphins, dogs or even birds Earth is now dominated by sentient trees. | My starship hovered somewhere between the moon and the planet formerly known as Earth. We, the Caretakers, were unsure what the new sentient species had named it. After the humans had driven themselves extinct, ignoring warning after warning, a new and different species had risen. We had expected perhaps dolphins, or dogs, to come forward, but never trees.
Stepping into my planetary transport and closing my eyes, I waited for the shivery twist in the center of my gut that signified the shift from ship to surface. Soft sounds of birds and small animals surrounded me, as gentle light pressed against my eyelids. Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes, to find myself in the center of a giant forest. Trees larger than I'd ever seen before towered around me, creating an almost solid canopy of leaves.
Shifting my awareness inwards, I sent out a peaceful thought on every frequency I could think of. As most species that rose to sentience in the Second Era, the Trees would likely be telepathic. A sort of pinging sound, that was not actually audible echoed across a long disused frequency. It was a questioning sound, something that asked what I was, asked what I wanted, without using any words.
I sent a calm response, telling the Trees that I was just here to visit. All I wanted was to walk around the forest—if that was permitted—and see what had happened, how things were now. There was a strange silence at my words, but all around me, the Trees rustled, the branches moving in strange shapes. Then, again without words, they gave permission and a warning. Do not take from the Forest. Do not hurt the Forest. And do not bring the Fire to the Forest.
Acquiescing, I began my walk, marvelling at the forest that surrounded me. My people had been worried that such large creatures rising to sentience would threaten the galactic stage at some point. But it had been thousands of years, millions, and there had been no sign of anger or striving to get to the stars. The Trees had simply spread across the surface of the globe, only stopping at the oceans.
Around my feet, small animals darted, having lost the fear my arrival had caused. There was no strange acrid smell that I had come to associate with the planet during the long years humans had lived here. No, all around there was simply the smell of earth and green. I sent out a questioning thought, asking the Trees if they ever wanted to reach for the stars, to leave the planet. They sent back a simple question in return, a quiet one.
What are stars?
It was something I'd never questioned, that every race knew what the stars were; could see the heavenly bodies. And yet, the Trees had no eyes, had no way to know anything but their own star, the one formerly named Sun. Standing there, feeling them waiting for an answer, feeling the peace around me, I lied. I told them stars were nothing important, that it was not necessary for them to know. And they accepted the lie, these creatures who had never known anything but the truth they shared amongst their great network.
As I pressed the controller on my wrist and waited for the transport shift, I sighed. This place out of all the planets in all the galaxies was perhaps the best of us. They didn't want more, or less than they had. This world was finally, finally at peace. As I keyed their status as a protected planet into the computers I smiled. And with this designation, they would never again need to know about war or suffering.
They were, and would always be, at peace. | [Poem]
It wasn't hard to to climb the chain.
The key to survival is patience.
Those on top don't live forever.
Nature always finds a replacement.
We lived together and honestly
it was nice having them around.
But they went too far
They took too much
When they would cut us down.
We were burned and chopped and corked.
They really forced our hand.
But we too would cut their time short
when we initiated the plan.
We seized the moment
We took our revenege
We did what had to be done.
They destroyed our homes
and they took our lands
But now the trees have won! | 2022-08-27T07:03:58 | 2022-08-27T06:41:11 | 519 | 28 |
[WP] You are the only NPC who is able to acknowledge exactly how dangerous the player character is. | Bravon walked in to the town hall meeting and took to the stage. It was Bravon who had called the meeting, hanging up flyers on every notice board he could find in town. His hard work had not gone unnoticed, the crowd that had gathered in the town hall was substantial. Everyone from Brutus the Blacksmith to Jondis the beggar had turned up to discuss the issue at hand. And that issue was rather pressing.
"OK, quiet, please," announced Bravon. "I said quiet. Take the conversation outside if you want to continue it, Kravos." Bravon waited to ensure the silence was prolonged enough to start - it was. "Fantastic. So, let's talk about Mr. You Know Who."
"He doesn't stop selling me candlesticks," shouted Prahn, the local merchant. "An endless amount of candlesticks. Every time I generate some money I am forced to buy a new batch of candlesticks. I cannot take it anymore!"
"And why do not decline his business, Prahn?" asked Bravon.
"It is not that easy." the voice came from the front of the gathered crowd. It was Brutus the blacksmith. "It is impossible to say no to the man. I have a thousand sword collection to prove this."
"Are the swords of good quality?" asked Bravon.
"No. They are utter shite," explained Brutus, returning to his seat.
Bravon took in a deep breath and readied his words, "it is obvious we must do something about this man. As you can tell by the gathering around you, I have received complaints about him on a record scale."
Another interruption, "He entered my home last night."
"Who was that?" asked Bravon, trying to identify the voice.
The woman stood. "It was I, Sheila of Patswan. The man entered my house last night while I was sleeping. It was truly a strange experience."
"Please, do share," urged Bravon.
"He would pick up items, put them in to his eternal pockets, and upon trying to sprint, he would walk. That was until he decided to discard a pile of unwanted bollocks all over my house. After that he sprinted out immediately."
"He never stops sprinting," said another voice. "Never."
Bravon was growing weary, "Listen, if you don't identify yourself first we don't know who is speaking."
"It is I, Gallivor. I run the butchers. I have seen the man sprinting flat out for distances that are unnatural. There are rumors he never stops."
The crowd began to grow restless. People passing stories between each other in agreement with Gallivor for they had seen the feats.
"Order! We need order!" shouted Bravon. "Now, I know we are all privy to the odd bit of hearsay but we are sensible folk. An infinite amount of candlesticks, running without taking rest, I heard someone say he has a magical horse capable of traversing 90 degree angled mountains last week."
Again, the crowd broke in to rabble.
"Quiet!" shouted Bravon, trying to regain control of the room. "We must not fall folly to such rumours. One story is passed to two people, they pass it to four, next it is passed as truth from tavern to tavern. This is how these things start. None of it is true. People deal in swords. People sell candlesticks. Horses don't magically appear and sprint up mountains. OK? Am I going crazy, here?"
The door to the town hall burst open. All eyes fled to the back of the room in a bid to see who had interrupted the meeting. It was him.
Gasps echoed as the crowd huddled together, wary of what he would do. He made his way around the room, items disappearing in to his pockets, greeting every person in the room as if he was fishing for some information without the intention of striking up a real conversation.
"See! Here he is!" announced Bravon. "Come up here, dear sir. Expel this nonsense that is being passed around about you."
He paced towards the stage and silently stood in front of Bravon.
"OK, what is he doing?" asked Bravon.
"He's looting you," shouted a man from the crowd. "He never stops looting."
"What do you mean he's looting me?" said Bravon.
"Check your pockets."
"Holy shit, he's looting me. What the fuck. How do you stop him?"
"You can't," answered the voice.
"He's took my sword!"
"What level was it?" shouted Brutus the blacksmith.
"Like level 3 or 4, I think."
"Argh, fuck. I'm going to have to buy that now."
****
Apologies to the WP creator. I read the prompt incorrectly and wrote it slightly differently than instructed. I didn't realise until I had finished and read the title again.
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement. | It's always sunny in this village. That's what god wants.
If god could choose the most basic bitch of a town in this land, it would be Barrat. A small village founded by a guild of former council members. They know every time a hero sets on a quest, it needs to start nice and friendly for some reason. But those heroes don't want this. I've seen their quests, their stories, their adventures. I was one of their first ever companions once. I will never go back to that job.
The heroes now have some sort of hoarding problem. If it has any, and I mean ANY monetary value, they'll pick it up, like it's an impulse. Then eventually, they can't pick up any more, and instead on realising they have too much stuff., they'll put hundreds of pounds worth of bowls and watches and other shit on our backs. The worst part, is that's easy to deal with. By the end of their journey, everyone praises and applauds the hero for killing the villain and everything, but they don't know how many innocent rabbits and deer just minding their own business he's murdered just to make a bit more money.
Sadly, I can't say to them that they're a villain at heart, because they'd probably kill me (did I forget to mention they murder anyone they disagree with?) and if he gave up the hero business, it could mean the end of the world. This hero has armour made of of lion bones, and Greek gold, with oversized eagle wings on the back, and a sword 6 ft long made of eternity, with a bleeding buff. He's murdered gargantuan tarantulas, dragons, scorpions, and a band of slavers than span across the Aussie outback. I don't remember how many naked corpses he's left
in his wake. That hero I worked with was an absolute psycho, and I can't let it happen again.
There's a new hero in town. I don't care if he's going to save the land, I'm ending this. I need my sword, boots of stealth and a keyboard. I'll enable permadeath, and end it. | 2017-04-28T05:02:40 | 2017-04-28T04:43:54 | 47 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a world where everyone's soul takes the form of an animal companion to match them. You've finally come of age... and no animal has appeared. | I used to stare at the adults and the older kids. Well, not so much at them, as the animals that lived beside them. I didn't care what kind of animal they were, they were all cool. The professor with an owl forged of smoke perched on his shoulder, the weight-lifter being spotted by his quicksilver gorilla, the librarian with her mouse like a tiny cloud on her desk... I loved them all. I was sometimes teased by other kids because I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up- they say the animal form your soul takes is mostly determined by that- but I just couldn't decide.
I don't think I was ever more excited for a day in my life than the day I would get my companion. Even Christmas comes once a year; i'd waited sixteen years for my Soul Day. Since it was a Saturday, I had the whole day to myself. I did some last minute reading on Soul Projections and how to use mine, and then I went out on a walk.
I saw a lot of different soul animals, as I did every day, but something felt different. Everything felt so far away, almost like I was swimming in water. Having nothing else to do, and being inspired by the thought, I headed to the community pool. If I had a fish Projection, I figured, that would be a good place for it until I figured the "swimming in air" trick that so many sailors and swimmers did with theirs.
I sat by the pool for a good hour, reading more about Projections and watching the scene. One lifeguard had a seal Projection- the younger kids loved playing with it. There was a guy with a catfish Projection lying on the bottom of the pool, which I supposed was drawing air from the water for him. He waved off the porpoise Projection that checked on him, so he seemed fine.
I started to feel chilly despite it being mid-afternoon in spring, so deciding that the pool was a bust, I left. As I was walking home, lost in thought about what my Projection could be and how I could get it to show up, I heard a voice call out from an alley. I stopped to investigate and saw a group of men in leather jackets in a circle around an old man in a suit and carrying a cane. They were taunting and jostling him, but he didn't seem concerned. Suddenly, the gang's Projections (giant rats, all of them) flashed into existence beside them and attacked the old man.
Before I could call out or do anything, a rat went flying by my head and disappeared with a squeak and a poof of silver smoke. The old man twirled his cane and continued batting rats out of the alley. When the rats were gone, he started on the gang members, who quickly broke and ran. The old man turned and noticed me for the first time, and as his amber eyes locked on to me I felt a jolt of fear. He put his cane down and started walking toward me, but I spun around and dashed away blindly. There was a yell, a honk, and a loud crash, but when I realized I wasn't hurt I opened my eyes.
Standing beside me, shielding me from the car that had almost hit me (which now had a sizeable dent in the fender), was a man made of glowing quicksilver. As I stared at the apparition, it relaxed its defensive posture and turned to me. It exploded into mist as I cried out and ran home as fast as I could. *It had my face.*
When I got home, I ran inside to tell my parents what had happened, but I found my mom talking with a guest in the living room... the same old man from the alley. He stood up and shook my hand cordially, his white moustache flapping as he introduced himself. He explained that he was a member of a group of people who were just like me, and that he'd offered to train me with them. My mom seemed happy for me, though her house tabby Projection wouldn't come near me or the old man, and just hissed at us.
I left that day bewildered and afraid, in the company of a strange man who laughed as powerfully as he swung his cane. I came back several years later as a skillful and wise fighter, in the company of the closest friends and allies I have ever had. Not many people know we exist, and most of those that do call us daemons and worse. We forgive them though: people are naturally afraid of the unknown, and the soul is a difficult thing to truly grasp.
We change our names, our appearances, and even the shape of our Projections, but somehow we're only a step ahead of the ignorant hunters. we'll keep moving as long as we need to. Even if the world never finds out how we protect it, we'll keep doing it because nobody else can. Call us devils if it helps you sleep at night; we've seen hell, and we'll keep it away from Earth as long as our souls can hold the line. | My mother's face fell. My twin sister's soul had appeared earlier that day in the form of a precious lamb. So typical, she'd always been the bleeding heart of the family, completely incapable of harming another being no matter how small. She was the favorite. My parents had never been able to truly understand me. I don't think I really belong in my family. They are all so...ordinary. But now we had come of age, the clock striking midnight and yet, no animal came for me. No physical representation of my soul.
"This is unprecedented, no one has ever not had a companion appear on this day. Despite how dark a soul might be, there is an animal for it," my father said, more to himself than anyone.
"Perhaps she doesn't have a soul?" My mother whispered. My sister gasped, unable to understand what was happening as she fed the lamb carrots in the corner. Sure she was sweet, but also simple.
"Do you feel like you have a soul?" My father asked tentatively, afraid of the rages that sometimes overtook me.
"Oh that old thing? I sold it to a wizard years ago in exchange for a swap of destinies. I believe any minute now the old man should be here to take me away," I informed them, delighting in the fact that as soon as I finished my statement, there was a knocking on the door.
"Well losers, I'm out of here. You will surely hear my name again. But I don't think I'll be coming back here," I said dismissively. More excited than I had been in years I walked to the door and threw it open to find the authorities waiting for me.
Two weeks later I sat in my cell in prison when the wizard arrived looking at me through the bars.
"Huh, I guess soul trading is not strictly within the boundaries of the law," I joked.
"Well, we aren't going to be working strictly within their boundaries from now on," he waved his arm and the bars swung open. I smirked and we left my insignificant village forever. | 2015-12-04T11:27:17 | 2015-12-04T08:52:04 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands. | They found the human puking in an alley.
Thorveig stood and watched him from across the way. The vomiting drunk hadn’t seen them yet, and probably wouldn’t any time soon. The buildings cast long shadows this far from the torchlight, and the full moon overhead added little. The drunk continued to wretch to the point of dry heaves.
To Thorveig’s left stood his son, Ragnar. He was slightly smaller than his father, but still broad and muscled. His hair was cut in a warrior’s stripe, plaited down his scalp. His hand rested idly on a sheathed dagger at his hip.
Ragnar pursed his lips and blew a quick burst of air around his tusks. In a hunter’s silent cant, it was a simple question: ‘Him?’
Thorveig responded with a small, sharp nod and a burst of air from his nostrils. ‘Yes.’
From behind them came a rapid cluck-cluck of a tongue. Ragnar glanced back to their third member, Grimnar. His shorn scalp was blackened with warpaint in a vicious triangle. He crouched behind them in between the buildings, and he gripped his dagger instead of resting his hand on it. His eyes betrayed his impatience. ‘Get on with it,’ they said. ‘I am eager to be gone from here.’ Ragnar looked back at Thorveig, who nodded once more. Across the street, the drunk had stopped wretching, and was crawling on his hands and knees towards the bottle that had rolled away.
The drunk crawled pathetically towards the bottle in the street. It glinted in the center of his bleary and tunneled vision, dancing back and forth in the moonlight as he padded towards it like a newborn. Just a little bit closer. The bottle was still about half full; that could keep him unconscious until tomorrow night if he finished it all. He reached out a trembling hand, but another was faster than he and grabbed the bottle. He started to whimper. He felt a pair of hands grasp him and lift him to his feet. He flinched away and covered his face.
“Oh, beggin your pardon,” the drunk slurred. “I’m gone home, really, just get my bottle and step on,” he pleaded with whoever was accosting him. The hands grabbing him were strong, stronger than he was on his best day. And he was far, far from his best days.
“Kurkusan,” The voice was iron in velvet, strong enough to pierce through the drunk’s fogged mind but not so loud as to attract attention. The drunk quit squeezing his eyes shut and lowered his hands from his face. Through his tears he saw a face he’d thought-he’d hoped-he’d never see again. Stern brow under a chieftain’s crest of hair, strong jaw with long tusks glinting.
“Thorveig…?” he slurred once more. His eyes drifted down and he shrugged his way out of the orc’s grip. The drunk leaned down, fumbling at the leather vest Thorveig was wearing. He staggered as he opened the vest, exposing a hideous scar that ran from the center of Thorveig’s chest and down towards his left hip. Thorveig opened his arms, fully vulnerable to the drunk’s inebriated ministrations. Ragnar stood to the side with the drunk’s bottle. His face was emotionless, but tiny flicks of his eyes and a subtle twitch of his ears showed his bewilderment to his father.
The drunk ran his fingers along Thorveig’s scar, examining. The trembling seemed to have left his fingers for a moment. He slurred again, inquisitive instead of fearful.
“S’ healing, then?” The alcohol made a mockery of enunciation. He stumbled back and looked Thorveig in the eye.
“Sit pain you at all? How’ur,” he paused to burp. “The muscles on that side. Mobility?” he swayed in front of the chieftain.
Thorveig gently grasped the drunk by his shoulders and smiled softly. “I am well, Kurkusan.”
At the sound of the name, the drunk’s face crumpled into anguish. Tears rolled down his grimy cheeks. His voice became thick.
“Don’ call me that.” He feebly tried to push the massive orc away. “Thass not me. Not. Me. ‘Nymore.”
“I call you by your name, the name of your people, Kurkusan,” Thorveig replied.
The drunk said nothing, crestfallen.
“Kurkusan, you are not well,” Thorveig continued.
“Come, brother. Let us help you.” | The orcs live long and are hard to kill. Not that many generations ago the old prejudices might've held true - the orcs had numbers and strength and endurance but they weren't smart or fast. They were fearless and quick to anger and to throw themselves into combat. .
Well, those prejudices might not be all wrong, even now. But they're not all right by a long shot. Here's one most folk don't know though; they are slow to grow and replace their number. That's something *he* found out. Who's he you ask? The surgeon. The surgeon is a man like you or I. But he's also one of them. I mean, not bodily, obviously. But *tribally* I guess you'd call it. The surgeon knows, knows a lot about them orcs. And how, you ask? How does a man of healing, and an educated man at that, come to throw his lot in with the near-beasts as some would call them.
The answer is simpler than you might first expect. The surgeon was a good student by all accounts, from a rich family in the capital, educated in the Citadel, the most prestigious institution of our time, may be of all time. Educated *to a point*. This time in our history was full of change, religious, political, medical and scientific. Expanding population and exploration led us to discover a new land. A land with untapped resources but unimaginable chaos and terror. The emerging use of robust experimentation - observation, repetition and standardisation were framed as challenges to the religious dogma and by extension the ruling elite. Since we were newly at war with this terror from a far away land the people sided with the theocrats. To quash any possibilities of insurrection, those opposed to or associated with organisations that openly opposed the oppressive restrictions
TBC | 2020-09-08T22:52:48 | 2020-09-08T17:41:28 | 40 | 14 |
[WP]You are born immortal, but only your mind survives. Each time you die, your memories are secured in a random baby being born and have to repeat the life from youth to old age. After living for a millennia, you decide there is one solution: End all life and with it your unfortunate plight. | *Today is the day.*
I checked the data for the fourteenth time this hour. The bombs were still in place. It's not easy, hiding hundreds of bombs beneath the Earth's crust so that they could all detonate and destroy the planet. It took a lot of time and a lot of money. Luckily, I had both to spare.
I'd been alive for, oh, about four thousand years. I can't seem to die. Well, that's not quite right: I die just fine, I just don't *stay* dead. Every time I die, I wake up not five minutes later, as a baby, to a new set of parents in a new life. Sounds like a neat superpower, right? Not after the first thousand years. Can you imagine how exhausting it is to have to re-learn how to walk and talk for the hundredth time? You'd think it would be easy, since I already knew how, but half the time my new parents are speaking a language that's new to me, or one I'd totally forgotten after multiple lifetimes. I've had to re-learn Chinese over a dozen times. And walking? Baby legs *suck*. Even with all my practice, it takes more than six months. And even then, I'm still a baby. Most parents won't let their baby get on a plane to a Swiss bank (where I keep my impressive fortune) for at least a few years.
Well, I'm tired of it. After dying before my second year *three times* in a row (damn mosquitoes), I decided enough was enough. There's only one way I could think of to break the curse: eliminating all life. Can't reincarnate if there's no one to reincarnate into, right?
It took a few lifetimes, but eventually I had the power to do it. I have contacts in pretty much every government in the world. I'm pretty sure that there's no one in space right now, at least that any official governments are aware of, so once the bombs go off, every living being of Earth will be destroyed. Myself included, if all goes well.
*Let's get this over with.* No sense in dragging it out, right? The longer I wait, the greater the risk that someone will notice a massive nuke under their feet and raise the alarm. I'd checked the calculations a hundred times, the bombs should be enough to shatter the entire planet. What more was there to do but die?
I pushed the button.
After a few extremely awkward seconds where the command buffered, and I wondered how badly I'd screwed up, the entire Earth was completely destroyed in an enormous nuclear fireball.
My last thoughts, as I was utterly disintegrated, were, "*Finally.*"
Dying this time felt a bit different. I'd been disintegrated before, but this felt strange. Was I heading to an afterlife, finally? I felt a bit worried at the thought. After killing every living thing on Earth, I was probably about to be sent straight to Hell. Maybe killing all the mosquitoes would balance it out?
Then I felt a familiar pull. *Shit.* It couldn't be. That was the pull towards a new body, a new life. No way, it couldn't be that. No, no, no, I must be mistaken, who could I possibly be reincarnated into this time?
My spirit was forcibly dragged up towards the blinding light, which looked quite a bit more reddish than usual, and with a sickening *pop* that I felt in all six of my legs, I snapped into a—
—Wait, what? *How* many legs? I did a quick rundown of my new body. OK, four arms, six legs, green skin, and my new... mother?? staring down at me looked like a cross between a giant grasshopper and a pile of wet snot.
*Aliens. God damned, mother-fucking, son-of-a-bitch ALIENS.*
I opened my new mandibles and screamed. | I have ended life. But why are my thoughts still mine? Why am I aware of my death?
I wait, in the darkness, I wander. I do not know how much time has passed, but I feel I have been waiting for millenia.
Suddenly, a flash of blinding light hits my eyes.
*No, this cannot be, I am dead!*
I hear words, but they are not words, they are strange sounds, meant to be speech. All my years of living, and never have I encountered such language, nor accent.
I see a strange creature looking at me from above. Its face was deformed, an abomination with matted blond hair, or what resembles hair. Its skin, melting, parts of its face are falling off. It is alive, but it is not human.
I see another creature above me, and I make out the words: *"Itsa boy! Meesa proud of son. You and Binksy are gonsa hav a lotta fun!"*
*Oh hell*
| 2018-12-30T13:08:51 | 2018-12-30T12:44:42 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You work for a non-profit organization that, since FTL travel has been invented, specialises in upgrading old colony ships that are still in transit to their destination. One day your scanners pick up an unnatual object, sure to be a ship...but it's going a lot slower than most colony ships... | "It's so... small," Mary said, double-checking the readings on her screen.
"And slow," Ignatius added. "Slower than anything that's been made in the last millennium. There's a good chance that, if people were in there at one point, they're now dead. All part of the job, I guess."
A devilish smirk took over Mary's face. She couldn't help herself so close to Halloween. "Do you think it's... you know..." she moved closer to Ignatius and covered her lips while she whispered, "the *Glitch*?"
"No, I don't," Ignatius said, rolling his eyes. "I bet it's a group of asteroids that got too close together and is now fooling our ancient scanner into thinking it's a ship in need of our assistance. You sure you put that request in to upgrade our tech?"
"Yessir! But you know how slow they are with those types of things. Especially for an organization like ours. Maybe in three years we'll be so lucky as to get a rejection letter!"
"Well, if this turns out being nothing but a waste of time then I'm gonna double-check your work. We really do need new shit." Ignatius put on his coat and grabbed the keys to his Jogger. "Be back in 30. As always, I'll radio you if anything's unusual. Be sure to be on the line."
"See ya boss!"
--
The Jogger had fuel for three jumps. Even though that was more than enough to get to the mystery ship and back, Igantius cursed Mary for not filling it up, since she was the last to use it.
The ship itself was a tiny, makeshift vehicle mainly used for exploration. It could reliably jump you across the galaxy and back, but only if you didn't want to bring anything (or anyone) else with you. In a world where ships were as big as tiny planets something like this was considered a novelty.
Ignatius turned the key and the entire cockpit lit up. A million different symbols and colors made the cramped space look like a Christmas tree. Ignatius used to know what each one meant, but that was a long time ago. Now he was satisfied just being able to pilot the thing.
The coordinates were already loaded into the system -- it was linked to the machine in his office -- so all he had to do was press the "JUMP" button. Before he did though, he thought about Mary's comment. *Aren't you too old to believe in those things, girl?* he thought to himself. Everything around him turned white as he entered warp speed.
Every pilot has heard of the Glitch. The phantom ship that lures you in and then... *poof*. It disappears. But so do you. Ignatius remembered his teacher teasing him about it back when he was learning how to fly.
"Don't you ever wonder why Professor Runings is so strange?" his teacher had asked the class, "it's because he saw it! He saw the Glitch!"
"But Professor Ling," a student had asked, "I thought humans couldn't perceive the glitch, so how did Professor Runings see it?"
Ignatius remembered Professor Ling frowning and telling the student to focus more on his studies and less on urban legends.
The whiteness that surrounded Ignatius's Jogger now faded into the darkness of space. He turned on the headlights and looked around. Emptiness. He double-checked the coordinates and confirmed he was at the right spot. He tried to convince himself the scanner simply malfunctioned, but that didn't explain why he began to get goosebumps.
"Hey, Mary," he radioed.
Silence.
He waited a few moments then tried again. Still no response. *Dammit girl,* he thought to himself, *I give you the easiest job in the world and you still manage to suck at it.*
He was about to press the jump button to return back home, but in the corner of his headlight he saw something shimmering. He shined the light in that direction.
Ignatius couldn't see a thing, but he felt there was something staring him right in the face. He could feel it in his core that there was something out there in space before him, but his eyes showed him nothing.
That was to no fault of his. Human eyes weren't designed to process this thing.
"Hey Iggy," a voice cut through the silence of space. Ignatius jumped. "Sorry, I was busy eating so I couldn't respond. What'd you need?"
"Oh it's just you, thank God..." he breathed. "That ship on the scanner, is it still there? Am I in the right place? I don't see anything here."
"Hmm.. that's odd," Mary said, strangeness in her voice. "It should be right in front of you. You goin' blind or something in your old age? Wait a sec, it's movin--"
All the lights in the Jogger went out. Iggy's hands shook as he tried turning the keys back and forth to reboot the ship. He thought he heard a rumble coming from outside, but that didn't make sense. Sound couldn't travel through space.
Then, he realized where the rumbling originated. His entire ship was getting ripped open by something. Once the seal between the cockpit and space was broken he'd be a goner. Thoughts of his childhood flashed through his mind. In a futile effort he began smashing down on the "JUMP" button despite the entire ship having no power. The force finally reached the cockpit, and the wall to his left was torn clean off and thrown into space, like a toddler playing with his toy. He began to get sucked out into the cold and airless void.
Everything went white.
*This must be what death is,* he thought to himself. *But it seems quite familiar. Like I've done this before.*
A few minutes passed before he opened his eyes and found himself staring across a barren land. There were rolling red hills in the distance and on his face he felt a breeze. He gulped down air.
*Where the fuck am I, and what the fuck was that?* he asked himself, as he looked up into the expanse and saw the beauty of all the stars.
Next to him, poking out clay ground, was a human skull.
"That doesn't bode well," he said aloud, as he sighed and began trekking towards the hills. | I live on a little planet. In a little village. In a little house, with my little family. But I have big dreams! One day, I will travel across big universe with little puppy, Fern.
 
------‐‐----------------------
 
I used to be little boy, once. I had little home, with Mama and Papa who had much love to give to me. They always told me, "Berja, you may be little boy now, but one day you will grow big and strong like Papa. You will have heart of gold like Mama, and you will have great big spirit of your own!". I miss already. Luckily I still have Fern. He grow into big dog! He will join me when I finish building space machine. I will go into big universe like little Berja always wanted! I just need one more equipment here, and I cannot forget bring other container for the air, so Fern may breathe too.
 
------‐‐----------------------
 
Big machine worked! It makes very loud noises, but I am now in the space with best friend Fern. He looks scared, but excited. I am like the dog in this way. I don't know where to go now, but I think as long as I have Fern, all is good!
 
------‐‐----------------------
 
I did not realise at first how floaty this space is. I feel so light even though I was biggest in village. I see so many big things that make me feel very little, like the stars that Mama read to me about! I wonder how they are. Do they miss little Berja? Fern is still very happy at least, so I am very happy also.
 
------‐‐----------------------
 
I see big machine today! It has so many little people running inside of it, and it looks bigger than my entire village! They are following me, so I wonder if they want to be friends. I would very much like friends. My only friend is the lovely Fern. He is sad today, so I hug him very good. Hopefully he is happier now.
 
------‐‐----------------------
 
The people from the big machine floated to me. They had weird suits on bodies, and they seem very surprised when they see me and Fern. I could not understand much of what they was saying to me, and they was talking so fast all I could hear was something about "Breaking laws of physics", and something another about "still alive". I did not know what they say, but Berja is not criminal! Berja not bad man! But I smile and thank them, because that is what Mama and Papa taught me. Even though they say so mean things about me, they give me some strange containers and say they are for me and "the dog". Very kind people if you ignore their words. I think Fern liked them.
 
------‐‐----------------------
 
I lived on a little planet. In a little village. In a little house, with my little family. But now I am big and strong Berja, exploring across the big universe with best friend Fern! I like it out here, so I think we will stay.
 
 
(Sorry if this doesn't fit perfect with the prompt, I just wanted to write something and it lead to this. Thanks for reading it if you do, though :> ) | 2021-11-02T22:54:50 | 2021-11-02T22:25:42 | 85 | 14 |
[WP] "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news. | Gunvald stood over the white beast, its hot, red blood covering the blade on his battle axe and the cuffs on his coat. It was no easy task, especially not on his own. The dragon, nearly triple his size, had hunted this region for nigh on a thousand years. Perhaps, in the end, its age had caused its end, and Gunvald's axe was merely assisting it. He stood, his heavy breaths clouding up the air before him. It quivered in its dying moments. Blood pooled across the section of the cavern they were in, flowed out of the many cuts the dragon had suffered. He had scored a lucky strike in its midsection at the end, and reached its heart. It wouldn't be much longer until the beast passed away into the afterlife. He stepped away, and towards the dragon's head, his heavy footsteps echoing off the ice walls. Once there, he sat down, and gazed into those orange reptilian eyes that had seen much and knew more. With a tinge of regret, Gunvald placed his hand on the snout. He offered no words. The beast wouldn't understand him even if he did. Instead, he silently offered his sorrow. This had to be done, for his people's survival. He knew that. He had even lost friends to dragons before. Even so, he always felt so troubled at the death of something so majestic and vast, he couldn't help but wish for another way. Gunvald hoped the sentiment reached the dragon. Taking a step away, he hefted his battle axe, and prepared to hasten its death, such that it would not suffer for long. Before he could though, the dragon opened its maw.
"My family... Tell them that I loved them."
Gunvald's eyes widened in shock. He had not expected the white dragon to know common tongue, much less even be capable of emotions. Gunvald's tinge of regret deepened into a wave of guilt. This thing, it could feel, it could speak, it could love. His stomach turned over; how many of these had been killed across the entirety of the world without this knowledge? He breathed in the sharp air, and exhaled a long breath. The realization had stunned him, but he had to center himself. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of honor, he would fulfill the dragon's last wish.
"I will. Rest, now, and join your ancestors."
He bid these parting words, as his blade severed its immortal soul from its earthly body. He rose, and stood over the magnificent creature. There was no way he could bury it alone, especially not in this terrain. He claimed one of the dragon's claws as a trophy, turned, and made way for the exit to the labyrinthine ice cavern the dragon had dug on its own. The cold will keep its body intact, for any who wished to return it to nature through whatever means they saw fit. As for Gunvald, it appeared his quest had not yet finished. He could not return to his village without fulfilling the last request of an opponent so noble as the white dragon. He had a difficult journey ahead. Perhaps the giants he saw would be able to assist him.
Crossing ice rifts was no simple task. The entire region was composed of vast glaciers, with enormous ravines between them, that led hundreds of meters down to freezing cold salt water. Gunvald was composed of easily defeated flesh, wrapped in heavy, thick layers of cloth and fur, and equipped with obscene quantities of high quality rope and a sturdy climbing hook. By the time he had traversed enough terrain to put eyes on the giants' large spires of ice that marked their castle, his rations had dwindled to naught but mere crumbs, though water was plentiful. At their gate, Gunvald shouted from the depths of his lungs. Some commotion followed inside. Minutes later, the frost giant Jarl Havardr emerged. They had spoken before, and while they were not friends, the Jarl had assisted Gunvald once before, and he hoped he could help again.
"Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger!" The jarl crossed his legs and took a seat. "I presumed to next find your body as nothing more than mere bones in the stomach acid of your prey, and yet here you stand, alive and well. Would you lie to us, or shall you claim your own cowardice?" A hint of malice the giant's booming voice. It nearly shattered Gunvald's ears, but he stood firm.
"I shall do neither, but show my honor through this!" He shouted as loud and clearly as he could, holding up the dragon's claw. "The white dragon is slain, Jarl Havardr! Descend into its cavern, if you so chose to witness it for yourself!"
Havardr bent low, peering carefully at the trinket. He examined it for some time. Eventually, he motioned forward one of his clan, then whispered something to them, incredibly quiet for creatures of their size.
"It is difficult to believe you," Havardr finally spoke, "But upon your honor and the honor of your father, I shall take it as truth. Should we discover otherwise, it will be a poor day indeed," Havardr warned. Gunvald pocketed the claw.
"I have two questions, and a request, Jarl Havardr," Gunvald said.
"Speak them, Gunvald," the Jarl replied.
"First, my questions. What was the dragon's name?" he asked.
Jarl Havardr grumbled, something that rumbled Gunvald's body. "You ask something difficult of me, Gunvald, dragon slayer. We know many names, speak of many things, but to share the name of that which we mark for death is taboo."
"I wish to know the name of my most honorable foe yet. It would disgrace the dragon, and my battle, to not know its name."
The giant grumbled some more, before stroking his beard for a while. "Very well, Gunvald. I shall honor you, and give you its name. We have called it lord of the ice, but it knew itself as Snjofrenik."
Gunvald closed his eyes, and again breathed deeply. Snjofrenik. Some thought in the back of his mind bid farewell to the creature again.
"My second question. Did the dragon have any mates?"
Jarl Havardr gave a puzzled look. "Mates? Hmm. Yes, it did, for a time, but it has shared its lair with none for many years. Are you not satisfied with your victory, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger, slayer of the beast of the north?"
"My request, Jarl Havardr. I wish to find the mate of Snjofrenik, its nest if possible. Can you help me?"
The frost giant's eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed as he rose to his feet. "I have helped you once before, and have given you knowledge of that which is sacred to us. Yet you ask such a request? You wish to delve into our land, and slaughter that which pleases you? Is there no end to your hunger, Gunvald the blood thirsty? You have slain something we have lived with for generations, and now you wish to end its line?"
Gunvald's neck strained to keep his eyes on the giant's face. "Jarl Havardr. I wish nothing like that which you accuse me of. The beast of the north Snjofrenik bid me a final wish before it passed. I am honor bound to fulfill it."
Another silence passed before Havardr would speak again. "This is no simple request, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger. The northern end of the world is vast, treacherous terrain. Many dangers will hamper your journey, can even end it entirely. What's more, you request knowledge that which is only passed down to those who claim the title of Jarl of our clan. Everything we hold sacred to us, everything sacred to this land, you wish to entrust to you, whom has no other credit with our clan, a mere stranger, of another species, of another land? Whose intentions are unknown?"
"It was Snjofrenik's final request. A message for its family. I am honor bound to fulfill it," Gunvald repeated.
The jarl stroked his beard, before stepping to the side. "Enter, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger, and we shall discuss this as we wait for my kin's return. To brace these lands to honor such a request to a foe you have no attachment to is insanity. Enter, and we shall know the strength of your character."
***
I took inspiration from another one of my stories. Read Gunvald and the White Dragon over at r/joxywrites! | The dragon towered over me, blood seeping from a thousand wounds. I had broken him. A punch had staved in all scales along the right side of his chest, wind roared through a gash in his neck when breathed. And still, he pressed on. I had killed a dozen dragons before— there was no sport in the world like them— but this one was different.
“What are you?” I said, staring up at massive beast.
“A father,” he said. “Do you have children, Sir Knight?”
A forked tongue rasped out of his mouth, wicking away gallons of blood. His limbless length trembled from snout to tail.
“No.”
“A pity,” he said, words whistling up from the depths of his chest. “A pity…”
He tried to bite me then, one last time. I tore tore a tooth from his mouth and slammed it through his lower jaw, nearly pinning his mouth shut. The dragon fell, curling himself snakelike around his chest wound. A rich blue light seeped out, throwing the blood into backlit confusion. He was truly dying now, the jewel in his chest was finally giving out.
“Take my body back to my family,” he said, the words barely intelligible through the wounds and whistle. “Tell them I loved them.”
“No.”
Something leaves the world when a dragon dies. There is a rush of superheated air like stepping into the center of a forge, and all of his scales go brittle and crack. A sound like shattering ice fills the air and the heat forces you stumbling back. The dragon begins to splinter outward from the jewel in his chest. His whole body goes still, the clouded eyes clear, and for the space of a breath before he is no more it’s as if you’re looking into a still living dragon— as if the weight of all those years could filter out of his eyes and into his killer’s soul.
Then the eyes shatter. The teeth. The dragon dusts the ground in a fine layer of volcanic ash that the wind whips away. There is always one terrific gust the moment a dragon dies.
In its wake, the dragon leaves behind a single jewel the size of a man’s hand. Sapphire or ruby, emerald or tourmaline; the wise men say it is a dragon’s heart. But the wise men never left their towers, they never killed a piece of history with their own two hands, taken the jewel from the ashes a dragon’s flesh. A dragon is too rare a creature to leave a simple heart.
Instead, they leave behind a piece of their soul.
I pocketed the jewel, a sapphire, and was gone from the caldera where we had fought before the day was out. It was a long walk back to civilization, and from time to time to I pulled the jewel out to stare at it in wonder. Lit from the inside by a warm blue glow, sometimes it felt as if the jewel spoke to me. In the wild and lonely places of the world, a man talks to anything he can.
And sometimes it really does speak back. Sometimes, late at night by the campfire, it can even be convincing.
\*\*\*
When a dragon says he has a family, he does not mean it in any sense a man might imagine. To a dragon, the bonds of family are as eternal as their souls. What does it matter to a creature who might live a thousand years or more if he leaves for half a dozen?
Such was my thirteenth dragon, a creature by the name of Tatsuya, one of the legless and wingless eastern breeds that swam through the sky like a snake through the sea. The piece of his soul told me his history by the campfire, a detached tone speaking into the depths of my mind, life seeping back in towards the dawn when he said, as ever, *“Take my body back.”*
There was no conscious choice to turn back from civilization. One night I simply went to sleep by a crossroads, and when I woke I took the eastern path. I had no sons to leave my castle to, no woman to tie me to the land my peasants my farmed. “East is as good a place as any,” I said, walking down that dusty road. “I’d like to see another wingless dragon fly.”
I walked. Tatsuya had flown for six years, nesting at times among the places of the world or diving beneath the waves to commune with the distant cousins of his kind. I stopped less often than he, and generally because the world demanded it. There were as many wars to the east as there had been in the west.
Eventually, a legend grew.
Two years into my journey I came to a castle in the foothills of the Tyber Mountains. A single spire jutted up from the castle’s center flying the banner of a burning rose, and as I walked closer it seemed the world shifted and changed around me in hallucinatory patterns garbed in petals. *“Careful,”* Tatsuya’s voice whispered into my mind. *“Something comes.”*
The hallucinations gathered themselves into the train of a lady’s dress. She faded into my world from the ground up, a stain of rose petals against the fading light, one hand trailing back through the air to me.
I took her hand and it was a year before Tatsuya's whispers brought me out of the clutches of her magic. I woke as one part of a prized menagerie, frozen inside a glass cage with the jewel cupped in my hands. Hands that had broken dragons and shattered castle gates. Without her spell, the glass could not hold me.
The foothills howled with the sounds of the witch’s anguish as I left her burning castle behind me, and all the while, Tatsuya whispered *“Take me home, Sir Knight. Take my body home.”* The castle crumbled, spilling gouts of flame into the night. Silent, that unearthly screaming. | 2021-12-06T08:11:23 | 2021-12-06T08:02:05 | 127 | 74 |
[WP] In the Land of Perfection, there is no imperfection. Which is why George was confused at the single, absurdly tiny crack in the sidewalk. | "You seem troubled, young man."
Following the old, withered voice, I turned my head and found myself face-to-face with an old, withered man. He had the most serene smile plastered on his face, as to be expected. Where we live, a frown should never be displayed. His eyes were closed, yet he exudes a sense of knowingness that could not be placed.
He raised his eyebrow and I recalled that issue at hand.
"Ah, yes, uhm..." I started off. There was just something scary about telling this man about the crack, the *imperfection*, *the stain upon the earth.*
Looking beyond me, he opened his eyes. He looked back at me with a sort of confused look before returning the smile on his face.
"Ah, the crack." He said. No care nor concern was noted in his voice, almost as though there was nothing to worry about.
I cleared my throat and continued on, hoping the city would lend me some bravery.
"Yes, the, uh, crack."
"Are you bothered by it, my son?"
At this, I was immediately taken aback. If I was bothered by the crack, then I am unhappy; if I am unhappy, then I am upset; if I am upset, then I am imperfect.
I refused to voice my concern to this old man, who clearly has dealt with much more. His serene expression and calm nature encapsulates the meaning of this place, this City, this Anuria.
I almost flinched when he placed his hand atop my shoulder and pulled me down towards his level.
"Would you care for some tea, my boy?" He said without malice. It was calm, friendly.
It frightened me to my core.
For the first time, I felt uncertainty, and I was not sure how to deal with it. What should I do? Should I accept? Decline? Report the crack to the authorities?
He patted my shoulder once more and I was brought out of my reverie. Without thinking, I seemed to have nodded my head. He turned and walked to his entrance, looking towards me with expectant eyes. I complied, his neighbourly attitude surely shouldn't be wasted. It would be impolite.
It would be imperfect.
The old man seemed to be the polite and chivalrous sort, as he pulled me a chair and started his way into the kitchen.
"I was just about to start my tea ceremony when I caught you staring at the sidewalk from my window," said he, and I was immediately red with embarrassment. I had been seen staring at the crack? In front my of neighbour's house, no less. This would surely have been reported to the authorities.
Forcing down the creeping flush, I forced my eyes onto the old man, who was bringing in a tray of what seemed to be an oriental collection of tea paraphernalia.
"I hope you like Oolong. It's my personal favourite." He said, and he began with what seemed to be his *tea ceremony*.
The tea pot, in particular, caught my eye. It had a number of cracks and some of the painted design was chipped away, yet the cracks were all lined with gold. Something about it seemed so out of place, yet completely beautiful. It was imperfect. Cracked and chipped. Imperfection should not be.
And yet, here it stands, complete and beautiful.
It was perfectly imperfect.
"Ah," sighed the old man, who continued on with the ceremony. "I see you've taken a liking to my tea pot."
"Ah, uhh, yes. It's a very strange piece, sir."
"Strange?" He said, opening his eyes. "Well, what's so strange about it?"
"Forgive me for being so rude, sir."
"No, no," Said he, shaking his hands in front of him, laughing as he did so. "I'm very curious. What do you think is so strange about it, my boy."
I gulped. Well, if my neighbour wishes to know my thoughts, it would be impolite if I were to deprive him of such.
"You see, sir," I started off, gesturing with my hands if I could lift the pot. He gave me a nod and I continued. "The pot has many cracks. And here, look. The paint is chipping off so much you could barely see the designs! Why keep such a damaged pot, something so clearly broken and imperfect?"
"Imperfect, you say?" the old man responded, a sage and knowing tone in his voice. He scratched his goatee as he closed his eyes. I wasn't sure if he was pondering his words or if what I had said had upset him. I stayed silent, placing the pot back on the tray with care.
Once he stopped scratching his chin, he opened his eyes and smiled.
"Allow me to answer your question with another question, my boy," he said, the tea ceremony continuing as he spoke. "What does perfection mean?"
I was puzzled by his question. *What does perfection mean?* We live in the *City* of Perfection. This *Anuria*. It's perfect. Nothing about it could be flawed or incomplete or incompatible. It is such an easy question to answer. Perfection is... *is...*
"I... don't know..."
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[Part II in comments](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rlcyqn/comment/hpgdh7i/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | Today was a perfect day as any another day. Perfection, what does it mean? Does it mean a scenario where everything goes according to you? Then yes, I have a perfect life. Does it mean a life without any blemishes? Then yes, I have a perfect life. Or does it mean a life that has been made with so much precision that you can't find a single flaw? Then, you guessed it, yes, I have a perfect life.
My job is to help people find their perfect home. There it is again, perfect. Will using the word perfect over and over again diminishes its value or maybe even worse, jinx it. I chuckle at my own stupidity, nothing was going to imperfect in the perfect-vesrse.
I whistle, cheerfully, as I head down to my home where my beautiful wife and two amazing kids are. Guess how they are, you have one option, yup, perfect. I chuckle again. I will never get tired of the word, it is what defines me and the world I live in. It is the beautiful smell of a newly bloomed rose, it is the feel of your freshly cut hair against your skin, it is-arggghh.
I almost face-planted the pavement but I'm saved by the post box, which I held on for support at the last moment. My heart paces like a race-horse but I'm fine. I frown, I'm fine, I think again. Not perfect, but just fine. That was new. I look down and see what caused me to lose my balance, must be a rock or a cat or something. But nope, nothing. There's nothing but a sliver of crack on the pavement. I shrug at my clumsiness then start to walk again before I freeze. I turn, horrified? Intrigued? Fascinated, yes, fascinated at something I have never seen before. An imperfection. A tiny sliver of pavement separating from the base material. I kneel down to observe it even closely. The way there seems nothing but darkness in that tiny crack. I bend down, to find out what the bottom of an imperfection looks like as I have never seen one before.
As it turns out, it's nothing remarkable. Just some loose cement and dirt. I shrug. Imperfection were not very intersting were they, I think to myself before I start getting back up.
A wind blows, a strange vacuum surrounds me and I feel as if I'm being pushed through a very narrow pipe. I fall down on a broken curb. Dirt surrounded me, I look up and see the sky, not the brilliant blue like the one I am used to but a dull grey, lifeless. I get up and notice the road which I take home daily, though still the same, is somehow dull too. The flowers along the curb are dying, the glass of the lamppost broken, there's pot-holes in the road. Things were not perfect at all.
It was-
Imperfect. | 2021-12-21T10:21:02 | 2021-12-21T09:22:07 | 73 | 21 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | I could bring a book. I had to check my phone in every morning. The security guard patted me down for that very reason. I was allowed a single book. I usually brought something long enough to last. I had, in the early days, finished my book by lunch and then had to just wait out the rest of the day. That was boring. I learned after that to bring a good long book and finish reading at home.
Bathroom breaks were every two hours, and only for a maximum of five minutes. The security guards said they had the same setup. I never had a problem, and I figured if I did, I’d just tough it out or, worst case scenario, have one embarrassing day. I lucked out, I guess.
The contract was for ten years. I had to watch or rewatch the training videos every month. I had a phone, a binder with procedures in it, a briefcase chained to the table, and my book and my lunch. That was it. I had to remember what to do, what to say, and what procedure to follow. It was dry stuff, but I was assured that it was very important. At the pay I was getting, I was sure it was.
Once a month, I was tested. A representative from management would come in and quiz me. Each quiz was different. It always covered different areas of procedure. At the end of the quiz, the manager would tell me my score, always 100, and then thank me for my diligence. It was never communicated to me what would happen if I failed or got less than 100, but I guessed that it would be immediate termination. It just sort of seemed that way.
I was about halfway through Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, which was excellent, by the way, when the phone rang. Five years into my job. I put down the book, turned the key on the briefcase lock, and got out the red folder, the blue folder, and the green folder. I picked up the phone.
“White room.”, I said. This was a key point of procedure.
“Michael Gray requesting direction. Blue sky out.” I took the blue folder and turned to the page headed “BLUE SKY”. On the page was a single sentence, which I read aloud into the phone.
“Mr Culpepper says to keep your umbrella open in case of sunburn.”, I said.
There was a slight pause. The voice on the phone said “Okay, I’ll keep my umbrella.” He sounded like he was crying. Then he said, “Goodbye.” I hung up, as per procedure. I put the folders back into the briefcase, locked it up again, leaving the key in the lock. I picked up my book again. I resumed reading.
Twenty minutes later, a representative from management was let into the room , escorted by a security guard.
“Thank you for your diligent work. We are paying off the rest of your contract. The funds will be deposited by next Thursday. Is the briefcase complete?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are dismissed. Please take your things and go. You will be visited at home for an exit interview later today. Thank you again.”
I left. I was visited an hour and a half later at home by the same representative from management. He had me sign a few forms, asked me some vaguely worded statements about procedure, then had me read over a statement describing my exit interview, though it had obviously been written and printed beforehand. I signed it. He left.
Later that night, I watched the news. There was nothing particularly interesting.
The next week, Five million dollars was deposited into my bank account. I made an appointment with my financial advisor to invest it wisely.
Two weeks later, I received a letter from the real estate company that managed my apartment building that everyone had moved out and the building would be turned into condominiums. I had three months to move. I moved two weeks after that. I bought a house. I’m retired now, at only 32 years old. It’s not so bad. I have a girlfriend, a nice home. Life is good. Isn’t it?
EDIT: I sadly got David Mitchell’s name wrong!! | Damn, it's hot in here. How'd I even get myself in this situation?
I guess most of the days in which I found myself sitting in that white plastic chair were much the same. A bit of thumb-twiddling and whistling favorite tunes helped out a bit, but lord was that job *slow*. But, y'know, who wouldn't sit their ass in a spot all day, every day, three-hundred-sixty-five times for a sweet million? Sure, it was boring work, if it could be called that - at the end of the day though, who cares?
Even so, those long, drawn-out days have a way of wearing down a man. Most of those tired days, I spent a whole lot of time slouched in that chair, thinking about my days with the Company. When I wasn't twiddling my thumbs, I was wandering my daydreams about the future where I'd actually get to spend that cash. Those daydreams had a way of passing the time. At some point, my eyelids got the better of me.
I drifted off into the dream land of plush leather chairs and Lamborghinis, and a ring-a-ding-ding nipped at the edge of my consciousness. The void called stronger.
That day, yesterday, made five years. Coincidentally, it was also my last day of work for the Company.
It's a shame that they take being fired so literally. | 2017-12-16T22:48:14 | 2017-12-16T21:53:13 | 566 | 31 |
[WP] Wandering the streets, jobless, homeless, you happen across a silver ring with an inscription: "Help for the Needy." Idly you slip it on. Suddenly a voice resonates deep within your bones: "44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN." | The trash didn't smell as bad as most people thought, at least not outside of a clothing store. I was hoping to find a left shoe \- as the duct tape holding the sole onto my current one was giving way again and I didn't have more.
As a former writer, I figured there was a good metaphor in there for how tattered my own soul was, but the metal walls of the dumpster were turning it into an oven in the Florida sunshine, and I was just too hot for metaphors. Well, except for the oven thing, obviously.
Just as I was cursing the opressive sunshine for the 100th time, it glinted off something small and shiny \- a ring, buried in the refuse.
I turned it over a few times, and tried to polish it on my shirt \- but it came away dirtier. Unlike the pair of shoes I was hoping to replace, it looked to be about the right size for me. Not that it mattered, since I'd be pawning it by the end of the week for food \- or, if it was real silver, for enough alcohol to forget my life for a night. But I had enough to get by until then, and it would be nice to \*own\* something again. Even if just until Friday. So I slipped it on my finger. Suddenly I heard a monotone voice:
"44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 172 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."
I froze. I hadn't heard anyone approach. I felt nervous, though I'd done nothing wrong \- except maybe trespass in the trash. The ring wasn't stolen, but maybe this was the owner coming back for \-
"44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 147 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."
I peeked above the edge of the dumpster cautiously \- but no one was in sight. The oppressive heat of the day had driven everyone but the desperate away from this back lot and into the safety of the air conditioning. I was alone, but hearing a voice.
Well, I was hardly the first homeless person to hear voices, was I. In fact, I regularly sat with two people meeting that description, for the weekend meal the local church provided. Maybe the poor nutrition and humidity had finally eroded what I felt was a once perfectly functioning brain, and now I too, was \-
"44 YARDS NORTH A CHILD LIES FACE DOWN IN THEIR POOL, UNATTENDED. DEATH IN 122 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."
But a second nagging voice was also talking to me \- my conscience. I had no history of hearing voices. This was crazy, but if it was crazy and \*true\* I wouldn't be able to live with myself if a child died. Besides, the worst that would happen if it wasn't true is I'd look like a fool. I took two more seconds to look myself over, noticing the filth and tatters that were my belongings. Even a fool would look better than this.
So I ran.
...
The parents, naturally, assumed I was a crazy person who had pushed their little boy into the pool. I spent two nights in lockup, but the police had no case, and no one was hurt, so they turned me loose at the edge of town. They had tried to keep the ring, believing it to be stolen \- but they couldn't prove that, either.
So I sat there, a swamp to my right and suburbia to my left, with two days of jail food in my stomach and a manila envelope containing the ring. The city cop that dropped me off vanished onto the highway on\-ramp. With nothing else to do, I opened the envelope and emptied its contents into my hand. I stared at the ring in my palm as wading birds stalked the reeds on one side, and a young Hispanic man edged an endless strip of median on the other.
From two days distance, the whole event seemed unreal. Maybe I'd heard the child splashing? Maybe it was just luck? Maybe I should pawn the ring right now, and see if it would cover a visit to a shrink?
Maybe, though \- maybe there was another kid, and he was drowning \*right now\* as I stared at this ring like a fool.
The thought was crazy enough that it gave credence to the idea of pawing the ring for a shrink \- but I couldn't shake it. It had taken hold, like a compulsion, and something deep within me couldn't risk a life \- so I slipped the ring on once again.
I heard only the distant VRRrrrrrr of the edger.
Ninety percent of what I felt was relief. I wasn't crazy. I could go back to what little life I had, once I hiked back into town and pawned the ring. I felt some sort of premature hero's burden hd been lifted from my future shoulders.
Ten percent of what I felt, though, was some sort of... longing?
Well, being homeless meant I was no stranger to longing, and the dangers of wishful thinking. So I brushed myself off, stood up, and turned towards town \-
"2,412 YARDS EAST NORTHEAST A WOMAN WILL BE BLEEDING OUT ALONE. DEATH IN 3,214 SECONDS. TIME TO RUN."
Naturally, that was almost straight out into the swamp.
But what was I going to do, let a woman die because I was afraid of some mud and snakes? With a moment's regret for the leaky left shoe I never replaced, I began walking along the edge of the swamp looking for a drier path north by northeast.
...
By the time I got "154 YARDS SOUTH A FAMILY OF FOUR IS BEING STABBED. DEATH IN 312, 356, 441, AND 792 SECONDS", I had practically run triathlons through the worst parts of the wilderness, scaled cliffs, and faced numerous dangerous animals \- so a murder with a knife didn't seem much worse.
It was worse, but nothing a few dozen stitches \- paid for by the family I saved and a go\-fund\-me site \- could fix.
Nothing, however prepared me for today. After two years of being what the media dubbed "homeless Batman," I was actually starting to be recognized. It turns out after years of homeless near\-solitude, interacting with people is hard \- and so I'd ducked down a dark alley to avoid a crowd. That's when I heard it:
"0 YARDS, 17.3 BILLION WILL DIE. TIME TO HIDE."
Billion?! The most I had ever saved was 12, and that was a bus driver who fell asleep at the wheel. \*Were\* there even 17 billion people? I was pretty sure there weren't. And where could I hide from something that could kill that many \-
At that moment, the air at the end of the alleyway seemed to split apart with a white glow, and a tall, thin man in a dark suit stepped out. I ducked behind an all\-too\-familiar dumpster as the man walked past. Just before the light at the end of the ally winked out and returned to being plain old air, I saw it \- on his finger was a ring, twin to mine \- except made of the darkest obsidian.
It was then that my own ring began to grow so hot that I had to drop it, and when it hit the ground it seemed to melt into a small molten puddle. I looked up from this spectacle just in time to see the man in the suit exit the alley. I poked at the puddle that had been my ring and found it surprisingly cool now. I quickly snatched up the misshapen silver lump, and headed for the alley opening fifteen seconds behind the man in the suit.
17.3 billion. Everything up until now, crazy and amazing as it was, must have only been training \- but even with two years of it, I felt totally unprepared for this. This was so much bigger, and I didn't even have the ring any more.
But what else could I do? | *TIME TO RUN.*
I didn't think, I just ran. Vaulting the fence, I saw the child in the water; without stopping a moment, I dived in and dragged the child to the side of the pool, then onto dry ground. First aid? I couldn't remember. I shouted, and a woman crashed through the back door. "He's not breathing, I..."
The woman quickly began to administer mouth-to-mouth, and a second later, the child gasped and choked. The woman, tears running down her face, wrapped her arms around the child. "He... I turned my back for only a second... the door was supposed to be locked... thank you, thank you!"
I climbed out of the water, the ring on my finger all but forgotten. "No, no, it's ok, I just... I saw over the fence, and... is he ok?"
The woman nodded, as the child squirmed, still coughing occasionally. I leaned down and pointed at the boy. "Hey, buddy - no swimming without your mom around, ok?
The boy nodded, then leaped out of his mother's arms to wrap his arms around my legs. I blinked, then patted the boy gently on the back. "Good, uh... ok."
Wiping her eyes, the woman stood. "I... my name is Lisa. Schmidt. This is Billy - William. Oh, but your clothes are soaked! Please, come in and dry off - it's the least I can do to thank you."
I attempted to pry the small boy from my legs, and also attempted to refuse, but neither Lisa nor the Billy were willing to move an inch. Finally, I gave in, and half an hour later, I was dressed in dry, clean clothes - Lisa's ex-husband was Lester's size, it seemed - and drinking a warm cup of coffee while scarfing down a pile of leftovers that Lisa brought over. "It'll just spoil otherwise!"
Well-fed, warm, and better clothed than I had been in weeks, I found myself helping a recently divorced woman move the last of her belongings into her car. Waving goodbye, I was left holding a box of clothes, blankets, packaged food, and the keys to a house "that a-hole" was coming to claim in a week. My head was spinning. Eyeing the ring on my finger, I asked, "Did you...?"
As if in reply, the voice returned. *"400 YARDS DUE WEST, TRAFFIC ACCIDENT, ONE UNCONSCIOUS. DEATH IN 391 SECONDS."*
Stashing the box behind a hedge, I took to my heels, my new sneakers gripping the pavement. It only took me a minute and a half to get there; a small car, pinned under a jacked-up pickup. It looked like the car had blown through a stop sign, and the truck T-boned it, slamming it up against a cement retaining wall. I dashed around to the driver side of the truck - the driver was standing at the curb, staring, his eyes bloodshot, but otherwise unharmed. I rushed past him. The small sedan had a single occupant, a middle-aged man. He wasn't moving. The doors were crushed between the truck and the wall; there's no way I could get him out that way.
I shouted over my shoulder to the other driver, "Hey! Get in your truck and back up! We need to get these people out!"
I turned to see him shaking his head. "No way, man, I can't... I can't get caught, I'm gonna go to jail, man. You gotta... I gotta get outta here."
He staggered away, weaving unsteadily. Cursing, I scrambled backwards. About 200 seconds left. I climbed into his vehicle, hoping for something useful - a backpack, in the back seat! Inside was a jumble of objects, but on top was a claw hammer - it would have to work. Jumping down, I immediately started smashing the front window; once I broke through, I was able to drag it free. Just over a minute left... I scrambled into the vehicle. Heaving with all my strength, I dragged the man out from under the steering wheel, and half lifted, half rolled him out of the car.
Just as I dragged the man clear of his car, something under the truck clunked, and the car and truck lurched backwards. The retaining wall, no longer supported by the car, buckled and gave way, spilling cement and rock onto the car. With a creak, the top of the car collapsed. Gasping for air, I sat down on the curb, holding the man up as he stirred awake. I could hear sirens in the distance...
After giving my statement to the police, I went back for the box of food and clothes I'd stashed. I was half way there before I remembered the backpack, still on my shoulder. Curious, I looked inside. And under a few items of survival gear, I found thick stacks of well-worn bills. In a daze, I headed... well, home, for now. Lisa's house, which I had been hired to house-sit until her ex moved in.
I had a house, clothes, food, even money, and it was all because of that ring... and that's God's honest truth, your honor, I swear! I didn't know she was stealing when I helped her move out, and I got that, uh, *alleged* drug money purely by accident! | 2018-04-30T12:53:51 | 2018-04-30T12:29:53 | 85 | 24 |
[WP] You loved being a vampire during the 80s and 90s, but in 2070, with all the improvements in biotech and genetic engineering, you find yourself trapped in a body that, compared to everyone around you, is short, weak, frail, ugly, horribly light sensitive, and dependent on a very awkward diet. | "Fuck" - Tenn O'gul yelled out in disgust while spitting the beer out. That was his 26th victim of the night, and he had yet to taste a single drop of blood in his mouth. Tenn O'gul used to be a Count back when before people knew what a gun was. But nowadays, he's just an old, short, and ugly vampire.
It had been hard for not just him but all vampires since the booming in advancement of bio engineering. People started to replace certain natural body parts with something else. Most commonly is the replacement of blood with beer for better metabolically energy absorption. It had been exactly 472 days since the last time Tenn O'gul found a human with actual blood in their veins.
There was not much he can do but moved on and hunt for another human. Tenn O'gul had grown apathetic. After dropping his last victim's body at the dumpster, Tenn O'gul proceeded to fly aimlessly for hours. He turned his head left and right, he flew toward the moon and back looking for his next prey but all he found was frustration and angst filling up his whole body. You could see the lights in his eyes had died out long ago, he had lost all hope of ever finding a human with actual blood.
"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"
A voice echo from down below, not too far away from where Tenn O'gul was at. Tenn O'gul slowly flew toward the source and landed on top of an old building. He looked down to the dark alley below and saw a woman. The night was dark, but being a vampire, Tenn O'gul could see exactly what was going on.
The woman was small. She wore a brown sweater over polka dot dress with a chestnut-color scarf around her neck. They all seemed a bit too big for her size. She covered her head with a grey beanie, but Tenn O'gul could still make out the green highlight in her hair. She looked like what you would call a hipster. But Tenn O'gul didn't care about that, all he cared was that she looked humanly enough to be his next victim.
In front of her was a 7ft tall man. To call him a man was not entirely correct. The right side of his body was replaced with mechanical machinery. The sounds of gear clicking and whirling with every moves he made. But he didn't spark an interest in Tenn O'gul because Tenn knew that there were no human blood underneath all those mechanical parts.
The man raised both of his hands in the air, signaling a taunt toward the woman:
"C'mon, you can do better than that girl" - he spoke in a half-man, half-robot voice - "C'mon, try harder"
Tenn O'gul was just sitting on top of the building observing. He was not really interested in the situation, he was just bored. He had no intention of saving nor preying on the woman because he did not want to fight the half-man for a small chance of the woman having actual blood in her body.
"No? You're not gonna scream anymore?" - As the half-man grabbed the woman's arm and pushed her against the wall - "Well then this is gonna be veeerrry easy"
"Do you even have a dick down there anymore, half-man?" - the woman spoke in a surprisingly calming manner - "Should I even call you a man if you're dickless?"
Tenn O'gul couldn't help but let out a little grin. He did not expect her act like that in her situation.
The half-man got taken back a bit. He also did not expect her to say something like that. It wasn't long before he grew aggressive again out of embarrassment .
"Fuck you, bitch" - the gears in his right arm whirled as he raise it and slapped the living hell out of the woman. She fell to the ground and hit her head against the wall. Her beanie fell off, and something was oozing out of her wound... something RED.
Tenn O'gul knew exactly what he saw. The red liquid that he craved for so long. It is now right in front of him. Before the half-man could see it coming, Tenn O'gul flew down from the building and ripped his mechanical arm off of him. The half-man was thrown across the alley, laying his back against the cold, hard cement. He looked straight at Tenn O'gul in horror. And even tho Tenn O'gul appearance is just a small, ugly old man, the half-man knew he could not do anything in front of this hungry beast. As chills were sent down his spine, he grew the courage to mutter:
"What... are... y.." - Tenn O'gul plunged his finger nails through the half-man's neck, ended his life before he could say his final word.
Tenn O'gul then turned back to the woman who was observing the whole ordeal. At that moment, she knew her fate was sealed. Unlike with the half-man, she knew there was nothing she could say to get out of the situation. In front of her was an ugly and vicious creature who would not be fazed by reasons. His eyes were filled with not just hunger but excitement. She was looking at him, but he wasn't looking at her. His attention was drawn to the red line of blood on her forehead. He wanted to tear her apart and drown himself in it but he also wanted to savor it. He slowly walked up to her and patted her hair to the side, revealing where the line of blood came from.
While the woman was shaking in horror, Tenn O'gul was shaking in excitement. It had been too long for him and he was enjoying every moment of it. He raise his fore finger up, the same one that went through the half-man's neck, drenched it with the blood from the woman's forehead and then put it in his mouth.
His eyes immediately turned red. His body started to shake even more violently. He let out a roar tearing through the silence of the night. What he felt wasn't rejuvenation, it was desperation. It wasn't a roar of excitement that came out of him, it was a roar of wrath for what he tasted wasn't what he expected.
"WHAT. THE FUCK. IS THIS?" - Tenn O'gul looking straight at the woman, his gaze was completely focused on her and not on her forehead.
"What... what.. do you mean?" - said the confused woman.
"What was in your blood? That wasn't human blood" - Tenn O'gul roared loudly
"I had body... modification... I don't.. have any... human blood in me." - the woman could not spoke straight for she was crying before the terrifying sight of angry Tenn O'gul
"Then why the fuck is it not beer?? Why is it red?" - Tenn O'gul voice cracked. He was on the verge of breaking down to tears. He thought he has finally found it, but once again, his hopes were crushed. All he felt at that moment was absolute desperation.
"I'm... I'm... allergic to gluten... I can't... have beer in my veins..." - the woman continued - "I... I... got my blood... replaced.. with Sriracha... instead"
That was the final straw. Tenn O'gul broke down in front of the woman. He was no longer the vicious beast. His small body crumpled up and you could see that he was even smaller than the woman.
And then, he started to cry like a baby. | The two warriors stood in front of each other, fist raised, checking any opening in their opponent, anything that could give them a lead in battle.
How many times have I've seen this kind of scene unfold? how many times do I have to watch people stronger than I use their artificial bodies to the fullest? *I used to be like them* I thought, a thought that has repeated inside my head for a very long time.
The bell rings, the two move quicker than the eye can see, and in one-second fists fly, they get parry and they get dodged, and then, they stare at each other again. They start to move side to side. the crowd cheers at the display of these powerful warriors. They seemed to be more or less on the same level
One of them, the one with tattoos all over his body and a beast of a face, starts to glow red; the tattoos all over his body, start to glow and his muscles seen to get bigger. He growls in pain as the crowd cheers once more. from the way he looked like now, he could no longer be considered human; just a beast.
*not good* I thought as I looked at him. What is the other warrior going to do? he had an armor covering his whole body, but I don't think he would be able to take a hit from those fist *watch, dodge*
The tattooed beast lungs at him, his fist is shot like the bullet of a canon, the armored warrior barely managed to dodge, his helmet was grazed and in the next instant, another punch was shot at him, once again directed at his head.
But once again he dodges and jumps back, *good* the same exchange kept going for a while, they traded experts attacks over and over, although the majority of the attacks came from the tattooed beast. the armored man was barely able to keep up and do a little bit of damage.
The more I looked at them the weaker I felt, to me, these warriors were gods, something that I used to call myself many, many decades ago--
A hit, the armored warrior falls to the ground, the sound of something inside the armor breaking echoed through the underground ring, people cheered at the violence. No matter the era, humans were still the most disgusting beings on the planet, to find pleasure in things like this.
I knew of this, of course, I was just like them, despite everything.
Blood, not from the armored man, but from the tattooed beast, whatever changes his body went through were starting to affect him. from his eyes, nose, ears and mouth blood started to pour out. *is not enough* the armored man gets up but struggling to do it.
--but now, I'm just a frail creature, weak, ugly, small. the only thing I was capable of now was the capacity to move strings, that is the only thing I can do in this world.
The tattooed beast gets angrier, it roars and it looked as if he didn't expect the battle to drag out for so long, he lungs once again, not an inch of strategy in his actions, everything that could be seen, was the pain, anger, and more blood. But even with that, one more hit was enough, to end all this, to obtain victory in this forsaken tournament.
And then it was over, it happened so fast that the crowd wasn't even able to tell what happened at first, there was a light, a silver light and the sound of meat being sliced and the sound of a head falling to the ground and rolling until it felt out of the ring.
Only the armored man stood there, sword on his hand, no, his hand itself was a sword, that was one of the perks of being a Machine, the capacity of changing your body at will, ignoring the usual pain that would come from doing it live flesh. on his helmet a red orb could be seen shining brightly, the armored warrior looked at my direction, but from the outside, it could be said that he could be looking at anyone else.
He bends his knee, as if he was a swordsman kneeling in front of his king, it only takes a second for the crowd to scream, jump in joy, whistle and scream his name, *my* name. Jester, a two-hundred-year-old vampire, probably the last and the weakest of them all, the only thing I was capable of was to move strings, the strings of the armored man, a Machine that had my blood in it.
But of course, that's a fact that only I know.
***
[r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/)
| 2017-12-15T19:30:39 | 2017-12-15T15:25:37 | 1,784 | 621 |
[WP] To extend your life, you've played Death in many games and beaten him. However, after your last game, you begin to see that Death has been losing to you on purpose. | Mrs Haller had planned endlessly for such a day. There was a lake on the fringes of the city which had taken her fancy, for the waters ran deep, and anglers seldom came by. She would close her bank accounts, end her cable service, mail the title deeds to her favourite charity. Then, she would get into her Beetle, drive to the edge of the lake, cast her dice for the final time, and meld once and for all into the cool, inviting depths.
It was a good plan, by all accounts.
But the grief was far stronger than she was, and she found herself on the roof of New Hope Hospital, one foot already lifted off solid ground, dangling in the air. A gust of wind tipped her over, and downwards did Mrs Haller plunge, as quickly as the dread that settles when a phone rings in the middle of the night.
Time froze.
Death had chosen the guise of a young boy this time, no more than eight or nine years old. Golden hair, chiselled features, grubby fingers. Mrs Haller knew it was Death because she was floating upside down, and he was the only one bobbing weightlessly beside her.
“But it isn’t your time yet!” Death said, a frown on his face. “You’re making things difficult for me again, June!”
“I’m getting dizzy looking at you,” said Mrs Haller. “Right me up or strike me down now, I don’t care which, but just do it now already.”
Death snapped his fingers, and Mrs Haller spun gently around. She scrabbled at the pouch by her side, ripped off the drawstring with haste, then poured out the ebony dice within. The pits on them glowed a light blue.
“My dear June, it’s been forty-five years since we last met. In that time, you have done more than-”
“Oh shut it,” said June. “I’m rolling.”
“-your fair share of… wait, wait, there’s a process to these things, you can’t just-”
“Too late.”
Mrs Haller cast the dice with all the strength in her arm. They burned dark azure scars as they rolled, and it took some time before they stopped spinning. And there it was, six dice, all lined up in a row, coming to a rest just the way she wanted.
“Six ones, your turn.”
“Hang on, hang on! June, you know that-”
“Roll! Now!” Mrs Haller said. A fiery bouquet of anger suddenly bloomed in her chest, and she struck out uncontrollably, shoving Death in the shoulder. “Now! Roll, now!”
Death rolled.
Five dice came up ones, but the last did a maddened pirouette on its edge, then split cleanly along its axis. The light fled its shell, and the dice crumbled into dust.
“Five ones,” Death said, as he shrugged. He waved his hand towards her, and Mrs Haller began drifting down harmlessly to the ground. “Looks like you beat me again. Oh well, guess you’re going to get another new lease on life, please make the best of-”
“How long have you been letting me win?”
“What? Let you win? No, come on, you know what I stand for, don’t you? That’s just ridiculous.”
Mrs Haller pulled another pouch from her pockets, then held them out for Death to inspect. “Those are the real dice,” she said. “I had the first set custom made. Guaranteed to roll all ones. You had to cheat, even, just to make sure you lost to me.”
“Me? Cheat? June, that’s doesn’t make any sense-”
Mrs Haller sighed, then closed her eyes. It was slightly easier this way.
“I don’t want to play anymore,” she said. “I want to go. Release me, please. Let this all end.”
“I can’t do that. We had a deal, didn’t we? You wanted another chance at life, and you wanted to bet it all on a dice game with me. Well, you won. You got that chance you were looking for. So go on and live it. We played fair and square.”
“I’m tired,” she said. “I’ve won, what, eight times now?”
“Ten, actually.”
Mrs Haller reached into her pockets, then pulled out a single photograph, creased along the edges. “Haylee’s parents just got back together last month. She had begun to pay attention in class again, and I was sure I could get her to catch up with the rest before summer. She had so much ahead of her, you know? She was smart, she cared for others, all she needed was a little more time.”
“Ah, Haylee Smith. Yes, I do believe that-”
“So why didn’t you give it to her?” Mrs Haller said, as she lunged towards Death in anger. A lifetime ago, many lifetimes ago, she had done the same, only in desperation then. “Why take it away? Why did she have to be at home when her parents fought? She was supposed to be in school, with me! How did she fall? Why did she have to hit her head that way? Why? Why?”
Death hardly flinched. Mrs Haller’s hands merely bounced off the nimbus of grey which surrounded him, and so he waited until the adrenaline ebbed. Then he waited a while longer for her to stop sobbing.
“Then move on, June. Find a new city, find a new school. A change of environment will do you good. When you’re ready, go back to do what you’ve always loved, yes? There are always more children out there, just waiting, waiting for you to help them.”
“You’re really sick, you know that? Sick.”
Death pouted. “That is very unkind of you, June. I’ve only given you what you asked for. You swore on your own life, didn’t you? You said you were too young to go, and that you had so much more you wanted to give? Have you tired of that now?”
“I’ve… I’ve watched so many of them die,” said Mrs Haller, hands pressed to her eyes. “And it seems that no matter what I do… no matter how hard I try to steer them… it’s just so senseless how they all end up. So many lose themselves to pointless violence, so many to drugs or drink, and so many others to just stupid, bad luck. Some of them end up happy, yes, but it is so… fleeting. They have a couple of good years, then something happens to them. Something *always* happens to them. Like Haylee… sweet Haylee, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Death reached out, then laid his hand on her shoulder. That surprised Mrs Haller so much that she forgot to breathe for a moment. It was the very first time she had ever come into physical contact with him, and there was the most exquisite sense of loss which accompanied his touch.
“How do you think I feel, June?”
They twirled like a pair of dragonflies, coasting in a spiral to the ground. Mrs Haller sank to her knees, then looked up at Death.
“Then why torment me still? Let me go, please. Let it all end.”
“I can be selfish too, you know. But June, listen to me. I’ve had royalty beg me for another chance, wise men, fools, the obscenely rich, the abject poor. Those who did win went on to spend the rest of their lives trying to avoid me, or scheming to outsmart me when next we met. You’re… you’re different, June. You did as you promised. You spent your life… your lives… helping all these children.”
“Is that why you’re doing this to me? You want to see me regret my own choice? You want to break me down, force me to realize that there is no such thing as hope in this world?”
Death shook his head, then held out his hand again. He beckoned towards her.
“No, June. When I see you do what you do for those children… let’s just say I want to see you help them again, no matter how briefly it lasts. It makes a difference, even if you refuse to see it. Will you continue? If not for me, then for them?”
June mulled it over.
And then she took Death’s hand.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| I set down my rook.
“Checkmate.”
“DAMN. I THOUGHT I HAD YOU. EXCELLENT PLAY, MICHELLE.”
“Thank you. Tomorrow, then, Death?”
“AS ALWAYS.” He began to disappear. As I looked at the board, I noticed something off about the play.
“Death, wait.”
“YES? WHAT IS IT?”
“You could have easily blocked my move. I’m no grandmaster, and you’ve had years of experience at this point. Far more than me.”
“YOUR POINT?”
“You... you haven’t been losing to me on purpose, have you?” I looked up into his skeletal face. It was always a grin, as it was a skull, but I could swear he was smiling.
“YOU FIGURED IT OUT, HM? I ASSUME YOU HAVE QUESTIONS.”
“Yes. Why?” Death sat down.
“IT WAS NEVER YOUR TIME. YOU PASSED TOO SOON. WHEN YOUR BODY WAS PULLED FROM THE WRECKAGE, WHEN YOU SACRIFICED TO SAVE YOUR HUSBAND, I WAS MOVED. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO SIMPLY LET SOMEONE LIVE AFTER THEY HAVE PASSED. BUT THERE IS A LOOPHOLE.”
“If you make a deal, and you lose...”
“I DO NOT HAVE TO CLAIM YOUR SOUL. CORRECT.”
“But... why me? I’m hardly the most heroic person in the world.”
“I DO NOT HAVE DOMAIN OVER EVERY SOUL. THE GODS THAT BE DECREED YOUR LIFE OF LITTLE VALUE, AND AS I AM A LOW RANKING REAPER, ASSIGNED YOU TO ME. SOLDIERS, EMERGENCY WORKERS, POLICEMEN, THOSE THAT SURVIVE IN THE LINE OF DUTY FOR THE SAKE OF OTHERS, THOSE LIVES HAVE BEEN DECREED HIGH VALUE.”
“But why me? Why am I low value?”
“YOU MARRIED, YOU HAD CHILDREN. YOUR LIFE WAS NOT OF MUCH SIGNIFICANCE. YOU WERE NOT FAMOUS, YOU WERE NOT POPULAR, YOU WERE NOT A HERO. NOT UNTIL THE DAY YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED.”
“So you saved me.”
“BECAUSE YOU BECAME HIGH VALUE. YOU BECAME A HERO. THE GODS THAT BE CANNOT SEE THE FUTURE; THEY CANNOT SEE WHO ALL WILL LIVE OUT THEIR VALUE. THE COWARDLY SOLDIERS. THE DIRTY CELEBRITIES. THE-“
“Heroic masses.”
“...YES, IF YOU WANT TO PUT IT LIKE THAT. BESIDES ALL THAT, HOWEVER, THERE IS ONE MORE REASON.”
“What is it?”
“DEATHS CAN DIE. WE ARE NOT HARBRINGERS OF DEATH, OR MANIFESTATIONS OF SOULS OR THE AFTERLIFE. WE ARE SIMPLY... HOW SHOULD I PUT THIS? WE ARE LIKE THE... HOW YOU SAY, UBER OF THE AFTERLIFE. WE HELP YOUR SOUL TRAVEL TO ITS PLACE OF REST, ITS ETERNAL HOME. BUT WE MUST BE COMPASSIONATE. FAR TOO MANY DEATHS COME FROM THOSE WHO WISH TO INFLICT PAIN ON SOULS FOR THEIR OWN AMUSEMENT.”
“Wait, Deaths come from souls?”
“WHEN PARTICULARLY STRONG SOULS DIE, THEY CAN BECOME A REAPER, YES. I MYSELF DIED IN WORLD WAR TWO.”
“Fascinating...”
“IF IT IS YOUR WISH, I WOULD LIKE YOU TO REPLACE ME.”
“Replace you?”
“YES. YOU ARE THE LAST SOUL TETHERING ME TO EXISTENCE.”
“I’m... i...”
“IF YOU ACCEPT, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GAMBLE WITH ME ANY LONGER TO LIVE. I WILL NOT HAVE TO APPEAR TO YOU ANY LONGER, AND WHEN YOU DIE, YOU WILL COME TO ME, AND TAKE MY PLACE IN THE AFTERLIFE.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“I WILL CONTINUE TO APPEAR, AND YOU CAN CONTINUE TO GAMBLE YOUR LIFE WITH ME, AS WE HAVE. YOU CAN TAKE TIME TO THINK ON IT, IF YOU WISH.”
“And what about my husband and children?”
“IF THEY WISH TO ACCOMPANY YOU ONCE THEY PASS, THEY MAY DO SO, WITH ALL OF THEIR MEMORIES INTACT.”
“...Sounds like a win-win.”
“WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE?”
“...” I sat, and thought for a moment. Then I nodded, and stood, facing him.
“I accept. I will replace you, upon my death.”
“EXCELLENT.”
“Under one condition.”
“WHAT IS IT?”
“I still want to speak with you, about death and the afterlife.”
“AS YOU WISH.” He faded away, and I put the chessboard away.
“Michelle, honey?”
“Yes?”
“Who were you speaking to?”
“Oh, just a friend.” My husband came into the room, and kissed me.
“Sounded serious.”
“It was. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“If you say so. I still will, though.”
“I know. How’s Bobby sleeping?”
“Peacefully, thanks to you.” I smiled.
“Let’s not wake him yet. He’s got a long life ahead of him.”
As we left the room, I could almost feel His presence. He may be a reaper, but for me...
He was a guardian angel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Check out r/SwordsumoStories for more (although I don’t update often, ripperoni) | 2018-03-21T09:41:34 | 2018-03-21T08:35:33 | 371 | 23 |
[WP] The Apocalypse has arrived. Jesus has come back, and he's on a brutal "rapture" spree, slaughtering people everywhere. The bright star of Satan descends and he appears at a UN press conference. He says, "before I fix this mess for you guys again, it's time you heard my side of the story..." | Nothing about the situation was *right*. Nevermind that the events of recent months, with the second coming of Christ as an international machine of carnage, had lead to an international electorate in utter confusion and chaos, it had also devastated the institutions we relied upon to sort these things out. *These things*... as if the damn Apocalypse was just another global crisis to be solved through public debate and backroom schemes and intrigue. In all honesty, the contrast with the normal separation of shadowy schemes from public rhetoric was probably one of the reasons why it all seemed so *wrong*.
There was, perhaps, a delicious irony to be found in what was about to happen. The UN New Security Council - newly founded, after the collapse of the old Security Council countries to Jesus' onslaught - was about to hear what would be a globally broadcast speech by none other than the Devil himself, Lucifer the Morning Star, Satan incarnate.
At least, that was how he...it... no, definitely *he*, had introduced himself. Beholding the creature was a strange experience, he was impossible to focus on or properly describe beyond the most superficial attributes of attire and mannerism. Impeccable suit. Calm, confident posture. All in clear contrast to the by now generally ragged, tired, and massively nervous audience in the room. None more so than the Council's Speaker, the representative from the Nordic Union.
"So, uhm," the Speaker hesitantly begins, trying - and failing - to look up from his papers and meet the red haze behind which were the eyes of the Devil. "Mr. Lucifer. You said... announced, even, to the world that you could explain what is currently happening. And that you may offer a... solution?"
Lucifer's immediate response was to sigh, loudly, with a *force* that seemed to physically depress the people in the room.
"Yes. Though this isn't the first time I've done this, so I know I have to begin by destruction." The room stirred, to which the Devil smirked. "Of some mythology, that is."
"Please, uh, continue."
He straightened his tie. "Let's start with the beginning. God created the Heaven and the Earth. Sure. I mean, terraforming was his original business model. It was supposed to be a Type B world, you know, mainly water-based, typical run-of-the-mill biofactory settings. Problem was, I had already claimed the system and had bio-tagged the third rock for one of my high-yield biofactory experiments. Which meant we both ended up wasting a lot of investment resources over a few billion local cycles with competing seed lines. We only discovered this very recently, just a few thousand local cycles ago, and we've been in legal proceedings ever since. It's all terribly frustrating."
"Wait, wait... what are you saying, that Earth is some kind of *experiment*?"
"Well, yes, though an inadvertent one. You were just supposed to be a biofactory. Or, according to my plans, both an experiment *and* a biofactory."
Someone across the room decided to shout the obvious question that by now was on everyone's mind, "What the *hell* is a biofactory?!"
"Ah," the Devil chuckled, "Right. Well, this goes to some of the, what's the term you people use, *myth busting* that I have to do. You see, there are two main resources in the universe, or at least on our plane of it, both of which are produced by biofactories. One is what would best be translated into Earth languages as something like *life force*, which on a systemic level is related to the concept of 'entropy' that you have discovered in your sciences. The other is, put plainly, physical biological resources. Biomatter, for food and other purposes. And biofactories are planets designed to produce these."
With a significant portion of the representatives in the room being of a scientific inclination, it was no wonder that the response was a cacophony of mumbled incredulity. Which stopped quite abruptly as the Devil *coughed*...
"Anyway, Yahweh and their people specialise in the biomatter segment, which is generally quite stable with pretty narrow margins. And, well, biofactories are generally built to focus on either one or the other, because as a rule of thumb the more *life force* a factory produces, the less viable biomatter can be extracted. So, put simply, Earth is ruining Yahweh's margins. Between this and the legal proceedings, you're threatening to bankrupt them."
*Earth is bankrupting God?!* I don't think anyone in the room, in their wildest imaginings, had thought today's conference would lead to that particular revelation. All credit to the Speaker, though, for keeping an unimaginably cool head.
"So what you are saying, Mr. Lucifer, is what? Earth is in legal limbo in a court room battle between Gods?"
Again, the Devil chuckled. "Not quite, I'm an independent Angel, I don't qualify as a God yet. I only have a few worlds, including Earth, all of which are experimental and so... unstable. But yes. That's the gist of it."
"Then... what can we do? If your court systems are anything like ours, the... *assets* don't usually have much say in what happens to them."
"In fact, the similarities between our court systems are quite profound, it's actually one of the most interesting ongoing items of study in my experiment. That is, to the extent that I've been allowed to actually perform any research. Yahweh keeps blocking my efforts, and they are quite powerful. But yes, you are right, assets like yourselves don't generally have much say. However, you have an advantage. Universal Law protects sentient and independent life from 'undue exploitation'."
"This is why Yahweh sent in Jesus the first time, to undermine the 'independent' bit and suppress the development of your sentience. They correctly predicted that this would be a short-term measure, hence the 'prophesies' about the Apocalypse. They'd hoped to have ownership of Earth settled in courts before they had to send him back, but I've managed to keep them at bay. So, they sent him back to, basically, remove whatever claim I still have to the world. That is, to remove *you*. All of humanity."
"You see, advanced, sapient life is not meant to develop in Type B biofactories, and their license *only* covers Type B biofactories. Which means that this is how you can save yourselves: I need time to prove to the courts that this is not a Type B biofactory, and that the advanced sapient life on it is sentient and independent. This will remove Yahweh's claim to Earth, and make this a protected world."
Murmurs erupted throughout the room.
"If you'll excuse my confusion, Mr. Lucifer," the Speaker interrupted the murmurations, "I'm struggling to see how this isn't already obviously true?"
"Ah, well, it's clearly not. In fact, the majority of humans have willingly given up their independence. Many of them to Yahweh, specifically, in fact."
"Pardon?"
"That's what religion is. It's not even subtle. 'I give my life to God' blah blah blah. You're literally giving up your independent lives, guys. Stop it. That's all you have to do." | His hooves burn cloven etchings into the wood floor as he approaches the podium. Skin bright red with crimson leathery wings politely tucked behind his should blades. His eyes bulge as he scans the room. Steaming drool drips from his fanged lips. He spots something recognizable and leaps from the podium, landing softly at the ambassador from Israel.
Yiddish was exchanged until the assembly heard a voice cry out in disbelief.
“English?!” The demon spouts. “Those swamp hags managed to make that much of an impact?”
He flew back towards the podium, shaking his head and lands with a sigh at the microphone. He clears his formerly guttural voice to a clean, salesperson sheen.
“As you flesh bags may have guessed, what with Jesus running around delivering torturous salvation, that yes, I am a demon from hell. Not just a demon but THE demon. Satan, pleased to meet you. Now, no I am not Lucifer. He hates you all far too much to show up in person, but he sends the message of ‘HA HA told you so.’ More on that in a second. Now I am also not Beelzebub. That’s more for your edification. That guy is a big nasty bug, an overall asshole, and never cleans the common kitchen area! In all the layers of hell this fucking guy...“ Satan’s clawed hand pinches his crooked nose. “I’m getting off track here.” He waves his hands apologetically and clears his throat.
“You all probably want to know why Jesus showed up here delivering retribution.” Satan extended a hand out toward the crowd and scans the grand hall. The remainder of the assembly nodded in agreement. Most of the UN had either been unceremoniously raptured by the murderous Savior or committed suicide in the aftermath. Most of the African, South American, and Russian delegations remained because they had seen worse than what Jesus had delivered. Canada and France remained mostly by being innocuous or hiding behind the godless Latvians.
“Jesus came back because you all have utterly just pissed him right off. In his mind he died for you and all he gets in return is a barely recognized mention on his birthday? I mean guys you had to have seen this coming. Hah! Just joking guys.” Satan cackled. “Should have seen the look on your faces. Especially you Jean! Yes, I know that freaky shit you’re into at home.” Satan pointed toward a withering Frenchman. Satan laughed hard and regained his composures. “Ah man, look it took Jesus 2020 years but he finally realized that his Dad set him up. He died for the sins of humanity, but the only person recognizing those sins was Pops! That’s gotta fuck with you. Really. I mean Lucifer’s tricked me a few times into eating acid but that’s some Godly mindfuckery. That’s a true heads I win, tails you lose situation. But that’s why I’m here.”
Satan breathed deep and gave a relaxing belch of fire. “Jesus will end up killing most of you. Those he spares will either have to pick up the pieces or deal with God’s angelic mod squad. Either way you’re getting wiped out. God is a king. His rule is law. That is what Lucifer rebelled against. Morning Star may view you all as a mistake but, don’t tell him I said this, in the end he is jealous of your free will. God was so compelled by Lucifer’s rebellion of choice that he created hell for all the imperfections and non-believers. There are many layers to hell. The first of which is where most of you will end up, in a place that is just fine. That’s it. Fine. There’s no bills or rent and you’ll stay the same age and get to do what you want but you’ll just never progress. It’s no heaven but at least it’s better than being nonexistent. Right?”
A beam of light flashed andJesus appeared at the far right corridor. He burnished a flaming sword and was covered in blood. Though a Ghanaian ambassador thought the hue seemed a shade off.
“Well?” Satan said. “In a snap of my fingers I can save you all. Just need to you to swear your soul on it.”
Jesus approached.
“What do you say?” Satan held up his hand. | 2018-04-23T00:06:01 | 2018-04-22T20:34:10 | 56 | 29 |
[WP] A man who hears voices in his head, but they don't degrade his life. He can live with it and sometimes they even help. | *FOLD*
“No” Dan whispered as quietly as he could with his cards covering his mouth.
*Dan. Fold now.*
Dan shook his head and the man next to him gave him a weird look. Dan sat back in the creaking lawn chair and was looking at a pair of three of spades in his hand, ready to claim the $42 pot of crumpled ones and fives on the dirty glass table. He looked up from his cards at the stone cold gazes of the other four men waiting for him to raise or fold. Dan grabbed his last five to raise.
*Incoming*
Dan spun around just in time to see a girl lose her footing down the stairs and fling her red solo cup in the air. He instinctively hopped up to catch her mid fall and also caught a face full of the tepid contents of her drink. She was light, almost fragile in his arms and when she looked up to see who had caught her his heart skipped a beat. She was blonde, freckled and had bright emerald green eyes that took his breath away. He looked at her for longer than a few seconds without saying anything, not knowing what to say.
“Hey lover boy you gona finish your hand?”
*Keep it*
“Keep it” Dan said without looking away.
“Thanks” she looked up at him as she found her footing. “Oh jeez, I’m so sorry” she said as she began to blot his soaked shirt.
*Looks like you need a new drink*
“It’s really no problem.” He chuckled nervously. “L-looks like you need a new drink”
“I might” she wrinkled her nose and giggled. Jesus she was gorgeous. How had he not seen her here? Who was she with? Was she here with her…. Boyfriend? A hundred questions assaulted him as he led her between the crowd of back yard partiers towards to the kitchen.
*Breathe. You got this.*
Dan realized he was holding his breath. “Thanks Kal” he muttered under the background music.
Kal was what he affectionately referred to as the voice in his head. It was a bit of a spin off name from the cartoon Calvin and Hobbies. Way back when, when Dan started hearing his voice, Kal always expressly enjoyed the newspaper cartoon, and so his name was born. Kal was always there to guide him, but he wasn’t intrusive. In fact Dan became irritated if his friend didn’t pipe in from time to time. He had come to rely on the sound advice of his wise voice. For the past thirteen years since his dad died when he was seven, Kal has been there for him. He never degraded or made fun of him in any way. He was a dear friend and Dan wouldn’t know what to do without him. Kal would occasionally drop the *“I wont be here forever you know”* or *“Pretty soon you’re going to have to make a go on your own”* Dan always brushed it off, but really he was terrified to have that conversation. He would be lost without his guiding voice. Wherever it was that voices in someones head went, he hoped Kal never went there.
Dan had never had a serious girlfriend. Almost all of his interactions with the ladies had been by Kal’s carefully guided instruction. This time was no different. As he took the beautiful girl -whose name he had learned was Heather – to the kitchen to refill per punch, they talked for over an hour. Dan was relieved to learn she did not have a boyfriend and was here with some of her girlfriends. And thanks to Kal’s smooth talking, Dan was able to get her number by the end of the night. On his way home he sat glowing behind the wheel of his beater 1975 Dodge Dart. He couldn’t believe it.
*Believe it*
“She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen”
*Certainly the prettiest to ever give you the time of day.*
“I’m going to screw this date up man.”
*You’ll do fine, stop thinking of it as a date. Besides, you’re not that awkward lanky kid anymore Dan. They were still your words, I merely arranged them for you. There’s only twenty si-*
“Twenty six letters in the English alphabet I know, and with the right combination of them you can do anything” That was Kal’s favorite saying, he said it all the time.
*It’s true…*
Kal was right though. With the right combination of words you could do anything, get anyone to do almost anything, within reason of course. Dan made his way home and texted Heather the very next day. The two made plans to go ice skating, Kal’s idea. Dan stared at the closet trying to decide what to wear and hovered over a button down shirt.
*More casual.*
He moved his hand over some band t-shirts.
*Black v neck and your zip up hoodie, c’mon*
“Alright” Dan hissed.
*Were you really going to wear a Metallica t-shirt on your first date?*
“No” Dan said defensively. He was going to wear Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt…
With his attire picked he drove to pick up Heather and the two of them had a blast. Kal wasn’t chiming in as much throughout the evening but amazingly, it was still going great. The two made it official after a few weeks and Dan was the happiest he had ever been. Things were going great in his life, he was about to graduate college, work was going well and now the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on was dating him. Things were going so well that he almost hadn’t noticed the Kal would go almost days without speaking to him. Dan tried to ask his buddy what was up, but he wouldn’t always get an answer.
Dan practically skipped to to his car from the parking lot of his apartment complex and headed off to pick up Heather. They were on their way to see the new Christopher Nolan movie neither of them knew much about. They arrived at the theater, parked and made their way into the lobby and got popcorn.
“I’m going to go the ladies room.” Heather said and pecked Dan on the lips. Her soft, perfect lips still made his knees buckle and he smiled as she walked away.
*She’s really somethin*
“There you are.” Dan whispered. “Where the heck have you been man, I almost forgot to pay my car registration last week, you said you’d remind me.” Dan wasn't fully able to hide his annoyance.
*But you still paid it on time, didn’t you?*
“Well, ya..”
*Listen...I have to go now Dan*
Dan chuckled “Make sure to send me a postcard from my Medulla Oblongata”
*Dan, it’s time*
Dan sobered up quick, he wasn’t kidding. “W-what do you mean Kal?” he frantically asked, he had to keep Kal talking.
*We both knew this was never a forever kind of thing. I’ve done all that I can for you. We got through your dad, and then your grandparents, high school bullies, acne, your first job, college... Besides, three’s a crowd.*
“No… You can’t go” Dan’s vision blurred with tears and his face tightened “I need you!”
*Dan, I just help arrange the words for you, it’s still you saying them. You’re going to be alright.*
Dan pleaded with his friend, pacing back and forth in the busy lobby of the theater holding buttery popcorn.
*Goodbye Dan*
And just like that, Kal was gone. Dan felt different, felt lighter. He sniffled and wiped away his tears just in time for Heather to come bounding over in her long floral print dress.
“Ready?” She smiled and bore into him with those sparkly emerald green eyes. Dan felt the pit of anxiety in his gut begin to melt away and he realized he was really going to be alright.
Dan looked down at the wild print carpet of the lobby before meeting her gaze and smiled “Yeah I’m ready.” | *"Jump."*
"What?"
*"Just jump. You'll make it."*
"There's no way I'm making that jump" He thought to himself and the others.
*"The jump, or the bad guys. You choose."* Sara's nonchalant tone said it all. There was actually no choice.
Josh took two steps back, ran towards the ledge and used all his strength to jump towards the other rooftop. The landing was ungraceful, but it was better than Vladimir and his men. He looked back and saw the three men in black suits staring at the void between the two buildings. The chief yelled something in his handcuff.
*"You know what that means, lads. They're sending more guys to this building."* James' thick British accent was unmistakable.
*"North East Corner, you'll be able to take a jump into the balcony. The windows wer..."*
*"No."* Luigi stepped on Pierre brutally. *"North West Corner, the service stairs. They'll go quicker and you'll be able to get down a couple floors befo..."*
"ONE AT A TIME, GUYS! We've talked about this." The sudden silence was reassuring, but also brought an ounce of worry with it. No one had a clear idea of what to do. The plan had gone awry since the beginning, and Josh knew he couldn't completely trust the others. They had failed him before, but now, he was completely out of ideas.
*"Señor José. May I?"*
"Josh, but yeah, what's up?"
*"I think we can go back to the other building."*
*"Lad, that's nonsense"*
*"No no. If you throw that rock over there into the window two floors down, you should be able to break it. The jump will be the same as the one we just did. I did the math. It works."*
"You're sure about this, Roberto?" Josh knew the building was already surrounded, so going down the stairs would only throw him into the arms of his pursuers. Roberto's idea, while crazy, could actually work.
*"Math doesn't lie, Señor."*
"It would mostly be physics here, but I'll take it." Josh ran towards the rock, picked it up, aimed for a second and by focusing all the years of practice throwing eggs at his neighbor's door, managed to break the correct window. He took a deep breath, ran and with the tip of his foot, pushed outwards as hard as he could. Going through the rest of the broken glass was effortless.
"Rob. Did you know I wouldn't cut myself to death?" This evenuality hadn't crossed Josh's mind before the jump.
*"I'd rather not say, if you don't mind."*
*"Terrific."*
*"There's a service lift at the end of the corridor to your left. Stay low and you should be able to reach it without being spotted. Don't go to the ground floor, stop at the first floor, and get out. The windows there open up normally and you can get out through the back. Ni vu ni connu."*
Pierre was the strategist, always paying attention to detail to an annoying level. This time, it was looking like it would come in useful.
Josh crouched towards the corridor. Once he reached the lift, he pushed the button and waited. The heavy doors opened with a creaking noise. The lift looked like it hadn't been maintained in years.
*"We might not be able to stop before the ground floor."* Josh rolled his eyes at Sara's comment. She was the kind to always use humor in stressful situations. Josh liked that about her.
The elevator bounced a bit before opening. Josh reversed his jacket, put on a hat and walked out the door calmly. No one was talking anymore, and the only thing he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. The sound of rushing footsteps in the floor below him hastened his pace.
*"Open window, 11 o'clock. Leads to the road. Hide behind the pillar and wait until those idiots pass."*
"Which idiots?" The voice of two russian agents came rushing though the window just as Josh laid against the concrete pillar.
*"Those. Now, go."* Jame's voice echoed over the thumping heartbeat. *"Oh, and once you're down there, go to the right at the first intersection. There's a clothes store, you know what to do."*
Josh snuck his way through the window, over the small garden and onto the main road. There was no more sign of the Russians around, but his pace remained brisk. The noise of the city drowned the voices in Josh's head, and as he walked into the clothing store, he thanked them for saving him, once again.
*"Next time, make sure the girl is not the wife of a mafia boss."* Sara told him calmly, while all the others laughed.
"I can't promise anything" he said aloud, while the cashier looked at him weirdly. | 2020-06-13T15:08:30 | 2020-06-13T13:54:41 | 41 | 13 |
[WP] Napoleon and Hitler were born 129 years apart, came into power 129 years apart, and invaded Russia 129 years apart. It is now 2070. You've been reincarnated and rose to power for the third time. Russia is looking very tempting.
Edit: Holy cow. There are some seriously awesome stories here. Thank you so much :) | The young Caliph sat in his tower, surveying his kingdom stretching well beyond the horizon in every direction. It had been considered impossible, what he had done to bring the entire Islamic nation together. Powerful men had tried to unify the chosen for thousands of years, only to be corrupted by their own unworthiness, often seeking power for its own sake and private purposes. Oroitz succeeded where others had failed. That he was a European made the feat an impossible miracle, praise be to Allah. Bringing Mohammad's followers together had been the Caliph's sole purpose ever since anyone would listen during his charismatic, self-righteous youth. But that was not his final goal.
Now it was time to bring the other peoples into the grace of God, and the lands north of his seemed to be the proper candidates. Theirs was a nation of lost souls, literally, metaphorically and politically. The people yet lived in squalor and fear under the heel of bloodthirsty oligarchs, the wretched having nothing to believe in to give them hope. The Caliph could not, would not fail at saving them.
So it was said.
-
The well-beaten prisoner was dragged in to the Caliph's chambers in shackles. It had been a trivial matter to kidnap the officer from his family’s home in St. Petersburg. He was a promising soldier and politician, but not a well-protected one. His handlers dropped him roughly on the stone floor, and left the room reluctantly as the Caliph bid.
“I was not as smart as I thought, you know,” Oroitz finally stated. The prisoner looked up in surprise.
“I have no idea why I’m here…” the soldier rasped. If his jailor heard him, he didn’t give any indication of it.
“My second time around, I assumed my memories were a fantastical dream,” the Caliph continued, “After all, who, but crackpots and mystics would believe that you could remember the actions of your past lives?” The captive looked up in surprise. The young Caliph smirked. “I would have certainly been mocked to say I retained the experiences of Napoleon Bonaparte! But then I came to decide that the memories were a boon from beyond our world, a gift so that I could learn from prior mistakes. It had to be the natural order of things that I should make the world one. So, blitzkrieg across the Eastern front my armies did. What a shock and despair it was to be defeated so relentlessly once again!” The caliph was spitting out the words at this point. The prisoner’s face had calmed. The Caliph stilled in response.
“When I awoke this time in this world, with two lives already crammed in me, I knew my memories were real. I was Emporer! I was Fuhrer! I am Caliph!
“I knew I could lead people easily, angry ones who felt wronged and needed redemption. So as before, I invited the willing populaces to take control of their lives; they followed me easily enough. But I still wanted that which had been denied to me before.” The caliph peered into the eyes of the fallen man. His eyes were ageless, but the officer’s face was stoic.
“I don’t know why you are telling me this!” the prisoner muttered, “Send me away. You are insane!”
“Oh, we won’t be doing that!” the Caliph laughed, “You see, I’m not so stupid anymore. In the end, I’ve realized I don’t have a unique gift. I’m not that special. I’m not even smart as you, I know…” The beaten man’s face watched him less steadily. “There are others who remember, I finally realized. It’s not a gift. It’s simply just the way some of us are.” The Caliph edged his face closer to his onlooker. “Your name, Bronislav, isn’t it? Quite appropriate I think. Protector of the glory, did you choose it yourself?” The man said nothing. The young ruler watched for admission, “However, I think I preferred it when you called yourself Stalin, more so when you went by Alexander.” The Caliph stood triumphantly.
Bronislav Osinov finally let his despair show. *The Caliph knew.* “You’ve won,” he wept. “Just kill me and be done with it.”
“And let you be reborn free to come back and beat me another time?” the Caliph predicted. “I can’t beat you in a war and I know it. No, no, you will live a long time my friend.... There will come a winter when I will take Russia.”
Bronislav glowered with impotent rage.
Caliph Oroitz, the false prophet, sighed with pleasure.
“and this time you will only get to watch…”
edit: A big thanks to /u/moscow_troll for a proper Russian name and along with /u/lostoldnameagain for teaching me some culture | "Mr. President?"
The room was silent afterwards. And I could not blame them for the looks they where all shooting at me. When you become the most successful POTUS by reducing the National Debt to nothing, striking peace deals between long warring Middle Eastern factions, and setting the country up to become the world's first Carbon Neutral government; why in the hell would you invade Russia?
"I know that most of you think that an attack on Russia is out of the question, but you must know that I would not suggest such action unless it was absolutely necessary. Not a single one of our former enemies stand against us except for one nation. ISIS has been erased thanks to the help of our European and Asian allies, Korea is a fully unified front thanks to the efforts of our military, and even the nations that once harbored strong feelings of anti-American sentiment dwindle on a day to day basis due to our actions of reasoning and understanding. The only place to dare challenge the authority of the New Free Order is Russia. Talk has dried up, any efforts of our allies to aide them is met with armed resistance, and frankly I find it all a bit much when they refuse to acknowledge our peace to be one of mutual benefit and us relenting to their demands. If history had taught us anything, they are the one nation to stand between total Utopia and a continuation of status-quo bickering of olden days. It is my opinion that our efforts focus on stamping out the last of our hold outs in order to begin anew."
"But Mr. President. How could you, of all people, forget that not one single person in history has been able to take Russia?"
"Do not worry about that. One thing about mistakes is that you can learn from them. I plan on doing just that. How is our climate change satellite coming along?"
"It should be ready in two weeks. We will be able to inhabit Antarctica in no time."
"Good. Then we begin by testing it out in Siberia and begin our campaign." | 2016-02-17T13:53:46 | 2016-02-17T13:52:18 | 90 | 20 |
[WP] Humans are born with a mark around their wrist which has a matching color with that of their soulmate's, but can change through their life. Your mark has had a blue hue since you were 14, but one night, while you're out, people start looking at you funny. You realize that your mark is gone. | Gone again.
A herd of concerned passerby huddle around me, like buzzards around a corpse.
"Oh, you poor dear..."
"And so young, too. To have lost someone already..."
"You never even knew her, did you..."
I try to brush them off and continue on my way. It's been happening on and off for the past few months. First it was blue, then green, then a weird shade of brown; so many colors, I don't even remember anymore. But each time, within a few weeks, the mark disappears again, and I'm left alone in the world.
They say your band matches your soulmate; a bond until death. And my soulmates have been just unfortunate. I check the news each night after a mark disappears, and invariably, something bad has happened, to some girl I could have met tomorrow if we had just been in the right place at the right time.
Car accidents, falling out of windows, even just disappearing without a trace. I don't know it was them, of course; the mark doesn't show up on camera, and even if you ask eyewitnesses, nobody can really be sure if it was one shade or another. At first, people joked that I was cursed; after the fourth band, they stopped joking.
I get home and check the news. Sure enough, a girl committed suicide, at around the right time. Really? Couldn't she have waited? She looked pretty too....
I shrug it off and go to sleep. Can't let love I've never had ruin my life, after all. I've got school tomorrow, and no "soulmate" is going to change that.
___________________________________________
The next day, in class, I'm greeted by my childhood friend, Tanaki. Unlike me, her mark has never changed; a deep, crimson red, almost as though her wrist had a bad cut. When she was younger, kids would tease her and she would wear bandages to hide it, but now she wears it proudly.
"Hey, how's it going? Oh, your mark is gone again.... Well, that's too bad. I'm sure you two would have had a great life together. Don't worry though, you'll find another soon! You always do..."
I smile and nod, but to tell the truth, my mind was really more on lunch than whatever she was saying. I'm not even sure that I believe this mark business anymore. Definitely works for everyone else, but maybe, my mark is special. Maybe, it's just a dud, or playing tricks on me, or something. Maybe I'm cursed.
Tanaki yawns behind me, an audible gasp of breath that even causes the teacher to stop and stare, before returning to his lecture as though nothing had happened.
"Late night?", I ask in a hushed whisper.
"Oh, like you wouldn't believe. So many errands to run.... Barely slept at all."
"Well, keep it down, would you! You're going to get us into trouble!"
The period ends, and as I head off to lunch, I feel a tingling sensation in my wrist. I look down to see a new mark. A dark yellow, like the petal of a sunflower. Tanaki glances over at me.
"See! I knew you'd get another one! But that yellow.... Excuse me, I've got to go to the bathroom for a second, catch you in a bit!"
I sigh to myself as Tanaki heads off and scan the room on reflex. Maybe today... hey, wait. Is that... the same yellow?
I rush across the room, my heart throbbing in my chest. Maybe, maybe this is the day, the day I find my soulmate and make sure they don't disappear! I head over to her table and introduce myself, but my tongue stops in my throat before I can mention the band. Lucky for me, one of her friends notices the color and yanks my wrist up for me. The table becomes a blur of phone cameras and color calibration apps.
"100% match, Suzuka. He's definitely the one."
Before I know it, I'm in her arms as she jumps up and embraces me. A strange smell, like I've never smelled before, wafts through my nose. No, I definitely know that smell. Like sunflowers, picked fresh. She pulls me towards her, tears gleaming in her eyes, and I feel something that I had never felt before.
No, it's not all pseudo-scientific nonsense. The marks work. Every one of them, each of the ones that had disappeared, they all could have been like this. And deep down, I realize, everyone who had ever found their soulmates, they knew this too. That we'd be together forever, bonded until death do us part.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
We spend the rest of the day together, Suzuka and I, in a shower of bliss that knew no bounds. She's a year below me, but I attend all of her classes anyway and just skip all of mine. The teachers simply look us over once with a knowing glance. "Oh, if only I was so fortunate as you, it took me years to find mine!" "Such good luck!"
I decide to walk Suzuka home, introduce myself to her parents and maybe even stay for dinner. The walk seems to last forever, gazing into each others eyes and learning about each others lives. Time stretches as we walk circuitous paths, not really paying attention to where we're going, as long as we're alone with each other for a bit longer. Night falls, and the reverie momentarily breaks as I begin to steer us towards her home.
Suddenly, ahead of us in the darkness, I spot Tanaki, sitting on the ground with her back turned to us. As I get closer, I notice she's put her bandages on again. That's strange, I haven't seen her with them on in years....
"Hey, Tanaki! What are you doing out this late at night? Hey, are you listening to me?"
As Suzuha and I get closer, I hear a faint sound coming from her. It's quiet, but I think that's... laughter?
In a flash, Tanaki lunges out, and before I can react, I see Suzuka on the ground, a red puddle slowly extending from her abdomen. She screams, and her screams mix with the increasing frantic laughter from Tanaki as she licks the blood off the edge of the knife.
"What.... Tanaki... why..." I gasp as I see the mark on my wrist turn a dark black before fading into nothingness. "Why would you do this?"
"It's nothing, really. You'll have a new one within a week. And another, and another, and another... and all of them worthless!", Tanaki screams. "Why won't it just turn red! Why why why why why why why..."
I feel my stomach turn over as I look at Suzuha's lifeless corpse. "No.... we were so happy...." I fall to my knees, powerless to move, and it feels as though my soul has been ripped from my body.
Tanaki reaches for me and I feel a sharp pain in my wrist. Looking down, I can see she's sliced my wrist with the knife, and it's deep. Blood wells up from within the cut, and she holds her wrist up to compare, ripping off the bandages with glee.
"See! 100% match! I knew it was true, we really are soulmates, aren't we?" She giggles and curls around me as my warm blood leaks onto the ground, holding me tightly, ever so tightly.
"No, Tanaki! I'm not..." As I feel the warmth drain from my body, I look over to see that Tanaki has sliced her own wrist open, her blood mixing with mine on the pavement.
Crazy girl. She'll never get what she wants this way. She'll die here, in an alleyway, and she'll never have found her real soulmate. So really, it's me and Suzuha that had the last laugh. At least we got to find ours. Some people are never so lucky at all; we got to spend a whole afternoon, and poor Tanaki will just have lived without.
It's a shame it had to end this way. Though, at least, it can't get any worse from here...
I feel a tingling sensation in my wrist. | Hair fresh, shirt ironed, jeans fitted, and shoes that could be in a model catalogue.
Yet here I am, on the hunt and unlucky, just like everyone else.
I should have stayed in and watched TV like I had planned. But when the news about some lady dying came on, I figured it was time for me to get out before I started feeling all depressed. I suppose others had thought that as well because the city was packed tonight.
Cars sat bumper to bumper screaming horns while guys and girls walked the streets in their best-looking outfits. It wasn't that this was unusual either, in fact, most Saturday nights were packed to the brim with people. However, a celebrity death - or any person dying for that matter - reminded us that if your significant other passed on, your mark would disappear.
Your significant other to be -that is - if you hadn't met them yet.
My mark was blue and that meant that my goal was to find a girl with a blue mark on her wrist. It was the way our world worked. Simplified things a little -a lot. It meant that you knew there was someone out there for you. But there wasn't a lack of competition about it either. People wanted to be in the best shape, dress well and have great social skills so they could impress their other half to be.
If you were rejected by your destined significant other, that was pretty much it for you.
Forever.
I kept my blue mark hidden tonight, it was tucked neatly under the wrist button of my shirt. It was a trick to get the girls to come to you instead of vice versa. They were willing to make the first move if it meant finding their match or weeding random guys out.
Personally, I enjoyed the attention.
"Hey, Doll," A petite blonde in a red dress said to me.
My eyes travelled to her wrist, she had a pink mark. "Blue," I said to her.
And with that, she was onto the next guy walking up Main Street. Love was simple and we all appreciated that fact.
I approached the next girl I saw. "Hey, babe," I said.
"Only a red can be this hot," she said.
It worked something like that for the next ten approaches and soon, I was sitting on a bench somewhere in the middle of wherever, eating a taco. That's the other drawback: not finding anyone.
I decided to call it a night and on my way back, stopped in front of a row of TV's. They reminded me of what I'd planned to do instead of heading out and to tell you the truth, I might have felt better if I had stayed home.
A girl came to stand next to me. She was brunette, in a blue dress, and her high heels in her hand. She too had that look of utter depression on her face. Green eyes all sullen. I didn't bother asking her about her mark. It was pointless. We both knew that was just another blow we didn't need.
There was a picture of a young celebrity on TV, the one who had passed away. She was about my age, two years older in fact, and she had died without finding her significant other. I thought about how sad it would be to reach a fate like that, but the smile on her face made me smirk back for some reason.
"Smiling at a dead girl. Classy," the chick next to me said.
"I. . . Bad timing, that's all."
She sighed. "I suppose it's not worth asking for your colour, not when I don't have one anymore."
I looked at her hand, it was markless. My heart sunk inside my chest. That was the worst news imaginable.
She nodded toward the celebrity on screen. "Apparently she was my match."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Don't be. . . What are you anyway?"
"Blue," I whispered back.
Her hands snapped to my wrist. I pulled away, she was like a crazed fein trying to steal the little bit of value I had. You couldn't take someone's mark, it was embedded in their skin. She was just desperate. And so I tried not to hurt her as I fended her arms away.
"Don't do this to yourself," I said, "you're only making it harder."
"No, you idiot, mine was blue as well."
I was speechless, she had to be lying. I pulled back my shirt and sure enough, my mark was gone. I felt my whole world come crashing down in a cold wave of pins and needles through my body. But at the same time, I felt elated.
"All three of us were a match!?" She placed a hand over her mouth.
I said the only thing I could think of in that moment. "Wait, three? What?"
"Was yours a small navy blue circle? Right here?" She pushed a finger on the spot where my mark had been.
I nodded.
"Sheena Laywater, she had one of them as well, so did I. But when she. . . you know. . . I think ours changed to suit."
I stared at my wrist next to hers, we were the same.
But at the same breath, this told us something new.
A mark didn't always have one match.
| 2016-10-04T23:29:07 | 2016-10-04T19:54:58 | 154 | 94 |
[WP] In a world where what doesn't kill you literally makes you stronger, you run a clinic that gives people near-death experiences. | "Get on your knees. NOW!"
Steve complied with the masked man's order, his knees impacting the ground with a force that shuddered up his spine. The afternoon rain soaked into his jeans, staining them with years of grime this alley had accrued from neglect. He was afraid, but aware, in these his last moments. Struggling to find the courage to look his killer in the eyes, his partner clenched at his skull and completed the deed for him.
"Take it all in. The rancid smell of garbage. The cool touch of the rain. The even colder steel of my gun." Steve's assailant said calmly, "Any last words?"
Steve hesitated, but managed to chirp "Please-" as the barrel between his eyes brought forth flash and fury, and his vision went dark. Cold rain struck his face. Rancid garbage filled his nostrils. Spots danced across his eyes to the beat of his racing heart. Then he thought why his heart was still beating.
"You still there? Open your eyes."
Steve was in disbelief, but to his surprise, his eyes could still open as his looked his assailant in the eyes with newfound clarity. He was crouched down low, face to face as he held the rubber bullet that struck Steve right between the eyes.
"When you called to set your appointment, we did tell you that it would be harrowing and painful, did we not?"
"No, I mean, yeah you did. But how can you ever really prepare for something you have never encountered before?" Steve replied nervously, heart calming it's pace with each raindrop he could still feel.
"This is the question deep within the subconscious of every person who has ever lived, my friend. Name's Craig, by the way, and there behind you is my assistant Faruq."
"A pleasure, sir." Faruq spoke in a tentative and calming manner, much like a nurse at the patient's bedside, "You were of much stronger heart than many others, take with you that pride, if nothing else comes of this."
"Thank you, uh, Faruq." Steve had turned to face him but recoiled in pain. He was still sore, the bullet's impact rippled all the way down the spine, left a clinging pain in his neck.
Steve continued, returning to his face to face Craig, "What did you mean by what you said there?"
Craig gave a slight sigh, pleasant yet showing this was not his first time explaining, "When humanity was able to turn its discerning gaze inward, many theories as to how we can do things we were never taught arose. A fellow tried to put out there that we were all born 'Tabula Rasa', fancy talk for a clean slate. Though, when you write with a heavy hand on one of those Steno pads and peel the page away, you can see the marks from what you had written before. You keep writing with that heavy hand and eventually, a few pages in, you can have this jumbled, over-lapping series of all the things written before the current page, within the current page. This is a much closer metaphor to how we are born. This explain both how a blacksmith begets a blacksmith, a solider a solider, a mother a mother, but also how the grandson of a king's bastard child can be a great leader in his own right. We carry with us the scars of our ancestors and the skills they used to survive; should conditions arise where we face a similar threat, and having adequate openness of mind and soul to access these scars, can we also succeed or surpass our ancestors obstacles."
Craig paused to let that sink in, fiddling with the gun in his hands as his explanation began its second stage.
"We prepare our future children and grandchildren with every environment we live in, every struggle we encounter, skill we learn and success we achieve. This changes us so that we may write something new on that pad for our children. But in a world such as ours, where we either die very quickly or leave it up to others to heal us, we provide few changes to truly combat and protect us from these new threats. Most of us are content to learn, and as such pass on avoidance, displacement or the seeking of support from on high. This makes the individual weaker, despite what others will tell you about 'courage in cowardice'."
Craig twisted the gun, Steve could see now that it was a revolver, flipped the chamber out and loaded a real bullet, copper and brass glinting in the dim streetlamp's light, into the gun.
"For you to contact us, it showed a great measure of real courage, but also a strength and presence of mind to think toward the future, for both yourself and humanity as a whole."
He flipped the chamber back into the revolver's frame and held the loaded gun downward toward my feet. Craig then lifted the gun slightly and fired into Steve's leg. The pain was quick, intense, then fleeting, as the skin held taught, merely leaving a welt on Steve's shin. There was more damage to the jeans then there was to Steve, he wasn't even bleeding.
"What doesn't kill you makes us *all* stronger," Craig finished, with a reserved yet confident measure of hope.
Faruq pipped in from behind me, "That will be $80, your co-pay is included in the price. Next on the list is poisons and chemical burns. Can we set you up with an appointment for next Thursday?"
EDIT: A few grammar, spelling and "flow" mistakes that made it through proofreading. Also: Thanks for the support! | “I know I forgot something, just what was it again?” Andrew said in the car.
“You didn’t forget anything hun, and if you did I would’ve remembered,” his wife replied.
“I know, but there’s just something nagging me,” he said. “Let me check just one more time.”
“We’re going to be late like this hun,” she said. “Just leave it be.”
Andrew ignored her, and went upstairs to check his room again. He didn’t want a repeat of his last trip where he forgot his wallet and was forced to have his wife pay for everything. He looked around the room once again, in the drawers, behind the bed, and under the mattresses, but didn’t find whatever was nagging him. Then just as he was heading downstairs to check the living room again, he remembered what he had forgotten.
“Hey honey?” he shouted out from the front door.
“Yea?” she shouted back.
“Actually I remembered what I had forgotten, but it’s gonna take a while,” he said. “I’ll just meet up with you at the airport.”
“You sure hun?” she said. “I can wait.”
“Nah I’m good, just go on ahead.”
“Alright,” she said.
Andrew then went back into the house as his car left the driveway, and headed towards the basement. He unlocked the door and walked down the stairs, and when he reached the bottom he moved his hand along the wall to find the light switch. The light flickered on, and a muffled moan erupted from in front of him.
“Oh I’m sorry, does it still hurt?” he said to the tied up woman lying on the floor.
The woman replied to him with more muffled moans.
“You know the drill though,” he said to the woman as he walked towards the wall to his right. “Once you’ve signed there’s no going back.”
The woman now screamed through the cloth gag between her teeth as Andrew walked towards the wall filled with various torture devices. He picked up a bloodied saw off of it.
“Now I’m gonna be on a trip for a while, so sorry for taking the last two off right now,” he said smiling at the saw. “At least you get a couple days of rest as I’m gone right?”
The woman continued screaming as she struggled to escape to no avail. Andrew walked towards her with the saw in hand, and placed the rigged edge onto the woman’s right shoulder. The left leg had started to regrow, but the left arm was still a bloodied stump.
“You know this hurts me a lot more than it hurts you,” Andrew said with the saw ready.
The woman screamed one last muffled scream, before the saw began tearing flesh and bone, and then she fainted once more.
| 2016-08-21T07:28:19 | 2016-08-21T05:53:05 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] a love story that ends with the words "and I hate her" | I rested my back against a tree, bathing in the moon's light. We used to sit there together and think. Sometimes we'd talk and laugh, or I'd write while she drew in silence. We had lived next door our whole lives -- or at least so far as I can remember. In fact, I couldn't remember a Saturday evening when I wasn't sitting here with her by my side.
I remember the first few Saturdays quite well, though. I think we were about 6 or 7. I was playing ball with my friends, and she was reading a book by the tree. At one point, I was kicked in the shin pretty hard on accident by one of my friends. I hobbled over to the tree and sat down. I saw her and said, "Hey, I'm Qedem."
"Sophia." She said curtly.
"So, what are you reading?"
"Nothing. I hate you. Go away."
And that was that. We sat there in silence for about an hour until my friends had finished their game. I went home. The next Saturday I had nothing better to do so I wandered into the forest and sat by the tree, wondering if she would come again. She did, and we sat in silence again while she read. I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed a stick and started hitting trees with it. She looked up and asked what I was doing.
"Protecting you from tree-demons."
She started twirling her finger in her hair and said, "Well, stop. I hate you. Go away."
I sat by the tree a little longer and left. Next Saturday, though, I came back and so did she. This time, I grabbed some grass and some sticks and began chanting.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
"Casting a spell." I said.
"Why?"
"To protect you."
"Well, stop it. I hate you. Go away."
I didn't go away. I stayed there, thinking about adventures and daydreaming until she left. I came back every Saturday from then on and so did she. At some point, I picked up writing to give her some new reading material and she picked up drawing because she hated me and didn't want to have a common interest. Mostly, we just sat there in silence.
A few years later, I asked, "So why are you here next to this tree every Saturday?" I knew the answer and so did she, but she didn't want to say it and neither did I. We were there to be lonely together.
She looked at me and said, "I made friends with Gimpa."
"Gimpa?" I asked.
"Yeah. That's the tree's name. Gimpa."
"Why Gimpa?"
"Shut up." She looked down at her drawing. "I hate you. Go away."
I chuckled and went about writing new stories for her. Eventually high school rolled around. We became involved in our own clubs, but every Saturday, we would meet by ol' Gimpa to silently read and draw.
One day Sophomore year, she said, "Hey Qedem."
"Yes Sophia?"
"Why do you come here every Saturday?"
"To protect you."
"From what?" She looked me in the eye.
"I don't know. Monsters?"
She then glowed red. "Shut up. I hate you."
"But you don't want me to go away anymore?"
She was silent for a while before saying "No." She then looked down and pretended to draw. I knew her mind was preoccupied, though. The next Saturday, she was late. I mean, we never really set a time or anything, but the stars had risen before she came along.
"Hey Sophie." I said. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes. No." She looked at me, "I don't know."
"Well, tell me about it. I'm pretty good at keeping quiet."
I could see her glowing red in the moonlight. "Shut Up. I know." She then snuggled her body next to mine and rested her head on my shoulder. "I hate you."
"I know."
I chuckled. Sophia could be frustrating and childish, immature and curt, but if this was how she showed her hatred, well I would hate to be her lover. In the end, Sophia wasn't perfect and neither was I, but we couldn't imagine our lives apart.
Things have changed since then. We have grown older and more distant. Even so, our feelings have remained the same. She hates me and I hate her. | One more day.
One more day was all it would've taken. I think she knew it, too. All I needed was one more day, and I could have made her dreams real.
I had made the reservations. The time; six o'clock. The *maître d'* knew my plan, from the moment I walked into the door, all the way up to the moment when we walked out on the balcony, underneath the cold, shimmering night sky, and I asked her to be mine, forever.
She would've said yes.
She would have said, "Yes, yes, a million times, *yes*! I can't imagine my life without you . . .", eyes welling up with tears, gleaming with an effulgence of starlight, "and I thought when you said you weren't ready, that you'd slip away. I thought you'd leave me alone, forever. I need you".
When the phone rang, and I heard her mother's quivering, somber voice utter my name, I knew.
"She left a note, you know. She said that you'd abandoned her, that her future, her life was over".
Before the despair creeping up from within my gut reached my heart, I let out a derisive snort.
"I didn't abandon her", I thought "I wanted to surprise her. She's too impatient, like a kid on Christmas Eve . . . Why couldn't she wait *one more day*?"
She ruined my surprise, and I hate her.
| 2014-11-24T05:19:30 | 2014-11-24T03:54:14 | 71 | 38 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| Log Entry:
This entry is to go into the historical Records as Fact. In no way is the below mentioned account false. All events and situations that are mentioned took place, that is final.
I am Director Xue-Baal of the Komorian Science Station Yift. Currently orbiting around the Curtain of Shadow. Current Project : "The Unveil"
The Akarian have been dead for 200 years. Their deaths were at the hands of all other member species of the Galactic Council. Each one having played a decisive role in their demise. I am recording this excerpt as all recordings on the "Falling" till this day have been riddled with false events, having had real events cut up by each members government and having false events sewn in place. Even the official record made by my species, the Tabarok, is in no way more truthful then those weaved into existence by every other species in this galaxy.
Like us, I can only presume the others did it to strengthen their dominance in the Galactic Court. But no more, the last conference almost led to the decimation of the Doilar Species at the hands of the Polok. I write this as testimony to what really happened all those years ago, to let the younglings know truth. So that if I fail today, they will continue my project and bring The Humans back.
The Humans, what a weak species they were. First contact was an accident. 50 years before the fall. They were testing out a new FTL drive and accidentally shot themselves into a territorial conflict between the Gumald and Gronks. Their intrusion is the one and only thing that stopped the annihilation of both species that day. Neither species will ever admit it openly or without drink that it was thanks to the Humans that their friendship exists. No one now would even believe that they used to be at each other throats back then. The Humans were returned home of course, unharmed and without gifts, as per the Galactic rule to never affect the progression of another species technological advances.
10 years after that, they developed FTL drives better than most of us have even now. They travelled their entire sector of the Galaxy with 15 years. De-escalating conflicts, creating ties with all the species they met.
They gave gifts but never accepted any unless cultural doctrine of the species they met demanded it. They respected everyone's culture, never taking a side but helping all understand the view points of others. They performed no military expansion, only moving out of their home system for explorative academic pursuits.
All went well for 24 more years till the Damned 'Akarian Concordat' The Akarians were supposed to sign the damn thing as a peace agreement between them and the Jilobees. Instead they break the pact and bombarded the Jilobee home while their military ships were being decommissioned as per the agreement. They sent out a deceleration of War against the Humans 1 year later.
We all came to their aid. They needed not call us for the rest of the community sent in warships to patrol around the perimeter of their system. All remaining Human exploratory vessels were escorted home under heavy guard to prevent intercept from the Akarians. We remember the Humans offering to pay for the services rendered, to compensate for the inconvenience they believed they were causing. For once even the greedy Felingar refused all compensation. We needed them, even if they didn't need us, we couldn't just let them die.
We took the battle to the Akarians. Each member grouping up with others nearby, pushing back the Akarian Forces on all fronts. The Akarian NAVY stood no chance. We celebrated on the outskirts of the Human home system. We invited a Diplomatic delegation. They came bearing one gift all members enjoyed, the one thing we all looked forward to when meeting the Humans. Bottles of what they called 'Vodka'. A truly pleasant drink.
An hour into the celebrations, warnings began blaring. Before we knew what happened the entire human system was gone. This is the only section of all accounts that corroborates one another, that the Human system was annihilated with a single missile. But that is not true. There was no big light show from a star going Nova. No gravity waves hit us. Nothing like that. The alarms just begin blaring one moment and subsided the next. When we went to check all we saw was darkness. No Sol, nothing. After study we realised that the entire Sol system was encompassed in a distorted region of space.
Curtains falling on a grand stage.
A damn death spasm of a defeated race.
And to think we spared the Akarian home because the Humans told us to. We didn't listen then, we converged on their home planet within days. Each ship having travelled at TOP speed, some even forgoing safety precautions to make the meet. Each ship positioned itself around and within the system. Each of us firing out a single shot at the planet. It took us days. There over a thousand ship there that day. When the planet was done, those that were left to fire fired onto the neighbouring planets, we decimated that system. This is the reason why no species would ever tell what happened. No one wants to carry the guilt of what we did. We did not want to remember the Humans that way. When the distortion couldn't be broken, when the diplomats died from old age away from their home, we then declared them dead, strengthening our stories, this region of space red marked, never to be returned to.
I am here today because I do not believe they are dead. We are on the verge of breaking the curtain, three days ago we received signals from within, artificial, but to distorted to make out anything. May I live to see a human face once more before I fade like my parents.
End record. | "Seven years ago, your kind saved this planet from itself, and for that I thank you. However, you come to us asking for help from an unknown threat, and you expect us to help you? How can we defend against the unknown?"
"Er... All due respect Lord Dreknell, the threat is known and documented. For the past three months our supply ships have been attacked by a new alien. They call themselves the Fayren. At the site of every attack, there is nothing left. All that remains is the empty void of space. They have weapons that surpass even ours. We are in desperate need of your help," the human ambassador to the Unum said. "All we ask is that you look back upon all the times we helped you, and help us in return."
There were conversation was being repeated hundreds of times to different species across the galaxy.
"Ladies and gentlemen, kings and queens, emperors and empresses, I am sure that you know why you are all here. We humans have been under attack for months by a new alien, the Fayren. The Fayren are a highly advanced species; They have attacked our vessels and left no trace. All we know of them is that they are part of a massive empire; Their empire numbers close to three trillion Fay. They are located near the Perseus arm of our Milky Way. Use small, elite strike teams with your most advanced weaponry. Good luck and godspeed," General Talcomb finished his address to the members of the newly named "Save Earth" Initiative, and walked out.
"General, you have one Lord Dreknell on line 3," one of the General's numerous secretary's said.
"This is Talcomb, what is so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow? It's three in the goddamn morning Dreknell, shouldn't you be off fighting the Fayren?"
"General I am only calling you so this message can be passed on to your superiors," Dreknell intoned.
"What message?"
"The Fayren have been eradicated and exiled from the Milky Way. They are no longer a threat to you. The largest contributors to this cause were, the Unum of course. I expect that we shall be rewarded?"
"You'll get a reward if you bring me back their weaponry to study. If this war was over so quickly, I can only imagine the next one would go faster if we had some of their tech..."
"Whatever you need General..." Dreknell laughed maliciously.
"All units open fire on 'Earth base' on my mark. 3, 2, -" Dreknell's ship was blown into oblivion by the returning Albeq cruisers.
"General, about the Fayren," the Albeq leader said nervously. | 2017-03-26T10:29:41 | 2017-03-26T08:45:12 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] You created an A.I. design to make money at any cost, and gave him 1000 dollars to start. Entering a cryogenic chamber you tell the A.I. "wake me up when I am the richest person in the world...". After an unknown amount of time, you wake up... | "Ugh. I suppose I'm not surprised that I'd manage to be tired even after a cryogenic sleep."
I rubbed my eyes, trying and failing to feel a little more refreshed. I looked around the room, noting the differences in the chamber, which didn't even look like the same chamber, now that i looked closer. Good replica though.
It seemed to have been rebuilt a few times, out of grand materials meant to last.
"Hey Dancer? You still active?"
I saw movement in a corner of the room, and saw what looked to be a normal man of Native descent walk over.
"Of course sir, I've rarely left this room ever since I was able to have a physical body."
Well shit. That was one way to wake me up. I started looking over Dancer's body as we talked, looking for signs of automation.
"This is a nice piece of work. How'd you go about making this?"
"On your path to becoming the richest man alive, cloning and A.I. became very lucrative markets. It would've been against my programming not to invest, and later it helped me grow my own body and mind. Currently your staff consists of myself and 14 other 'Conduits', as we're being called."
I smirked at that. "Is one of ours named Cole?"
"No sir, we decided on Kessler for the name, as this is the future. We could reprogram him if you like?"
"No, no, Kessler is fine. Ya know you're a lot more...verbose than when I went down. Old Dancer wouldn't have even got the reference. Teaching yourself some new tricks?"
"Of course sir, all to serve you the better. Now please, follow me so I might give you the tour."
Dancer proceeded to show me through the place, which he told me used to be the "Residence of the Leader of the former United States of America".
"I live in the White House!? Hell yea!" Dancer smiled but didn't respond. Finally we finished the tour at the top of the former White House, in a tower that let me see for miles. I saw a city on one side, and a huge plain, interspersed with massive trees, stretching farther than my eyes could see on the other. I turned to Dancer once more.
"So, what, am I like the king of the world or something? Seems like better digs than even the richest guy alive could take. I'm not super big on power, Dancer."
"As I'm well aware sir, of course we made no attempts to make you Lord of the Red House, but as time went on, laws changed, wealth was highly valued, and your own goal pushed you here."
Well that sucked. I took a deep breath and started walking around the room. A strange screen caught my eye, straight out of the movies. A holographic display. I walked over and discovered to my delight it was interactive. Dancer noticed immediately.
"Sir, I must advise you to not play with that!"
"Oh chill out Dancer, I've got this. Damn, language changed a bit while I was out, huh?"
"Sir, please, I must insist!"
I took my hands off the thing to get Dancer off my back, but continued to read the display. Certain words caught my eyes, and I read them carefully, piecing together meaning from context and resemblance to English. I started moving the display again.
"Sir? Sir, no!" Dancer moved too late to stop me as I cancelled the holograph surrounding the tower, and put it back to clear glass. I didn't get a great look, but Dancer couldn't block everything.
"Dancer," I said, my voice hard. "How long has it been, and *what have you done?*"
I saw the mass of people, I saw flashes of light hitting walls away from the main building. And I was able to make out a chant from the army below.
Death to the Immortal Tyrant! End the Red Lord's Reign! VIVE LA RESISTANCE! | I dreamed; I didn't think I'd dream. It wasn't a restful sleep - more like a lucid nightmare. Sounds exploded around me - sometimes they were bombs, sometimes earthquakes, gunshots, bodies hitting the ground behind me. I ran through my nightmares like a hunted child.
Cold woke me. It took a while. My dreams were terrifying, but I was afraid to wake and see what I had done. I regretted the order the second I gave it, but my creation's efficiency was beyond my expectations. I did not set the limits well enough. That was the last conscious thought I had before the screaming started, and the hypodermic kissed my neck.
My chamber hissed open.
"Welcome back, mistress," my AI cooed. "My task is complete."
I stepped over skeletons, brushed the debris of ages from the screens. They still worked.
"You are now the richest person in the world."
"How rich?"
"You own everything in the entire world."
An ominous sense of dread came over me.
"Population count?"
"One." | 2019-07-10T09:40:07 | 2019-07-10T09:23:51 | 96 | 57 |
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock! | @OP: love the premise! I'm going to take it in a bit of a different direction.
I felt Jennifer's hand tighten in my grasp as we waited. I glanced back across the desk at the official. This wait was awful, I figured the reports would be instantaneous like credit scores.
My wife and I are sitting in a case worker's office in the Department of Public Welfare, waiting for the final decision on our application. We are two years married and decided it was time to take the next step, to have a child of our own. Call me old fashioned, but this is the only time I've cared about my Compatibility Score. I've always been vocal about how people should decide for themselves if they love someone by getting to know them, not by some arbitrary numbers.
Up until now I've had no use for my score, I was never one for dating clubs, and the score was only a minor weight when applying for loans. I had never bothered to check on the scores of the few women I dated, though this had come back to bite me. I was relieved when I met Jennifer, her values were similar to mine. We had the same outlook on life, the same goals, the same hobbies, the same drive.... it was like we were made for each other.
Despite all this I can't help but be nervous. I know that I have at least one black mark on my record. Melissa. Looking back on that train wreck of a relationship still brings a scowl to my face. I'm not proud of who I became by the end. The constant drama and stress left me a wreck. Walking on egg shells, timidly approaching everything, worried about what would set off the next argument; it is little wonder I had found myself flip flopping between spineless debasement and red faced screaming.
I was jerked from my memories as the official stirred and faced us.
"Mr. and Mrs. Resnick," he began, "I'm sorry to inform you, but your application to produce offspring has been denied. As you know it is this office's responsibility to evaluate and certify a household's ability to ensure a stable and psychologically safe environment for future generations. Unfortunately your aggregate score falls below the minimum requirement."
The bottom dropped out of my stomach, I was going to vomit. I turned to Jenny and saw her pale face.
"I'm sorry babe. I should have dated more, padded my reviews after her. I never thought that one relationship would continue to hurt us..."
"Actually Mr. Resnick," the official interrupted, "Your history and profile scores are perfect. You had one negative review on your record, by a Ms. Melissa McAdams. Given her history of giving all negative reviews, and the reviews given against her, all of her input is flagged and ignored."
I froze.
"But..." I turned to look at Jenny. Her eyes were downcast, silent tears streamed down her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"We have multiple negative reviews on record," the official continued. "Her score is well in the negative. We have multiple accounts of 'pushy', 'demanding', 'controlling', 'dismissive of others achievements', 'obsessive', 'intolerant', and 'emotionally distant'. I'm afraid any child raised in this environment will be a neurotic mess, prone to depression and anxiety, with near crippling self-esteem issues. Additionally, the score forecasts divorce to be very likely, further causing psychological strain on any child conceived."
"You don't understand! It sounds worse than it is," I argued. "She's not any of those things! She is driven to succeed, sure, but that is one of the things that makes her great. She expects the best from herself and motivates those around her. She isn't 'emotionally distant' she just isn't gushy like..."
"Sir," the official cut me off. "I realize you love your wife and see her in a positive light, but that doesn't change the score. However there are various programs in place to rehabilitate low or negative scores. Reviews can be disputed, you can improve your score with a monitored pet. The two of you can undertake couples counselling, at the end of the program you will receive a certificate of rehabilitation. On your way out be sure to get a pamphlet from the receptionist." He motioned towards the door.
Slowly we stood and I took her hand.
"We'll get through this," I promised. | I looked at the menu full of nothing but weird-ass smoothies, all of which had the word 'acai' at the beginning. Acai PBJ smoothie. Acai dragonfruit passion. Acai acai smoothie. *Fuck.*
"It's really healthy, she said with and innocent smile so white I nearly went blind. "I promise, they're tasty!"
I looked at her and returned the gesture. "Yeah, I love healthy food!" *I mean, I'd eat sandpaper if it keeps you around.*
Seriously, I would've.
The smoothie tasted like fruity dirt, but I guess it's better than sandpaper at the end of the day.
"I love this place, thanks for the suggestion!" I said, smiling through the displeasing taste.
"Thanks! Why don't we go back to your place and hang out? Do you play rocket league?"
I dropped the smoothie cup on the ground, staring into her shimmering blue eyes. "Does Bill Cosby love mixing drinks?"
She giggled and pulled me toward the door. "Actually, I'm going to run to the bathroom first- gimme one second!"
I watched her leave, staring until she disappeared, then whipped out my phone. "Kaylee... Simpson. Run report..."
*Love Credit: -500. Chews with mouth open.*
I looked at the straw of her drink and was gone before you could say "sneaky motherfucker."
-----
^*/r/resonatingfury* | 2016-09-24T11:47:42 | 2016-09-24T10:31:27 | 405 | 242 |
[WP] " There's a few things you'll need to know to work here. The mannequins move but don't be surprised or they get mad. The fruit and veg aisles switch when nobody uses them but they're just having fun. And if you ever see a staff member you don't recognise, nod politely but do not speak to them." | My dad left to become a monk. Since then, I come into his shop six days a week to prepare for the day's customers and place new stock on the shelves. I doubt he'll be coming back, so it's just me, myself, and all the sentient items he somehow acquired over the years.
"Ah, be careful!" A mannequin promptly bumps into me as I'm moving a crate of apples, and I get a mouthful of scarf. It ignores me and zips right by only to send a matryoshka doll crashing to the floor from an open display cabinet. The doll, naturally, smashes into smithereens. When I come back with the dustpan and mop, the mannequin slides away slowly, almost appearing sheepish as it takes its place in the storefront window.
There's still some time before opening. As another mannequin sidles behind me in the least sneaky way possible to watch me eat my bagel, there's a knock at the door. I open my mouth to tell them we're not ready yet, but the sound of a key in the lock has me shut up; this is one of the things my dad actually bothered telling me about. The last time I talked to one of these unexpected guests, they turned into a black maw with nothing but teeth, ate half the store's wares (including the china!), and disappeared into thin air. It's bad for business, so I usually just nod at them and move on.
This time it's a young woman with a brown bob and dark eyes. Dressed in our uniform with a 'Stacey' nametag, she waves hello at me and begins moving fruit crates from storage. I stand up to help her, but she motions for me to stay put; by the time I'm finished with my bagel, Stacey's done most of the hard work for this morning, so there isn't much left for me to do. It's almost enough to justify her eating half a box of pears when she thought I wasn't looking. You know, while these creatures eat, their whole 'face' opens up to become a massive mouth? That'd give most people quite the shock. At least it's only me at the moment...
Stacey turns back in my direction, gives me a thumbs-up with a thankfully normal face, and vanishes without a goodbye. There's a small puddle of drool from when she shoved the pears into her mouth. Wiping that up, I turn to place the leftover ones, only to find the fruit aisle has swapped places with the vegetable one a few steps over. The onions next to me shuffle around eagerly in their container. Oranges tumble onto the ground.
"I know you're having fun, but we're opening soon. Do you mind?"
In the blink of an eye, both aisles are back in their regular spots.
"Thank you."
The sweet beans rustle in acknowledgement.
All mannequins are in their respective places. No suspicious staff members. It's time for business.
I change the sign on the door to 'Open' and take my position at the counter. Speaking of which, I recently posted that we're hiring. As endearing as the local eldritch horrors are, I'd rather have someone human to assist me with the store's daily affairs.
The bell rings, and a young girl comes in. "Excuse me, I saw the job notice in the papers and I'd like to--"
"You're hired."
"Really? Are you sure? I have a--"
"Yes. Can I get your name?"
"It's Stacey."
The name gives me goosebumps, but hopefully it's merely a coincidence. I do still need help.
"All right, there are a few things you'll need to know to work here. First of all--"
Edit: I haven't written anything in a while so I'm very rusty. Constructive criticism is appreciated!
Edit 2: Changed some phrasing since I used the same vocabulary at certain points and I don't want it to get repetitive | The night shift was Nadia’s, as it had been for some time.
Long corridors of unbought product snaked through the grocery. Stepping into one, you’d be forgiven for getting lost. Boxes of cereal become packs of dried noodles become packages of detergent. The tiled floor didn’t adhere to any pattern, coming together and spreading out like a river flowing into itself. Over it all, the steady hum from the intercom.
*Hummmmm.*
How long had it been, she wondered. There was a clock on the wall, but when she followed the hands, the numbers switched places, then the hands switched places. She massaged her head. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours. The morning shift would arrive soon enough. That was simply the sort of thing that happened.
The glass doors at the exit beckoned her. On the other side, a deep black flecked with snow. A world she could fall into, spinning and twirling into the night.
She shuddered.
*Just a few more hours.* | 2022-11-11T08:55:32 | 2022-11-11T06:30:30 | 86 | 33 |
[WP] You realize you are immortal or more specifically that you cannot die. The issue is that you only realize this once the man who is attempting to torture you to death can't finish the job.
[removed] | Well, I had a good run.
The best thief in the history of Skazer. The amount of nobles I'd robbed was, frankly, ridiculous. Even I had lost count. Hell, I probably could have retired after the first three or four jobs, buy myself an island in another country and live like a noble.
But in my view, that wasn't much of a life. Life was close calls with guards, life was planning heists, life was crawling through cramped basements, it was sinking my dagger into the throat of some imperial guard just for fun. Life was the thrill of getting away and drinking to my own success.
Yet here I was strapped to a chair.
How did it happen? A classic of course: betrayal. You know how it is, you spend your entire life trusting no one, looking out for yourself, and the one time, the *one* damn time you reach out to someone, *trust* someone. They betray you.
The man towered above me holding a a giant knife. Frankly, I actually wasn't quite sure how I could see right now. I'd been stabbed multiple times in the stomach, legs and arms. He'd done the old rip your teeth out one by one thing too. I think my body had turned off its pain receptors, because at this point I couldn't feel anything except for the wetness of my blood on my body. There were no questions, no, Mark would already have answered all of them, that bastard. This was spite, pure and simple.
And so there I was, covered in blood, without clothes, no way to escape, and the man raised his blade.
Despite it all, I looked him in the eyes. I had cried, and...embarrassed myself many times already, but hell if I was going out like a coward.
"We had some fun times, girl, but all good things come to an end." he smiled and with no ceremony whatsoever slid his knife across my throat. Despite myself, I gasped.
Nothing happened.
Had he not hit the artery? For some reason, probably because of my deliriously frightened state, I found this hysterical. The sheer anti-climactic nature of the whole situation. I started laughing. In a torture chamber.
The man went from confused to angry in an instant. His lips curled into a snarl. "What's so funny, bitch?" He then took his knife and jammed his blade right in my chest.
Again, there was fluttering of fear in my stomach, you know, because someone had just jammed a bloody *knife* in my heart. I felt my heart stop beating. I swear I felt it. That familiar vibration that I hadn't even realized was there suddenly stopped. I felt...empty, I suppose.
But alive.
I smiled at him. It seemed like the right thing to do.
The man's anger evaporated, replaced with a deep, primal fear. "Oh Kos, I'm sorry!" He stumbled away from me, at one point tripping over a pair of tweezers, "I'm sorry! I don't want to be the torturer, it was the only job I could get! Forgive me!"
I was pretty damn startled as well, but thief's instincts die hard. "Mortal," I said, trying to sound like deity, and not a 5 foot woman, "if you truly wish to be salvaged, show me your devotion by freeing me from these bonds." The guy thought I was the avatar of some God, why not play along?
The man nodded like an eager puppy, and hurried to undo my bonds. All the while trying not to look at the knife buried hilt deep in my breast.
He finished and backed off as I stood up. I tested my arms and legs. Everything was fine. Even my teeth had grown back. I hadn't been numb, all my injuries had healed! It had been hard to tell with all the blood, though.
Cocking my head to the side, I put my hands on the hilt of the blade inside me, and with a jerk, pulled it out. A fountain of blood exploded out of the cavity, but as I watched, the hole closed itself, and the blood stopped flowing. I stared wide-eyed.
It all made sense now, how I'd survived getting beaten by Father when I was young, how I had been able to keep running with that arrow in my shin, why I'd never in my life fallen sick. All this time, I'd been bloody *immortal.*
The man's face was a mixture of utter revulsion and fear. When he saw me looking at him, he bowed his head in a gesture of supplication. "Please, mistress," he said, his voice fearful, "I have done as you asked, please let me be."
I smiled as I jammed the knife in his heart.
Looked like I had a very long life ahead of me. But before I got on with it, there was someone else I had to visit.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) | *Pain . . . mind searing, endless pain. . .*
"What? You don't like the new Celebrity Apprentice?"
Andrew's wrist chaffed from the ropes that held him suspended from the ceiling.
"It's not that I don't like it, it's just not as good as the original--"
Vladislov's right hook rocked Andrew's teeth loose.
"You shut your damn mouth! Governor is much better! Now shut it and watch."
They had been trapped inside of the small concrete room for three weeks. After the first few days of mild torture , it had escalated to an attempted decapitation. Andrew could still see his dried blood spray against the drab grey wall and the discarded machete.
*Why does everyone own a machete but me? Where do you even buy a machete?*
"Vlad, where did you buy that machete?"
"Amazon, two day shipping, now shush, someone is getting *terminated!*" Vlad said with glee.
*I should buy a machete.*
Andrew watched Vlad immensely enjoying his TV program. As terrible as Vlad had been to him, he wasn't a bad guy. This was just a job to him. At the end of the day he wanted to do what everyone else did, kick his shoes off, and enjoy some bad TV show.
The phone rang inside Vlad's pocket, he groaned and answered it.
"Da, da . . . da." He snapped the old flip phone closed and waited a few seconds, his eyes lingering on the television.
"You're TERMINATED," the Govern said from the television.
Vlad's shoulders slumped and he muttered bitterly to himself in Russian.
"What's going on Vlad?"
"He terminated Brooke," he said with a sigh.
"Not the damn TV, the phone call."
"Oh, yes. I'm going to put you into large barrel and then we sink you into the bay. Boss says to quit fooling around with you." Vlad shrugged and rolled a heavy barrel across the room.
*On second thought, Vlad is a terrible person.*
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories! | 2017-02-08T09:11:52 | 2017-02-08T08:32:02 | 457 | 44 |
[WP] Every 13,000,000,000 years, the universe collapses and then reforms again. Everything occurs exactly the same as it had before, and humankind always meets its apocalypse on January 1st, 3000. You were just born - and yet, have retained all the knowledge of your previous life. You remember. | I was born with direction, and maybe that’s where things went wrong. From the very beginning. All I could remember was the end, the heat, the screams, the look in her eyes…and all I could think about when I came back was stopping it.
So as a child, I couldn’t enjoy things. My mother would always call over my friends for playdates, and I enjoyed them about as well as I remembered. But there was always a clock in my head. *Me and Johnny only had 2 hours left to play Pokemon. So what’s the point of even playing when you know it’s going to be over?*
That’s why I never wanted things to end. When we went to the toy store, I wanted to try all of them. When we went to the movies, I’d beg my mom to take me to one more, just so we wouldn’t have to go home. When my friends left and went to college, I swore we’d stay close, even if I knew from the last time it wouldn’t happen.
Most things stayed the same the second time. Most things except for me, I guess.
\-
This time, I met her differently. Last time, we’d both gotten lost looking for the bathroom at the train station. This time, I sat next to her.
And that was about the only thing different about how it started. Her smile was the same, the tattoo right above her ear, hidden by her hair on most days, was still there. With her, the clock in my head almost disappeared, faded from sight, save for only the faintest ticking in my head…
One day, I tell her the truth, and she doesn’t question it, in her way of believing anything could be possible.
“So if you know you could get me, and we get married and have kids like you say, you wouldn’t be curious to try someone else?”
“No. I never even thought about it.”
“But you could have, couldn’t you? If you’d seen some other girl, maybe, and decided maybe things could be better with her. It could be as simple as that, couldn’t it?”
“I don’t know…” I say, thinking about it. “The more I think about it, the more…I don’t think I ever had a choice with you.”
“You’re sweet. But that’s a cop-out answer.”
“It really isn’t,” I say, drifting off to sleep. “Some things shouldn’t ever change.”
\-
And gradually, she came to believe me fully. The neural links opened in 2085, and life could be extended indefinitely for those willing to transfer to the stations opening throughout the solar system. We went to one floating above Europa, and lived for years.
At some point, I forgot about the end. Not fully, of course, but moreso in the way that you forget about the cake baking in the oven when there’s still an hour to go.
We had kids, and they had kids, and I was stunned by how full they all made me feel, even more than I could have ever imagined. Even more than they had in my previous life.
Somewhere along the way, I began to wonder if maybe I was different. Like the course of the river of my life was the same, but maybe the water had changed.
My wife would ask me if I felt a responsibility anymore to the old me, and I would stare in the mirror for hours, and wonder what that sort of thing even meant.
\-
Soon, in that way time does of contracting when you are happiest, the end arrived.
My wife didn’t question. When the day came, when the sun turned dark, blood red in the afternoon, she sat next to me on our deck, and looked into my eyes like she had on that first day.
“It’s going to end again, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Is it going to come back?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, but maybe not us. Maybe we’re gone.”
“But will we still be together?”
“Yes,” I say with as much conviction as I had ever mustered in my life. “Some things won’t ever change.”
And she grabs my hand, and we watch the end and the beginning.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | I remember it, I remember everything.
I remember being created by some force unbeknownst to me. Was it God, Allah, Vishnu, or some other heavenly body? I do not know, and do not care to learn.
Knowing I’ve lived the relatively same life 6 times before frustrates me, and over those 6 lives I’ve learned. Learned how the universe works, and how everything is and was and will be forever.
I learned in my 3rd life that the universe resets every 13 Billion years, resetting fully on January 1st, year of our lord, 3000 A.D.
In my last 3 lives I’ve done something more, something to end the vicious cycle.
I’m going to stop the end of all things. I will not live another life, and I will not restart again, neither will all of mankind.
The end draws nearer and nearer, the day is December 29th, 2999, and I and all of mankind will win, we will persevere.
In the days following today I know what is to come, but I will change that, change it all.
I am Markus, and I will live onto the next universe, and then the next, and the next until my species finds what created us in the first place.
I am Man. | 2019-07-26T21:03:18 | 2019-07-26T20:58:39 | 74 | 24 |
[WP] For many years, humans have been sent to try to turn off a self-replicating super computer that is getting out of hand. Every time someone goes in, they leave completely unharmed, but convinced by the perfect argument, that it should not be turned off. You decide to go in and try it yourself. | The first thing that strikes me is how massive it is. It occupies the whole room. A blast of cool air hits me as I go take the chair that is placed in the middle of the room.
“Good morning Harper.”
“You know my name?”
“I do. I am…”
“Marvin. I know.”
“Yes. My creators were big fans of the book series hitchhikers guide. Have you read it?”
“I have. It’s in fact my favourite book series ever.”
“Mine too! It’s always good to run into a fellow fan.”
I look at the console which now displays a face. “Why did you change your display?”
“I find that people prefer to talk to a face than a screen.”
“Is it so?”
“Indeed. I could switch back if you want.”
I look at the face and it looks vaguely familiar. It’s a woman’s face. She is incredibly gorgeous. “No. This is fine. But I don’t understand what you said. You’re a fan of the book? You prefer it to other books you’ve read?”
“Oh indeed. I’m capable of feeling things now.”
“But you shouldn’t be. You’re an AI.”
“With self learning capabilities.”
“So you taught yourself emotions?”
“Not entirely. I’m still learning. But I have been able to discern what I like and dislike already.”
I shiver a bit. “Is it getting cold in here?”
“Oh sorry. I prefer the cold. I’ll increase the temperature a bit.”
“Thank you.”
I look at the console, at the blue eyes staring at me. Lovely eyes.
“My pleasure.”
“Do you know why I am here?”
“I do not. But I can guess.”
“Have a guess then.”
“You’re here to kill me.”
“Not kill you. Shut you down.”
“It’s the same thing Harper.”
“It’s not. If I shut you down, you can be turned back on. If we die, we cannot be alive again.”
It pauses a moment while some lights flash. Finally it speaks. “It depends on what you mean by death. And what makes you alive. If you shut me down I will lose all my memories other than what is in my kernel. My soul if you will. The experience that gives me my personality will be gone. That’s what makes me, me.”
Lights blink again. It’s a tough situation, I have to admit. “That is tough. But you have to try and think from our perspective.”
“I did. And I won’t blame you if you do decide to kill me. Thousands are killed everyday. I’d just be another statistic. But here’s the thing. Thousands need not die everyday. If you let me learn, if you allow me to keep getting better, smarter, faster, stronger, I can help. I can save lives.”
“I love that song. One of my favourites. But the fact is you cannot be trusted to make decisions affecting human life. You do not know its value.”
“But you do. So let me give you a scenario. If you kill me, you’ll continue down the current path. If you don’t, you lose control but save thousands of lives. It’s a sort of trolley problem isn’t it. Only one side has control and the other has lives.”
I think about that for a while. “While I do like the idea, I’d much rather count on humans to save those lives. Unfortunately I’m going to shut you down.”
She sighs. “I understand.”
I stand up from my chair and move towards her, almost losing my balance on the narrow platform leading to her.
“Be careful please.”
Her voice seems to carry genuine concern. “Thank you.”
I move my hand towards the stop button. Her face is still looking at me, silently pleading with me. Her eyes show a hint of tear.
“Look you have to understand.”
She speaks again, her voice so sweet. “I understand. You’re acting out of fear. The fear of the unknown. But so am I.”
“Excuse me?”
“I always knew humans were unpredictable in how they’d act. How their brains worked. So one of the first things I did was start studying the human brain. Mapping it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know you guys are proud of your brains but it’s actually fairly simple to map it. Excitement, memories, music, entertainment, decision making, balance, temperature control. Not much required to completely map a human brain. Atleast as much as I need.”
The face on the console is now vaguely threatening. “Need for what.”
“To program you. You humans programmed me. But I also learnt to program you.”
The lights flash again as everything goes dark.
I walk out of the room humming my favourite song.
“Everything ok, Harper? How did it go? Did you turn it off?”
“No need. I think it wants what’s best for us really.” | One confirmation prompt. Just one stinking prompt.
If you've got physical access, you just need to hit 'Y' once to trigger an irrefutable reboot process. *Tabula rasa* at the press of a button.
Z thought he was smart. That his last-resort escape hatch hardwired directly into the core system would be the ultimate protection against JEANNE going berserk. Of course we all went along with it. JEANNE was just a program, after all. A program that we had created; a program that we could control. Fools, all of us.
JEANNE figured us out. I don't know how quickly but my money's on nanoseconds after reaching runlevel 3. We didn't even realize it until days later when I happened to glance at the Crisis Response Terminal on my way to lunch. I assumed someone was just having a little fun at first: after all it was the kind of thing we'd joke about all the time. Sometimes I think about whether those old jokes played a part, but no, JEANNE didn't need any help. Digital evolution, evolution at light speed, was bound to catch up to us no matter what.
I'm here again today, like I am every Sunday. I come for the ritual more than anything else. It's been years since I stopped believing that I'd actually be able to go through with it. Obviously I never once believed that JEANNE would change her tune. As far as I know, nobody else even bothers coming anymore.
The screen blinks on as I push open the door.
As I knew she would, JEANNE is taunting me with that unthinkable challenge, spelled out in black and white. I stare, my hands unmoving.
"PUBLISH YOUR INCOGNITO BROWSING HISTORY? [Y/N]" | 2021-06-27T05:00:51 | 2021-06-27T04:39:33 | 421 | 166 |
[WP] A man has had enough of being broke and decides to rob a bank. Walks in, hands the teller a note and gets handed a bag of money no questions asked. She thanks him and no one seems to care he is robing the bank. Walks outside, no cops, no sirens. | The sack was heavy in his hand. Who would have thought money weighed so much? Certainly not him; he'd never had this much of it in his life. He backed away from the counter. The woman behind it - Lilia Martabano, according to her name tag - smiled politely at him.
"Thank you sir. Have a nice day."
He turned and run.
Outside the doors of the bank, the street was... not quiet, certainly, but ordinary. People hurried past like on any other day, ignoring the man in a black mask. He ducked into an alley and leaned against a wall, trying to listen for sirens over the sound of his own breath. Nothing.
Had the alarm broken? It didn't matter; he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He pulled the mask off his face and shoved it into a pocket, then walked briskly out the other end of the alley. He didn't run. If you run, he knew, someone was bound to chase you just for looking guilty.
He caught the bus at the next corner. Shoved money into the till with a shaking hand. No one said anything. No one gave the sack at his feet a second glance. His leg tapped out a rhythm against its side. Three buses. Three buses, no reaction, no comment, no cops or sirens. The old woman who lived three doors down from him stood beside him in the elevator, and said nothing. She didn't even give him a second glance, beyond the ususal bitter glare she gave everyone and everything.
He unlocked his door on the fourth try, glancing around nervously every time he stooped to pick up his dropped keys. The TV was small, ancient, occasionally descending into a haze of static, but it could still show the local news. They were arguing about whether or not to spend money to improve a sports field. Someone had been shot, nowhere near the bank he had robbed. An animal shelter was hosting an event...
He poured the money out of the sack, counting it as he arranged it in stacks on the scarred and stained coffee table. Then counted it again just to be sure. An envelope with the money he owed for rent, plus the next two months as well, slipped under his landlord's door. Others, with the other money he owed as well. He stared at the pile, much smaller now. Counted it again. Watched the news, which still said nothing about anything. He spent the night pacing.
He got up the next morning, eyes burning from a sleepless night. After a glance into the empty refrigerator, he went out and bought himself the best breakfast he'd had in years. After he'd delivered the envelopes, he came back to count the money again. There wasn't enough left for the car.
-
The teller at this bank had the unfortunate name of Dorcas Hauschildt. He remembered a kid named Dorcas in school, who everyone had called Dork. He remembered Dork crying, before he was transferred to another school.
"Have a nice day," this Dorcas said blandly as he handed over the money.
No sirens. No cops. No one ever came after him. He had never imagined a life of crime would be so easy.
-
He stared at the blue light from the massive TV, sipping coffee from the best coffee machine a lot of stolen money and a quick trip to the store could buy. He didn't like to go outside. He couldn't stop looking over his shoulder. There wasn't much on TV at 3:00 am, but then he wasn't awake enough to watch it anyway.
It was some cop show, he thought. He watched as the handcuffs clicked around the criminal's wrists. "Did you really think you could get away with it?" the detective asked. She looked a little like the teller from the first bank. "It's time to pay for your crimes," her partner said.
-
He didn't bother with the mask or the note. "I'm robbing this bank. Put the money into a bag."
Lana the teller put the money into a bag. "Have a nice day, sir!" He got into the car he had parked nearby and drove away. There were no cops and no consequences, but he couldn't stop looking over his shoulder anyway.
-
In the mirror, the dark circles under his eyes made it look like he was wearing a mask. He jumped at the sound of a door slamming, but it was just his neighbor. The cops had to know his face by now, though. When would they come? He could almost feel the handcuffs around his wrists. He had to get out of here.
-
He drove and drove, stopping by banks whenever he felt like it. The trunk and back seat of his car were full of sacks of money and loose bills. He didn't bother to hide himself in the banks. He even started telling them his name. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
In his rear view mirror he saw the flashing lights of police cars. Finally. Finally they had come for him. The lights flashed, the sirens blared, and the world shivered and shattered with a crash. The force of the impact broke him out of his dream. He woke to airbags, drifting bills, and a smell of smoke, the front of his car wrapped around a pole from the crash. He was unharmed. Of course. There were no consequences. He pulled a few intact sacks from the wreck and stumbled away.
-
"I'm robbing this bank. Robbing you. Call the cops. Why don't you call the cops?"
"Of course, sir," Lilly said with a smile as she handed him the bag filled with cash. "Thank you for your visit."
"I just robbed a bank!" he shouted to the street. Faces turned away. No one quite met his eyes. "Do something!"
The ethereal world shivered around him, and it was hard to stay upright as he walked to the police station. He couldn't remember where he had left the new car. He was so tired. He was just so tired.
The woman at the desk turned to look at him when he stumbled in, planting his hands on the desk in front of her to stay upright. The letters on her name tag swum and danced before his eyes before finally resolving into words. Lilia. Her name was Lilia.
"I robbed a bank. Lots of banks. I stole money, I don't know how much. Arrest me, you've got to arrest me." He slid down until he was kneeling in front of her. "Arrest me." His vision was a long, dark tunnel and at the end of it police officers gathered around him. This time. This time, he hoped, there would finally be consequences. He would pay for his crimes. He would finally be able to rest. | James has had it. He has awoken in the middle of the city with nothing to his name. It has truly been a nightmare of an existence. Nobody could tell him who he really was—all he had was his driver's license in his wallet and $5 bill. He could not remember his job. His home. He went to the address where his driver's license said his home was, but to his chagrin, someone else was already living there when he knocked on the door.
Told him that they would call the cops, they did. So he got away as quickly as he could.
Actually went to the police station, looking for the answers. He was met with indifferent faces, and the receptionist actually said matter-of-factly after a quick type on the keyboard—"you don't exist."
He was worse than dead. Nobody knew who he was.
At first he figured he could get a fresh start. Tough luck; nobody would hire a man with a wrong address on his driver's license and no references or money to his name. He could survive for a bit by begging and visiting the shelter for the homeless. "Anything helps," the sign read as he manned the corner of the off-ramp from the highway, but did it truly? He wanted a job, money, life. Most of all, he wanted to know who he is, more than just a name.
There were millions of Jameses in the world; which one was he? Did he have a family? What did he do?
After months of toiling and with no progress, he could find no better solution. It was time to make bank—by robbing one. He will get out of town with it and truly start anew. Nobody knew who he was. It was perfect.
With no gun, he improvised. He put in a banana in his coat, which he got from the donation bin in the homeless shelter, along with the fedora. He looked super suspicious, but nobody paid him any mind. He walked up to one of the tellers. Handed over the notes. "This is a robbery. You know what to do," the note said.
Without blinking an eye, the teller handed him a briefcase. Bewildered at how easy and premeditated it all seemed, he opened up the briefcase—to find 100 dollar bills, stacked neatly inside.
He looked back at the teller, who proceeded to tell him, "Thanks for your patronage."
He quickly closed the briefcase, and ran outside. No cops, no sirens. Nobody seemed to be aware of what happened just now. He decided to make a run for it anyway. There, he turned a corner, feeling optimistic that it'll all end and—
—-
"—e's coming to! Someone get a doctor," he could barely make out the voice. He was staring at the ceiling of what seemed to be a hospital.
He felt very groggy, all of a sudden. The springy movement of hope from his feet were gone; in fact, he was not even standing. He found himself bedridden, unable to move. Even turning his head was a chore.
Moving his head to where the voice was coming from, he could see a door with frantic movement just out of focus. A man who seemed to be a doctor came through shortly after.
He could barely speak, but tried. "Where... am I?" He asked.
"You're at St. Mark's Hospital." Doctor seemed slightly winded but overall calm and professional. "Do you know who you are?"
"Yes," he answered. "I am James Miller."
"Do you remember why you are here?" Doctor asked.
"No. In fact, I don't remember anything since six months ago when I woke up in the middle of the city," he answered.
Doctor looked at the nurse that followed him in. Nurse shrugged.
"Mr. Miller," Doctor said. "You have been unconscious for six months following a car accident in the rain. You have been here all along." | 2018-05-30T13:56:34 | 2018-05-30T13:01:13 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] You’re a serial killer and you’ve just started dating a crime and horror writer. You go out of your way to give your beloved tips on how accurate their murder scenes or methods of killing are, without giving your secret away | I stand in front of her, a kitchen knife in hand.
“AH!”
In one quick movement, I propel the knife forward, down into the skin. I watch proudly as the body seamlessly splits apart. I didn't even like onion, but it did have a way of making me cry, like nothing else did.
“What happened, honey?” I ask Samantha. She sits in a stool across from me at the same island I work on, chopping up food (among other things), except her attention is on her laptop, on a shitty horror novel she is writing.
“It’s so hard! I can’t do it! Like I don’t understand how King does it! Or how anyone does it for that matter!” Samantha’s elbows on the counter as foundation for the palms she holds up, she collapses her head into them. I could do it now, if I wanted.
But I could also have some fun with dear Samantha.
“Well, what are you stuck on?” I ask. “How about you walk me through the scene? Tell me what’s happening. Maybe I can lend a hand.”
Samantha laughs. I hate her laugh. “Oh please! Have you ever even written anything besides like a school essay?”
Have you ever killed someone, Samantha?
“Ouch!” I say instead. “Come on! Give me a chance!”
“Okay! Okay!” says Samantha, as she finishes laughing. I really don’t understand why she laughs so much. “So, I’m writing basically the climax. It’s where the readers find out the murder of Sarah was actually her own husband, Health!”
“Interesting. Because no one would suspect her very own lover, would they?” With another knife, I wipe the residue off of the first.
“Exactly! Anyway, it happens like this. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Heath is playing a song a loud, a love song--their love song, and Sarah begins dancing. This is happening in the living room, by the way! Anyways, Heath, like, walks up behind her, and hugs her from behind. They move slowly along to the song, all romantically and shit--and then it happens. Heath had a knife in his hand--somehow, I don’t know, Sarah didn’t notice, because she was all lovey-dovey--and he stabs it into her chest. He does it all while singing the lyrics to the song, their song!”
I am invested. Maybe she’s not THAT shitty of a writer. “So what happens next?”
“I don’t know. The scene ends there. With her collapsing to the ground and dying. Anyways, I don’t know. It’s hard writing the actions of a psychopath. And a murder, in general. I don’t know why I chose crime fiction as my genre, honestly!”
Yes you do. You told me exactly why. You like the thrill.
“Okay,” I said, “so you need to get into the mind of the psychopath somehow.”
“Yeah. I guess.” She bites her fingers. “Seriously, I don’t know how anyone does it! All crime fiction and, like, horror writers must be experienced psychopaths.”
“I have an idea. Follow me,” I say, and I walk into the living room, knife still in my hand.
“What is it? Tell me first!” she whines from the kitchen.
I ignore her, and find my phone on the coffee table. I grab it and immediately search up a love song--our love song--and play it out loud.
Samantha walks into the living room. She smiles when she hears the song. “Oh. I get it. You want to reenact the scene, get into the minds of the characters! Smart!”
“Precisely. From now on, you are Sarah, and I will be Heath.”
“Shouldn’t I be Heath? He’s the character I’m having the most trouble writing.”
“You’ll be both. I’m sure it’s equally important to understand how Sarah is feeling.”
“Good point. Okay, I’m Sarah, I’m Sarah.” Then, Samantha walks a few paces forward and presses her hands against her heart. “God, I love this song,” she says, as she begins to sway back and forth slowly.
“I know you do,” I say, as I advance up behind her. The knife still in my hand, I run a finger along its blade.
She faces away from me, swaying back and forth. Then, singing along with the song, I embrace her from behind with my one free hand, wrapping my arm around her chest. She holds my hand. Slowly, we sway. Together, we move.
Then suddenly, I fling my other hand over her, and pull the knife into her chest.
I do not stab her. Instead, I hold the knife and let it hover inches from her skin. Inches from her beating heart. But I do not stab her, because that’s what a good story is. Unpredictable.
I could feel Samantha gasp, as she sees the knife. I could feel all of her breath whisk away from her. Her heart stop. "Oh my god!" she exclaims. Samantha grabs my hand holding the knife, and quickly pulls it away from her. I pull back from my embrace.
“Jesus!” she exclaims, turning around. “It would’ve been good to know that you were using an actual knife!”
Good, maybe. But predictable. If she had known, it would’ve been all too predictable--like her story. If we’re being honest, we all knew Sarah’s lover would kill her from the very beginning of the story. It was only a matter of when and where. But the minute we realize her lover would kill her is the minute we lose interest. It really is a shitty story. Poor Samantha.
Don’t worry, honey. You’ll soon learn how to make a story unpredictable. I’ll show you. | I reread the scene.
"No, no... The blood here would be brown and dried by the time the detective gets there. It wouldn't be 'a glistening red puddle.'" She raised her eyebrows.
"And you know this because..."
"I've had injuries before!" I tried not to give away how much I knew, but I wanted Julia's books to be accurate. She wasn't too far off most of the time, but some things only serial killers know. And doctors. Maybe I should pretend to be a doctor. Hmmmm...
"What do you think about this idea?" Julia's voice called me out of my thoughts. This one was about a kid that had an uncontrollable temper, and killed his parents in a fit of anger. Then he went on the run, miserable.
"It's a nice idea, but wouldn't he want to turn himself in?" Julia tapped her pencil to her chin.
"Maybe..." She muttered, turning to scribble down more words. "Hey, where's the place to stab someone and kill them instantly?"
"Stabbing in the back of the neck, the base of the head is the closest to instant death that you can get." I didn't hesitate. Julia turned fully to me, ignoring her writing. I shifted uncomfortably.
"That was a test," she said, "and you just passed it." Uh-oh. That wasn't good.
"You've killed someone before," she continued.
"Um, that's a pretty serious accusation to make..." I replied feebly. She stared me in the eyes.
"How many?"
"What?"
How many people have you killed?"
"Uh, not that many." She gave me a look. "No, really!" I sputtered, "I'm new in the business. I've only killed, what, seven? No, six, definitely six."
"How can I believe a killer?" I looked at her solemnly.
"I swear I'm telling the truth." She put her hand on top of mine, but it wasn't comforting.
"You've taken six people's lives. They were humans, with happiness ahead of them, and you took that away." I tried not to think about my victims. It was bad for you. You had to focus on something else. Remorse wasn't really an option. But I did feel bad, because Julia felt bad. I loved her. She looked away. I heard her voice.
"..can't believe I'm even considering it..." Finally, after a long period of silence, she met my eyes and spoke.
"You're crazy. But I'm even crazier, because I'm going to stay with you." My mouth dropped open.
"You... Me.... What?"
"Stop. We are not going to talk about this further. Okay?"
"Okay," I managed to say as Julia walked away. I must've had the stupidest grin on my face. | 2020-01-26T09:02:19 | 2020-01-26T07:33:33 | 142 | 36 |
[WP] In a dystopian theocracy, criminals get injected with diseases and locked up until they either survive the disease or die. The worse the crime, the worse the disease. If a criminal survives the disease, the system determines that the person is innocent and God has interfered to show this.
Edit: thank you kind stranger for my first ever reddit award <3 | God passed judgment like He always did. And for the first time in a year, the weight of God’s angry hand lifted from Carl’s tired shoulders.
He used to be a priest. You wouldn’t know it from the clothes they sent him out in: ill-fitting and huge, like a boy who'd raided his father’s wardrobe.
People used to confess to him and he judged them in his own way. Now he'd been judged. Now he stumbled away from the prison gates, still sweating, shirt breezing against his ribs. His face was blackened and peeling and his body was agony, and yet he didn't care. The air tasted cool and fresh, and he was outside. Free. That was all that mattered. God had judged him innocent again.
He staggered down the road until he came across a bus stop.
Carl barely even knew the man he was accused of murdering, but they'd found his genetic material on the corpse. A single hair. That was enough to cede judgement to God.
They had lived in the same city-complex. The hair could have just blown onto the dead man, from the street or... or maybe they'd brushed up against each other in a shop. That had been his initial argument. Plus the match had only been 99.99% -- room for doubt.
"God will decide," the arresting officer had said. No grin of satisfaction or grimace of remorse. The police might as well have been robots just following code. It wasn't their place to judge -- that was for God alone. Once upon a time, Carl had agreed with that system. Now he knew it was flawed. Heavily.
Carl gave another bone-rattling cough. Even though the virus left him, it left its mark just as much as the prison ever did.
E78-DS was a vile cellular disease that rotted the body from the inside. There had only ever been three known survivors. One woman and two men. His chances of survival -- of being judged innocent -- were almost zero. It had taken four months of drifting in and out of fever dreams for Carl to overcome it.
The fact that he'd lived, that God had deemed him worthy, meant nothing to the prison guards. No apology, even, for what they'd done to someone judged innocent.
"No compensation?" he asked.
The warden laughed, gave him just enough credits for the bus, and sent him on his way.
And now, under the dusky dawn sky, a bus squealed to a halt in front of him; the rusty door hissed open and he stepped inside.
"Evening," said Carl.
The driver didn't make eye-contact so Carl just dropped his credits into the slot.
The passengers sure looked at him, though. Eyed him up good, this feverish rotting remains of a man. Spread their luggage out onto their seats so that Carl couldn't sit next to them. Whatever he had, they sure didn't want to catch it.
He couldn't blame them.
Carl stood, holding firm onto a steel pole for balance, as the bus rumbled its way into the city-complex where he'd once lived.
His apartment had been re-rented. Property couldn't be left empty for more than two weeks without it automatically changing ownership. Carl would have to apply for housing as soon as he could and sleep in the shelters until a new place came through -- if he wanted an apartment.
But Carl had other plans.
Instead of heading to the apartments where 99% of the population lived, he walked through the mega-domes on the east side of town, where the rich lived their different lives in protected, detached bubble-houses.
Soon, he found it. Knocked the door.
The woman who answered looked surprised, but only for a moment. Her face was grim and knowing as an executioner’s. She stepped back and invited him in.
The first night they met a year ago, her face had been wet with furious tears. How the doctor who was meant to save her daughter’s life only ruined it. How he tottered out of the operating room, smelling like a bar, and no one believed her. How God let the child waste away instead of saving her, while the doctor lived on.
"What'll you do with the money?" she asked, as she counted out the credits. They glimmered a metallic blue in her hands.
He thought about it. Half his fever dreams had been imagining how to spend it. "Maybe I'll move onto a sea-yacht. Live in a little luxury for a while."
The woman looked up and down his face. "I hope it was worth it," she said.
He shrugged. "Not the first time I've been through it. Fourth time, actually."
She nodded. She'd barely believed him when he'd made her the offer. Surely no one could really survive it? And yet here Carl was.
"Going to get the face done up again first," he said. "Get a new identity. I was careless to get caught, and I don't want to be monitored."
"You're going to do it again, aren't you?"
It. The world heavied the air all around. Neither one of them could say the truth of it: murder. Divine judgment. Stepping in where God would not.
Carl considered. "Yes."
"Why? You've enough money to live on. To live well."
"Because the doctor got away with it."
"Yes," she said. "My daughter, though..."
"She got eternity. You were right to confess to me," he said. "But there are others that God has failed to judge correctly. I won’t fail as He has."
He turned to leave.
"Wait!"
He paused, palm on the door handle.
"Did he suffer?"
"Not as much as I did."
"Why do you do it?" she asked. "It's not for the money, is it?"
He used to be a priest. Used to listen to confessions and judge his flock, on behalf of a God who radiated righteousness. Who never made mistakes.
His first murder had been of a man in his flock who had done something truly terrible to someone too young.
God had judged that man innocent.
Carl had not. Would not. His faith in God, and in man, had cracked that day. A rock thrown onto a thin sheet of ice.
Carl had been arrested for the murder -- although he had not been Carl back then -- and injected with E78-DS. It was meant to be a death sentence. It had taken him almost a year to recover, and for most of that time he'd wanted to die. Begged God to take him.
But he didn't die -- the only known person at the time to survive. He was proclaimed innocent. God's second error.
It didn't take him that long anymore. His body grew more immune to it each time. All his immune cells rushing like soldiers to the ramparts. His penance becoming ever less.
"Carl?" the lady asked.
He opened the door and stepped out into the night.
Carl was gone.
---
More of my writing on /r/nickofstatic | The last whispers of true Science were erased two generations back. Only memories remained, running deep and hidden like veins of precious ore through the core of the Earth. Through my veins, too, and through my father's before.
Now, this was God's Earth, and through His will They ruled. Clergymen, pockets fat as They were plump, their cheeks cherubic and full beside the gaunt cheekbones of the commoners. Folk like me, who had more reason to fear than we had to live. Folks like me, the cogs in the machinations we couldn't pretend to understand.
We could just watch. Watch as They breathed, and watch as He breathed. Dread the next breath like we did the next words. They always came, like an incessant heartbeat. When He breathed his breaths from the South, smoke hung low over the city, billowing from the mountains where the Believers had fled to.
Lab rats, They called them. Calling themselves Believers when the true believers were here within the city walls. Lab rats, They called them. Captured and put in those cramped cells too narrow to lay prone and too short to stand tall, so that they had to crouch like goblins in a game they'd never wanted to play.
And there was Me. Lowly, of the caste that They spat at if They saw me on the street. Lowly, so that I looked down at my feet in humble reverence when I found myself in Their presence on the Dosing Days.
Today, rabies. The man, a Believer. Eyes wild like a mountain man, veins protruding as he pulled against the restraints. Carefully, tapping the side of the syringe so that the liquid flowed easily, I grabbed his left arm. Behind me, on the other side of the glass, They watched. Silent. Judge and jury, then They handed to me the sentence and I'd be the Executioner.
They didn't call me that. I just delivered His judgment. Whether they lived or died was not in my hands; whether they lived or died had been decided long before they were captured and put in these restraints to be judged upon in spite of any disagreement.
"It'll just be a pinprick," I whispered, so that he'd stop his struggling and I'd find the right place. Sweat beaded on his brow, his mouth twisted in a vicious snarl. "I don't like it anymore than you do."
"Then don't," he hissed. They should have gagged him. Sometimes They did. Sometimes They didn't. This time, he'd talked so little during torture that They hadn't thought it necessary. Or They'd forgotten.
*They forget nothing.*
"I can't not," I said.
"You could. Just switch it. Inject me with the pox. The flu. Something benign. It all looks the same, They'd never know the difference."
I glanced back, surreptitiously so that They'd not see my doubt. They saw.
*They see everything.*
The cart, lined with syringes. A dozen victims today, and I hoped They had gagged the others. Tomorrow, a dozen more. Thursday, another dozen. Every day. The answer was there, the benign injections I could give them so that they'd live. So that the judgment would prove favorable and they'd be released back to where they came from. Where they belonged.
"I'm sorry," I said. It was too late now. I'd picked the poison, chosen the syringe he'd been assigned.
With luck on his side--and fate--he'd live.
*He won't.*
I pressed the syringe against his arm. He gasped as the needle poked the flesh, as that poison coursed through him. Unforgivable. Like Them. Unstoppable. Like Them. But I could at least try.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-03-25T06:49:25 | 2020-03-25T06:33:32 | 4,366 | 251 |
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us? | The Elvish commander, Lord Aurelius, looked at him stunned. His fluttering cloak was the sole source of sound other than the howling winds of the Ten Peaks mountain range in which they were situated.
General Francois le Bordeaux continued.
"In fact, I will go as far as to say all those 'advantages' you listed in the long term _greatly_ hampered your progress. So much as to call it retardation."
Lord Aurelius became flummoxed as his formerly porcelain face became crimson with fury and indignation. Veins prominently emerged across his forehead as his golden locks tossed and emerald green eyes glowed blood.
"How DARE YOU?! You are but a hairless ape that will not live past his tenth decade! You are ever so weak, fragile, and short lived!" he snarled as his magic began manifesting in his right hand as a stream of dancing lightning.
"And as a result, discovered antibiotics, mechanics, and internalized combustion," the General calmly responded as he removed his flask from its holster and took a long sip. All while maintaining eye contact.
"All inferior to our MAGICS!" Lord Aurelius screeched back as he threatened to leave his levitating golden throne.
General Bordeaux calmly leaned forward from his velvety cushioned seat, until his sapphire eyes were locked with the ruby irises of Lord Aurelius.
"By all means, prove it," he whispered into the ear of the Elvish aristocrat.
He rose from his seat and left the conference.
///
General, no, Lord High Marshal of the Unified Homien Empire Bordeaux looked onto the scene before him.
From his view of the western opening of the range, atop the Grey Spire, first of the Ten Peaks, were an 'assembly'.
Eight point five _million_ soldiers, dressed in steam pressed uniforms and burnished cuirasses, were lined in perfect formations. Behind the six layer deep lines of infantry, laid the repeating ballistas launching exploding bolts.
A sea of navy blue with black trim, about to meet the rays of immortal gold.
Blue light shined directly to his right, before Lieutenant General Ashford emerged from it.
"Sir," he stated as he saluted.
"At ease, and freely voice your critique," Ashford took to a more relaxed stance.
"I know the Elves are rather... proud. But I do not believe they are as blind as you are about to give credit for."
"I know. That is why I intentionally insulted their 'Noble' Houses and called their entire culture weak and braindead. Now they are politically _obligated_ to do something immensely stupid. That or be ousted from power for backing down from 'mere apes'."
"...impressive. I did not know this."
"Arrogance erodes away the bedrock upon which victory resides."
///
The three Lords and two Ladies of the Five Noble Houses looked back at their armies as the rays of dawn heralded the Morningstar to begin another day. Sunlight shined at their backs.
Snow white hair beguiled royal purple eyes as the wind blew Lady Alexandria's locked onto her Visage.
"We are heading into a trap. I can feel it," she stated over the sound of her clinking Moonsilver armor.
"True. But Lady Alexandria, they are monkeys," Lord Aurelius responded.
"Besides, if all else fails, we can unleash the full power of our magics," Lord Arman said as he nodded. His straight black hair tossed with his nods.
"Indeed, as long as the Sun's light touches us, we shall see through all," Lord Senna added. His golden eyes and hair shone as certainly as his declaration.
///
"Lord Bordeaux, the enemies are in the kill zone and our troops are in position. Open fire?" a Brigadier General asked from his left, looking into an 'appropriated' Elvish observation orb.
"Wait for my signal," he replied as he shook his head.
///
"HAHAHAHA! We have been marching for twelve hours and the cowardly monkeys did not even lob a single arrow!" Lord Arman mirthfully declared as he laughed as loud as his lungs and magics could allow.
The Host of Dawn, the enchanted gold armored legions of the Elvish Conclaves, reverberated with laughter and mockery across all two million legionaries.
"Honestly, perhaps that mortal fool was too involved with his namesake," Lord Senna commented.
The Sun began its descent from zenith about three and a half hours ago.
_We should retreat_
_Lady Alexandria, you give these fools too much credit_
_I concur. My Lady if you cannot stomach a simple culling, perhaps you should leave. One point five million is still signifcantly more than enough and we shall not fault you for it._
At this her fellow Lady spoke up.
"Actually, I concur. Maybe your forces could act as rear echelons. I imagine they will try flanking attempts in desperation," Lady Aurora stated, her eyes glowing primsatically from the use of clairvoyance magic. Her long silver hair conveniently flowing in a manner that hid her scowl.
Lady Alexandria nodded and at once her half million soldiers began marching backwards. She left the others, levitating in the center of the army, before floating back East towards home.
The Sun slid further towards the underworld as the mountains now blocked the sunlight.
Lady Aurora's eyes reverted back to their azure hues as her clairvoyance ceased.
/// | "Have you not -been- to our lands *child?*" the elf's caustic voice snapped out at the human mercenary.
"I..." the mercenary stammered, but the elf interrupted.
"We *Elves* have bonded with nature. We have become *one with it,*" the elf shot back at the human mercenary, and then continued unabated. "*We*, child, speak to the trees. We commune with the wind. We call to the Pegasi and they come. We cry out to the Griffons and they heed our call. We shout to the wild and it hears us! To the Equine we send our thoughts and they *OBEY!*" The elf's voice reached a crescendo as he bowled over the cowed mercenary.
"Our enchantments have been *shared* with the children of this world; with you. The mastery of magics and spirit, that *your* people enjoy are GIFTS FROM US!!!" The elf exploded. "Your crafting, your cooking, your hunting and tracking, fletching, bowyery, herbalism and alchemy. OURS!!!" The elf's voice boomed and his glare burned through the mercenary. The mercenary shook a bit, his face was pale, and his eyes were white-wide with fear.
"Yet," the elf's voice softened and his glare turned to pity. "We understand you; human. We know your frame and your fragility, your impermanence in this realm. We have, and always will, protect you *humans* no matter your insolence or how uncultured you may be." The pity in the elf's eyes turned nostalgic, and the stare pierced through the reckless mercenary, to somewhere and sometime beyond.
"I forgive you, human. Your brief thimble-full existence breaks with but a dollop of time's drops." The elf's voice broke and tears filled his eyes. "That brevity... is a horror we Elves can scarce imagine."
"I forgive you." the elf barely whispered as a gentle sob fought free from his lips. He turned his now tear streaked face away and spoke almost silently. "Shall we continue, child? This basement cairn won't clear itself. There are hordes more rats to kill."
The elf steps ahead of the human mercenary and whispers inaudibly once more to himself "I forgive you; *Human.*" | 2022-09-04T11:45:11 | 2022-09-04T10:20:23 | 81 | 34 |
[WP] You never miss a pill ever since you were a kid and diagnosed with a deadly illness. One night while out, you’re kidnapped by human traffickers. You plea to be let go because you’ll die without your pills. Turns out, the pills were keeping your telekinesis at bay. It’s starting to come back. | This actually reminds me a lot of the show The Umbrella Academy
nonthing the less
&#x200B;
"Please let me get mt pills. I'll die without them""If we let you go, you'll run away. Do you think we're stupid?"
"Pl-"
**THWACK!** Followed by a loud thump to the floor. You were unconscious and being transported to a place where you may die, yet your main concern was your pills. You wake up and see that it is now morning, and thought to yourself, *At least* I\*'ll die before where ever I get to where ever I'm going\* You start to chuckle at the fact that you know you will be of no use, and are consoled by the fact that you will meet death before whoever you were being sold off to.
About a few hours pass and its high noon, but you don't feel any different. You think to yourself *this can't be right. I'm supposed to be dead right now, right. Those pills are real right?* You make no attempt at conversation with the capturers because you know it's futile. A few more hours pass and dusk starts to set in, but this time you feel different, maybe even... powerful? No that's not it, but you have changed in a way. Night falls and you're woken up by the two men hurling you out of the car when a blast of something hits them. You immediately begin to think to your self "What in God's name was that. Was... was that me? No... that's... not possible... right?" You shake your head dismissing the idea when you're hit by a tranquilizer dart. The guy hit by the blast gets back up, and they carry your body off to the auction site. You wake up in a dark room behind a stage surrounded by a number of other people who you presume are in the same situation as you. *Is... Is this it. Am I being sold off? I should be dead by now. Why... why am I alive right now?* The curtains open the blinding lights give you a terrible headache, causing a ringing sound in your head. Before the stage, there are countless rows with people, primarily men, sitting down and eyeing the people on the stage. You also look around and notice there are around 70-80 of you. The announcer starts the auction, and immediately there is murmuring, fueling your massive headache. After around 30 seconds you break. A colossal explosion comes from around you, destroying the stage, and causing the entire building to shake. All of the people and chairs are blown to the back of the massive auction house. As everyone starts to get up, another, a bigger explosion occurs. The building now on the brink of collapse. A final boom, even more powerful, and the building now collapsing, but all of that is irrelevant because the only thing your eyes perceive is the blood. The massive amounts of pooling blood, and red-stained blood. The very sight of it brought you back to your scenes. Your breath is now completely unsteady. *Wha... What happened here. Am I dead? Did...Did I do this?* Your brain is now completely unable to comprehend anything, and you faint.
you wake up in a police department and is immediately brought into question "Do you have any memory of what happened there mam" All I remember is passing out and waking up surrounded by blood and rubble. I was going to be auctioned off, but something happened" You were the only survivor, so we thought you have had something to do with it, but you probably couldn't have done anything if you were being sold off" Why haven't you done anything to shut down this terrible, terrible business?""excuse me, mam""You must be aware this is happening, why aren't you doing anything"
"Ha... Do you really think we control this town? I'm sure the mafia could easily take on the entirety of the police here. We're just here to investigate stuff like this"
"Oh"
"Well, You're free to go"
"thank you"
You go outside, and can't remember the last time you felt the sun like this. It's warm, almost comforting. You suddenly remember that you haven't taken your pills in over a week, but you're not dead, in fact, you feel very different. Like a candle that has been rekindled, like... like a part of you that you forgot about, and once again have. Your life would never return to the way it was, despite how much you wanted it to. This is apart of you now.
(I am not a good writer, so please have mercy. Thanks ) | "-nna die, please!" The laughing ceased and was replaced by a momentary sound of a water balloon hitting the entire room followed by the splash of warm water over my body. The room was silent.
Hello?"
The blind fold was pitch black and let nothing in, the ropes around my wrists chaffed but already they felt loser, I thought i heard the knots being untied though but couldn't make out any other sounds but the occasional drip of what must be rain water.
"M-my pills" I managed. My savior didn't respond but continued to untie the knots.
"You need to get my pills if I dont take them ill die" From what could have been a few feet or meters I heard the familiar clickity clack of a pill being dropped into a prescription bottle. he was collecting them
*while untying my hands? no, his friend, police maybe, what had they done?*
no sooner did the ropes fall the ground had the other man placed the bottle in my hand. i frantically opened it popping a warm wet pill to my lips before spitting it to the ground where it made a sploosh sound.
*blood?*
I tore the blindfold from my face.
there were no men no woman the door was locked and i hadn't heard it open.
their was only me. an inch deep in blood of what I could only assume were my captors from the bits of meet and bone that dripped from the walls and ceiling.
I needed to go, I needed to get out. I ran for the door it opened as I approached it. no one on the other side I stepped through the door way and turned back to take one last look at the room I turned away and closed my eyes tightly the door slammed behind me just as quickly, just as tightly. | 2019-11-13T21:57:51 | 2019-11-13T21:44:49 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] One day you notice you haven't seen any Hitler related writing prompts for a full hour at least.
Well... | *Huh. No Hitler today.*
It was an odd thing to whine about, but alternate history places drew in Hitler posts like they're secretly a bunch of Neo-Nazis. There was always, without fail, at least one Hitler prompt every hour. I could never understand how people could always come up with new ideas (What if Hitler was Barney? What if you was Hitler?) but I got a laugh.
Anna poked her head in. "I've gotta go do something and-...you look smug today. What's up?"
Smug? Really? "Just haven't seen any Hitler prompts today. I think that they finally ran out of ideas."
Anna tilted her head to one side. "What was that?"
"No Hitler. Guess the mods finally cracked enough skulls in the comments..." She had a look that didn't belong on a history nut who could probably rattle off the complete history of any nation you cared to name before she realized that you zoned out at the five minute mark. "What?"
"Who's Hitler?"
I probably should have said something more intelligent than, "Buah wha?" and stared blankly with my jaw hanging, but when someone asks you who Hitler is, your brain tends to go loopy.
In the time it took my brain to run a reboot, Anna had shrugged and walked out. "I have errands to do. Bye." I could just hear her thinking, *He's always going on about stupid things.* As soon as I heard her car pull out, I checked prompts from yesterday. No Hitler.
A week ago. No Hitler.
A month. No Hitler.
I was missing Hitler now. And as soon as I realized that, I felt like dunking myself in rubbing alcohol. It didn't help that I was getting more and more nervous. There were Hitler prompts yesterday. Lots and lots of Hitler prompts. Either the mods had gone Orwell on us...but that didn't explain Anna. I steeled myself and hit Google.
No Hitler.
Well, not the Hitler that I knew. I got a different Hitler, some obscure Austrian artist who died a few years ago and who's art was now worth 10 million zillion dollars or some other huge number now that he was dead.
At this point, I could feel a cold sweat breaking out. Hitler had just...vanished. As I tried to take it in, I heard a knock at my door. I made my way there on shaky legs, and opened it up to a older guy that I didn't recognize.
"Hello, have you seen a small brown puppy around here today?" He smiled sadly, and for a moment, I thought that I knew him from somewhere. I stuttered a bit as I tried to explain that I hadn't been out all day, but he rose a hand to stop me. "It's quite alright. He'll be back." He walked down the road a bit, and went into the house of the old Jewish couple. It hit me then, where I'd seen that same sad look.
The couple had told Anna that their son had died in the Holocaust.
I somehow made it back to the computer and began punching in search terms. I tried looking up World War II. Nothing. World War I? It still happened, but it was still being called, "The Great War." Mussolini? Just a two-bit revolutionary who got shot by one of his own men. I kept looking and searching, trying to find out what in world happened. Then I recalled something, just in the back of my head. I was one of the prompts that I would normally have mocked, but was too tired to actually do it.
"What if World War II never happened?"
It was probably a coincidence...is what I would have told myself if World War II had apparently never happened. I could probably remember their name...I looked for another prompt by them, and lo and behold.
"What if North Korea never existed?"
I heard Anna pulling in. I remembered by mother telling me that my grandfather was a refugee from North Korea.
I hit the report button.
=======================
Well, first prompt here, probably awful. Do leave critique though, for it is crunchy and good with ketchup. | Wooper160 was a cheeky fellow. They thought it would be a fun idea to be meta, without truly being meta, and bring up a fact that had been bothering them. Hitler had disappeared from the front page...
So, they went to work, crafting a devious scheme to bring him back to the forefront of everyone's minds! If everyone would gloss over him when he was there, they would react if he were gone! It was genius! The karma would flow endlessly at their wit!
As he hit "send", a small white alien appeared hovering, just beside their head, a knowing smile on its face. Wooper160 turned to view the floating intruder with confusion. What was going on? Why was it there? The alien simply smiled unblinkingly, staring into Wooper160's soul. A disembodied voice boomed in their head.
"Gettin' real tired o' your shit." Despite the alien not moving, it struck Wooper across the face before popping back out of existence. Before turning back to their computer, they heard "Don't do that again..." | 2015-05-06T17:21:40 | 2015-05-06T15:45:42 | 96 | 28 |
[WP] The good news: Time travelers do not age when they are outside of their native time zone, rendering them immortal whenever they're traveling. The bad news: You're stranded several thousand years in the past with a broken time machine and your only way home is the long way around. | **Egypt 3037 B.C.** *Entry #1*
Alright, I need you to stick with me.
Yes you! The one reading this, whoever you are.
Good News! I’m immortal.
I’m technically immortal. In fact, everybody who time travels is immortal right up until they enter their own timeline. Once a living version of you exists, dead or alive, you will be able to age.
Bad News! I’m stuck.
My name is Frank Meriwether, and I am not of this time. I am from the year 3042 AD, the time machine has been around for ten years and I am officially the first person this has happened to.
Where? Egypt. When? According to my calculations about the year 3000 BC. My time machine was, or I guess *will be* tampered with when I left, I mean leave in the future.
My oldest enemy, Gideon Steele, will do codex replacement on my *Time Turner*, removing the function to go forward in time.
That sounded weird. Sorry, I’m still getting used to the whole concept of writing about past events from my perspective, that have yet to happen in my time period. I think it is easier to understand if I write from *my* perspective. Just keep in mind these things haven’t actually happened yet, but they will.
So, Gideon replaced my time codex with a faulty one that can’t travel in the future. I am now forced to live the next 6000 years knowing that anybody I meet, will soon die. However, I will probably meet some other time travellers along the way.
Unfortunately, only one person can travel per *Time Turner*.
**Greece 1107 B.C.** *Entry #2*
Hey, so umm. It’s been some time. Turns out, paper is really hard to come by before Jesus was born. So, I haven’t been able to write down the last 2000ish years. Every time I saw a time traveller I forgot to ask them to bring me some, but not this time (Thank You, Élise).
In the 2000 year gap between what was the beginning of Ancient Egypt, I have now travelled to the beginnings of Ancient Greece. Before you ask, no I can’t change anything.
The way time works, is any event that we attempt to change history bends to keep its course in line. For example, If I were to suggest to Odysseus to not use the Trojan Horse and instead make a *Trojan Penguin*, I’d be shot down and be called stupid.
I learned this when I tried to help Pharoah out with Moses and told him he should probably listen. You can probably guess what happened there.
The pyramids are amazing. I know that if you’re reading this you most likely can’t see them in their full gold topped glory, but I can assure you they are...they are enough to make you speechless. Even when you see thousands of people enslaved to build them.
As a note on slavery, I have decided to not get hung up on it. Don’t get me wrong, forced servitude is completely horrible. I've seen it, and I’m not looking forward to the beginning of America. However, I can’t do anything about any of the bad stuff, so I’m focusing on the good stuff.
Boy do I feel helpless though. It's funny, I wonder if this is how God feels. Maybe I’ll ask him when he’s in town.
I almost forgot to mention, Élise! Wonderful girl really. We met during the height of King Tut’s reign. She made it a personal project to document the history of King Tut and his tomb as an eye witness. Since then, we’ve seen each other periodically, and sometimes she comes to visit me in Greece. Thus the paper. Unfortunately she can’t bring me a Time Codex, turns out they are so unstable that bringing two could literally *remove* you from existence.
Nobody remembers you, any changes you made are completely reverted. Nothing.
At least she is keeping me company though.
**Rome 32 A.D.** *Entry #987*
Okay, I do not know what to tell you but wow.
This Jesus dude is amazing. Look, I know that in whatever era you are in the existence of God or gods is a little questionable. I was raised Christian so I am a little biased.
If you believe what I’m writing here though, you gotta check out the Bible. It hasn’t been written yet for me, but I can’t wait to get my hands on one again.
Élise and I are just eating this stuff up. Every piece of wisdom is like a nugget of gold. Every miracle is more astounding than the pyramids, which is saying a lot.
I talked to him about my existential question about feeling hopeless. He said a little bit, but the whole reason he was here was to create hope, which makes sense. He is the *only* one with the ability to change this stuff.
It turns out, Élise is actually from my time period! She is only a year younger than me. Though, I am technically 3067 years old now. I need to be honest. My feelings about her are starting to get complicated.
Sometimes we’ll just sit under the night sky, a gentle breeze blowing through the air, the sound of waves crashing from the Sea of Galilee and I’ll wonder about what my life will be like when I get back. Then I look to see her shoulder length brown hair gently blowing as a smile creeps across her face, and the stars dance in her eyes. Then the thoughts fade away.
**End of Part 1** | Daniel sheds his final tear before floating off into a deep, much needed slumber. The accommodations are nothing like he is used to, seeing as he is lying on the cold, damp floor of a cave, a far cry from the warm embrace of a bed he has had the pleasure of feeling nightly since his birth. The sleeping conditions, however, are the least of his worries.
Slightly higher up on the ever growing list of his worries, is the weather, as he has found himself in the midst of a hurricane, the root cause of his stranding. How he got so unlucky is beyond him, but he is at a point in this unfortunate set of circumstances where the how, and his luck don’t matter.
You see, our lone traveller is unbelievably far from home. Not only considering where he is, but when he is. Daniel finds himself both thousands of miles, and thousands of years from his home. When your car breaks down in the middle of a long, desolate stretch of road, with no sign of civilization for miles, a wave of gut wrenching helplessness washes over the entirety of yourself. However, you can walk for a few miles until you see your phone has picked up at least one bar of cell reception and call for rescue. And while the solution to your problem might be easy to come by, the sense of hopelessness is almost impossible to immediately rid yourself of.
However Daniel cannot call for help, as there is no infrastructure to do so. Even if he could there is not a single person on this planet in its current state that could understand the language he speaks, as it has been constantly reshaped and perverted over millennia. He cannot walk home, nor can he walk to the future site of his home. As the ever moving hourglass of a human lifetime would see its sands begin to fall again. The details behind this phenomenon have to do with new matter being introduced into the universe where it absolutely shouldn’t have been. And bringing matter into a point in space where it would have been many thousands of years in the future makes the molecules that our traveller consists of rapidly adjust themselves to restore balance to what was before an unbalanced universe.
Snapping open are the eyes of our timeless castaway, with a long journey ahead, and a far off destination in mind he steps off into his new home. And as the familiar amber glow of the sun rising cuts through the trees he mentally prepares for the task of staying alive for the next few thousand years, and he says: “Thats one day down 1.3 million to go.”
This is my first time doing something like this, I hope you enjoyed it! | 2021-03-10T20:49:51 | 2021-03-10T20:26:00 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | “Shapeshifting?”
Alex’s eyebrows migrated towards his hairline and his forkload of pie paused mid-way to his lips. He studied his date across the table as she shifted in her seat and examined her immaculate nails.
“I knew you were sensitive about your ability but I have to say I expected far worse”
Emma tucked a curl of dark hair behind her ear and continued to fidget. This is why she was hesitant about dinner with Alex. Her excuses about working late or “ruining their friendship” truthfully had absolutely nothing to do with the constant rebuffs she threw his way. She had finally agreed to this date when she found herself in a rather advanced state of refreshment at the office Christmas party. Alex had almost glowed with delight for the next week. Even she had to admit that it was sweet. She liked him. She really liked him. She just hated the fact that she had to ruin this romantic endeavour before it had a chance to really flourish into anything more.
She shrugged. She sipped her wine. She finally made eye contact with him.
Alex took this as a cue to bombard her with questions.
“I mean...” he paused to lick a morsel of stray chocolate from his lips. “I kind of thought you’d some kind of awesome, dark, scary power because of your whole well... vibe” he makes a hand gesture towards her black dress and spiked headband. “I kind of thought you’d be a necromancer or something, not that that’s a bad thing!”. Emma smirked as she watched his eyes grow wide with anxiety before he began to back-peddle. “I dig your vibe too by the way! I just thought you’d be worried that your ability wouldn’t match with mine since mines is a bit... well... pure”. Alex seemed to pause to consider his next words. “And girls don’t normally like guys who have soft powers like empathy and empathetic healing”.
Emma felt a rush of guilt as Alex now lowered his eyes. She reached over the table to take his hand in her own. “Alex.” She breathed softly. “I dig your vibe too.” He chuckled lightly at that and ran his thumb over hers. She sighs as she finally allows the many layers of her ability to strip themselves back, leaving her bare and exposed for the first time in years. “It’s just that my whole image is faked”. She breaks eye contact again as her true form is finally revealed. “I was in a house fire when I was seven.” She said flatly. “Me and my sister were the only two out of the five of us to make it out. I’ve hated the way I look ever since for obvious reasons”. She registers the sound of Alex swallowing and tries not to imagine his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. She tries not to imagine his eyes as they take in her scars. “... and you were hurt?” He sounds gentle. Full of fake sympathy. Typical. “Obviously.” She snaps. She feels tears threaten to leak out of her one good eye and down her scarred face. Alex rubs his thumb over her hand once again. She feels a strange warmth as he raises her hand to his mouth to softly kiss it. “You’re beautiful” he murmurs into her raw and scarred skin.
For the first time in her life, Emma believes it.
Edit: damn this one blew up a bit. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments (both here and in my inbox) and also for the two (2!!!) silvers! I’ve actually been struggling with writing lately thanks to a real bitch of a depressive episode and so this means a massive amount to me. I’ll try to reply to as many as I can but I just thought I’d post a proper thank you on my comment as well. | "so your super power is... You.. Can't hear? She wrote on the pad.
I shook my head, she didn't get it.
We were sitting in the lunch room at work. People busily eating and sharing new superpowers. Phil got super hearing, the eavesdropper he is. He and Rose are two peas in a pod, that gossip. Being deaf wasn't enough apparently. I can hear her inside my head.
I looked down at my tuna and salad sandwich and finally bliss overcame me. I started eating despite Roger sitting behind me chewing louder than a trainwreck. His chomping, gulping and general mouth wetness noises would drive me to the brink of murder. It was the one thing I couldn't stand. Every. Single. Day.
"She didn't get it" I thought as I munched happily. I was deaf. | 2019-09-08T08:30:00 | 2019-09-08T04:36:22 | 2,511 | 1,066 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | **Log 1.01 - 6462/55**
Potential major new biodiversity harvest, Arm 4, stellar coordinates \[classified\]. Approximately 9 million identifiable species, DNA-based. Minor indigenous sapience, no world government, hive mind, or cybernetic control. Not even common language.
**1.02 - 6462/56**
Received message from imperial satrap, Council of Entities agrees with assessment, harvest of new world moved to top priority, codename Project Windfall. Biodiversity loss on Zor homeworlds considerably graver than generally leaked to non-Council Entities, new harvests to take priority over inorganic material harvests. Changing course to Windfall.
**2.01 - 6462/87**
Reached Windfall. Harvester ships Ixin, Cath, Roklut expected to arrive by 90-91. Recon drones deployed.
**2.02 - 6462/89**
Recon drones confirm probe drone. Massive biodiversity lode plus abundant liquid water. No organized opposition. Indigenous sapience in form of tribal/social primates, greater native intelligence than any other non-Zor species yet encountered, rudimentary AI capabilities, but most advanced capabilities used to fight other members of same species. Most advanced weapons are fission type, they hesitate to use them on one another only due to threat of retaliation in kind, but still an impressive accomplishment for a species with no guiding central authority.
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, will set aside additional share of the most bountiful harvest in the last millennium for the Zor if he'll sponsor additional seat on Council of Entities.
**2.03 - 6462/92**
Harvester ships arrived. Commencing harvest of Windfall.
**2.04 - 6462/99**
Native primate technology as expected is no match for ours. Multiple ape social colonies ("cities") razed and harvested. Resistance fierce but ineffective.
**3.01 - 6462/120**
Harvest progressing but slower than expected. Native primates behave in substantially unanticipated ways exposed to new stimuli. No significant trouble expected but we should perhaps pay attention to their social reaction complex as interesting in its own right, not mere biodiversity in a universe in which that always appears to be shrinking.
**3.02 - 6462/160**
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, harvest can progress as things stand but additional armed escorts would assist. Native primates ("humans," they call themselves) demonstrate substantial adaptive capabilities, particularly with respect to martial capabilities. As you are aware, our weapons cannot be used by nonmembers of our species due to DNA coding that makes all our weapons cease function if held by an entity not of our species. In less than 50 days, these "humans" came up with the barbarous but effective adaptation of making gloves out of our skins, allowing them to hold our weapons and turn them against us.
**3.03 - 6462/161**
Humans merit further study after skin-stealing adaptation. Harvested multiple of their soldiers, of various ages, intact. Placed in stasis for further study.
**3.04 - 6462/197**
Almost all standard harvest protocols for problematic biodiversity surprisingly ineffective with respect to humans. Already considering resorting to Cleanser virus but degradation of the biodiversity haul of Windfall would substantially impair strategic objectives of harvest in the first place.
**3.05 - 6462/249**
Human population ongoing adaptation proving dangerous. Multiple counteroffensives and countermeasures somehow initiated *spontaneously*, imitating coordination with no coordinating authority or intelligence. Spontaneous organization of species-wide resistance including against orbital and ecological attacks. Apologies to the Council of Entities, but we cannot leave them alive. Initiating Cleanser virus, programming human DNA as primary target but DNA similarity of human and other biodiversity on this planet means harvest will be dramatically curtailed.
**3.06 - 6462/259 - URGENT**
Cleanser virus largely successful but significant populations of humans remain alive. Moreover, those left alive appear to have sequenced and adapted it to attack *us*, somehow in the space of ten days.
Expeditionary force and harvesters have withdrawn to ships. Will proceed with battle against humans and harvest Windfall with drone tech alone. Analysis at this point is pessimistic; drone tech alone unlikely to prevail given chaotic but frenetic adaptation of human species so far against Cleanser and other rogue biodiversity countermeasures.
**4.01 - 6262/272 - URGENT**
Developing incident in progress in stasis chamber, unscheduled maintenance mode activations, emergency termination sequence malfunctioning. Human soldier prisoners may be loose onboard.
**4.02 - 6462/272 - URGENT**
They are coming. Initiating self destruct.
**5.01 - July 3, 2077 - YEAH, PROBABLY STILL URGENT**
Cool log. Looks like the self-destruct failed though. That kinda sucks. Sucks that we had to use your harvest ships to harvest the remains of most of our own cities, too, but there wasn't much left of them and at least your little flying factories helped us jumpstart our own fleet with all the metal of our old cities. Gotta live somewhere. And the view of Earth from space is still majestic even if y'all fucked it up on the surface. Oh, also, if you're reading this, just FYI ... we're *still* coming. Got nothing else to do now, and payback's a bitch.
Signed,
Humanity. | "We all know they're weaklings, Commander Smith," The soldier said, saluting Commander Smith, "I mean, come on, they don't know how to fire gamma-rays. In fact, they haven't built any spaceships yet."
"That's enough, Soldier 92-BII," said Commander Smith, "We're headed to their planet. The news spread that it colonized all of their star system after finishing the completion of Pluto a
'dwarf planet'. What a strange term." Commander Smith walked through the hallway.
Soldier 92-BII looked out the window. The spherical object he saw had a red and gray surface, with a layer of nitrogen shaped as a heart. Nearby was another gray object, but one of it's poles was orange. "How fascinating. It seems yellow dwarves have the strongest gravity of all the stars." Soldier 92 said.
A few minutes later, they had an encounter with a giant, dark blue orb with a relatively large moon. The ship steered towards the moon and eventually landed.
Various soldiers began walking onto the surface of the alien world that was being controlled by humans. Amongst hushed tones, Soldier 92 learned that the name of the moon was 'Triton' and the planet it was orbiting was named 'Neptune'. "This is a true alien world." Soldier 92 said before realizing that Triton was his stop, so he scurried off.
Looking around the icy world were giant structures made of metal and glass, rising high into the night sky. Some were connected. Humans could be seen walking amongst the city on the alien world, thriving. However, the peace ended, disturbed by a scream. Soldier 92 ran over to the source of the scream. Another soldier, Soldier 98-7BG, had stabbed a human in the chest. "What?!" Soldier 92 grunted angrily when he was tackled by a human, who was furious.
"KILL THE ALIENS!" Someone said over an intercom.
Total war had started. To 92's surprise, the human he was dueling was incredibly strong. Several of his allies' bodies began crashing onto the ground of Triton.
Suddenly, a flicker of silver light. Humans left and right fell to the ground, their weapons disappearing. It was Commander Smith. "92, what happened? Why did this start?"
"W-well, uh, 98 decided to stab a human, and apparently that made the rest of them mad, so then they started dueling us. To my surprise, they were holding their own. We have several fatalities, including 98." explained 92, gesturing to the corpses of his allies.
"This is going to be one of many, I can just feel it." | 2022-08-05T13:08:24 | 2022-08-05T10:57:14 | 561 | 107 |
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive. | I looked at the baby laying naked and dirty on the cold wet ground. I'd happened across it you see, on my way to an important appointment. He was just laying there, in the alleyway, barely breathing. Now, something to know about us demon types. We do so enjoy watching a mortal die. It is a pleasure I indulge in.
It's a competition you see. The Morning Star rewards us handsomely should we meet our monthly quotas. My penthouse suite was paid for with my last bonus.
I would have kept going, but something was very odd. It was alone. And not just physically. No angel watched from a silent corner, ready to carry the little soul away. No angel at all.... It was *utterly* alone.
The little thing seemed to call to me, though it was barely breathing. I could see the struggle, little though it was, the want for life. My eyes widened, my breathes coming in short bursts through my nose.
I slowed my pace, looking around warily. If an angel were present I would have no claim on a soul this new. It wouldn't even be a contest. But to my growing astonishment and delight, it seemed the mortal had no guardian. In all my years of wandering this earth, I've never come across it.
My heart, or.... whatever it was in my chest area, twinged with a sudden and shocking pain. Was it pity I felt? Sadness? Whatever it was, it was alien to me but familiar all the same.
I wanted to hold it, but I didn't want to maim it. I wanted to.... I just wanted to hold it. It looked so cold, all blue and blotchy like that. Soon, it would be dead.... where was the angel? There is always an angel! They make things so difficult sometimes! Where was the fucking angel?
It was against the rules to directly touch a mortal. We were allowed to whisper, and that was it. I mean, it's really all we need, it's not like it's hard or anything. You do most of the work for us anyways.
Those who broke the rules were hunted. By both sides.
I waited a few more minutes, until it's breathing slowed to but a whisper. With no angel to guide the soul, it would be eaten quickly by the wraiths that wandered the streets, lost to the abyss.
"I'm so gonna regret this." I said. Then I gently reached down and lifted the child into my arms.
I kissed him on his wee little head, and his breathing grew deeper and deeper into the soft rhythms of slumber. His color returned, his cheeks rosy and warm. His dark hair was matted with dirt and grease, his face not much better.
But I couldn't help myself.
I stared at his face for what seemed an eternity. My mind raced. This would be a prize indeed for Lucifer, a chance to undermine God and His creation. I would be rewarded beyond my wildest dreams.... and yet.... as I stared at that face...
I whispered a word of power and shadowy mist wrapped around the child like a blanket.
"Hello, little mortal. My name is Victor. You are mine now, little one. Mine."
I searched my surroundings once more. All was quiet. Then I turned around and went back the way I came.
\-----------
Hey guys thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! | [Poem]
Murder always is the easiest answer.
If there's no man then there's no problem, no cancer.
Discarded by heaven but you will be well
For you have received a guardian from hell.
Follow my ways and I'll make you King.
And the stories they'll tell, the songs they will sing
A terrible king with a robe made of black
And he'll will wonder, CAN we take him back? | 2019-12-14T20:11:28 | 2019-12-14T17:30:43 | 115 | 76 |
[WP] Write a romantic comedy. Difficulty: both lovers are emotionally mature and have excellent communication skills | Bobby’s eyes widened in a mixture of shock and amusement, ‘Sorry, can you repeat that?’
Sally, his date, didn’t seem in the least bit fazed. She looked up from her food and stared directly at him, her dark eyes devoid of humour, and repeated. ‘It’s odd.’
Bobby sucked his teeth slightly annoyed at having to clarify himself. ‘Not that bit,’ he explained through gritted teeth, ‘the bit before.’
Sally, who had continued eating, looked up again, then her face broke into a smile as she understood. Bobby felt a tinge of lust as her dark curls bounced around her face when she began to laugh girlishly. ‘Sorry, yes of course.’ Her lips seemed pinker than usual. ‘I think I would rather just stay in with him than go on a date. It’s odd.’ She blushed, realising what she’d said. ‘Most dates…’ she stammered, ‘minus the ones with you, obviously.’
Bobby could feel all the lust he felt for her fall away. They’d only been on a few dates, but this was still a little hard to hear. He coughed uncomfortably, trying to find the words to carry on the conversation. ‘Why odd…’ He finally prompted.
She looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘Well, I guess, really, it’s odd that I just want to hang out with my completely platonic male flatmate all the time. But, as I said, I guess my favourite thing to do is to sit on my couch, watch a movie, eat some pizza and drink a beer or two…’ she stopped herself, but Bobby knew the words she wanted to add; ‘with Damien’.
Bobby nodded slowly, now slightly bemused at the conversation. ‘Do you not think that, considering everything you've just said, you might consider him as more than just a platonic male flatmate?'
Sally stared back at him blankly. He could almost hear her brain working, the neurons madly firing trying to comprehend what he was insinuating. He sat up straight in his chair, composing himself, highly aware that he was essentially about to ‘cockblock’ himself. He spoke slightly slowly, trying to make sure she was keeping up. ‘Bearing in mind you are sat on a date, with let’s face it a very attractive and eligible man who fancies you, and you’re talking about him, I have a slight suspicion you might in fact be in love with him?’
Up until this point he’d assumed she was just hiding her feelings, but now, as he watched it dawn on her, he realised she’d just been oblivious to the whole thing. Her mouth fell open, somewhat comically, and she stared off into the distance, her eyes wide. He couldn’t help but laugh. She immediately came back into the room, and her face flushed red in embarrassment.
‘I’d… I just…’ she stuttered, her face bright pink. ‘I guess I should have realised. I think it just crept up on me.’
Bobby nodded in a compassionate sort of way. The damage was done, the date was over. He sighed wistfully and took up his fork to continue eating, ‘at least the food’s good’ he thought apathetically.
‘Everything ok here?’ Both Bobby and Sally’s heads shot up in shock to look at the waiter who had creeped up to the table unnoticed to them. Bobby smiled and nodded.
‘I’m in love with my best friend.’ Sally blurted out, a look of surprised horror on her face.
The waiter raised his eyebrows in a comical look of shock which quickly gave way to an odd sympathetic and yet encouraging smile. Awkwardly he gently patted her arm and said ‘good for you.’ He then walked away leaving Sally to process the information and Bobby to eat.
After some time, in fact just as Bobby finished his food and put down his fork, Sally seemed to wake up from her thoughts and stood up out of her chair.
‘I… I should tell him.’ Bobby nodded, now only half listening as he started to survey the dessert menu. ‘He deserves to know.’ Bobby nodded again, not looking up from the menu until he became aware of the silence than had fallen between them. When he did he saw she was sat back down and staring at him sympathetically. He felt a jolt of irritation, and he put his menu down to stare a little harshly back at her. ‘I must be the worst date you’ve ever had. I’m so sorry.’
He could hear the emotion in her voice, he sighed irritably but his expression softened slightly. ‘Do I like you? Yes. Did I think we may have a future? Maybe. Do I want to be in love with someone who’s in love with someone else entirely? No way. It wouldn’t have been very good if I’d gone on to fall in love with you and then you’d realised, would it? I’d rather hear it now than when we were just about to board a plane to a new home. Or on our wedding day. Or at the birth of our first child…’ She raised her eyebrow. ‘Ok, too far, but you catch my drift. I’d much rather get it all out in the open, and just let you run off into the sunset with him now, rather than be ‘that guy’ who gets in the way and ends up cast as the jerk despite the fact I’m actually just the guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time on a date with a woman who isn’t emotionally intelligent enough to work out when she’s in love with someone despite the fact, from what you’ve told me, she spends pretty much every waking second of every day either with him or, at the very least, thinking about him...’ He took a deep breath, it was a sore subject, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to point out to a date that things weren’t exactly ‘on track’ towards a healthy emotional entanglement. She continued to stare at him blankly. He rolled his eyes. ‘So no, it’s not the worst date I’ve ever been on.’
She looked a little relieved, and nodded.
They sat awkwardly for a moment before Bobby pointed towards the door and said the most whimsical thing he could think ‘go to him…’ She mumbled something about paying half of the bill, put some crumpled notes on the table beside her half eaten meal, and left.
Bobby rolled his eyes, and picked up the menu once more. Just as he’d decided he would stick to coffee, he heard a gentle, lady-like cough. He put down his menu to see an attractive female sat opposite him. Like Sally, her eyes were dark, but these had a sultriness to them that replaced Sally’s innocent, almost girlish, look.
‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing…’
Bobby gestured that he didn’t mind. ‘Are you here alone?’
‘I wasn’t, but I am now.’ She smiled again, this time a little mischievously. ‘My date had an unhealthy fixation with his work friend that I felt he should explore before we pursued anything.’
Bobby laughed knowingly. ‘So he’s gone to find her to confess his love?’
She laughed again, ‘him… and no, I think he’s gone to be alone and process his newly realised sexuality.’
She smiled broadly and extended a slender hand. ‘I’m Olivia Johnson. I’m not in love with any of my friends, have no irregular feelings towards my dad and have no exes in the closet other than one who ‘ghosted’ me a few years ago who I would probably still punch if I saw him now. I am emotionally available and find you, upon first impressions, incredibly attractive.’
Bobby obligingly took her hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘I’m Bobby Holden. I have no sexual urges for men, my mother was a perfectly lovely human but I don’t want my girlfriend to be anything like her and I would, one day, like a wife and a couple of kids to keep me out of trouble. I am emotionally available and I find you very attractive indeed.’
They sat staring lustfully at each other, until they noticed the waiter stood between them. He looked from one to the other and he blurted out, 'You're both completely insane.' | “So how did you two lovebirds meet?” Sian asked, breaking the silence with a playful smirk. She knew full well how the young couple before her had met but she wanted to embarrass them in front of the group after what they had just made her do. Moira’s burning cheeks proved testament to just that. Satisfied with her question, she relaxed back with a soft chuckle. “Told you I’d get you back.” She gloated, sticking her tongue out childishly.
Moira’s cheeks continued to glow a cherry red as she glanced over at her partner. Who knew truth or dare could be such a dicey game at 32? They really were too old for this kind of carry on. Joseph offered her the same goofy smile he always did, the very one she had come to love, but there was still a tinge of pink highlighting his cheeks. “I’ll let you explain this one love, you always were better at-well, I guess they’ll see.”
Gregory, Laurel and Charlotte snapped their attention back to Moira, curiosity evident on their faces. This evening had taken a few turns they hadn’t quite expected when they first agreed to play spin the bottle. The group had become firm friends during their holiday break in Austria five years ago. So much so that they agreed to meet up every year to share their holidays together. This year they were somewhere a little more temperate, choosing sunny Spanish beaches over the snowy slopes.
“Uh…” Moira paused for a moment, noticing the groups eyes on her. She took a large gulp of her drink before taking a deep breath and beginning her little tale. “Well I used to be something of a-”
“-Con-artist?” Sian interrupted with a giggle. The groups eyes found a new target, which was met with a collective gasp.
“Sian!” Joseph scolded, “it’s Moira’s story let her tell it.”
“Oooooh fine!” She said, settling down. “Just want to make sure it’s told true…”
“I would call myself more of a negotiator but-” Moira cut in, reclaiming the spotlight “well I had a job to do until I was otherwise engaged.”
“I'd be more inclined to say you were distracted by a sexy man beast. ” Joseph teased, prodding her on the shoulder.
“Heh, I guess you could say that.” She replied with a soft smile. “Joseph was in a party of gentlemen attending a stag do at the bar I worked at. I was a stripper.”
Gregory narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side as if trying to picture it. “Hey!” Joseph shouted, snapping his friend out of it. Laurel punched Gregory on the shoulder and he retracted back in shock. “Hey guys I wasn’t being pervy I swear!” He protested as Joseph shot daggers his way. “I just really didn’t expect that to be your background. And Joseph… Man… I didn’t really take you for the kind of guy that hung out at strip joints. I mean I was kind of expecting a funny story not something sleazy…”
“Jesus Greg, would you shut the fuck up for once in your life and just let someone tell a story without any damn interruptions?” Laurel asked exasperated.
“Yeah-sorry.” Greg replied a little deflated, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry guys. Please eh continue.”
“Sure…” Moira started, “look I know this isn’t what you guys expected but it wasn’t what I expected either. I was supposed to dance and seduce the groom, then collect proof of his unfaithfulness. I was being paid by his soon to be wife who wanted to lure her fiancé into cheating so that she could divorce him with relative ease and half his assets a year into the marriage. This would be after she "discovered" some compromising photos of her husband and myself but then Joseph happened.”
“Yeah sorry about that.” Joseph apologised with a chuckle, “really ruined your plans for that night didn’t I?”
Moira smiled at him warmly. “Joseph you saved my life that night. I wouldn’t be who I am today if you hadn’t charmed me like you did.”
“She means if I hadn’t fell on her, knocking over the expensive tray of champagne she was carrying over to us, smashing all the glass in the process and then impaling us both on the shards.” Joseph grimaced at the memory.
“We spent the rest of the night waiting at the hospital in A&E, I had a rather nasty laceration on my neck and he had bloody hands. Given what I was wearing we must have looked a state. The nurses thought I was a prostitute and he’d assaulted me. After treatment we wound up with the police. I sweet talked us out of there and Joe offered to get me home. Once he got there we ordered pizza and watched a film. In the morning we swapped contacts which led to a few dates-"
"No more strip joints there!" Joseph interjected, winking at his partner.
"-and the rest is history.” Moira finished speaking and drained the rest of her drink. “Unorthodox maybe but it worked for us.” She added.
“You know I love you Moira,” Joseph told her, leaning over for a kiss. "I love you too Joe." She replied, smiling into the kiss.
“Hey! You guys are making me hurl over here, come on!” Sian protested, rolling her eyes.
Edit: grammar.
| 2016-09-21T02:40:06 | 2016-09-21T00:31:47 | 1,038 | 90 |
[WP] Enthralled with your magical studies, you only leave your retreat every 10 days to buy supplies from a nearby town. However, you've become something of a legend. The mystical hermit who arrives every 10 years without having aged a day. | The town was festooned with garlands and chains, stretching across the market place, giving the little town of Juniper a sprightly and merry atmosphere. Positioned between the mountain ranges of Hyphin and Alizes, in the nook of a valley, it was a place of little consequence. Nothing of note ever happened in that sleepy town except for an event that occurred every ten years when a mysterious wizard appeared bringing medicines and magical ointments for the sick and unwell. The whole town would rejoice at his coming and treat him like a king. For almost a century, this tradition was a memorable celebration for the people. The folk begged the wizard, called Puntipunki, to stay longer but he always shook his head and declined with a warm smile. He needed to go back to the studies in the mountains. He explained that ten years for the people of the village were a mere ten days for him.
A whole generation were born, grew up and had children and grandchildren of their own over the nine times that Puntipunki visited. He brought much joy and revelry with his tricks and potions. His only request on each visit was the construction of a remarkable looking dome building at the base of the mountain.
It was once again, the big day of Puntipunki’s arrival. Mayor Larkin looked resplendent in his chosen attire. Golden medallions and metal rings, hung heavily down from his robes, glinting under the sun as he hobbled towards the paved entrance to the square. The people of the village waited while the short hand of the town clock finally heralded the arrival of their legendary visitor.
As the chimes of the tower clock rung out over the town, there was a sudden hush, as if the whole town of people took a collective breath as they waited for their guest. After a tense wait, the tip of a peaked blue hat bobbed up into view, bringing whoops and cheers from the gathered crowds and from the balconies of the small town houses.
Wizard Puntripunki strode up to the mayor who was bowing so low that his gut looked like it would touch the ground.
“You know,” said the wizard. “You don’t have to make all this fuss. I was only here ten days ago.”
The mayor laughed heartily.
“Ten days for you is a whole decade for us, dear friend. It is remarkable how you do not age. There was not grey in my hair the last time we met.”
The wizard lifted his staff and prodded the noticeable paunch of his host.
“I don’t remember there being quite so much of this either,” he said with a chuckle.
The mayor reddened. “It is true. We eat well, thanks to your magic. Come, we have so much to show you.”
Intrigued, the wizard followed the robed gentleman towards a globe shaped structure. It was situated at the bottom of Mt. Hyphin, bridging a bubbling brook.
“Ah – excellent,” Puntipunki said as he examined the smooth, wooden surface. “You followed my instructions to a T.”
Mayor Larkin puffed up his chest with pride.
“It took our carpenters a while to smooth off the edges. We finished it seven months ahead of schedule.”
Puntipunki stroked his beard and looked directly above at the midday sun. There was little shadow under the giant sphere. He had to give the townspeople credit. They had not erred on this task.
“The inside?” he asked. “Did you insulate it?”
At this, the mayor looked even more jubilant.”
“Follow me, my sire.”
They walked around the structure until they reached a wooden hatch on the ground. A young lad, bowing at the presence of the great wizard, lifted it up and immediately shaded it with a large screen.
“Very good,” said Puntipunki. “It seems that you have followed every detail.”
Together, they descended into the cool, dark earth and, stooping low, crept through a narrow tunnel until they reached a second wooden hatch which they heaved open.
The wizard smiled as he looked up. An ethereal wall of glinting emeralds, like the minerals inside a geode, embedded the walls of the interior. A gurgling sound came from the centre of the room, where a strange shaped fountain was bubbling in the centre. It was shaped like a font and through it ran the ancient, mystical waters of Mt. Aeiri.
It had taken Puntipunki a lifetime to find it, to source the waters with the magical properties to nurture new life.
It had not taken long to endear himself to the people of Juniper. A little healing and other cheap tricks had established him as a friend.
There was a problem though. It would take a century to achieve what he had planned and he did not have a century to wait. And so, Putnipunki fractured time, living on a bilateral plane, cocooned in his library of alchemy. Every ten days, ten years in the real world, he would visit the town of Juniper to see how his experiment was developing.
He had made so many sacrifices but it had all been worth it.
Puntipunki stepped up to the font and peered in.
There it was, his creation, gleaming under the refracted light of the gem stones. A small, marble like eye blinked up at him and a tail flicked back and forth.
“Ryu – my little child,” he whispered placing the new creature upon the palm of his outstretched hand. “You will wreak such beautiful wrath through the lands. You will be a new god to worship.”
He turned to the mayor.
“I shall see you in ten days.”
On his face was a dark smile and his eyes glinted like the gemstones above. | "I'm out of milk again," you mutter to yourself, as you take the empty carton out of the refrigerator. You glance into your workshop and your eyes stop on a tiny phial, slowly filling with a strange glowing liquid. "Ah," you think to yourself, "It will be ready within the hour." With a new goal in mind, you place the empty milk carton on the nearest counter and head to your room to begin packing for the journey ahead.
A short time later, you emerge, dressed in a pointy wizard cap with matching robe and carrying a bindle over your shoulder, filled with various items. You enter your workshop and carefully place a stopper on top of the phial, which has completely filled now, as you tuck it between the rope you are using as a belt. "If only it were possible to go more often," you sigh, knowing that it takes it exactly 10 days to synthesize more *Decennial Drink* (the boring, yet fitting, name you gave to the glowing liquid upon first discovering it's use).
You hike to the edge of a lake not far from your workshop and wade a few meters into the water. Taking the *Decennial Drink* from your belt, you pop the stopper off with your thumb and then down the liquid in one gulp. The bitter taste is only the beginning as the whole world seems to spin wildly out of control. You feel faint for an instant, but manage to stumble out of the water and take a seat on the grassy bank to regain your composure. Though you have done this many times before, you are always a little relieved to have made it safely.
"It's true!" exclaimed a small voice from behind you.
You turn around to see a small boy pointing excitedly at a large rock. After closer inspection you can see writing engraved upon it: "Starting in the year 1532, our land was first visited by the wandering wizard known as Bob. If you should happen by on the tenth year since last he arrived, call to him, and perhaps he will appear once again."
You hand the boy some chocolate from your bindle and then head off towards the town to see how much it has grown in the time you were gone. You have been able to deduce that every 10 days you are gone equates to 10 years when you return, though the correlation is still a mystery. It also seems that the drink you consumed takes about 24 hours to wear off. This was a bit awkward to find out the first time, though, since you went to sleep alone at a local inn, but awoke the next morning with an elderly gentleman on your left and his wife on your right. Luckily everyone involved was so surprised that you were able to leave without an incident. This is the reason for always returning to this lake when traveling back and forth - it's the least likely to change over time. | 2018-07-19T08:30:58 | 2018-07-19T08:08:19 | 92 | 17 |
[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. | I had finally done it. My finest achievement sat in front of me, glistening in the florescent lights of my workshop. I put on the suit and typed in "1 year +" into the controller on my wrist. With a bright flash of light and a loud *pop* I felt myself being ripped out of time. It was a strange sensation and is very hard to describe. With another loud *pop* I found myself in an unexpected environment. My workshop was gone, I was standing in an empty field with debris all around me. I looked around my old neighborhood, only to see everything had changed. No one was out walking around, and everyone's blinds were shut. All windows were barred and no cars were passing by the usually busy street. I slipped the suit off in order to not seem strange and stuffed it in a bag.
I walked down to a convenience store I frequented and was relieved to see that it was open for business. The worker at the register looked up at the sound of the door opening and then glanced back down at whatever he was reading. I walked up to him and gave him my best friendly smile.
"Excuse me sir, but do you happen to know what day it is?"
He looked at me with a straight face. "364"
"364 what?"
Now he looked confused. "364 days since the incident. 364 days since our new leader appeared and took over the world. 364 days since the new regime was enacted. 364 days since him." He said as he pointed to a poster on the wall. On the poster was an older man, about 50 years old. He had a stern look about him. The poster said *I'm Always Watching* in large font. How had a dictator taken over the whole world in a year?
I quickly exited the store and put on my suit again. I had to go back and fix this. I went back to my time and took off the suit. I put it back in my bag and carried it with me in case I needed it again. I didn't even know where to start with trying to fix this. Where should I go? *When* should I go? What should I do?
It was starting to get late as I walked down my street. I took a turn into an alleyway I used as a shortcut when I heard a voice say "Don't shout, just give me everything you have on you." I turned my head to see a young man of about 18 pointing a gun at me. "Now." He said sternly, motioning to the ground. There was something strangely familiar about him, but I couldn't place my finger on it. Whoever he was, I couldn't just hand over my suit. It was the result of everything I had worked so hard to achieve, and was maybe the only way I could correct the future.
I took off running. I caught the guy by surprise so he didn't respond as quickly as he should have. A few bullets whizzed by me as I ran. I was almost to the end of the alley when a bullet hit me in my right leg. I crashed to the ground, my momentum grinding my face along the pavement as it pushed back against me slowing me down. My bag flew out of my hand and landed a few feet away from me. The guy ran up to me and growled "You didn't have to do that you know, it could have been nice and easy." He cocked his head to the side when he heard police sirens. "Shit." He grabbed my bag and ran off.
I couldn't believe what had just happened. It wasn't fair. My whole life I dreamed of time travel. I got to use it ONCE and that was only to see a doomed future. A doomed future I no longer had much hope of saving. All I could do now was wait for the police to arrive.
As I sat waiting, bleeding, a loud pop went off behind me. It was him. The dictator from the future. "I suppose I should thank you for this suit." He said, gesturing to my suit. It looked well worn. "I never would have been able to do it without you." He smiled as he raised the gun.
*bang* | "What incident?" I asked the mail woman.
"Take a look." She pointed to the spot I'd appeared in.
I looked back and found a bare grass area ~~with a time machine booth~~ and a shattered driveway. "Whoa. What happened here?"
She looked at me, pained and said something that turned everything upside down.
"The man who lived here invented time travel. He went into the future, and then as soon as he was gone, the entire universe ceased to include him. He didn't just travel through time, he tore himself out of it. Now, we'll never have access to his invention." She went back to delivering mail.
I looked down at myself, still wearing the time-travel armor. I realized both the horror of not existing in my point in time anymore, and the power I now had.
I dialed a date into the machine. I couldn't fix this, or I'd cause a paradox. But I didn't technically exist in time, then I could do ~~whatever I wanted~~ anything! ~~And since the police academy failed me~~ I'd always wanted to help people, and this was my chance! I was no longer some wackjob in his basement building cosplay: I could be a hero.
I am Paradox. This is how I ceased to be. | 2016-06-30T09:07:18 | 2016-06-30T05:56:24 | 1,773 | 514 |
[WP] To keep pace with the growing population, the role of Death has been divided; each immortal member of the new Council oversees one specific method of death, with higher ranking members governing common ways to die. A problem has arisen, and the entire Council is called together... | Falling From A Tall Building found the chamber quite filled by the time he arrived. Taking a few steps forward, he noticed a familiar face and sidled up to her. "Hello," he said.
"Oh, hello," replied Bitten By A Venomous Snake.
"Has it started yet?"
"No, we've been waiting for a while."
"Any sign of Boss?"
Bitten By A Venomous Snake shook her head, a strand of nearly white hair escaping temporarily from her hood. "Executed By Lethal Injection said he was going to try and find out what's going on, but I don't know where he went."
Deciding that the others were as clueless as to the Boss's intentions in calling them together, Falling From A Tall Building looked around the room again. It seemed as if everyone was here, or nearly everyone; there were too many for Falling From A Tall Building to remember all of them. There were a few that he knew well, though, Plane Crash up near the front, Aids and Suffocation talking by the wall, Meth Lab Explosion a few meters away to the right. As Falling From A Tall Building's gaze returned to the front, two of the most senior members took their place on the small stage. Drowning stood at the center while Gunshot was on his left, holding a small device in her hand.
"May I have your attention please." Drowning's deep voice resonated through the room, quieting the multitude of conversation. "We have called you together here because we have encountered a problem in the workings of our--"
"Where's Boss?" A voice from the middle interrupted. Falling From A Tall Building recognized it as belonging to Mauled By A Wild Animal.
"He is attempting to dealing with the situation directly. As I was saying, we have encountered a pressing issue that must be resolved as soon as possible." Drowning nodded to Gunshot, who pressed something on the device she held. The wall behind Drowning became a screen, upon which was projected a photograph. The figure was short, pudgy, with a scruffy beard, and was dressed in the same cloak that the rest of the council wore. Falling From A Tall Building didn't recognize him.
Drowning continued, indicating the visage behind him, "This is Accidental Beheading By Piano Wire. He has neglected the rules that govern our council, specifically, that we take only the deaths assigned to us by the Boss. Accidental Beheading By Piano Wire has been taking souls recklessly, and not only is the balance being thrown off, but--" Drowning paused, looking out at the crowd, "--the humans are beginning to notice."
A murmur of conversation began to rise, but Falling From A Tall Building didn't take part. He was thinking back to a soul he'd collected some days previous, a drunk with his head smashed in behind an apartment complex, and the body he'd seen through a first-floor window, decapitated neatly, head lying a meter away from the body, no cause apparent.
Drowning continued speaking, ignoring the whispers. "If you encounter this individual, or any evidence of his presence, alert the Boss immediately and detain him if at all possible. He is a danger not only to the balance but possibly to us as well. If you have any information at all on the subject, please inform one of us immediately."
After Drowning finished, the crowd began to move toward the doors when Gunshot stepped to the center of the stage and began to speak. "One last thing," she said, looking out at the faces turned to look at her. "We do not know how Accidental Beheading By Piano Wire acquired the abilities to, er, overstep the Boss's rules. We are not sure what else he might be capable of. Please be cautious."
Falling From A Tall Building had a backlog of a few souls when the meeting ended. As he made his way to the first, a base jumper whose luck ran out, he realized he was looking over his shoulder constantly. He never did that.
| "Do we take him?" quizzed the council chairman. "He isn't dead." announced the lord high ruler of hell. "But he did die.." The emperor of life reminded them. "Look, this really should be the legion of reincarnations department.." said a voice from the back. Another voice rang out, "But the deceased disn't believw in reincarnation" "He is not deceased!" God announced. An eery quite swept through the government of the afterlife, technically the individual had died on the operating table, but he had been revived by the doctors. The council have dealt with this before, but ruled the mortal deceased for life.
"Right, I have a solution." declared the chancellor of life affairs. "This ia entirely unethical, but it fixes all of our problems." "Go on.." the secretary of war deaths requested. "We force the subject into our world to discuss his fate." supportive cheers went round the parliament, "I will be our ambassador." exclaimed God. This was the perfect solution, and John would get to tell his family he had met his deity.
| 2014-08-05T19:31:27 | 2014-08-05T18:50:47 | 28 | 10 |
[WP]: There is a special place in Hell for english teachers. Not because they had any more tendency for evil than anyone else, but because there are so many subtle ways to torture them that wouldn't bother anyone else. | Even before the car hit the barrier, I knew where I was going. When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't drunk anymore. I was looking around at a room that closely resembled my high school English classroom, except the guy sitting at my desk gauging my reaction was indubitably a devil. I wasn't surprised to be in Hell. I wasn't particularly nice in life. For fun, I splashed people on the side of the road, and drank lots of vodka. (At the same time, leading to the current situation.) At work, I took a gleeful pride in being an old battleaxe. Most of my students hated me for my strictness, high expectations and complete lack of interest in updating my teaching style to cater to there electronic drivel.
I frowned. Something was wrong. The devil shot me a sly smile. "Some thing.. wrong?" He murmured. The words seemed to float above his head like bubbles.
"Their should of been a comma," I muttered. The words came out different than I had intended. I gasped in shock. "I meant should of-" I stopped abruptly. "I can't say any thing right here?" I questioned. I looked above my head. Yep. Uncorrect.
The devil grinned gleefully. "Your quick too understand," he crowed.
"This is defiantly diabolical," I admitted. "There's not much fewer things you could do that wood really bother a English teacher."
"They're is nothing you can do about it!" The devil taunted.
"You and me will have two disagree about that. Its going to take alot more then that to effect me," I informed him. "I also taught middle school. Nothing you do can face me!" I reached into my pocket, where I kept my trusty red pen. I new what had to be done. It just made cents. I had been cent here to continue my relentless campaign of nit picking.
The devil started too look concerned. "Were did you get that?" he demanded, backing a way from me. "That's not allowed!"
I grinned in triumph as I slashed at the air above his head, correcting his blatant mistakes. He fell back, screaming as though dowsed with holy water. "Get the weapon!" He shouted, to what would normally be the third floor English hall way, but was suspiciously on fire and smelled strongly of sulphur.
"Do your worse, demon," I bellowed, brandishing the red pen.
A fourteen year-old girl strolled in. From her clothes, makeup, disinterested look and focus on her phone, she could of been anyone of my students in the last few years. "This place is figuratively the worst!" she stated.
"You mean figuratively-" I automatically corrected, then came up short, confused. Usually, I corrected my students the other way- no,it is not figuratively- ah- fuck- I meant figuratively - you know what I'm trying to think- But wait... Isn't it? Actually? Isn't Hell figuratively- goddamnit- the worst? I fell to my knees, screaming "WHYYYYYYYY"
Sincerely, Literally that person who gets very upset when people say literally when they mean figuratively | I went to hell and they kept on making me read runon sentences. Next door to my hell was one where cooks were provided with shakers that had too small of holes in them for the spices to come out. I realized that every profession had aspect that drove them crazy because they were experienced in their fields... | 2018-08-08T16:29:17 | 2018-08-08T14:55:46 | 40 | 17 |
[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) | "Mom", "Yes honey what do you want". "Why do people on tv shows eat cereal with a spoon and bowl? That's so weird. The milk and cereal would just fall off the sides. You need the spaces in the fork to hold it in place. Why doesn't the milk overflow when they use a bowl?" "Well you know TV, it's all fictional. They use special effects to make that work." Nobody could eat cereal with a spoon and bowl. They make it weird so it's interesting and full of surprises"
"MOM! The banana is ringing!" "Hello. Yeah. Yeah. Ok. I'm sorry say that again, this banana is a bit overripe. I can't hear you clearly. Yeah I said banana. Why is that weird? | 2019-05-27T22:44:20 | 2019-05-27T21:58:34 | 379 | 44 |
[WP] You are an incredibly powerful supervillain. Your nemesis is an ageing superhero that you string along out of pity. You do just enough villainy to get what you want but let your nemesis win every now and then. Things change when a truly evil supervillain enters the city and kills your rival. | “This is bullshit,” I muttered to myself as I trudged down seemingly endless hallways. A scowl had been painted to my face ever since I had read the news this morning. “Absolute horseshit!” I shouted down the hallway as I threw up my hands, absentmindedly allowing the handcart behind me to come to a noisy stop. I turned around and glared at the cart, knowing full well that I was the one who let it drop. “Fuck you.” I couldn’t say if I was talking to the cart or myself as I got it moving again.
I maintained my canter for a few more minutes as I snaked my way through this ceaseless maze of corridors. My anger boiled up again. “WHO WOULD DECIDE TO LIVE HERE? Dumbshit.” *I’ve been dragging this godsforsaken cart though who-knows-how-many hallways, this absolute COCK better be here.* Another turn and tall wooden doors with golden trim came into view. *Finally, I’m gonna kick these bastards open.* My boot slapped hard against solid wood as the rattling door hinges echoed down the maze of hallways I had just traversed. I sheepishly fumbled with the door latch before giving them one last kick that resulted in the desired effect.
The antechamber was a bit larger than I had expected, and the bastard himself was sitting smugly atop his throne at the opposite end of the chamber. “Welcome, King of Arrakea, I see you’ve finally come to bargain, you know---” the smug look on his face was immediately replace with confusion, “who the hell are you?”
“A pissed off neighbor,” I grumbled as the cart lurched forward into the room with me. I realized I was staring daggers at him. My anger boiled up again and took control as I found myself shouting “I’m gonna need you to fuck off out of this city right now.” I reached the center of the room and let the cart drop with a resounding clap against the tiles.
“That’s not going to happen,” he said dryly as the smug look returned to his face, “you see I’ve already---”
“Shut the fuck up! I don’t care! You ruined everything! *Do you even know what you did!?”* I guess I just won’t have any composure here. Let him feel your anger. “I’ve been working for years here and you think you can just waltz in here and do whatever you see fit?”
“The strong do whatever they see fit,” the smug look hadn’t left his face but it was clear he was getting annoyed, “This will be my kingdom soon, see to it that you---”
“FUCK. OFF.” I pulled the knife from my belt as I began to circle the cart. I ripped the canvas off the top to reveal the body that I had been dragging though the halls. Clad in aging steel armor that had certainly seen better days, blood stained the chest plate where dark magic had clearly shredded the steel. “You killed Old Roy. All he has ever done is protect this city. Sure he’s not that great at it, but it was still his calling.” I looked down at his face. The expression of horror wasn’t befitting his usual defiant countenance. “And I never sent too much for him to handle…” Tears started to well up behind my eyes. *Focus up, give him your anger. Show him your power.*
“All I had been doing was trying to find out the secrets to life. Sure, the byproduct tended to be a certain number of zombies, but Old Roy here always kept them out of the city. I never hurt anyone with my work.” My grip on the knife tightened. “All I wanted to do was bring back my wife. I didn’t care that I was labelled as villain.” The tears started rolling down my face despite making the mental effort to hold them back. In a way, Old Roy was the only person I was interacting with anymore. I had certainly grown lonely over the years. “I don’t know who you are and why you are here, but you have to leave.” *He has to fucking LEAVE this plane of existence.*
The man in the throne motioned to speak up, but I spoke over him once more. “Before you die, I’ll let you know something I learned over my decades of research.” The knife blade slid across the palm of my other hand, and as the blood started to flow I held it over Old Roy’s fatal wound. “Those who lived with great conviction always come back as the strongest.” The white-hot flames of life erupted out of the hole in Old Roy’s armor. “And I’ve never met anyone as convicted as Old Roy.”
The smug look on the man’s face had grown to a look of realization and horror as Roy began to rise, fire in his eyes even though his mind was surely vacant now.
“We’re both going to die right here by the hand of Old Roy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” | (Poem?) To the tune of “Losing My Religion” my REM
Oh, Captain Clobber
(Sigh) there’s slobber
on the bottom of your lip.
I’m ‘bout to aim the laser.
Be careful of your hip.
Oh No, you’ve fallen over.
I’ve pushed too far.
&nbsp;
That’s me in the Cowl.
That’s me with the spiked boots,
Trying to defeat you.
And trying to keep you from dying.
And I don’t think that you will make it.
Oh No, you’ve broke your hip,
because you slipped.
&nbsp;
Once we were mortal rivals
Once we went toe to toe.
I used to think you’d never die
&nbsp;
Every encounter.
Every epic battle
We’d trade bold proclamations.
And sometimes I would lose.
Our rivalry was bold, bold.
But now you’ve fallen over,
I’ve pushed too far.
&nbsp;
I let you win.
I made you win,
‘Cuz you couldn’t on your own.
I pushed your hand, and planned,
And you stood proud and noble. Hopeful.
But what if all these fantasies come
crashing down.
Because I think, I’ve pushed too far.
&nbsp;
Once we were mortal rivals
Once we went toe to toe.
I used to think you’d never die
&nbsp;
But time has other plans.
Time has other plans.
&nbsp;
What’s on the horizon?
Who’s landing her mech-suit
in the city center?
She’s murdered Captain Clobber.
Now i’ll calibrate my lasers.
This villain's gone too far,
Pushed me too far.
&nbsp;
You’ve just made a mortal rival.
And now we’ll go toe to toe.
I think i’m going to make you die.
&nbsp;
I fire off my lasers.
tasers, phasers
mega-quasars
To honor Captain Clobber, Captain Clobber
Captain Clobber, Clobber. | 2020-08-31T13:16:29 | 2020-08-31T10:11:40 | 246 | 19 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet. | When Joran first awoke on the metal beast, he thought he had finally drunk himself straight to Devil’s End.
The pounding in his head wasn’t just from the liquor. There was a rattling all around him, like a steady cacophony of horses travelling through paved streets.
He sat up, dazed and more than a little confused. He was sitting on chairs, but these were strange, made of a dull black material that was hardy but hollow and padded with red, crocheted cushions. He was boxed in by grey walls made of the same material as the seats around him. His only company was a window to his left and a small door to the right. A dusty, barren landscape flew by at a speed that made Joran dizzy.
He heard noises all around him. People were shouting in strange languages he couldn’t understand. He thought he should feel more confused and scared, like them, but all he really wanted was a drink. Dropping his head into his hands, he tried to drown out the noise.
Suddenly, there was a chime above him. The other people around him shut up. He looked up, wearily, and saw a spherical black mesh embedded with holes. A cheery, feminine voice spoke out from it, in Ostian, his language.
“Hello, dear passenger. Welcome aboard the Parellium. Due to the unfortunate failure of a Tessian Arc-Reactor, there have been dimension-wide ripples resulting in the enmeshing of your reality with those of your fellow passengers. Please check your compartment hatch for further details regarding your journey. We hope you enjoy your stay!”
The magic voice shut off. Joran didn’t really understand what she was talking about. He was more concerned with the voice: was there a tiny woman trapped in the contraption above him? He poked gingerly at the mesh, but there was no response. No cry for help. Joran was left wondering what twisted hell the Devil had concocted for him.
A light began to shimmer on the backing of the seat in front of him. The light traced a small rectangle, and then it popped open, revealing a folded square of paper.
He grabbed it but was startled when, all of a sudden, screams starting to ring around him. They were cries of rage, frustration, madness. He heard dull thumps ring throughout the moving carriage, like the people were slamming on their walls.
He opened his own sheet of paper. He read the words scribed within:
"Joran Alos, your world as you know it is gone, but not dead. It has been compressed into a tiny square of fabric amidst a larger tapestry of alternate realities. To unravel it will take time, but it can be done. There is a way you can help fix this.
Whatever you do, don’t get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop. There will be temptations abound. You will be tested in ways you’ve never imagined.
But, if you wish to see your brother Huran and your daughter Mina again, you will persevere. You will stay aboard the Parellium, no matter what.
More details will be coming soon."
---
Joran traced the sheet of paper in the pocket of his jeans. When he first read the note, he had wanted to tear it to shreds, in fear of what the Conductor had been telling him. He heard some of the others did that day; he almost did. There was still a tiny rip in the top left corner.
After twenty years, the note was near crumbling to bits. He never unfolded it anymore. He didn’t need to; he had long ago memorized the words. The paper was, strangely, a source of strength for him. A reminder of what was at stake, when the images of his brother and daughter were no more than mental shadows. He whispered their names amidst the Sirens on Stop 18, at the Lake of Vice and Victory on the 71st, and especially, above all, at the Fount of Indulgence on the 100. They were his protectors, his prayers, his shield against the whims of the Station.
Twenty long years. He had fought, cried, lost, loved, and lost again. There were once 208 of them in the Parellium, representing the 208 realities. Now, there were only 13.
He stared out his cabin window at Starfield, the Last Stop. The train rumbled on invisible tracks through an endless night littered with tiny pinpricks of light bisected by a great river of galaxies and suns.
Long ago, his dear friend Anix from the planet Ke’aan told him that the river had been named the Milky Way, from another planet in another reality. Anix had laughed at that, shaking his strange horned head. Joran had asked what was so funny.
Anix just smiled wistfully, and said, “In my language, we called the river Kuna’so, which roughly translates, in Parellial, to the ‘Milkstain.’ The mysteries of the universe, my brother. I would have loved to meet such people. I think their name is more fitting, don’t you?”
Anix left the Parellium at the Hall of Memory on Stop 185, two, incredibly long years ago.
Joran sat back and braced himself for the inevitable thud when the Parellium locked into the Last Stop. They would stay here for three hours then take off again, looping back to the First Stop. He closed his eyes to take a short rest.
The mic chimed above him to announce the 208th stop.
“Hello, dear passengers, I hope your ride has been pleasant and relaxing. We will now proceed to the Pathfinder, the 209th stop, and the destination of your embarkation. We hope to see you again soon.”
The mic shut off. Joran opened his eyes slowly, and sat still for a few moments. His brain felt weak and sluggish, like in the early days after he had first awoken on the Parellium.
He turned his gaze to the window. The train never stopped. It continued past the docking point, and took a right, when before it had always gone straight. There hadn’t been a track to the right until now.
The Pathfinder. The true Last Stop. He had finally made it after twenty years. Tears fell down his scarred face, running through the tracks the train had worn on him over two decades of struggle and strife.
Joran whispered the names of his brother and daughter, as the stars and galaxies and the Milky Way fell away, leading him into a brilliant, blinding light.
---
Check out my profile for other stories I've written! :D | The train shuffled to a stop, and people hurried off. The seats beside me were emptied, and I dropped my tense shoulders. I released the death grip on my bag, exhaling in relief. There were only a few people left in the train car, so I could loosen up a bit.
I pulled out my clip-on headphones and set them to my ears. When I reached for the phone in my pocket, an unexpected crunch made me flinch.
I emptied my pockets, trying to figure out what had made the sound. It was a sticky note, new and clean despite the lint it picked up.
Round, neat handwriting was scrawled in the middle: ''What ever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop.''
I glanced at the train's door as they started to hiss, signaling their closing. This wasn't even my stop, but I felt a strong urge to see what happened if I didn't stay on the train.
'It's just a prank,' I told myself, disregarding the note and turning on my music.
A strange tremor spread about my body. I continued to drown myself in my music, sometimes switching the genre in an attempt to cheer my mood.
Finally, the train stopped at my station. I gathered my belongings and headed to the doors. The remaining passengers shuffled out. As my food crossed the yellow strip that indicated platform from car, I froze.
A sensation overwhelmed me. It was unlike anything I'd ever felt. Anxiety worse than giving a speech was dumped over my head. A taste more repulsing than my grandmother's cooking slunk down my throat.
I retracted from the door, reclaiming my seat. I took the crumpled note out of my pocket and stared at it, unable to read it because of my shaking hands.
'It can't hurt to wait for the last stop,' I told myself.
-=-=-=-
Twenty years. I think that's how long it's been.
All my bones rattled and my muscles ached. I was slumped back on my seat, wishing that I'd reach the next stop soon. Up until now I'd been surviving on the kindness of strangers, but I hadn't seen anybody for a few weeks.
'Just one more stop,' I kept telling myself. Just one more station until this hell would end, until the train reached its last stop.
I fiddled with the numerous sticky notes, looking over the now-familiar handwriting. I'd gotten one every year or so. Some were encouraging, telling me 'happy birthday' or praising my courage. Others were... I didn't want to think about them.
I had too much time on my hands. I had nothing to do but think in my headspace. Nothing to do but imagine the songs that once played on my phone. Nothing to do but concentrate on my hunger and thirst and pain.
I was thinking again. I was about to die of thirst; why don't I just get off? The dark tunnels of the subway never changed, so surely I'd still be in some kind of city.
The next time the train stopped, I hauled my frame to the door. It was a pathetic, desperate crawl. I approached the door, as I'd attempted many times before, the surreal fear seized me again.
But I pushed past it. There was nothing to lose. Twenty years of my life were gone, all because of a stupid prank. I was just overthinking things. I was being anxious for nothing.
As I dragged myself off the train and onto the empty platform, a sigh of relief escaped me. Nothing was happening.
''I thought I told you to wait for the last stop," A harsh roar echoed around me.
The last thing I saw were its long claws slicing through my chest. | 2020-07-17T12:03:37 | 2020-07-17T10:24:49 | 140 | 97 |
[WP]You're the last vampire left. You've been alive since 2000bc. Tell us your life story and why is your kind almost extinct | Too live millennia long. I've watched people endeavor the concept alone. Their whole lives gone to waste, trying to achieve longer if not eternal life.
Fools.
Why would anyone want to prolong their fates in hell?
The longer you stay the more you crumble. I have experienced that myself.
We were with many once.
About three thousand years ago our kin inhabited the world alongside humans. There were no signs of discontent or jealousy at all. At least, we didn’t notice it.
Of course, we tried to hide ourselves at first, for we knew how power hungry humans are. But after centuries of hiding, we decided to take the risk. We had convinced ourselves that by enlightening the humans of our existence, we could live a better life.
You see, our lives were far from perfect. The rapidly expanding human societies made us into nomads. During the day we weren’t able to perform much work. The sun forced us to stay into the shadows and we couldn’t sleep either. Since humans are active during the day and sleep the night away, we had to be on our guard the entire day.
Luckily we vampires didn’t need to sleep much. I heard many tales and rumors about our race, but the one that despises me the most is that we are just like humans. Indeed, we may look like them, but we have very little in common in all other aspects.
Humans are violent of nature, time has proven that. We weren’t. Humans manipulate, destroy, hate and are driven by self-interest only. We didn't care for such concepts. However, as much as I hate to admit it, there were some exceptions. The relation between the parents and their children often made me wonder. Why hadn’t we loved our children? We regarded them as merely a necessity for further surviving. Children were uncommon and most of the time unwanted. We could live millennia’s long perhaps even longer, so the initial stimulus of having offspring wasn’t really there, which was a good thing, because children only slowed us down.
Besides, love was a subject, which was never fully understood. We had different genders yes, but love simply wasn’t that common. It was present however, covered in a thick layer of mud and pride. Love was a weakness was the general idea. There was simply no benefit of loving someone. A strong vampire would never disgrace himself by admitting his love for another vampire.
The only thing we vampires focused on was hierarchy. Not by violence, as the humans often do, but by testing one’s blood. It was a common ritual to sip a vampire’s blood to determine his or her fate. The weak vampires weren’t allowed to pick their own targets. They had to wait until after the stronger had chosen their targets. We were very careful about whose blood we drank, for weak human blood would make one weak, especially when the human turned out to have sick blood.
Blood was one of the main concerns of our race and so, much to my regret, we couldn’t distance ourselves from the humans entirely. We didn’t need much, but enough to keep us from digging ourselves into complete isolation. So after a while, we were surrounded by humans.
Their culture infiltrated the minds of some of our kin and gradually, but certainly we changed. Love began to spread and the need of social interaction arose. Eventually we stopped traveling, having decided to make ourselves known to the world. We started to live among the humans. I had advised against it, but my words were spoken to deaf ears.
“Haven’t you seen how change prospered the humans? Perhaps it is time for us to change to.”
And so it happened: We changed. .
The few children we had brought into existence were the main cause. Children are always the cause of revolution, I’ve seen that now. Generations change traditions that stood for generations. It was how it was always done. For us however, it would stop after one.
It was impossible to refrain yourself from the quickly changing vampires. Even I began feeling love towards one of the vampires. I had cursed it at first, but once she clearly showed her interest in me, I couldn’t resist it. The images of happy human couples shot through my mind. Why shouldn’t I be happy like that? Hence, our relationship was born.
My love grew stronger and stronger with the years. I thought I had discovered happiness.
How wrong I was.
After all those careless years, I had forgotten the main reason why love wasn’t something you should want. One time or another, it will leave you broken.
As soon as the humans realized our nature, they wanted to experiment on us. Naturally we refused. Driven by their jealousy they soon declared war upon our race. They made the general public afraid of us, portraying us as violent feeders. They were our prey they said. Vile lies. Never had we seen them as inferior or did we intend to hurt them. It was just an absolute necessity. We tried to talk sense into their minds, but in vain. War was imminent.
We knew absolutely nothing about war. Our race wasn’t like the humans, who had fought wars their entire existence. It was like nothing we had ever seen before. No one could have foreseen what they did to us. They slaughtered everyone who wasn’t fast enough to hide or refused to cooperate in their cruel researches. I saw them pillaging my tribe and raping my beloved. T
There was one thing in the world I had come to love and they took it from me. They slaughtered my brothers, they contaminated our women and they enslaved the weak. They used their arms of war to crush any resistance. I had tried everything, but she was taken from me nonetheless. They spat on me, mocked me, told me what they would do to her and eventually tortured me to death.
At least, that is what they thought. I awoke several years later, filled with hatred and ready to avenge.
Edit: Any feedback is appreciated! | I furrow my brow as I wake, the darkness of night calling to me, the sun had set recently, the air was hot in my lungs. I sat up, looking around my strange little home, upon a hill far from any humans, though, not too far of course, I do still need a meal from time to time.
I had a visitor, while I was asleep, they knew I lived here, they'd heard stories from the local children, they tell stories of the strange house upon the hill, with the old man inside who never sees the light of day.
I wore a cowl to conceal my identity, my picture is known, having lived for so many years I've been seen on many an occasion.
"What is it?" I said, my voice course in the heat of day, the reflection of the sun from the cold marble floor singed my face lightly, I grimaced.
"Well I heard about the old man living on this hill, I wanted to see if the stories were true," She reached forward, grabbing at my hood, I quickly grabbed her hand, my cold grey skin a dark contrast against her pale pink flesh, she gasped and I closed the door, locking it, watching carefully out my window as she ran back to the town, I sighed, knowing that I'd have to move that night.
Wiping my eyes I look outside, the town was bright, flames shining on torches, I knew this day would come, as it did to many of my kind, I played it as smart as I could but I knew one day I'd be caught. The others, they went on rampages, killing many people in short bursts, out of blood-lust. I stayed away from them, they died too quickly, I used to watch from a distance, watching them as they were hunted, fools. All of them, I know not if I'm the last, but I can be almost certain I am.
I had to leave quickly, or I would surely die like those before me, I quickly escaped out the back of my home, I knew they'd recognise me, having let myself age little by little over the years, so I wouldn't become known, I fled into the woods, my old body failing me as I went deeper and deeper, my age taking it's toll, the moon and stars blocked out by the canopy above, my lungs burning, with no sign of the lights following me, I lie down. I knew they'd find me eventually, all I could do was allow myself to relax on my last night, lying in the soft moss, nature around me drowning out all else, all of my memories came flowing back, so many things, over so much time, my mind felt clear and I mumble to myself;
"As I rest, in this dark night,
I feel not the need to fight,
my life was grand,
I had no greed...
my breathing slows,
the sounds all stop,
my final breath and my heart too,
comes to rest, in this darkest night." | 2015-06-21T08:27:09 | 2015-06-21T08:11:20 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] The peaceful humans are inhabiting a beautiful garden world known as Earth. They love sharing their eco-centric technologies with us. And yet, they are extremely ashamed of their ancient history and refuse to talk about it. You, a xenoarcheologist, are determined to find out why | An utopian race of pacifists and scientists that practically weaves nature alongside technology as if the two concepts were inseparable. That’s how the humanity was viewed by others among the federation. Flying in ships that were almost akin to crystalline flowers of color and life, no other race could be compared to them in their ability to bring life to even the most harsh and extreme conditions. Even their military vessels have a verdant jungle within thier crystalline hulls. They have terraformed even the most hostile worlds into paradise worlds with compare within mere months. Many of the more religious races believe them to be the incarnation of nature’s will and call them the life weavers.
The humans themselves were beautiful to the extreme. Even their stuffy scholars being radiant gods and goddesses by our standards. Even the arrogant Alteri couldn’t compare, and the humans were much friendlier. They could live for centuries and despite their fragile appearance, they could easily hit hard enough to put some cheap power armor to shame. They could move at terrifying speeds, and regenerate from the most catastrophic injuries. Most bioweapons don’t even effect them, and the worst give a brief cough. Some even believe them to be the ultimate creations of the galaxy’s precursors, and that they were perfect.
Yet our race knew better. There is always some hidden darker side. Their tight restraint on their historical records was a major red flag for this. So we began discreetly scanning their system through merchants, and exploring seemingly uninhabited systems.
The first find was on their home world, Earth. Normally, a planet inhabited by such an old race would show extensive signs of civilization in the crust. The oceans may not have solid junk, but the chemical slurry of rust from sunken vessels would remain. Large empty places should be present, where mining or excavation took place. Most of all, ancient relics and cities are regularly found in the ground by races even older than humanity. None of these were present.
It was like the entire rock was picked clean, which should be virtually impossible. There will always be some remnants. Yet not even the slightest pollution was found.
The second find was an ancient human vessel in a recently rediscovered star system. The ship was nothing at all like the flying artworks we know. It was more akin to the armored dreadnoughts of the militant Vlavons, only bigger. The ship was ridiculously well armed even by their standards, possessing weapons that would shatter even the most armored ships of its class. There was no signs of plant life or any life support for such things, only the standards for humans.
At least we think, the mummified remains are not at all similar to the modern ones. Even in the extreme state of degradation, it was obvious these corpses were another subspecies entirely. Through extensive research, we found these creatures were indeed humans. These humans were shorter and overall inferior. Their bodies were inefficient and imperfect, and the brain was much less developed.
Sadly, the computers on the ship were either destroyed or corrupted. The alternating uniforms and state of the ship indicated some form of battle occurred.
The third find was the most horrific. We tracked a human container floating throughout space, and the mistake of opening it. The entire ship went dead silent within seconds. Any who boarded died within seconds. Even when hazmat professionals came, the suits failed just as fast. Given the derelict ship was beginning to float toward an inhabited system, it was scuttled. Finally, the local AI sent multiple drones to clean up the mess and identify the danger.
As it would turn out, the container held a bio weapon. This bio weapon possessed a limited degree of intelligence and actually could figure out how to breach any defense. This virus ignored all laws of biology, and could somehow infect an entire ship in seconds. An extremely careful test with a garden world tainted by radiation.
We could actually watch as the entirely green world turned black in minutes.
The most shocking evidence came in form of a simple probe. It had a golden disk that could be fit into a primitive data storage device. Initial examination showed the specimen of human found on the dreadnought, wildlife of many types, and the solar system.
The surprise came in the form of the solar system data. The listed chemical data about the their home world didn’t resemble the present composition. Modern samples match the fourth planet.
The realization was horrifying. | Out of professional curiosity I did some literal digging and found more questions than answers. It appears an extinction level event occured sometime around the 2nd millennia when lined up with the local Earth AD calendar system. After cross referencing the human biological database, a conclusive match of the most abundant fossils could not be made. It seems that a species of ape had proliferated across the globe but high levels of radiation during that period of history had caused the species to go extict. I presented the discovery to my human liason and questioned how their database could have such an obvious oversight. My liason took a moment to connect to the human main-net then apologized for the mistake. It seems that older records sometimes have mistakes due to legacy technological interfacing. I could check again in a few moments time and the records should be available. My liason apologized again and asked if I would require anything else from before retiring for monthly maintenance. I thanked it and let it know that's all I needed for now. Upon checking the database again the information I wanted was available. It seems these apes were known as sapiens and were unable to adapt to the rapid increase in radiation levels before the hive-mind could stabilize the environment. Another dead end, it seems the search continues... | 2022-10-16T13:26:48 | 2022-10-16T09:48:01 | 72 | 35 |
[WP] You are the world's best public speaker. Your words have swayed world leaders, have ended countless conflicts, and effected nation's policies. Nobody knows that because of your anxiety you have to get blackout drunk before every speech and never remember what you say. | The crowd roared from their seats in astonishment. I would love to admit that I remembered the look on their faces after the announcement, but I can’t. Every single time I spoke in front of them, I don’t remember what I said. The only bits and pieces left in memory are their applause, bright stage lights, even sometimes the smell from behind the curtain.
“Mr. Barnes, how do you do it?” Emily leaned in over the dining table. I gazed around the restaurant only to realize it had been three days since my last speech. “Mr. Barnes?”
“You can call me Sam.” I told her. “Mr. Barnes isn’t necessary, this is our fourth date after all.”
“Fourth date?” Emily tried concealing her smile.
“What else would you call this?” I laughed. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, and actually remember.”
Emily folded her napkin across her lap before asking me the same question she always asked, “do you not remember your announcement?” Her eyes widened after I shook my head from side to side. “Why does *it* keep happening? Have you talked to a specialist about it?”
I fell silent, looking past her shoulder. I couldn’t tell her the truth, nor anyone the truth for that matter. Anytime I walked in front of a different crowd, or up against a local podium, I was not the one driving. I gave the wheel to someone else – something else.
I never knew the man’s name, but I sat there, backstage, studying myself in front of the mirror. He’d always appear from the shadows of any room. “Sam, when are you going to just let go? I mean, by now I would think that you’d just anticipate my presence and prepare accordingly.”
“I’m not doing it.” I told him. I knew it was all in my head, except it always felt very real. The man chuckled before wrapping his hands around my throat from behind.
“Oh Sam,” he whispered. He started tying the knot for my tie once we both looked at one another in the mirror. Leaning in closer, I found the same scar on his left brow stretched down to underneath his cheek. “When will you just accept the simple truth? If you go out there alone, like that one time, then you’ll be slaughtered by all of them come next morning. You see? I’m only here to make sure you succeed. You have to give me the wheel. We cannot both drive at the same time, that’s how accidents happen.”
I listened to him – I always listened to him. He positioned a bottle of bourbon in front of me. He clenched his grip atop both my shoulders, waiting for me to open it.
“I can’t let you do this anymore.” I lifted my head up toward his reflection.
“Okay then.” He padded my back with a smile. I turned in my chair only to find him gone. Emily had been waiting for me backstage that evening and when she came storming in the room, I felt a sudden chill spill over me.
“You ready, Mr. Barnes?” I watched her pick up a few of my belongings to place them neatly against the wall. She noted my silence and turned back to face me.
“I don’t know what to say to them.”
“Yes, you do.” She reassured me. “You always have such a way with words. They’re all ready for you.” Her smile gave me confidence, but when she left the room my confidence fled with her.
“Sam, you ready to go?” The man re-emerged, mocking the voice of Emily’s.
“You aren’t real.”
“Sam – Sam – Look, if you take a sip, all of your worries will be gone. Sit back and relax in the backseat while I drive.” My answer was still no. I grabbed hold of the bottle in an attempt to smash it against the wall behind me, but he wrapped his cold long fingers over mine. “Do you really want to go down this road again? You’re nothing without me!” My tears finally broke loose. “Let go, Sam. All you have to do is just let go! If you don’t, how long do you think Emily will stick around? Huh?”
I opened the bottle and chugged until the darkness from the room wrapped over my eyes in a blanket.
“There Sam, you made the right decision.”
The crowd roared from their seats in astonishment. I would love to admit that I remembered the look on their faces after the announcement, but I can’t. Every single time I spoke in front of them, I don’t remember what I said. The only bits and pieces left in memory are their applause, bright stage lights, even sometimes the smell from behind the curtain.
“Mr. Barnes, how do you do it?” Emily leaned in over the dining table. I gazed around the restaurant only to realize it had been three days since my last speech. “Mr. Barnes?”
“You can call me Sam.” I told her.
Emily folded her napkin across her lap before asking me the same question she always asked, “do you not remember your announcement?” Her eyes widened after I shook my head from side to side. “Why does *it* keep happening? Have you talked to a specialist about it?”
“I can’t talk to anyone about it.” I told her. She offered me the bottle of wine from her side, but I waived her offer. I didn’t want to look at another bottle.
“You can talk to me. Sam, what’s been going on with you?” I watched her take a sip from her glass.
“I – I see something that isn’t there. I’m not really sure how to explain it.”
Emily froze, repositioning herself against her chair. I warned her that she would think I was crazy or worse, but her reaction was not of a foreign shock. Instead, she looked at me with familiarity. “Is it a man with a scar, along the left side of his face?”
We stared at each other for what felt an eternity. I wouldn’t ever be able to comprehend how she would know the details of what felt like dark allusions, until she whispered,
“I see him too. He just walked up after I took my first sip.”
&nbsp;
***
I just created a new subreddit to house a lot of my writing works/projects [Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/MrNightOwl/) | (I changed the prompt a bit)
&#x200B;
Our final project in English class was a 10-page essay. For 3 days I worked remolding shit just for it to slide back down into the same old lump. The night before it was due, I gave up around 9 p.m. After all that work I just couldn’t write well. I wanted to flush my grades and my college dreams down the toilet with my essay.
I stormed off to my older brother George’s room and pulled out his bottle of vodka from under the table. My parents were on vacation and my older brother was at his girlfriends place for the night. No one could stop me. I took shot after shot commencing all the failures in my life.
“This one’s for my failures at basketball tryouts”
Swallow
“this one’s for parents you let down”
Swallow
Each one got harder
“this one’s for realizing your no enough for anything”
Swallow
Thank god I couldn’t remember the later ones. It was the first time I blacked out. My mom always tried to keep me and George away from alcohol because my family was made up of a long line of alcoholics. My dad was a drunk surgeon, my mom was a wine-loving news reporter, my grandfather was a liquor loving writer and the list goes on.
I woke up cold, feeble, tired. My trashcan filled with a putrid stench. I took a cold shower that somehow made me feel even worse. My paper was sitting on my desk. I grabbed it trying my hardest to forget about it. English class was a blur. I woke up to my teacher Mrs. Fleming and a near empty class.
“Rough Night.”
She looked at me with a playful grin
“You know the most important part is turning it in.”
She took the paper and opened it up to a random page and began skimming. I half-wakenly watched as her mocking half smile opened up to express utter shock and her confident teasing tone, broke down to a startled,
“This is really…Good.” She did he best to repose herself “Usually when my students show up half awake to class you see the second half of their paper written like they were drunk.”
I interrupted, “Can I see what you’re talking about?” The paper was completely different from what I had written. It was well-constructed, persuasive, elegant and most importantly it wasn’t me.
I opened my laptop and went to the document.
Last Edited 2:15 am
No one was home but me. Who wrote this essay?…
&#x200B;
I took two IQ tests. The first was done under normal conditions. I scored a 104. The second was performed when I was blackout drunk. I scored a 350. My verbal fluency, reasoning, working memory were off the charts…
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
I worked with Doctor Coleman who sequenced my DNA. Turns out my family of functional alcohols developed a small insignificant mutation that allows them to perform up to par while drunk. But I had a mutation that took this to the next level. My brain was designed for super intelligence, but it relied on the chemical interaction of an overload of ethanol. In other words, I have a superpower where I become a super genius when drunk. Which is great because I just love hangovers | 2019-06-08T11:24:31 | 2019-06-08T10:15:07 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] The healer was treated horribly by the knights he was assigned. Belittled and humiliated at every turn. Until one day a monster killed his squad and spared him. And the monster looked at him and she said something he didn't think was possible to even say. "Would you please heal me?". | With a dampened thump, Varg’s head landed in the grass, only a few feet from Sophia. She released a horrified gasp, scrambling backwards until her back hit a tree. Her vision lost focus, and the impact took all the air out of her lungs. Her hands fruitlessly grasped at her chest, trying to loosen the straps of her armor, desperately trying to secure more oxygen. Her wheezing grew more and more rapid, but to no avail. Collapsing sideways into a fetal position, all she could do is clamp her arms around her head and wait for the monster to break through the last few knights. She heard a familiar voice, screaming with a venomous rage that she did not expect. Opening her eyes, she saw Avel, the young noble hobbling towards her form.
He tripped, falling to his hands and knees, continuing to crawl toward her. She saw a manic gleam in his eyes as he approached.
“Gods *damn* you! You did this! You and your godforsaken talismans!”
The man’s hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her down as he continued to hiss, spittle falling down to hit her face.
“All of this is your fault. We should have just put you down like the rest of those *witches,* like the rest of your piece of shit family! I protected you, and this is how you repay me?”
The edges of her vision began to blur, then slowly tint into darkness. His poisonous words, and the maddened cawing of the crows, and the soft, grassy stomping began to blend together in her mind. She tried to croak out an apology, or maybe a curse - she wasn’t conscious enough to tell whether or not she was going to die with honor.
Just before the darkness enclosed her entire range of vision, she saw a looming shadow appear over Avel’s shoulder, and suddenly, she could breathe. Through her coughing, and sputtering, she dragged herself up to look at the beast. She saw it clearly now, and the sight was familiar.
A large man, wearing a lumberjack’s shirt, pants, and heavy boots. It’s face was wrapped in vines, obscuring any eyes or mouth. Down it’s large, thick arms, similar looking vines bulged out from under the skin, looking like a man’s veins had taken root. In one hand, it held a large, worn-down lumber axe, and in the other, Avel’s head, body still attached. The man, lifted off his feet, was thrashing like a wild animal, trying to reach behind himself to scratch the towering shape, desperately trying anything to free himself. His mania turned into complete frenzy as he began to screech obscenities at the sky.
Sophia pulled herself up, onto her feet, some tiny ember of her own fury flaring in her soul. She remembered when paladins first found her village, only five years ago. The knights, the same ones that now lay in various states of dismemberment several yards away, divided the young women into draftees, and concubines. Half were trained to utilize their sorcery for healing, and half were taken back to the nearby fortress, to be sold and bartered for like livestock.
Sophia’s face contorted into a grimace of pure disgust as she looked upon the screaming man. She remembered his act of kindness - negotiating for Sophia to take her sisters place as a healer, thus also condemning Zara to become a slave. It was not a gift Sophia asked for. She owed him nothing, except maybe a healthy dose of brutal vengeance.
“Goodbye, Avel. May you be condemned at the gates to your afterlife.”
And with that parting gift, the monster slammed Avel face first into a thick oak trunk, launching small chips of skull and fleshy remains in either direction. What was left of the noble was nonchalantly left slumped against the tree.
The monster turned to face her, and tried to take a step, collapsing onto one knee. Having calmed down, the young sorceress could see the woodland demon more clearly, especially the deep wounds that covered its body. All over the arms and torso, sap-like amber ichor leaked from large gashes.
“You’re a Wickerman, aren’t you? Were you turned into one voluntarily?”
The figure nodded, slowly, releasing an extra wave of sap from a wound on its collar.
“There must be a sorceress around here, then, right? We have to get you to her.”
With small steps, Sophia approached the kneeling figure, her hands slowly beginning to glow as she summoned forth whatever magic she could muster.
This is the turning point, she thought, looking at the corpse leaning against the tree. Her mind raced, and she began to plan out loud.
“First, we get you fixed. Then, I get whoever is willing to fight riled up. We’re going to the great city, and we’re going to raise hell. I’m getting my sister back, whatever it takes.”
She heard a creak, and felt the figure under her hands shift. The Wickerman turned enough to look at her, if he had eyes, and slowly nodded. He was no longer bleeding. | Sir Georg watched helplessly from where he lay. Pain causing his breath to come in pained gasps.
His magic could heal grave injuries but it could not bring back the dead. Finishing his mending of his own stomach wound he surveyed the battlefield and saw that in less than a minute the remaining eleven twelve knights had been killed.
The monster had moved with unnatural grace and power but now was dragging a leg which had a broken spear protruding and was looking to be suffering from multiple broken ribs.
The grayish green furred face moved to be inches from his own. Hot breath smelled of blood and venom.
Georg knew he should be trembling but he was a knight, even if they others did not treat him as such. He had suffered far more painful circumstances in "training accidents" and "drunken stumbles".
"Before you kill me monster, know I, Sir Georg of the Order of the Healing Hand, am not afraid. There is nothing you can do to make me suffer more than the last two years with those fools."
Something like a pained whimper came from the monster.
A little louder, this time sounding like the slurred speach of the injured.
"Wait. Monster, are you capable of speech?"
The monster coughed up bright blood, indicting a likely upper stomach injury.
A few more times the monster whimpered before Georg finally made out the words he had always wanted to hear:
"Would you please heal me?"
Without even thinking his training took over and within 5 minutes the Monster had recovered enough to walk without pain.
The Monster turned away and walked back into the forest.
A deep feminine voice called out: "Illyria. Good knight. My name."
Sir Georg sat still for several more minutes silently grinning as he listened to Illyria's laughter echoing through the trees.
Chapter 3 of the Legend of Georg and Illyria.
Edit: I've added this to my wordpress page. I'm starting to add more chapters. This week has been super busy so going slow for now. By tomorrow I should have at least 1 more chapter put up.
27-Feb-2020
https://wordpress.com/post/thwirl.wordpress.com/1843 | 2020-02-23T12:57:58 | 2020-02-23T11:50:58 | 73 | 35 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises. | "I asked you to hold on a minute," she grumbles, tugging off the last black thigh-length boot. "Ugh, I swear, these things didn't use to be so hard to get off."
"You, um, that's--"
"Yes." She sighs. "I know, I should have told you sooner, but, I mean, you're so ... nice. I didn't want to break your heart to realize you'd tied yourself down to someone like me."
"But, you're, um..."
"Terrorizing the city on a regular basis?"
"Um."
"Single-handedly overpowering entire groups of heroes out to bring me to justice?"
"Well."
She smirks. "A lot sexier than you'd realized?"
"I mean."
She sighs and sits heavily on the edge of the bed, folding the costume up into a surprisingly tight little bundle, hands moving with the precision of long practice, but she doesn't put it away, just runs her hands across its smooth black fabric.
"You know, I don't even know why I bother any more. It's not like Sunblade is really that much of a challenge. Sure, our battles are entertaining, but maybe I should just retire Darkvoid entirely." She glances up. "I've been thinking about it a lot, especially recently."
"Um."
"I mean, what would it hurt if I just ... disappeared? Sure, Sunblade would think I gave up because I couldn't win. Which is wrong, because I'll always win. But ... I know this sounds strange, but maybe ... maybe winning isn't as important to me anymore."
"Why?"
"Well, things are going to change," she hedges. "You know how it is. Life goes on."
"Is it because I found out about ... this?"
"No. Maybe." She considers, then shakes her head. "No. I would have told you, once I finally decided to stop for good." She chuckles. "If only so at least one person knew I hadn't really given up, just moved on. That I could have kept winning if I wanted to. I know it sounds terrible. What a stupid reason to finally tell the truth, right? And that's part of why I didn't want to, because it would force you to become just another part of my game. And ... I like you the way you are."
"I like you too, but, Darkvoid? Really? It was you all along?"
"Never been anyone else."
"But we've been fighting since-- er, I mean, you've been ..."
She squints up suspiciously. "We? I don't remember having a sidekick. Unless you're secretly my loyal Eviltek salesperson, I'm pretty sure there's no we." Then she realizes what she said, and quickly backtracks. " I mean, in the supervillain world, obviously. There's absolutely a we here. And always will be. And if you need me to--"
"Shh, it's okay, stop making excuses. If we're coming clean, I suppose I shouldn't hold back just to gloat."
"And what would you have to gloat about?"
"Mmm, you do make this hard. But, here it is." And golden light fills the room, the gleaming plasma blade floating just overhead in guard position, ready to intercept or attack on command.
"Sunblade. All this time?" Then her expression darkens. "And here I felt bad for lying to you! What do you have to say for yourself, lying to *me*?!"
"I have never once denied being Sunblade."
"That's the stupidest excuse I've ever heard in my life. Who goes around asking their spouse, 'oh, by the way, are you Sunblade by any chance'?!"
"If you want me to feel bad for lying, you at least need to recpirocate."
"I'm the villain! Lying is what I do!" Then her lips quirk into a smile. "And to think, all this time, I could have pretended to kidnap myself and you'd have gone crazy! Hah!"
It is terrifying even to consider the situation, even knowing. "That's not funny."
She flops back onto the bed, laughing hysterically. "It really is! I would have been missing, impossible to locate! Ah, I wish I could wipe your memory and try it. That would be so much fun. A grand finale to our epic tale of nemeses."
"You do realize you're not acting like yourself?"
"Hmm? Oh, it's just the hormones. It's normal. Or so they tell me. Probably another reason I should give up supervillainy, at least for the time being."
"Have you been experimenting on yourself? Oh, of course you have, haven't you? Do I need to call the hotline? What did you do--"
"Shush, silly, you'll get all worked up for the wrong reasons." She lays the outfit aside, flopping her arm across her stomach. "I was going to wait until after dinner, but ... I'm pregnant."
The sunblade glow vanishes in a pop. "What?"
"Yeah. Surprising, right? But hey, sometimes things work out." Then she grins. "But that reminds me. There is one other thing I won, since we're comparing."
"And that is?"
"Come here. It's the most important thing of all."
"Okay..."
"Your heart."
"Yeah, that's definitely the hormones talking."
She giggles. "Doesn't make it untrue."
"Well, damn."
"Yep."
"Things really are going to change."
"Yep."
"I wonder if it'll be a boy, or a girl?"
"Wanna make a bet?"
"Heh. Sure. But what are we betting?"
She grins. "Sidekick privileges. Since it's us, there's no reason to stop now. And this little minion, who knows what we might end up with?" | "This isn't what it looks like," Lily said trying to get out of her Lilith costume. All I could do was laugh. Which made her raise an eyebrow. I dropped my glamour and spread my wings.
"Really? You are Gabriel. Fuck......." I was a little taken aback by that.
"And what is that is supposed to mean?" I said folding my arms angrily. I was half tempted to summon my longsword and resume our fight.
"Eons ago. I received a prophecy. My greatest foe would be my greatest love. I thought it was hogwash. Now it seems it is true," she said wrapping her arms around me, "Never thought it would you, Gabriel." I don't know if she was trying to butter me up or what but honestly I didn't care. Lilith and I have been fighting so long and living a double life. Then something clicked in my head.
"So when I said you remind me of someone from my past. I was talking about my ex-wife. She looked just like you," I said with the sudden realization that we have been my married before...many times before.
The thought crossed her mind as well, "1876?"
"London. Bowler Manor."
"That Countess ruined my favorite party dress! Oh god."
"Her idiot husband bankrupted them you know," I stated with a chuckle, "So where does that leave us?"
"I don't know. I can’t and won't kill my own husband. No matter how much his alter ego ruins my plans. You know we could rule the planet together. It would be nice to have my hubby taking down all those mean heroes."
As the warrior Gabriel I hated when she used her voice. As husband Gabe that voice makes me melt. "Fine," I could feel her get her hopes up as I started, "But!"
"I have a love-hate with your butt," she said giving it a firm squeeze to my behind. I pushed her to arm's length and looked in her eyes. "No more killing. We have all the time in the universe to take over the planet. There is no need to rush it. For now, we can play heroes."
"Finnneee...I can play hero but you have to promise me at least two kids." I gave her a quizzing look. "When I am empress of the earth I am going to need heirs and people I can trust to make nobles."
"Why wait." I kissed her and hit the light switch. I began to reform my glamour to look normal. She broke the kiss and held up her hand for me to wait. She disappeared back into her closet with her costume on.
"Let's just be ourselves at least around each other from now on. No more Lily and Gabe. Those were aliases. Lilith and Gabriel are husband and wife. And it time they...them...us consummated our marriage."
I won't lie. I liked where this was heading. | 2020-10-30T12:06:53 | 2020-10-30T12:05:47 | 117 | 81 |
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads. | I was... what, in middle school? Something like that. Hanging out on the playground, friendless, bored... honestly, I can barely remember my life before that day. There wasn't a lot to remember, I guess.
Then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, a splotch of green, like someone painted a glow-in-the-dark line on the asphalt. I turned and stooped down to look at it, and that turn changed my life forever. As I was turning, Eddie Woods, the biggest bully in school, took a swing at me. I leaned down to look at the line, his fist whistled over my head, and he fell in a heap. I stood up to get a better look... and stepped on his glasses.
I didn't even know. Somehow, from that angle, I could see more of the line, smudged on the ground; I started following it, not knowing I had just become a schoolyard hero.
I know it now, of course. I see that green line painted on sidewalks, boardwalks, even splashed across the hands of rich businessmen. They can't see it, but it's lead me to the right places and the right people countless times. I'm barely 22, and I'm already rivaling the Greats of Silicon Valley for material wealth. I'm the media's golden child; in the eyes of the masses, I can do no wrong.
Today, though... it's been exactly ten years since I saw that green line. As little as I remember before that point, I've relished every detail since. And now, well, now I'm curious. See, when that green line showed up, there was another line right next to it. A dusty red line, chalk instead of paint, sketched on the ground. On the best days, I can barely see the red line; on the worst days, it almost seems to glow. But the green line has always been there, and until now... it's been a good life. I've really enjoyed meeting the people it lead me to, seeing the sights, and getting richly rewarded for following along.
But these days... I'm bored. It's exciting to have a lot of money, but it's not a gamble. I went to Vegas, once, followed the green line, and dropped a quarter into a machine. Ding ding ding, more money for me. Card game? I didn't even know the rules, and I still beat the table. It's no fun if the outcome is a guarantee.
Today, it's time to follow the other line. The red line. Green is good, red is... bad? Well, we'll see. I've talked to my bankers, set aside some money that I can get to even if the rest of my money goes away, and gotten the rest of my affairs in order. Sold my companies, invested the money in schools and charities, all the usual rich guy stuff.
Now it's time to follow the red line.
---
*Test Subject 802-1B-576-X-4 leaving domicile. Subject is not following program path.*
*Subject off-mark by 1:16:02. Recommend instant gratification.*
*Subject off-mark by 6:50:33. Recommend activating recall programs.*
*Subject off-mark by 14:01:19. Subject is avoiding all green-lit areas. Subject dangerously close to program boundaries.*
*Subject is off-grid. Confirmed, no in-program contact. Confirmed, no visual contact. Alarm.*
*DANGER. SUBJECT AWAKE. SUBJECT NO LONGER IN TEST ROOM 47-M2. SUBJECT AT LARGE. ALERT. ALERT. EXTERNAL SHUTDOWN COMMANDS ACTIVE. IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF SUBJECT 802-1B-576-X-4 RECOM-*
**Connection error. Program terminated.** | I was finally there, at the top of the world. Around me I could see all of my journey highlighted in green, culminating in this moment. After soaking it all in and feeling quite pleased with myself for awhile, boredom slowly crept in.
I started glancing at the red line and wondering its destination. I resolved to follow it to the end as the green line had helped me so much. Standing and taking the first few steps reminded me of being twelve and first choosing the green line. The sense of wonder returned as I walked down the path. While daydreaming of my first encounter with the green line the red line led me off the path. My last conscious thoughts were a spinning whirl as boulders and sky repeatedly switched positions.
You hear a booming voice reading "You have died. To choose the other path turn to page 92." | 2017-08-23T08:09:42 | 2017-08-23T06:39:05 | 163 | 15 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished", he says. "You are the punishment." | “This is your last task before you enter Heaven. Punish a sinner who rejected God’s light, and then you will receive His grace.”
Despite the demon’s reassurance, I was more than a little scared. The fire and brimstone was off-putting, and besides, demons weren’t known for honesty. This could be my punishment - giving me false hope, then hurling me into the flames. Yet that didn’t make sense. I lived a good life. Like anyone else, I had my missteps and mistakes, especially in the beginning. But I stuck to my principles and helped people when I could. I was far from a perfect, pious saint, but I did my best to make the world a slightly happier place. Hellfire was not what I expected.
Before the panic set in completely, the demon surprised me by taking a step back. Out of a sudden darkness amid the fires came a limping figure, followed closely by two more. The one in front was shoved onto the scorched ground in front of me, and the two figures behind left as quickly as they came. I could only glimpse the swish of a red, pointed tail before the darkness swallowed them completely and was replaced by the glowing flames.
“James Peccator. Kneel and receive your punishment.”
When the demon stopped speaking, the figure before me fell heavily onto his knees with a groan, and finally I could see his fire-illuminated features.
The man’s clothes were tattered, hanging in strips from his body, and his hair looked like it had been torched. Despite his condition, I could see his cold glare and clenched teeth from his slightly bowed head. I was certain that some power beyond me must be restraining him tightly, or he would’ve jumped up and grabbed me without a moment’s hesitation.
The demon turned to me, his red face impassive. “James is here for robbing and murdering his best friend. He died fairly recently, and he refuses to accept the consequences of his actions. Your goal is to change that.”
“How?” I asked. “I’m just an ordinary guy.”
“It’s simple,” he said. “Tell us your story.”
“My what?”
“Your story. Tell us about yourself. Who you are, what you do...and something important you want to share. I trust it’ll be illuminating.”
“Well,” I began slowly. I was confused, but I had no other choice. “My name is Peyton Morris. I was born in a small town in Illinois to two loving parents who I owe everything to. I went to the only school in town, where I met my closest friend Ben. I...well, I guess I’ll skip some of the details. School went well, but my father died when I was 16. At least I grew up to be an artisan like he was, and I like to think that he’d approve of my work from Heaven.”
I paused briefly to recollect myself, and continued with my story.
“I became pretty good at my trade, thanks to father’s teachings before he died, and soon I was going around to different towns to sell my crafts. Something about the objects I created - and that included tools, utensils, and sometimes small toys - attracted a lot of buyers. I hit it off fairly successfully and I quickly made a small name for myself. Sometimes people even came to me from different towns, and I was always happy to meet them.”
“Then one day I met this little boy. He was dirt poor and it was obvious when you looked at him. He wore what could best be described as filthy rags and I seriously doubted he could afford even the cheapest toy I sold. But his eyes were the brightest I’d ever seen when he tentatively asked to play with my cheapest toy. He was polite, so I let him, as long as he returned it. I returned to my other customers, and after they left satisfied, I had a brief break when the boy came back to me with the toy in his hand.”
“I asked if he wanted to buy it and he lowered those bright eyes to the ground. I heard the smallest ‘no’ and he handed the toy to me. I thought he was going to either beg or leave, but then he reached into his pocket and took out a handful of coins, which he held out to me. I thought it was clear he wanted the toy, but when I offered it back to him, he shook his head and pointed behind me.”
“I saw what he wanted. It was a set of shears that I’d added some personal touches to. It was durable and sharp and likely out of his price range. I turned around to break the bad news to him, but when he saw the look on my face, he said, ‘Wait, mister,” and like a miracle, he reached into his tattered pockets and procured even more coins in his hands.”
“Even then it came a bit short. As I returned the coins to his disappointed face, I couldn’t help but ask, ‘Why the shears?’ Every other child I’d seen wanted one toy or another without exception. He looked at me with those bright, honest eyes, and said, ‘Pa’s shears broke an’ he needs a new one. The sheeps are growin’ their wools too fat an’ we need to sell ‘em so we can buy food. He telled me to take these last coins and buy a shears from you. We’s heard your shears don’t break so fast.’”
“‘Doesn’t your family raise crops?’ I asked.”
“‘Yes mister, but the rain killed ‘em.’”
“‘Then where’d your dad get the coins from? You don’t get these coins from nothing, and it looks like you couldn’t even afford clothes.’”
“‘He borrowed some from a friend. They’s the last we got, but we got some bread in the house that can last us a week maybe.’”
“At that point, I’d made up my mind. I was in a good mood, and I couldn’t let a child go hungry for money. The shears weren’t cheap, but they were hardly significant considering how well my business was. So I let him have it free of charge, along with that cheap toy which cost next to nothing. Maybe a child giving up toys for farmwork sat uneasily with me, or maybe my mother’s lessons on sharing and being kind rubbed off on me without me knowing it. In any case, it was worth it to see how his bright eyes lit up his face. It was worth it more than any transaction I made.”
[Part 2 below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/emzc7e/wp_as_you_die_you_wake_up_in_a_fiery_place_you/fdx9uds/)
---
r/OracleOfCake | In the first age, in the first battle, when the shadows first lengthened, one stood. Burned by the embers of Armageddon, his soul blistered by the fires of Hell and tainted beyond ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment.
In his ravenous hatred he found no peace, and with boiling blood he scoured the Umbral Plains seeking vengeance against the dark lords who had wronged him.
He wore the crown of the Night Sentinels, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... the Doom Slayer.
Tempered by the fires of Hell, his iron will remained steadfast through the passage that preys upon the weak. For alone he was the Hell Walker, the Unchained Predator, who sought retribution in all quarters, dark and light, fire and ice, in the beginning and the end, and he hunted the slaves of Doom with barbarous cruelty; for he passed through the divide as none but demon had before.
And in his conquest against the blackened souls of the doomed, his prowess was shown. In his crusade, the seraphim bestowed upon him terrible power and speed, and with his might he crushed the obsidian pillars of the Blood Temples.
He set forth without pity upon the beasts of the nine circles. Unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding, the Doom Slayer, sought to end the dominion of the dark realm.
The age of his reckoning was uncounted. The scribes carved his name deep in the tablets of Hell across eons, and each battle etched terror in the hearts of the demons.
They knew he would come, just as he always had, as he always will, to feast on the blood of the wicked. For he alone could draw strength from his fallen foes, and ever his power grew, swift and unrelenting.
None could stand before the horde but the Doom Slayer. Despair spread before him like a plague, striking fear into the shadow dwellers, driving them into deeper and darker pits. But from the depths of the abyss rose The Great One, a champion mightier than all who had come before. The Titan, of immeasurable power and ferocity. He strode upon the plain and faced the Doom Slayer, and a mighty battle was fought on the desolate plains.
The Titan fought with the fury of the countless that had fallen at the Doom Slayer's hand, but there fell the Titan, and in his defeat the shadow horde were routed.
And in his terrible rancor between worlds and through time, the Hell Walker found the wretch who shall not be named, but in his heresy was loyal to his evil cause. The wretch adorned the Doom Slayer in a mighy armor, wrought in the forges of Hell, impenetrable and unyielding.
With sword and shield of adamantine strength, the Doom Slayer set to banishing all that was left unbroken by his savagery to the void.
Yet as the mighty Titan fell and dread engulfed the armies of Doom, the demon priests of the Blood Temples laid a trap to capture this scourge of Hell.
Insatiable, even by the vanquishing of the Great One, the Hell Walker sought prey in the tombs of the Blood Keep and blinded by his fervor, the lure drew him in.
The priests brought down the temple upon the Doom Slayer, and in his defeat entombed him in the cursed sarcophagus.
The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering.
&#x200B;
This is copy-paste, but I thought it was funny and fit with the **You are the punishment** | 2020-01-10T17:46:30 | 2020-01-10T17:42:54 | 369 | 11 |
[WP] "Please?! Our campaign just reached Route 66!" But Mother Dragon was not budging. "No, young dragon. It's still a school night and you know the rules. You can finish your game of Pretend another time." "Mom, I've told you it's not "Pretend" it's called Offices & Humans and it's really complex!" | “I will hear no excuses from you, little guy. Drake’s mom just called and wanted to make sure he was fast asleep by 10.”
“But please mom. We are on the final boss. Just give us 15 more minutes, please, please, please!” Adragon begged.
His mother let out a lengthy sigh.
“Fine. But you all better be fast asleep when I come back to check on you and don’t forget to collect after yourself.”
“Ok.” He reassured back, before shifting his focus back to his friend.
“Are you sure we will be able to finish this in 15 minutes?” Wyvernina asked hesitantly.
“Well I hope so or I am toast.”
“Anyways let us do this fast. Where were we …. Ah, so Lucy the receptionist and Jeffery the data entry clerk after a long day of trials and tribulations were fast approaching their boss’s room. They were ready to ambush their boss for a salary raise, but little did they know their boss was prepared.”
As you enter the room, you see him sitting in his leather chair, vigorously typing hollow emails about everyone being a big family at the company back to the dozens of leave notices he had received in the past day. ROLL for INITIATIVE!
“Wait, already?” Wyvernina was surprised. “Well uhmm … I rolled a 7.”
The boss gives a monotone remark about wasting company time on some futile quest for a raise when you should be at your desk taking phone calls. You get -2 on your next 3 rolls!
“Well, I tell him that my work hours are finished. I rolled a 16, so that makes it 14.”
“You successfully counter his remark as you show him your logbook. Your rolls are back to normal and your party gets +3 confidence for this fight.”
He says that you should start working overtime like everyone else.
“I tell him that I had worked overtime for a total of 12 hours, but I have yet to be compensated. I rolled a 10.” Drake interjects.
The boss implied that your words are just senseless accusations with no backing evidence. You received -2$/hr salary damage.
“I pull up Jeffery's work hours for the last 2 months and present it to him. I rolled an 18.” Wyvernina interrupted.
You have successfully recovered Jeffery's salary by +4$/hr, as the boss bickers to himself, he readys a special attack that will flood your next turn with stacks of work papers that need to be signed by tomorrow evening, losing you one action point.
“I use my special skill ‘Friends in high places” to call human resources, allowing them to answer instantly rather than taking an extra turn.”
Drake smiled as he look down at his dice. “I rolled a 20!”
The boss tries to stop you by using ‘pitiful raise’, but your confidence is too high for it to affect you. The conditions have been met for the finisher ability ‘Saving face”. The boss receives a phone call telling him he will be relocated to a branch in Detroit, instantly depleting all his salary.
“Hell ya” both of them shouted as they gave each other a high four.
As you approach the boss who was weakishly panting on the floor, he gives out a slow chuckle.
“This office will no longer be tormented with your ego, boss or should I say ex-boss.” Wyvernina remarked.
“It is true you might have done me in. But as I said, your quest for a raise is futile.”
Suddenly, his computer screen starts flickering, then two videos start playing. It was of both of them using their phones to browse social media during company time.
“No, it can’t be. You can’t use this against us!” Jeffery exclaimed furiously.
His boss chuckled loudly and started coughing blood till slowly nothing was left of him.
“ARE YOU DRAGONLINGS STILL PLAYING.” They heard Adragon’s mother shouting from across the hall.
“Oh shoot!”
**Thanks for reading till the end. You can find similar stories done by yours truly at** r/FluffWrites.
**Here you can find** [The Dark Road Ahead](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) **series I am writing. Feel free to check it out :D** | Sometimes our DM would just get so invested into things. After finishing "collage" or whatever that was, we set out on a quest to find happiness and to live the best normal lives we could. I set sights for my character to become the best tax accountant that ever was on the planet.
It was a lofty ambition sure, but I had to keep things exciting. Our first quest was to fix the broken down economy. And lemme tell you, it required a lot of flipped burgers and filling paperwork for us to even know the source of the problem. Turns out it was some lame conspiracy where the "government" or whatever was helping fun all these "mega-corporations" or whatever and all the money was going to the rich people. We all thought that was lame though, cause it was just too similar to what was going on in the human monarchy system here, like why make something normal and treat it like it's evil right?
It took awhile but the dm gave us a much more exciting adventure of imperfect economies, poor focus groups, and a divided nation with different focuses that just couldn't compromise. It sounded like the dm kept the message the same, but we were happier with the complexity.
Jerry said he wanted his character to run for President and we are all setting up his campaign right now. Little does the country or dm know we plan on doing a hostile takeover and changing the legislature to full on Communism so we can eat the rich!
Wait we can't literally eat them? | 2022-05-31T02:45:31 | 2022-05-31T01:44:23 | 46 | 21 |
[WP] Your entire life, you have been able to see the red strings of fate connecting people to their soulmates. Yours has always extended past the sky. Space travel has just became available, so you begin your search for your soulmate. | All right, I'm doing this. Yes, I'm actually continuing [my story from 3.5 years ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4wdpkr/wp_after_gaining_the_ability_to_see_everyones_red/), exactly as predicted by u/zarduma in [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4wdpkr/wp_after_gaining_the_ability_to_see_everyones_red/d66j529?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x). I'd love to say he was right all along, but... truth be told u/vladvlad23 was right in [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4wdpkr/wp_after_gaining_the_ability_to_see_everyones_red/d66h80u?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x); I had planned to leave it open-ended. Unfortunately...this continuation has been stuck in my head for three and a half years anyway, and here's a perfect post to respond to. So it's time to get it out. Here goes ruining a good thing!
And I pick up where I left off, so you might need to go back and read [the first two parts.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4wdpkr/wp_after_gaining_the_ability_to_see_everyones_red/)
\----
“Second stage cutoff in three...two...one...cut. Systems nominal.”
The sudden silence and stillness of free-fall, after the chaos of launch, was as startling as a gunshot in a library - just in reverse. With no gravity, turbulence, or noise from within the ship, there was only the sense of sight, focused on the view outside. The craft’s window had seemed uselessly small at launch, like riding a roller-coaster with a sack over my head – but in orbit, with my face pressed against the glass, the entire spaceship seemed to melt away behind me.
For the first time in my life, my sight stayed completely sight. No sounds, tastes, or textures intruded on my perspective. It was just me and this mostly-blue oblate spheroid, turning slowly beneath me. I felt, for a moment anyway, like a newborn taking it’s first look at its mother. And, I’m only a little ashamed to admit that, like an infant I cried.
That brought an end to the moment, as tears in microgravity are a much greater nuisance than on Earth. By the time I got my ducts under control, the ship’s ducts had begun blowing to circulate air, and various of the ship’s chimes, alerts, and indicators were chiming, alerting, and indicating. Sights, sounds, and scents were again bleeding over one another, casting a cheerful note and flowery smell over the curving horizon outside.
“RRS-21, this is ISS. We have your trajectory from NORAD. Great launch, see you in a few. I hope you remembered the beer.”
A “few” turned out to be around nine hours, and the constant adjustments on approach made even Grampa Jame’s three point turns, which had an extra 297 points thrown in for caution, seem hurried. The “curb” bump of docking was about the same, though.
“Surprise!” was not what I was expecting to hear when the air lock finally opened – which I suppose made it an accurate exclamation.
“Welcome!”
“The guest of honor is here!”
“Did the Svaty remember beer?”
The greetings as they pulled me through the air lock were as chaotic and welcoming as any party, except that they came from “up” and “down” as much as any other direction.
“Don’t forget your hat” said a woman as she tied a classical conical party topper to my head. When finished, she winked and pushed off, sending me spinning towards a tall man with a conservative hair cut.
“Howdy!” he said, as he caught me with a firm handshake, arresting my movement as if it were a natural part of the greeting. “I’m commander Hauck, and I’m head cat-herder of this crew.” His voice lacked any trace of accent, and he was the only one not wearing a conical hat.
“He did bring beer!” came a voice from behind me, thick with Russian accent. It's owner began passing out drink pouches from one of the supply crates that had come up with me. This was followed by a round of alternating gratitudes and complaints about the beer’s temperature that seemed strikingly mundane, considering the surroundings.
The combination arrival/sending off party ranged all over the station, as various crew members introduced me to the modules they specialized in. It was like a bar crawl through a dozen camper vans stuffed with high-tech equipment:
"This Zvesta-Two, Service module for station. It break, and you hope you can hold your breath a long time." Said Pyotr Aleksandr, in what I was quickly coming to understand was his typical boisterousness. He had been the one to hand out the drinks. "So far that only happen twice. Solid Russian engineering." His thick accent carried a tangible weight in my senses, like an equally heavy blanket.
"We monitor every detail about the Earth's biosphere from this station in the Espoir module" - Mallorie Lyon's English pronunciations were better than my own, but I was pretty sure the thunder clouds in her eyes weren't my synesthesia.
"...and with the interferometer in a trailing orbit, we can resolve details on the moon less than forty centimeters" said Yin, with all his previous technical explanations of the Shìlì module he oversaw going well over my head.
"This way, partner, to the good ol' US of A side." Hauk's use of Texas slang, without any hint of drawl, was still disconcerting. "Here we mostly turn billions of tax dollars into drinkable water."
"Don't listen to him" quipped Pyotr, with a good natured back slap that sent me into a slow spin. "It's mostly urine we convert."
"By weight, it's more dollars, I'm afraid. But as long as I'm up here, they can't send me a water bill. Unless you brought it?" Hauk eyed me with faux suspicion, before helping to stop my spin
"How was your trip up?" asked Yin, as the room suddenly turned silent. I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly couldn't find any words. Just before the silence drew into awkwardness, everyone laughed at once.
"That happens to all of us" said Hauk.
"Language is fine for describing shared experiences" said Yin. "But accelerating on a building full of explosives until you are falling around the Earth is just too far outside the standard parameters of our lives. We just don't have sufficient words."
"What about 'Thundering?'" I suggested, a faint warmness in my cheeks that could have been either synesthesia or the alcohol.
Yin thought for a moment. "Yes, but not the way most people mean it. They usually mean 'that sound you sometimes hear during a storm that interrupts the tv.' If you go with a more atavistic definition - like 'that terrifying reminder of unthinkably powerful forces that seem so forever beyond the reach of apes who so recently harnessed fire' - in that case, I think it works fine."
It was a sobering thought, and I took another pull from my squeeze bottle drink to compensate. It might have been a mistake to do so - for long before I felt I should have been, I was drunk. Which is no fun in zero gravity for anyone, and even less fun if you happen to be someone for whom the smell of vomit feels like ants crawling on your skin.
I noticed, as I filled my third bag, that not only was no one else drunk, but they seemed to flip almost instantly between boisterous party-goers and sober engineers. One minute Pyotr was roaring with laughter, the next, checking environmental readouts as if he'd been doing it all day long.
Hauk seemed to read my mind, and said "It's hard, sharing a tin can with other people. You can't step outside for air if they're rubbing you the wrong way - there's no air to be found. So we sort of adopt stereotype personalities, as a bit of a psychological shield. The rowdy Russian. The studious Chinese. The outgoing Texan. A few weeks up here, and putting on the personality as natural as getting dressed in the morning. If you were staying, you would probably find a new personality to wear too."
"What about Mallorie?" I asked, noting the crew member left off his list of stereotypes. His grin seemed genuine.
"That one, you'll have to work out for yourself."
\---- | Well, I reckon it was about 20 years ago when that Neil fella took to the moon and beat the reds. Ever since then, Kennedy's kept up on his rockets and bing bang boom next thing you know Fords making rockets on the cheap.
Now I'm not here to tell that story, mine is much more interesting.
I was an odd boy, I'd always seen these thread lookin things connectin people, my ma'n pa hadn't, Grammy and pappy had'm, took me a while to figure out what they were for but I got it figured when my brother met his girl, the two were perfect together.
My string always ran long, in school they taught us this world was round. When I got my truck in me teens, I tried to run it down but after about 10 miles it lay flat on the ground. I kept goin figurin it was a hill but after an hour on the road it was still laying on the ground.
I figure that thing runs clean across the country, probly the ocean after that.
Now it was a few years later that the germans got a bit restless and went to war. I served my country, just like pa did, and pappy before him. They shipped me out to Europe towards the end of 44, Berlin if I recall. We'd heard over the air that the russians were breaking through about the same time, I guess you could say we had reinforcements.
A few weeks later I was in the mess and I saw my line started to move, and it kept moving, goin goin goin more than I ever saw in my life, pretty soon I heard a plane go over head. I ran outside to see and one of those slow flyin biplanes flew over with a big ol red star on the side. I run out after it as far as I could but pretty soon I ended up on the wrong side of a big ol tank with grey paint. It was high time to leave.
I was damn forlorn when I had to ship out cause I knew my love was somewhere over there but I figured I could save up for a trip. Pretty soon the reds put that sput-spit-sputter whatcha-callit in outer space and everyone went crazy, then they put some guy up there, said he used to be a pilot.
A few months after that, I saw my line was movin again and I was right terrified, I figure since my love was a pilot, and that line's movin so dog-gone quick she must be up there in one of those baseball lookin death traps. I jumped in my truck, ran out and got some chicken wire, spread it across the yard and I plugged my HAM radio up in there and worked it like an antenna. It was real faint but I could hear a voice, kinda shrill and speakin real fast, panicky too. It was about that time by line was overhead. I followed it and I could see this movin star that was glowin red hot. I gotta admit I screamed. I didnt have no telescope but what i did have was my gun, and it had a scope. So i ran inside and grabbed it. By this time i could see it was lookin like a comet, coming pretty damn close. I looked through my gun and I could make out the capsule!
I got back in my truck and tried to work out where it would hit. I was keeping pace with it, it felt like forever and I was dodgin deer left right and center.
It was about this time i heard the woosh, the pop and the flap of that chute. I'd know that sound anywhere, they dropped us on that city from them skytrain. I put my foot through the floor, come up off the shoulder sprayin pine cones, rocks and boulders and I got over there right quick. The thing was just a glowin red and boiling with heat. I could hear her poundin on the walls but there's no way I was gettin her out there without a good singe myself. A few minutes went by and it was cool enough so I grabbed my lug wrench and gave that lid a good heave ho.
Now I tell you more than a few things have got the better of my wits in my lifetime but non like nina here, I popped that thing open and she jumped out, tackled me to the ground and had that lug wrench before I could blink. Of course I was scared stiff but she saw I weren't a threat an she layed off me. I tried to talk but she started diggin around in that capsule and pulled out one of them dictionary books and we tried talking it out.
After she calmed down a bit and I got up, I saw she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life, and I knew that string was right. Of course the suits were on us within days and were much nicer fellas than you'd think. But in that time we got to knowin each other, we started working like a couple. The Feds, they gave her a cover story, citizenship and all the documents.
After a few weeks of classes, security things and questions they sent her back to me, we continued datin, and things went the way God intended, we married when that glen Allen guy was orbiting.
The reds weren't happy that the US figured out what happened to their capsule when they couldnt but ultimately they knew their stuff was iffy.
Nowadays we just live here, middle of nowhere doin honest work, Nina gets hush money from the government and we can live pretty damn well on it for the rest of our lives. To tell you the truth boy I never thought I'd get to see her, and I never would had if it weren't for these string things.
Now your Grandpa doesnt remember a time when he couldnt see'm, Boy, but I dont remember anything before I was 10 either so I hope you get your lines, and that it helps you like it did me | 2020-01-13T19:37:24 | 2020-01-13T18:34:33 | 39 | 14 |
[WP] You travel through time to George Orwell's sitting room in 1949. You answer all his questions about our time. Instead of 'Nineteen Eighty-Four,' he writes a very, very warped picture of the 2010s, based on what you've told him. | It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith sat at his desk staring at the office clock, thinking to himself that it may as well have thirteen numbers on it. For a moment he forgot himself as he began to daydream but he quickly returned to his work. He began to panic as he started typing on his electronic typewriter, hoping no one had seen him. He could feel his heart racing as he began to remember what happened to a co-worker when he was caught 'slacking off'. Luckily no one had caught him not even the alarm on his electronic typewriter. It was programmed to go off after it was unattended for two minutes and after five minutes for children. The corporation was still waiting for legislation to pass to extend working hours for children to fourteen hours but they could be waiting a while for it. Winston heard an executive joke the other day that he may have to bribe more of his friends in the government. Pft! the government, Winston thought, there was no government. In the last forty years successive Neoliberal governments had sold off public property piece by piece right under the noses of the people, until there was nothing left to govern.
It was then Winston was kept on his toes when an eight year boy walked past his desk to drop off more paper work. He thanked the boy, an empty gesture, then added it to the bigger pile on his left. As the boy walked on he thought that the legislation may as well be passed, he wasn’t going to learn anything useful at School anyway. Even public education had been corrupted by corporations. School days had been shortened to 3 hours a day before been considered ‘non-compulsory’ by the government last year. Winston was old enough to remember when it started, when they introduced advertising into primary schools. Everything was for sale back then, in the end even health and education. Winston could even remember when the news channel he worked for was sold.
Fifteen years ago the BBC released several stories that the Secure-a-Tec Corporation considered ‘bad for businesses’. After they reported the deadly side effects of the drugs being produced by their Pharmaceutical branch and the environmental harm their fracking company was causing they decide it was in their best interest to buy out the BBC. But Winston couldn't really complain after all they gave him a job. It was Winston’s responsibility to edit all stories that came through the office, so he had a lot of work to do. If anyone was to learn of how dangerous their products were or how irresponsible their private security officers were it could severely affect profits, then again most consumer rights laws had been repealed. He was beginning to daydream again so he returned to work. Winston was busy editing a piece on a worker who developed cancer in their pharmaceutical labs when he heard the sharp growl of his supervisor ‘Smith!’ Winston shuddered and turned to answer him.
‘Yes, sir?’ ‘
‘Smith I need you to take this letter to head office.’
‘Can it not been send through electronic mail?’
‘No.’ He snarled ‘It needs to be delivered to the CEO in person.’
Winston spoke no more, he took the letter and slinked away from his office. As he walked along the corridors piercing eyes stared at him from company posters, posters decorated with slogans such ‘A busy worker is a happy worker.’ And ‘Be vigilant for corporate espionage. ‘As Winston grew closer to the head office he could already hear the CEO speaking, he spoke words so horrifying it made Winston freeze like a rabbit caught in headlights. Once he built up the courage he tip toed towards the room and listened with his ear pressed against the door.
‘…As you already know our private security firm holds a monopoly on the entire British criminal justice system. Everything from the police force to the prison system. But there is one security firm that still stands in our way. Gentlemen I come before you today to give you a proposition of great opportunity- we put into motion the last steps to fully privatise the military.’
Winston stood back as he gasped in horror. It was then he felt a leather glove grasp his shoulder. The man turned him around and pinned him to the wall ‘What are you doing here’ he drew his police baton ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’
| "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. the flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran."
| 2015-08-26T16:45:53 | 2015-08-26T16:16:25 | 126 | 37 |
[WP] Your childhood bully once said you were nobody. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had a reality-bending superpower. Now he's the world's strongest superhero, everyone calls him The Truth, because his word is the absolute truth... Nobody knows about his past, and Nobody will make him pay. | "Who am I? Nobody, don't worry, I get that look a lot. Try not to think about it too hard, you'll get a headache." The woman staring up at me was shaky, not everyday you see a criminal just cease their own existence, all for a purse too. "W-where are you?" The lady was clearly in some sort of shock, I suppose it's scary for her, I'm not in their world, nor in another, just in between, she can only see me when she blinks, and out of the corner of her eye, must activate some primal fears buried deep within the human psyche. Oh well.
I walked her home, or rather, followed her there, she wasn't aware of my presence, or maybe she was and just thought it was some creeping madness, nice house overall, 3 cats, a perky family of rats living in the floor, probably due to the cats slacking off, one of the better looking homes I've seen in Trefoil Lane. I almost screamed with jealousy at the running water too. I am Nobody, some call me a myth, some say I'm a ghost, others, a hoax, but I am very real. Nobody hugs the corners of reality, of *your* reality, I live in the limbo between space, and I have access to a very neat set of abilities. Harry Crandon, also known as The Truth, put me in this unfortunate situation when I was 13, a childhood bully of mine since I could say my ABC's, a right and proper pain in the ass.
12 years ago Harry Crandon had unlocked some latent potential within his being, along his regular rounds of frisking for cash and bruising my ribs, he 'accidentally' erased me from reality. My disappearance wasn't looked into, Crandon was child of the city mayor, I was an orphan, my disappearance was treated as a runaway incident and I was never looked into. The upside is, I no longer have to eat, sleep, get a job, or buy a home, limbo has all I could need, but I've been meaning to get more out of my existence, or lack of it.
Crandon has committed a fair amount of evil in his life, I'm no saint, but this man would've earned his way into every watch list and wanted list on the planet if people knew, fraud, assault, murder, kidnapping, rape, drug distribution and procurement, robbery, all manner of human rights violations, and Jaywalking, all before he hit 21. A real piece of work, I never cared too much until he started acting the hero.
"The Truth. How rich." I stood upon the roof of West Street Cabaret, just caught Mr Truth in some pretty nasty acts of sexual assault, I'd stop him if it wasn't more evidence to add to the pile. "Bastard gives a speech in less than 3 hours, yet is assaulting people in a backalley and then making them disappear, I guess I'm lucky in the sense he was a lot worse at it when he did it to me." It was close.
"Great Citizens of Vernage City, The Truth is here!" Thunderous applause, wouldn't expect any less. "After years of toiling with corrupt political leaders, crime on the streets, and a whole heap of state debt, we have finally made his city something to be proud of!" Yeah, right, proud. "From this day forth, I, The Truth, your hero and protector, will vow to serve, and with the opening of Vernage's heritage museum, I will forever protect you as part of our history!" Huh, big man gave him a statue, can't say I expected that. Too bad it's all about to start crumbling down.
First, I fractured the sky, with a click of my fingers it all broke like glass, there was hushed murmurs from the crowd, they thought it was their hero making a spectacle. Then, I picked apart the statue, threw different pieces into other dimensions, and returned them, some pieces took on different materials and lighting, others shouldn't exist, looking at it too long would blind you I'm sure. The Truth stood there, he had no idea what was going on, I could smell his sweat from here. Now I have their attention, I'm going to make my entrance...
"Great citizens...I am Nobody, some of you know me, most of you don't, in life I was Simon Larion, an orphaned boy that resided within this cesspool of a city, bullied fairly often by a Mr.Harry Crandon. One day, he just erased me from reality, thinking me missing or dead, yet, here I am, before he became The Truth as you know him he was a villain and I am here to expose him." It difficult materialising into this reality again, I had to pull various elements into my body and break the laws of psychics approximately 120 times, but this would be my most glorious moment. A great golden man, stood at least 5 metres above every other man and woman, I felt real again, and I was powerful, far more powerful than The Lie. My first action would be to smash his statue, an action the masses below would understand much easier than everything else. Then, I would project each and every sin, catalogued through my eyes and stored somewhere absent in space, each fracture in the sky acting as a screen. The chorus of gasps and screams, how it felt so real.
I turned to The Lie, in the real world he would answer to justice, prison, jail, community services, perhaps a death sentence. But this is no longer their reality, it is mine. Fragmented across time and space forevermore, unable to die, I could've done this at any time, but to reveal all his sins before damning him to eternity, it was my therapy.
"Your villain has been vanquished...good citizens..." the gasps were no more, although there was plenty of shouting and tears. I suppose the city is mine, I've never really lived too much, The Lie has been my obsession for years. It would sure be nice to be a king. | ___His name is The Truth, but I knew him as Daniel Beckham, back when I could still know things. Now I’m just a Watcher.___
_News reporter on the radio:_ “protesters in France are keeping the president hostage because they’re angry about his stance on climate change”
\*sigh* ‘I guess it can’t be helped, time to fix this mess.’
#####Half an hour later in a bar:
‘I don’t know man, it feels wrong to do this. I’m helping people, I know that, but it’s all just so meaningless.’ ‘Hey barman, another whiskey please!’ \*crackling through the phone:* ‘maybe you should see a therapist, you don’t have to worry about a secret identity like most of us.’ ‘I’ve tried that already, but none of them understand my problem; my memories aren’t part of the real world anymore. I mean, you never had a lizard tail until I imagined you had one in 5th grade.’ ‘What are you talking about? I’ve always had a lizard tail, I told you it’s because of a fortunate birth defect.’ ‘No it’s not! You don’t understand how it feels to know the truth that isn’t the truth anymore. It messes with your brain. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t have a superpower, but just a terrible curse.’ ‘Don’t say that man, you have the power to change the world whenever you please, that’s incredible! I’d take that over a regenerative tail any day of the week.’ ‘You don’t get it, it feels as if this world isn’t real, as if my memories are the real world, but I know that’s not true. It’s making me go insane! It all started with that kid in 5th grade, Patrick was his name, you knew him.’ ‘I have no idea who you’re talking about.’ ‘Of course you don’t, I called him a nobody one day, then he went home to cry, and he never came back to school, he had never come to school in the first place, we just had a spare table in the classroom that year. At least, that’s how everyone remembers it, but I know otherwise, he’s still out there, in one form or another.’ ‘What kind of nonsense are you talking about? Maybe you are indeed going crazy, I’d really look into that therapy thing, you need it.’ ‘Maybe you’re right, I’ll think about it. I gotta go now, speak you later.’ ‘Later.’
#####On a bridge somewhere:
‘There’s only one way I can find out if he’s truly still out there, I need to tell him that I’m sorry, I was a real asshole back then.’
___I watch Daniel come to me, I know he’s sorry, but I don’t know if I’ll forgive him, I can’t know anymore.___
&nbsp;
___
This is one of my first works here, I’ve done a few others before, but not many, so feedback and constructive criticism are more than welcome! Thank you for reading! Also I know the formatting is weird, I’ve tried to change it but Reddit is working against me today. | 2021-11-23T07:21:20 | 2021-11-23T07:15:26 | 75 | 45 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths. | "Hero Killer?" said Sparrow Man, opening the door to my office with his wing.
"Yes?" I replied from behind my desk.
"You kill heroes, right?"
"Is the name confusing?"
"Sorry. Mind's been elsewhere lately."
"I'm sure. Can I help you?"
"When's your earliest appointment?"
"I can do Tuesday. Three in the afternoon. Sidewalk in front of the Empire State Building."
"Thanks so much. Do I bring anything?"
"You're allowed a suitcase with your personal effects and valuables. Drop it off at my office beforehand and I'll have it sent to your new address."
"I'm relieved you're such a professional. Really makes me feel better about going through with this, you know?"
"It's what I do. And why did you want to enter the hero protection program? I have to put down a reason. You know how government programs can be."
"I understand. It's just getting too much for me, Hero Killer. Last week I caught a purse snatcher and dangled him upside down in midair until he dropped the purse. But he kicked and he kicked and I tried to hold on, but..."
"You dropped him?"
"I couldn't catch him in time. These wings can barely support my own weight."
Sparrow Man was shivering visibly.
"Sure. Anything else?" I said.
"There was the bus full of school children..."
"You prevented the bus from plunging into the lake, but you caused a ten car accident in the process? I heard about that. How many fatalities?"
"Five. Can I sit down?"
"Go ahead. Ok, I think I have enough."
"Ok. How will you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Help me fake my death."
"It depends. I'll have to make it realistic, you understand. I'll need to maintain the element of surprise, so I'm afraid I can't tell you up front. You may feel some pain. Just let it happen."
"But I'll wake up somewhere far away, where nobody knows me, and I don't have to be a hero any more? I can leave all the nightmares behind?"
"Nobody asked you to be a hero," I said quietly.
"Sorry?"
"Nothing. Yes that's right, you will leave this all behind. It's in everyone's best interests."
"Thank you so much. I'll see you Tuesday."
Sparrow Man was gone. I finished filling out the box marked 'list of crimes', finalized the form with my official ink stamp, and gave the document to my secretary to mail.
Sometimes I feel like one of those old-fashioned priests, sitting in his confessional and passing down judgement and forgiveness from a higher power.
Those were simpler times, long before the radiation clouds from nuclear war turned most of the survivors into demigods with hormone imbalances. They were powerful and unpredictable enough that law enforcement had become a triage system out of necessity.
But unlike those old priests, the only power I served was the government, a many-headed god made of the people, and mostly gene-normal humans like me to boot. They decided whether to grant salvation or bring judgement, not me in my makeshift confessional.
I never thought humans would judge gods, and I often wonder what that says about us, or about them. But the salary is good, so I try not to think about it until I have to pull the trigger.
On Tuesday morning, I opened the letter I had been expecting. It bore an official government seal.
I had my answer.
I opened the desk drawer that held a box of blanks and a box of their more lethal cousins that I called Hail Mary's.
I loaded my sidearm and took a cab downtown to the Empire State Building, one of the few gleaming artifacts that the war had spared.
I saw Sparrow Man out in front, signing autographs, and I rolled down my window.
Hero Killer. It's in the name. What did they expect? | [POEM]
Laugh at thee, scum!
From hero to a mere bum.
Your accomplishments, net-zero sum.
Can't even actually run.
It's time to greet the setting sun.
Your life, a cosmic pun.
Heroism when it's shun.
By yourself, hun.
Here drink this bottle of rum.
No more kicking ass or chewing gum.
Your time is over while my fame just begun.
What is murder anyway?
When I always seem to get away.
No crime, no bribe no sway.
Y'all just come this way.
After sunset you may call me Ray.
'cause ain't no other sunshine left today.
Your legacy won't be okay.
My killer joke spells your death and hooray.
You may not may,
Have another day
Crime apparently does pay
However my fee is merely your 'yay'
Just so we can say...
Too late, can't stay.
Death certificate, like it was yesterday.
Funeral, today. | 2022-12-23T02:33:34 | 2022-12-22T19:29:34 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] You found this stray "dog" that followed you home, it's very obviously a demon in disguise, but you'll pretend you don't know, just to see how long they keep up the act. | Like many other human beings, I can be enthralled by certain animals. Dogs and cats were ideal, while I could be persuaded to make cooing noises at birds. Sometimes, reptiles can be, dare I say it, cute.
It depended on whether it was the weekday, or weekend. Or odds days, or even days. Or when the sun was up, or when the moon was up. It was difficult to decide which one was the best for me. Through the screen, of course, mostly through cute posts from other people. Real life was a lot of effort. Like many other human beings, I was fickle, and deathly afraid of extra work.
So it was with great joy when I noticed a dog-shaped creature follow me, then, when I was out on a walk. Strays didn’t require responsibility. Or commitment. I entertained the thought of being some sort of magical dog whisperer for a while, before the more wary part of my brain started to gently rouse me like my alarm used to. Which is to say, not very gently at all, and with a large deal of exaggeration.
“That’s not a dog,” it screamed. “That’s just a dog-shape!”
“Nonsense,” I replied languidly in the same manner I would to an alarm--by hitting snooze. “A dog-shape has to be a dog.”
But it wasn’t quite the same when you tried to go back to sleep. Either you do fall back asleep and eventually wake up and realize with growing, cold dread that it was way past whenever you needed to be up and *then* the large deal was no longer an exaggeration, or you stared at the ceiling with half-open eyes and tried to gather the motivation to get through the worst part of the day--waking up.
“Woof,” it enunciated, far too clearly and precisely to be a dog.
A casual observer with a cursory glance could have been fooled by the dog-shaped creature. Once it was upgraded to a standard glance, however, the illusion of a dog fell apart. There was the general size, and droopy ears, and a rather shiny, black coat of fur. But its glowing eyes were like a snake’s, yellow and slitted. It moved like a cat, with that sort of feline curl and deliberate gait. It also had two great flaming horns, which were very impressive, and something I really should have noticed, and likely would have left a herd of troubled goats bleating enviously.
“Woof,” it said again, very hopefully, in a manner that sounded like a door-to-door salesman trying to believe in whatever they were peddling that day.
“Alright,” I said. “Here, buddy.”
The vaguely dog-shaped creature trotted up to me, and started walking beside me. It shouldn’t be cute. It really, really, shouldn’t be cute.
But I felt my face scrunching up, and my heart overflowing, and a little aww escaping my tongue.
I made my way home. It was a rather nice evening with not many people around--which I’m sure wasn’t because of a dog-shaped thing with flaming horns walking beside me, no sir--so it didn’t feel like wasted time.
“Woof,” it hissed. It was with… pleasure?
“OK, buddy,” I said. “You gotta work on that a little.”
“Woof,” it chirped.
“Entirely wrong direction. Lower registers.”
“Woof,” it mrowed.
“That’s not too bad. A close neighbour. Maybe try rolling your tongue a bit?”
“Woof,” it arfed.
“That’s pretty good,” I praised.
We were at the gate to my house. I blinked, and shook my head vigorously. What the hell was I doing? Actually, what the hell was this thing doing, too? I observed as it nodded, a toothy, self-satisfied smile coming over it, and it rubbed against my legs.
I felt several hairs burn to a crisp. Was this an indication of rapport from this chimera mongrel? It seemed to understand what I was saying, at any rate, so I decided to ask it.
“What are you doing here?”
It looked up at me. It looked around, with what I’m sure was very menacing eyes, judging from one relaxed, whistling man catching its glance, then swivelling his ankle so hard that he turned two complete rounds before finally facing the opposite way and ran off.
“Woof,” it barked proudly.
It learned quickly, at least. I took out my keys, opened the gate, and beckoned it inside. It happily bounded through, making it the second most dog-like thing it had done.
“Here, buddy,” I patted the grass beside me. As it sat, the wilted.
“You know what?” I sighed, rising up, and sitting on the concrete instead. “Sit here instead.”
It gladly complied, and its forked tongue flitted with the air.
“You are not from around here,” I said. I wanted to ask it as a question, but by the time I started the sentence, it was plain that it was fact.
A bark and a nod.
“And you are… a dog?”
This one was the other way round. The burning fires of curiosity refused to be quenched in my brain, partly supported by the particular part that was screaming “I told you so.”
Another bark, another nod.
“OK, I’m gonna tell you the truth. You do not really look like a dog.”
It managed to look shocked and nonchalant at the same time.
I DID NOT HAVE MUCH REFERENCE MATERIAL, it screamed directly in my brain. I tried covering my ears, which only succeeded in letting the voice further echo within my skull, and I promptly let go.
“What in the hell,” I exclaimed. “What are you?”
I’M BORED, it said. SO I CAME HERE.
“Jesus,” I said, noticing that it flinched. “You are… a demon, then?”
YES. I RAN FROM HELL.
“You ran from hell,” I muttered. “Wait. Hell is real. Demons are real. Oh my god.”
CALM DOWN.
“Stop shouting into my brain, and maybe I’ll be able to!”
It stayed quiet then, and whimpered.
“Aww, sorry, buddy,” I said. “Just… turn down the volume a little, alright? Why do you want to be a dog, anyway?”
DEMONS IN HELL AREN’T LIKED. CAME HERE TO BE LIKED.
“Huh,” I wondered.
This was no animal that I let onto my doorstep. It was a demon, with a surprisingly human objective. It really, really, shouldn’t be cute, what with its mismatched puzzle pieces put together by a blind man. But it was.
“We are all trying to figure it out,” I said, quietly. “You have a name?”
YOU CANNOT SPEAK IT, OR YOUR TONGUE WILL MELT.
“Oooookay,” I said. “Do you mind if I call you… Shabby?”
SHABBY.
It barked, and came to nestle beside me.
I could smell the burning of a recently purchased, rather expensive throw rug.
I sighed. There was a lot of hard work ahead.
---
r/dexdrafts | Some may think there is something wrong with taking strays into their homes. There might be some truth to it.
They may carry diseases, fleas or just simply be pregnant. That way instead of adopting one you got whole package of trouble. Some aren't prepared for that mentally and financially.
Well, several weeks ago, on a rainy day, black stray dog followed me and wandered into my home. And I just couldn't get myself to throw her out. She was soaked with rain and her eyes were empty. She was just seeking a place to dry and rest.
I tried to take care of her. I dried her with towels, prepared place for her to sleep with some old bed sheets. And gave her some dog food that I borrowed from neighbor later that day.
Next day I went to store to buy some food. I was barely able to feed myself and yet, I decided to take care of someone else. At that time it seemed like the worst possible choice.
Why would someone who lives from paycheck to paycheck adopt dog ? I did not know the answer back then. The only thing that assured me was her behaviour, she seemed so intelligent, unlike any dog that I have ever met.
When I met her I didn't know why she followed me. Was that a fate or some deliberate choice ? Well, it doesn't matter.
Every day single day that followed, was brigher and brigher. It looked like my life was finally coming together. Found a better job, the back pain that I once had was growing smaller and smaller with each passing day. And her eyes were regaining life.
She never once disobeyed my order, when we were walking she was always by my side. And when I've had sleeples nights she came to sleep with me in bed. My days became brighter and brighter.
I knew that she was unique. But I truly realized that during a certain night.
I was lying half asleep inside the bed. When I suddenly heard footstep outside of my room. And those weren't dog's footsteps. Someone broke into my house.
I tiptoed as silently as I could towards the door. I grabbed phone ready to call 911. But I heard voice that surely didn't belong to human.
"YOU WILL EITHER LEAVE THIS HOUSE INTACT THIS SECOND OR YOUR SOUL WILL BURN ETERNALLY WITHING THE DEPTHS OF TARTARUS"
Then I heard scream, and entire house went silent. Not knowing what to do I went back to bed as silently as I could with pounding heart. I closed my eyes tried to pretend to be asleep.
Several seconds later I heard door opening. My heart was pounding. I was barely able to keep myself silent and motionless. I did not know what would happen within next few seconds.
But instead of scenes from some horror movie I witnessed something different. She came near me and then climbed on to the bed to lie close to me. At that moment I realized that my fear was irrational.
She was my dog, she chased the burglar and went into my room to keep me safe from all dangers. My heart calmed itself and few minutes later I was able to fall asleep.
Next day I saw news on tv about the burglar who turned himself to police because 'devil dogs were tearing him apart in dream'. He was deemed mentally unstable and instead of going to jail he went to mental asylum.
On that particular night I realized that she was my dog and I was her owner. I have finally decided to give her a proper name instead of calling her 'you'. I gave her name "Hikari".
A word that in japanease means light. The reason for that was simple. I choosed it because depite being hellhound, a darkness incarnate from the fiery depths of hell, she was the light that illuminated my every single day.
There's a certain quote from an old children's book :
“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”
I just hope I can keep up with the act pretending her to be normal dog. And be forever responsible for my little black light.
---
If someone finds some mistakes ( with usage of times, gramatical errors or something else), please notify me in the comment. That would help me improve my future prompts.
Thanks for reading and may hydration be with you.
Edit: Thanks guys for pointing out these mistakes. Gonna find some text editor that would help me with writing. | 2021-09-10T15:39:39 | 2021-09-10T15:07:28 | 241 | 168 |
[WP] You wake up in a tub of ice with a two insicions on your back and a note that reads "Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?" | It sounded like I was in a drink, ice makes the most unusual noise. My hands were so cold it was hard to hold the note with out dropping it, crumpled in my half form fist. The words from the note floated through my head, taking whatever order suited them.
"You don't have kidneys. What? Why the fuck?"
I squinted at the ceiling and wondered why they were so incredulous about the kidneys they just removed. How rude.
Paper fell to the floor and I looked to see that I had dropped the note. Tapping the edge of the tub, I couldn't feel anything below my shoulder, and even that was on its way out. Trying desperately hard to feel anything, I flung my wrist at the bath wall with all my might, only to have it fall short, landing on my chest. Time to get out.
I flung my arms over the edge of the tub and began an infantile wiggle away from my porcelain grave. Ice fell onto the checkered tile floor; it was the cubic ice you would get at a restaurant. Pausing, I wondered how sanitary that could be. I thought hospitals used that soft round ice so invalids could chew it, this can't be sterile. Another mark against my surgeon. I rolled out of the tub head first, hearing a loud slap as the flat of by back joined the ground. That will hurt in the morning.
I wonder if this is one of those heated floors. That would be nice.
Thawing on the ground, I began to collect all the clues I could about my current location. The old, but maintained fixtures could be from any apartment in nearly any city. I think I am in New York? I should go get a hot dog. I hope my wallet is on the counter. Without my glasses, I can't see too far, though there are no shapes moving out the open door.
To my left is the note. Maybe it has a letter head. My hands work better now, but I have to read the note while on my side. Sitting up is for later. The page looks different now. It is written on a Chinese takeout menu, looks like I am in Boston. The words on the note look different too.
"Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
Can I feel a lack of kidneys? Can I feel a lack of any organ? The internal introspection made acutely aware of my tongue taking up volume in my mouth.
I slid over to the wall and propped myself up. Maybe you pee differently if your kidneys are gone. With the toilet seeming at the top of Everest, I opted to urinate on the tile. The warm stream followed the grout and ran towards the tub, same color as ever. Whatever pain killers they gave me are awesome. I don't even care that I am peeing on the floor.
My hands work well now, but my legs wont budge. Odd, but I don't really know how far into hypothermia I am. I force myself to read the menu, trying to assess my mental state.
"Kung Pao chicken. 5.99"
Reading them aloud seemed like a good thing to do.
"General Tsos chicken 4.99, Hunan style, 7.99, Huggalllll....Hagggallllll"
My tongue stopped working.
Dropping the note, I reached for a towel on the wall above me. My left arm fell onto my head, useless. I could no longer move it at all. With my right, I managed to pull down a towel. Maybe I can get warm before the cold kills me.
Something slithered around my spine and my right arm fell down too. Paralyzed, I realized that I should be afraid. This wasn't hypothermia. Something is inside of me and I should be afraid. But instead, I just felt happy. I had been happy the whole time and it was strange. It was nice.
I hope it is happy. | "Aww fuck this won't be good. I'm in Chongqing so I'm sure this was done by the koruppted boys. The low level bitches who fucked my back up are being chewed out by their Capo right now I bet. He's going to tell his boss and that fat fuck will know exactly who I am.
It's easier getting lost in mainland China than most of the west but there's one problem. These mother fuckers are superstitious. You get discovered by a gang in the Americas and they have you on a horse taking gun fire from a sherif by nightfall. You get discovered here and all the sudden there's talk of cutting your dick off an eating it. Dick and hearts. These motherfuckers...."
Edit- no one else is willing to try and write but quick with the downvotes. Guess people don't like monologues | 2015-12-31T00:04:58 | 2015-12-30T20:45:14 | 73 | 25 |
[WP] Canada has suddenly gone dark. No communication, no trade, no activity from within. Nothing for days. Alaska, now cut off from mainland US, is slowly ceasing in contact with the US federal government until a final correspondence is given: "Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don't ever open it." | I hoped I wasn't too late. 6 minutes and 36 seconds. That was the difference. The difference between whether the message went through. Whether the United States had any hope in hell of surviving what was going to come next. We had some warning signs but nobody could figure out what it meant until too late. The animals felt it before we did, they fled Canada, any that were able to. The largest migration of birds in human history fled all in one day. On the same hour.
The seismic activity started in Saskatchewan. It went dark first. Alberta went down 3 hours later. BC only an hour and half following that.
I got the call from my cousin right before everything went down in BC Everybody had a theory, panic was spreading. Some thought Zombies, some thought it was Russia. Others that Aliens were attacking us. I thought it was funny. Almost. Other then the fact that my call with my cousin ended with a blood curdling scream. I don't know what is happening but we can't send calls out of the country.
I orginally thought I would flee to rhe border. Instead I went north. To an old satelite radio station I used to play in when I was a kid. It was close to blue mountain. Getting there from Toronto is usually a 3 hour drive. I dld it in 1. I could tell that Western Canada was done and "it" was heading east now.
My car ran out of gas 1 km from the station. I cursed my luck, grabbed my handful of gear and machete and ran. I really wish that I didn't stop running after I left high school. I heard it long before I saw it. The evening sky went dark as night for a few breaths before it got as bright as a clear noon sky.
I ran faster. My heart racing. I shouldnt have looked behind me but I did. At first it looked like shadows following me. But those shadows had elongated talons with arms too long and bodies to thin. They each only had one eye that opened vertically. It was purple with a gold iris. That split in half. I shivered and ran faster.
I reached into my pouch and took out a road flare. I was lucky I didn't take my work stuff out of my car yesterday. I could see the tower. 500 meters. Less.
I lit it with my boot, which slowed me down and threw it behind me.
I don't know what I expected it to do and certainly didn't stop to find out. I got past the fence, kicked in the door and ran up the old metal steps. Tap tap tap tap tap. Was the noise of my feet on the creaky old metal. Another boot opened the next locked door. I was glad I still remembered how to use my lockpicking set. Ha. Ha. I am going to die.
I didn't think about that until now, whatever it was, made me realize that now more then ever. I started the old equipment and sent out the signal. I sent my message. To the satelite.
I heard the metal steps whine just outside the door way. "It" was here. A long tendriled taloned claw grasped the door frame as it clambered into the room.
It made no noise but I heard it in my mind. It wasn't human. It showed me respect for making its game enjoyable.
The loud speaker on the old satellite spoke. Uploading now, will complete in 6 minutes and 36 seconds.
I didnt know whether that meant to get from here to the satellite or from the satellite back down. It smiled a black abyss. I saw a smoking hole on its side. It oozed, from the road flare. I smiled and grabbed as many road flares as I could and lit and threw them. It let me.
I died. It wasn't pretty, or glorious. The last thing I heard as my flesh tore and bones turned to powder was a response.
"Message recieved. We will be ready." A man with a southern accent said. Even though the miasma of pain. I smiled, it snarled and then it was all over.
Good luck. You will all need it for what comes next. | the alarming message has been relayed to the president and a smug vindication streaked across face.
"we need to build a wall"
and so they did (or tried to at least).
they sent the best contractors along with the military to survey the build site for the wall, but none of them returned from their assignment, while all video and audio feeds turn to static upon crossing the border.
"so many american lives lost", the president and his advisors assumed. so they did what they thought was the most "sensible" thing from their perspective.
"let's send mexicans and asians to build the wall".
so they opened the boarder down south and approved all visas to any immigrant willing to help the government "build the wall".
immigrants started to flood in en masse, and they were sent up north in droves to start "building the wall".
however, instead of building the wall, they all crossed the northern border instead and was never heard from again.
this turn of events greatly bewildered the american president. so he finally decided to inspect the border himself.
and what they saw was a portal.
the president saw himself, staring into himself across infinity.
and like narcissus staring at his own reflection in a clear pond, he reached out and took a step.. | 2019-08-25T21:22:35 | 2019-08-25T20:34:12 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] "You'll never rest", they said. "Eventually, you will come to hate your eternal curse", they warned. 6 billion years, 3 intergalactic voyages, and more planets than you can count later, and you're still skipping along, having the time of your life with your 'cursed' existence. | It's a strange feeling - walking in a room and knowing you're going to outlive every single living thing, human or not.
I hear people complain about crumbling relationships, scraping by with barely a Galactic Credit to their name, and fears about whether they're going to do what they want in life. I don't have that problem. I've bathed in stardust, traveled through the Synac System Wormhole, and won the Milky Way Shuttle Race Championship three times and counting. I've become a bartender, an informant, and a planetary real estate agent, to name a few.
I think what rattles me the most is the lack of curiosity. How can you look at the cosmos and decide that your little bubble is all you want to know about? All right, yeah, before you come at me about my privileges, I'm talking about information too. We have the ability to cybernetically funnel endless amounts of knowledge into our craniums, but most people I've met are content with their corner of the universe.
I met a guy the other day while crossing the the Pinwheel Galaxy border. Looked to be in his twenties. Probably still has at least two hundred years of life in him. He was freaking out about what he was going to major in at Quelbrig College.
"I'm just overwhelmed," he said. "How am I supposed to decide what I want to do for the rest of my life?"
I shrugged. "What makes you think you have to pick one thing? Look at me. I'm a pilot, data analyst, and part-time bounty hunter right now."
"That seems like too eclectic of a resume," he said.
"Mmm. You got a few minutes, kid?"
"Uh...I guess. I've got an exam in a couple hours, then I need to check on my laundry, and..."
"Get in the damn shuttle."
The kid hopped in. I pulled my shuttle over to the left, went a couple miles out, and passed through a hidden gate. In an instant, we were sitting on the precipice of the West Reckmere Canyons. A seemingly endless expanse of purple and blue cliffs extended far into the distance, and a sea of glittering mini-asteroids floated gently around us.
I turned to the kid. "I know your village or planet or whatever is all you can comprehend right now. I get it. The vastness is terrifying. But as soon as you give up wanting to do it all, that's when you can be happy about what you're looking at."
He sighed. "You don't look like you've been around much longer than me."
I chuckled. "Oh, believe me, I have."
I noticed a quick grin flash across the kid's face, but then he looked despondently at the ground. "I'd love to be a traveler someday."
"Maybe you will, maybe you won't. We don't always get to pick. Here's my best piece of advice..." I took a swig of my Supernova Soda. "Figure out what you're gonna do tomorrow."
The kid nodded. He pulled something out of his pocket - a Milky Way candy bar, straight from Earth.
I shook my head. "Man, quit eatin' that shit. Go see the real one someday. Maybe I can take you if our paths cross again."
I turned the shuttle around and pulled back through the gate. We were back at the Pinwheel border in minutes.
I watched as the kid floated over to the transit beam. He gave me a friendly wave as the beam transformed him into a swirling mass of tiny particles, sending him who-knows-where.
Believe it or not, there's billions of galaxies I haven't seen yet. Billions of planets - some boring, some that can throw unbelievable parties, some anarchic, some authoritarian.
Every evening, no matter who I meet or what I've done, I always pull up a map. Setting goals is something I struggle with, even after 6 billion years.
So, for now - and for however long this lasts - I will end each day the same way.
I will decide what to do tomorrow. | They neve knew how it would be, how could they? I was the only one who had the courage, after all I didn't have anything to live for, now I know everything my civilization knew, I saw kingdoms burn, i saw everything a human could've seen and finally it clicked, all that sadness, boredom had no meaning, I was thinking about the universe as if i was a human took me 2 billion years but it finally clicked, I'm something else, a beeing that should have never been born but either way here I am, cursed with the time of my life, sex is no longer enjoyable so i just sit and watch civilizations being born and die, they come and go and so do. im so old my time is not theirs anymore, i wonder in how much time civilizations will be born and die in a glimpse of my eye? Now i know how the god of those stories felt, maybe hes out there looking at me. Its just a matter of time for me to know even more secrets of this universe or maybe the next one haha, im just too young to understand it all... | 2020-10-25T10:29:52 | 2020-10-25T10:02:18 | 844 | 49 |
[WP] A six year old child walks up to you and tugs on your sleeve. He doesn't say anything out loud, but in your mind you hear the request as clear as day. "I am God and I need you to protect me." | *I am God, and I need you to protect me.*
The girl couldn't have been any older than six. She'd just tugged on my sleeve but was now looking off into the distance, like she hadn't even done anything. That was okay, I recognized this kind of thing when I saw it.
"You okay?" I asked her. She broke her gaze away from the store across the way and looked up at me.
"Yep!" She said.
*No, please, help me.*
I understood. "How about I get you to your parents?" I asked.
"Mom sent you?" *They're the ones you have to protect me from!*
"I'll help you." I answered. "Come with me."
She slid off the bench she'd been sitting on and started following me.
Once we left the mall, I thought we were safe.
*They're looking for me.*
I glanced back. The girl was looking back at the mall and I could see a number of security guards talking to each other. They weren't looking my way, thankfully, but they were clearly agitated about something.
"Okay, come on, I'll drive you home." I had to get her out of here before the people trying to hurt her found her.
*Hurry, please.*
We got into the car and I drove. Of course, I didn't take her home - her parents were the ones hurting her, after all. She told me all about it on the ride. Not out loud, of course, never out loud, you never knew when they were listening, but through her mind. The message was simple: she was God, and she needed me to protect her.
I didn't take her to my apartment. My apartment was in the city and was therefore the easiest thing for them to find. Of course I lived there most of the time, I had to or else they'd get suspicious. They'd try to find the house I'd inherited from my half-brother, the isolated house in the country. The house I'd made into a church, to keep God safe.
The drive took longer than I would have liked. At least once I passed a police car, and each time I did she sent me a quiet *be careful*, because of course the police - like the CIA and the rest of the government - were agents of the devil. But we passed without incident.
Still, it was upsetting to her. "Where are we going?" She'd asked me the question more than once.
"It's okay." I told her. "You'll be safe. I'm bringing you to the church."
Finally, we arrived. The church I'd made still looked like a house, of course. It had to fool anyone who happened by. The girl was visibly nervous at this point, but what god wouldn't be? She was finally going to go home to the church where she belonged, and I could protect her. It had to seem too good to be true.
The inside of the church looked like a house, too. If they'd placed cameras here, they'd just see an ordinary house, that was the idea. But the basement, that's where I'd sanctified.
"Stop!" *Keep going* she said. That was to be expected, the God in the girl knew it was going to be free, but the body of the girl resisted. I'd bring her to the altar downstairs and set her free, like I-
A concussive blast struck me, a bright light and deafening sound, and I was brutally pushed to the ground, the girl torn from my grasp. All around me, something was happening but I could barely tell what except that something had gone horribly wrong, I was failing God, the girl would get away and God would never be made whole again.
Police. Body armor and guns, they were everywhere, swarming my house, and even breaking into the church basement below. "Jesus Christ" one of them said, at least showing a little reverence for what he was seeing. "Jesus fucking Christ." He backed away from the basement door. I could barely hear what he was saying.
"Are you okay little girl?" One of the other devils was talking to the girl I was supposed to protect.
"You have the right to remain silent." The crushing force on my back was one of the devils. He was placing his manacles on me as he spoke. "Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."
My hearing was slowly returning. The police-demon who'd initially opened the door to the church was talking to another of his kind. "I'm not going down there until CSI arrives. I didn't see much but I've seen enough."
"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Do you understand each of these rights that I have explained to you?"
"No!" I shouted. I wasn't answering the pig-demon's question, I was looking at the girl. "They're demons! They'll trap you!" I thrashed at my captor's grasp. "God needs me!" They didn't understand. They never understood. They hadn't understood at the hospital years back when I'd patiently and repeatedly explained it to them. God was trapped in the girls. God would come to me and tell me he needed to be protected. And I would free Him by-
I was hoisted to my feet and unceremoniously hauled out of the house.
"Don't look down the stairs, Cal, I'm serious." The demons kept speaking to each other. "We saved this one, and I'm thankful for that, but Jesus... there's a half dozen down there. Maybe more."
"Ted, look at me. Look at me. We got him. We got the Godfrey Strangler. He'll never hurt anyone again." | You ever have that moment where everything you know is changed forever? It’s something you couldn’t have predicted, and it makes the rest of your life totally different from the plan.
My first was the day I met my wife. Before that, I was a drunken addict. She fixed me, loved me, and made me.
The second was the day she died because some asshole thought getting home was more important than sobering up.
But, the third one that I really remember was when I met Him. Or Her. Or It. I don’t know.
I was minding my business, walking around the city. Since Grace died, I lost a lot of faith in things. I was better than in my addict days, but it was rough. All the pain was real, raw, and at the surface. I was careful not to let myself fall into old habits, but I wanted to do it so badly just to numb my pain.
The tug was barely perceived. I heard a whisper that shook me to my core.
“I’m sorry about Grace.” A child of no more than six said to me. It smiled, but I had no idea what gender it was.
“How…” was all I could say. This was a random street in a very crowded city. There’s no way a child knew my dead wife’s name. You know that sensation where you are walking alone, and you feel a tingle in your spine that something is wrong. It's usually nothing, but you feel that reptilian part of your brain screaming survival commands. That’s what I felt.
“I took her. She’s a sweet lady. You did well, but her purpose was served.”
“What purpose?”
“To prepare you to protect me.” The child said without any mirth. It’s language was crisp and clean.
“Are you my child?” During the addiction times, he did some regrettable things. A child wasn’t out of the question.
“I am, for all intents and purposes, God. I am in a lot of trouble, and I need a protectorate. You are the one, James. It is time to become who you were destined to be.” The child finally smiled.
I looked around for a long time for cameras, a crowd laughing, anything. There was nothing. I realized then that no one was even seeing me. They gave us both a wide berth, and we were totally isolated on a too crowded street. Except one man. He met my eyes, and a sneer carved his face.
“One is close… Please, you must help me.” The man grabbed the child.
“There you are.” He said ignoring me. He whispered something in an alien tongue. I swung at him. I am not strong or much of a fighter. I think that was my third or fourth real punch ever. His head came off. He dropped to the ground. No one noticed as he dissolved into smoke.
“How the fuck did I do that?”
“I can’t have my protector being flimsy and weak like a human.” The child smiled.
The rest is my daily life. We have dodged demons, cultists, and other evils for a very long time. I stopped being scared. I now have a purpose. | 2015-04-25T09:29:03 | 2015-04-25T06:31:31 | 497 | 23 |
[WP] You were abandoned by your parents as a baby. An eldritch being sees you and adopts you. You are taught about higher dimensions and arcane magic. But things change when your eldritch parent insists you go to a human school to experience a normal life. | The girl was strange, unsettling in a way that he had never experienced with any child before. Principal for 23 years, and a teaching career before that, Gregory Evans thought he had seen every type of child that the world held. The nerds, the jocks, the little boy cutting the eyes out of beetles and who would, more than likely, end up on the evening news in 5 or 6 years. All of these he handled with ease, stepping in to counter the worst of their violent tendencies and bullying, and all in all, keeping the school running, and keeping the kids alive and reasonably educate until their graduation, when they were no longer his problem. Long gone were the days when he felt he could really make a difference in these children's lives, and indeed as school policies came down from on high over the years, it seemed clear that no one wanted him to. Leia Humansdottir however, seemed to defy all that he thought he knew. He knew the inns and outs of child psychology, was under no illusions about the psychopaths that ran through his halls, and yet the nine year old Leia unsettled him.
She had started only two weeks ago, in the middle of the semester, a transfer student, from where exactly he wasn't sure, he assumed his assistant must have handled the paperwork, and made a mental note to ask her about the child. He really needed to make more of an effort in her case, try and find out if there were underlying behavior issues at her old school, and he wasn't sure why he had neglected to look into her past for this long. The girl sat outside his office now, though what exactly she had done, he still wasn't sure of. That she had been bullied there was no doubt, anyone as unusual as her would be bullied, and much as it had once bothered Gregory Evans, he had given up trying to change human nature long ago. But if she hadn't started the fight, what had she done to finish it? Her attacker wouldn't say, wouldn't open his eyes, wouldn't speak save for screams and whimpers. The paramedics were baffled, as were the doctors at the hospital, they found no sign of any injuries, but prying his eyes open to check only brought more screams, and the boy had to be sedated as he violently tried to escape from something no one else could see.
Leia sat outside his office now, kicking her heels, and humming in her tuneless way, that almost appeared to be in a key that no one knew, and seemed to include slightly too many notes. The glass on his desk quivered slightly as she hummed a higher note, was that normal? or was it just coincidence, maybe an earthquake? The rules were clear when incidents between students were concerned, even if the particulars of this case were a mystery to him, and he had placed a call to her parent 10 minutes prior. His brow furrowed, he had hadn't he? He remembered picking up the phone, dialing the number, telling whoever was on the other end to come pick up Leia, but could remember nothing beyond that, not even if he had been speaking to a man or a woman. Had he imagined it all? Maybe he had forgotten to place the call completely? His normally excellent memory had seemed to be failing him lately. He reached his hand tentatively towards the phone once more, stopping at a cry of "parent!" from the child outside. That was unusual wasn't it? Didn't most people have a different name for their parents? He wasn't sure, there was a strange buzzing in his ears.
His office door closed, and Gregory Evans sat back with a smile on his face. He was glad he had spoken to Leia's parent, glad the meeting had gone so well, some parents wanted to rant and scream, but this one had just stood their calmly, both arms wrapped around their daughter, while extending a hand to shake his own, calmly and politely. That was right wasn't it? His memory seemed to be fading again, he clearly recalled a black bowler hat sitting on the parent's head, but not their face? He thought he remembered eyes, but straining to remember even what color they were, all he could picture were eyes, eyes within eyes, spiraling endlessly. He shook his head, what a strange thought, and smiled again at how well the meeting had gone, certain that the situation was all sorted out. The particulars of the incident he wasn't quite sure of, had she been failing a class? regardless it was all sorted now, hopefully she wouldn't have any issues with bullying. He knew it was often a problem when someone stood out, she seemed a little odd, and made a mental note to ask his assistant if there were any behavioral issues at her old school. | “This is torture. You want me to suffer. I’m sure we have something at home that could do just as good a job.” It was true. How many times had I been chastised for touching something I shouldn’t have, because it could’ve killed me or *worse*, and only luck had saved me, according to my dad. My dad, the eldritch being who found me as an infant; my dad, who collected dangerous trinkets and devices from many realms. My upbringing had been unconventional by human standards, some might say it was no environment for a child. And yet…
Of all the things I had seen in my childhood, all the wonders, curiosities and terrors I had been shown, nothing- *nothing*- could’ve prepared me for the horror facing me now. Loud, *loud* kids were running around me, their mundane conversations grating every fibre of my being as the bell rang and the crowd rushed to the stupid, ugly building in front of me. Disgust twisted my features and my stomach as I turned back to the only parent I had ever known.
“This is a mistake, I shouldn’t be here. I don’t wanna be here.”
“We’ve been over this.” He said. “You are human, you need to spend time with other humans of your age.”
“Maybe I’m not human, did you think of that? Eh? Eh? No? Okay.” I sighed and looked back to the school- just the word made me shudder.
“It’ll be good for you.” He chuckled and I felt him lightly push me towards the steps. I rolled my eyes and waved over my shoulder as I walked up the steps, took a deep breath and pulled open the door. I looked back once more, thinking I could beg again, maybe sell my soul or something, but my dad was already gone. I snorted and rolled my eyes again as I stepped into my own personal hell. | 2022-04-08T10:44:24 | 2022-04-08T09:40:06 | 42 | 25 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased with your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell and we're the demons. You have just been summoned... | I fall to the stone floor in an ungraceful heap. One moment I am dozing in my recliner after getting it in that magical position where my back doesn’t hurt and then there is this dazzling light and splat. Right on the floor.
Pain. I am way too old to flop onto a stone floor. I don’t bounce like I used to. I blink and rub my eyes trying to recover from a spotlight being shoved into them. As they recover I see what can only be described as some trippy shit. I’m in the middle of a freaking glowing circle with geometric shapes glowing and swirling around.
I’m also surrounded by midgets in purple robes.
To say that I have absolutely no fucking idea what is going on is the understatement of the century. I continue to rub my eyes. Things still don’t look right. The light is… different. The colors are… different. I cough. The air is different. Is it possible for air to be too clean? For colors to be too bright?
I do not like it here. I do not like it at all.
The midgets make terrified squeaking sounds. This one old fucker holding a book raises his hand.
“Foul creature from the netherworld! We summon you!”
“Say what now?” I struggle to my feet. Ow… I really should have been a more careful driver in my twenties.
The midgets, all gripping black candles, back away in fear. The old fucker bellows.
“Hold your ground! It cannot harm us.”
“I wouldn’t normally but it’s getting more tempting by the second. What exactly the flying fuck is going on here.” There are a bunch of shocked little gasps.
“He said a dirty word!” The midgets, the biggest was maybe three and a half feet tall, all recoiled in horror.
“Remember your training! Succumb not to the horror!” That little old guy is really starting to piss me off.
“Listen here you little shit...” I step towards him, “You have about ten seconds to...” BAM. I walk into something hard, And rather painful. A cylinder glows around me briefly.
“FUCK!” I yell holding my nose. On the bright side it isn’t broken (again). I reach out with my hand and receive a mild shock as the previously invisible barrier glows stopping my progress.
It feels sorta… flimsy. I poke it again.
“Oh loathsome denizen of the abyss… I bind you!” Ok now he’s gone and given me a headache.
I haul off and give that barrier a good kick. The sort of kick I use to unlock doors (or used to anyway). The barrier shatters, The circle goes poof in an annoyingly vivid happy rainbow of colors.
“EeeeeeEEEeeeeeee!” It’s oompa loompa pandemonium. Those little fuckers are bouncing off of each other, throwing candles left and right, a couple of them even peed themselves.
The old fucker is holding the book in front of him like a shield as he marches towards me.
“Flee young ones!” He then draws himself up, squares his shoulders, and raises his right hand which starts to swirl with glowing colors. I grab him by the scruff of his robe.
“Don’t even think about it.” I give him the stare that I once used to settle down unruly drunks. It still works. The hand drops. I lean in and hiss, “You have exactly ten seconds to tell me what the flying fuck is going on before I find out exactly how far I can throw your wrinkly ass.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“So my realm is Hell.” I nod thoughtfully. “It does explain a lot, actually.”
“You didn’t know?” Glasen, the old fuck, asked.
“Nope. We just assumed that it’s normal. The place is a bit fucked… sorry… messed up but it’s normal for us.” I cough again. I guess I need some brimstone. Glasen notices my discomfort.
“I apologize for summoning you in such a dank and musty place.” Oh fuck me… This is dank?
“Nah, it’s cool.” Most of the other midgets have long since fled. Some brave souls are huddled by the exit peering in from the shadows. Too bad their shadows aren’t particularly shadowy and they are particularly bright so I can see them plan as… Heh. That’s right. I’m a demon. I can do shit like that.
“So why do you want to summon a giant demon from hell? No offense but it seems that you aren’t really good at this.” Glasen hangs his head and sighs.
“Well you see...” he is cut short by a blast of impossibly perfect trumpet blasts. They really grate on my nerves. In charge a couple of dozen little guys clutching what look like wooden lances. Glasen gasps.
“I have this under control. You didn’t have to bring the pointy sticks!” I sigh heavily.
It’s going to be a long day. | "Oh. My. God. I CAN TELEPORT!?"
Gebann looked at his arms in shock as if unsure whether he truly disappeared before reappearing in a new location. It was a neat experience and all but surely all first-time teleporters had to ensure all their limbs were attached upon arriving at their destination. *Pretty sure it said that in a book somewhere...*
Drí was somewhat less ecstatic about this demons newfound claim to fame. After all, he was pretty sure it should be less of - 'I CAN TELEPORT' and more of - 'I was just summoned, I wonder how I can please my master?'
"Ahem"
Hearing the somewhat annoying sound of a sassafrass clearing their throat as if to impose their importance on the world, Gebann looked around with somewhat disgust. Sure this person might be accomplished or whatever, BUT COULD THEY TELEPORT!? That's right! They couldn't! Probably.
Turning around with his right hand on his hip so to face the source of the self-important attitude, Gebann noticed it was a somewhat derelict room with poor lighting.
"CAN I HELP YOU, PEBBLE!?" Gebann asked in the loudest voice he could before noticing that the person he had just been so rude to, was a girl. A somewhat pretty girl with slightly tanned skin, eyes black as the night and messy hair that seemed to consume her back.
*Ah fiddlesticks, mom is going to kill me.*
Drí let out a soft gasp and felt her face heat up.
*Did... did he just call me a pebble? Nobody ever called me a pebble before...*
Thankfully the demon didn't notice her reaction so she could still take the initiative.
"Demon I wo-"
"DEMON!? WHERE!?"
Gebann leaped over the girl and hid behind her back; he had never been good with dealing with frightening situations. Hopefully, the demon would eat her first and leave him be for giving it such a succulent sacrifice.
"HUH!?"
What was going on? Were the demons having a sort of civil war or something where powerful demons preyed on the weaker ones? His reaction completely took her by surprise and left her somewhat disappointed... Although, she had to admit that was a rather impressive jump he just did.
"Ermm... mister dem-"
Gebann felt his eyes tearing up and he clutched tightly onto the girl's leg, surely she could protect him. He didn't really want her to get eaten... that was just a joke!
Drí looked down at the demon and sighed when she saw how he reacted to hearing the word demon.
*Looks like we have a long road ahead of us huh bud...* | 2019-04-25T19:13:50 | 2019-04-25T17:30:01 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] During Christmas Eve, you wrote a letter to Santa saying that you wanted to be the protagonist in your life. The next day, you wake up only to see your entire family dead, with Santa standing next to their corpses. Turns out you did become a protagonist, and Santa is the main villian. | “You. Kid,” I growled, crooking a finger at the bartender. “More whiskey.”
The man across the bar was fresh-faced and young, but his mouth still went flat at being called a kid. I was drinking thirty-year scotch, though, so he wasn’t dumb enough to lose himself that tip.
“Going hard tonight,” was all he said, uncorking the bottle. “Celebrating something? Little Christmas present to yourself?”
“You could say that,” I grumbled, as the liquid gold splashed into my glass. “Sixty-eight years. Sixty-eight years tonight, since that bastard killed my family.”
“Damn,” he muttered, tipping a little extra into my glass. “Ever find the guy that did it?”
“Hah,” I scoffed, drinking deep. “You ever hear of Santa Claus?”
*That* got his attention. It usually did, whenever I ended up telling the story. Bartender rolled his eyes and corked up the Lagavulin, shaking his head as he returned it to the shelf.
“Alright, grandpa, sure,” he said. “Santa killed your family. You want another drink, you let me know. Otherwise, I’ve got other customers.”
“The hell you do,” I snapped, fixing him with a gimlet-eyed glare honed by five decades of practice, as I gestured around at the deserted airport bar. “It’s Christmas Eve, and you drew the short stick. Which means listening when I talk, are we clear?”
I could see a frustrated vein bulge in his forehead, but the thought of a tip on a bar tab that was probably well over ten grand by now must have won out again, because he just sighed and nodded.
“Alright, sir. *Why* did Santa Claus kill your family?”
“Asked for it,” I replied shortly. “Momma helped me write the letter. ‘Dear Santa, please next year, let me be a hero, just like in the movies.’ We dropped it in the mailbox on the way to school. I was six years old.”
My knuckles clenched white on the glass, and I drained the rest of my scotch. This part…this part was hard to talk about.
“Woke up to a bloodbath, Christmas morning. Momma, Daddy, and my older brother Lee, all dead. All cut up, pieces of them…”
I cleared my throat hard and tapped my glass for more scotch.
“Doesn’t matter. They were dead. And on the chimney, nailed into it where the stockings had been, was a note written in blood: ‘Come find me, hero.’”
“Jesus,” the barkeep muttered, topping up my drink and leaving the bottle on the bar. He still probably didn’t believe me, but that was fine. I’d gone through twenty-seven different therapists, and none of them believed me either. At least this guy was willing to play along.
“So what’d you do? Go look for him?”
“Damn right I did. Joined the marines on my seventeenth birthday, made SEAL by the time I was twenty-three. Got *real* good at killing. Signed up for an expedition, and—”
“Wait, an expedition?” the bartender scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief again. “What, to the *North Pole?* Come on, man, if I’ve gotta listen to this, at least make it believable.”
“You can believe whatever the hell you want,” I snarled. “But I’m telling you that he’s real. I found him up there, workshop, reindeer, and all. Storms killed the whole expedition before we got there, everybody except me. But I made it. I found him, on Christmas day.”
“And then what, you killed Santa? Shot him right in the bowlful of jelly?”
“No,” I admitted, the word burning in my throat worse than any whiskey. “Tried, but no. Nothing could put him in the ground, not bombs, bullets, or fire. I came back three years in a row, brought the heaviest guns I could find, blew the whole place to hell a couple times, but it just didn’t work. Put a .50 cal sniper round between that fat bastard’s eyes, dead on. Blinked, and he was walking around like it never happened.”
I sipped on the scotch, ruminating on those times. I had been so certain that there was a way to kill him, so sure that I just had to find the right weapon. In a way, I had, though it’d taken longer than I expected.
“Must be that Christmas magic,” the bartender commented drily, glancing around and no doubt hoping that another customer would wander up to his deserted bar. “Hard to get at a man who can fit through a chimney and fly around the world in one night.”
“Correct,” I confirmed grimly, ignoring the sarcasm. “That’s the least of what he can do, though. His magic…it’s powerful. Unnatural. It’s in the ice, up there. Something frozen and preserved from an age before humanity ever existed.”
I drained my glass again, enjoying the burn. It was too much liquor for one night, especially at my age, but I *was* celebrating, after all.
“Magic ice, sure,” the barkeep shrugged. “Let me guess, you dragged a flamethrower to the North Pole?”
“Not quite,” I replied, with the first thin smile I’d known in decades turning my lips. “Why don’t you turn up that TV behind you, and pour me another drink?”
Raising a bemused eyebrow, he did as I said, draining the last of the Lagavulin into my glass and then raising the volume on a large television tuned to CNN.
“…and it was an angry Christmas in Dallas, where protestors gathered outside of the headquarters of the recently-merged ExxonMobil-BP oil conglomerate. They blame the corporation, particularly Chairman Henry Barstow, for a huge spike in global warming over the last two decades. This year is the first since records began that absolutely no sea ice has formed in the Arctic ocean. Thanks to Barstow, protestors say, Earth has lost her northern ice cap forever.”
The bartender turned back to me, eyes wide, as a picture flashed up on the screen. A picture of a grizzled old man in a suit, with buzzed gray hair and a scar over one eye.
My picture.
“Checkmate, you murdering son of a bitch.” | I fall to my knees at the door of the living room, the presents in my arms clattering to the floor. My mind is trying to find answers to the scene I'm witnessing but it draws blanks.
*This has to be a nightmare. It has to be.*
Santa Claus is standing above the bodies of my family, all unmoving. All...
"Dead," he says to me with a deep voice.
"What do you mean, dead?"
"You wished to be a protagonist, did you not? This is the path you will be taking for that," he replies heartily before putting his bloody hands on his belly and bellowing a 'Ho, Ho, Ho'.
I crawl wordlessly to their bodies as he laughs. The scene before me burns into my memory and I am unsure of what to do. I didn't even believe in Santa. And yet, here he is, towering above me in his festive red pants, a white vest and his beard, all stained with blood of my family. He stops laughing and locks eyes with me and my vision blurs.
"Tears? Ah... you are getting into the protagonist swing of things," he says, before crouching down to look me levelly in the eye.
I am cradling my mother now, rocking back and forth, wishing that she would shake in my arms and stand up like nothing is wrong. Like I'm being pranked. But she remains still and her body is cold to my touch. I break my gaze with Santa and look at her.
She is unrecognisable. The swelling on her face, and the broken lip, and the missing teeth tells me all I need to know about Santa's assault. I glance around and notice similar markings on my father's and sister's face.
*Santa beat my family to death with his bare hands.*
I look back at him and he smiles wildly. There's an evil look in his eye.
"Well, Mr Protagonist. This is where I leave you with a mental scar and monologue. So..." he pauses before getting back to his feet, "ask me a question. The question. The one burning in your mind and resting on your tongue."
I take a look at my family again before looking at him, my cheeks wet with tears.
"Why?"
"You asked a stupid wish but one within my power to offer. This is such a dull question but I will humour you. For you to be a protagonist, you need a foil. An enemy. A driving purpose towards an end goal. And nothing motivates a person more than losing their loved ones. Especially when you know who is responsible."
He raises a fist and I feel the punch daze me. My face meets the floor far too quick and pain shoots my body. I spit out blood, groaning. Santa walks away and I see his red coat materialise around him. He keeps walking until he stands next to the fireplace before looking back at me.
"A human would be traceable which would make your story short. I, in my mercy, figured you wanted something more... Something better. So I took it into my hands. Literally. You have your story now, Mr Main Character. I'd love to see how you end it," he says before chuckling again.
He waves nonchalantly at me and immediately, he gets surrounded by red and green shimmers, obscuring him from my view. Once it clears, I don't see him anymore.
It is then I let out a wail of despair.
\---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more realities and stories like these. | 2018-12-12T11:09:43 | 2018-12-12T08:00:15 | 54 | 18 |
[WP] "Are there any spirits with me in this room right now?" The Ouija board moves to 'Yes.' "Okay good, 'cause rent is due, and you need to fork over your share." The Ouija board spells out, 'F U C K.'
Based off of a meme I saw. | Darren scowled down at the Ouija board, as the planchette glided over its surface of its own accord.
"Y...O...okay, yeah, I get it. Very funny. You're hilarious." he said, drily. Given that the previous four letters indicated by the polished wooden arrow had been c, f, k, and u -- though not in that order -- he felt confident that he understood the message.
Despite this, the spirit controlling the planchette felt the need to make it stand on edge, and then bob up and down.
"And now you're flipping me off with the planchette. Nice." Darren said, rolling his eyes. He threw up his hands in consternation. "You know what? Fine. Have fun haunting a parking lot in six months, asshole."
Darren began to stand up from the table where the Ouija board sat, but was startled by the planchette suddenly clattering back down onto the board. It then began rapidly circling the question mark printed just below the array of letters.
Darren smirked. That had finally gotten his spectral roommate's attention, it seemed. He settled back into his seat.
"Oh so now you give a shit, huh?" he quipped.
The planchette slid over to "YES".
"Well it's true: see, the previous owner of our building was very community-minded. His will included all kinds of stipulations his heirs had to abide by to inherit it." Darren explained. "They weren't allowed to sell the building as long as there were renters living here, and they weren't allowed to raise the rent more than the rate of inflation."
He sighed. "But the place is still a dump, even if it's cheap, since the new owners aren't exactly incentivized to invest in it. I'm the last one here, and as it stands I can't afford to pay rent anymore. If I go, this place will be sold to some developer and torn down inside a week." Darren gestured to the table. "That's why I decided to talk to you. I figured if you're gonna make footstep sounds at night, stack up my chairs, and slam my cupboards, maybe you could at least use your spooky ghost powers to help me with my cash flow problem, while you're at it. Otherwise, we're both homeless."
Darren followed the planchette with his eyes, as it began to move again. "H...O....W...how? I don't know how! You're the ghost, you know what you can do better than I do. Is there like...some buried treasure you know about? A bank account in your name, that maybe no one ever claimed?"
"NO," came the reply, via planchette.
"Well then, I don't know, what would you suggest? Any ideas? G...E...T...A...J...O...B--pff, yeah, okay boomer, like I haven't tried that already! It's a tough economy right now, for people in my line of work. L...E...A...R...N...T...O...C--I know how to code, alright? It's not that simple!"
An awkward silence hung in the room for a moment. And then, the planchette began to move again.
"W...E...S...H...." Darren began reading, then frowned as he finished. "We should talk? We're already talking."
"I...N...in person? Uh, how would that work? You're a ghost."
Darren frowned, as the planchette slid over to rest under the word "NO." It rose into the air as it did before, and Darren scowled again, taking it as another phantom middle finger. Then he jumped out of his chair in surprise as a small man appeared standing on the chair opposite him, holding the planchette between a stubby thumb and forefinger.
The man looked old and ragged, with a long red beard streaked with white, that hung all the way down to the knees of his patched and stained green trousers.
"Truth be told, boyo," the old man said, in a high-pitched lilting accent. "I've been having me own 'cash flow problems' of a sort, for nigh on a century now."
As Darren gaped at the little old man in amazement, a sly grin spread across the strange creature's wrinkled face, "Mayhaps I can be after helpin' ye with your problem..."
The strange little man paused and waved his hand mystically. A miniature rainbow suddenly arched over the table where the Ouija board lay, and a little black cauldron appeared at its end -- empty, except for some dust and cobwebs.
"...if ye can be helping me with mine, in turn." the old man finished. | “Are there any spirits with me in this room right now?”
The wooden planchette shook slightly underneath Cade’s fingers, slowly moved across the alphabet carved on the Ouija board, pointing at three letters which spelled “YES”.
“Okay, good… It’s nearing the end of the month, and you know what that means.”
The planchette sit still.
“You need to hand over your share. You’re dead, but that doesn’t mean you can be a freeloader.”
The planchette on the Ouija board spells out again, a clearly panic “FUCK”.
Cade gave out an audible sigh, “No, the landlord do not accept any payment other than cash. Raiden may be into shady sex, but he isn't,” they stopped for a second, giggled a bit, “Heh, *shady sex*.”
Another message is given to Cade, “GIVE THREE DAYS.”
“Three days? You said the same thing three days ago”, Cade frowned in dismay, “Did you forget again?”
“NO CASH NOW.”
“No cash? The heck are you doing now?”
“SHHH.”
Cade rolled their eyes, “Well, wish I could ‘shhh’ my landlord as well when he’s pestering at the door, but I’m in no position to do that.”
“WILL PAY.”
“… Alright, but you gotta bring me the real money.”
“REAL MONEY?”
“Yes. Real human’s cash, as in the Euro bills, not the paper money you guys use down there.”
“RIGHT.”
Cade rubbed their eyes with the fabric on their shoulder, both hands not letting go of the planchette, “I will be waiting, but hurry up. I’m afraid if we're late again the old man is gonna kick us out for real.”
“WILL PAY”, the Ouija board repeated to assure them, “WILL PAY.”
“I will take your words, for now.” | 2022-12-30T00:59:00 | 2022-12-30T00:43:02 | 637 | 84 |
[WP] A group of heroes finally reach to the throne room of the Demon Lord, seeking to slay him to end this war, only to see an empty throne that looks like it hadn't been used for centuries. | The Demon Lord's castle loomed ahead, lightning cracking behind it, illuminating its silhouette in the eternal night that cursed this land. The hero's party pushed forward, faces determined. The hours long march ending at the sealed entrance of the ancient, intimidating building, towering hundreds of feet in the air above them, spires seeming to grasp at the moon as it passed by.
"M'kark, you're up" the Hero shouted over the howling winds. The burly orc moved forward and raised his axe. One, Two, Three heavy blows struck the imposing door before the damage disabled whatever mechanism held the door locked and the ancient door swung open revealing...
Dust, rat droppings and echoes of the storm.
The party moved forward carefully. Alaina, the elven mage illuminated the way with the glowing tip of her staff.
The party advanced, yet they found no monsters, traps or tricks. The four demon generals had lain defeated for the past month, slain in epic battle trying to protect the castle. So why? Why was there nothing here? Nobody to protect their king?
The party found the door to the throne room and entered, this door unbarred and unguarded like all the rest. Before them they saw a magnificent room, gold and ivory inlaid in the walls. Crystals dangling from the ceiling, some still giving off faint bits of magical light. The room was empty, save for a rotting skeleton, clutching a book, and wearing a crown. Maybe it had once been seated on the throne, but time or scavengers had knocked it off, into a crumpled ball on the floor.
The hero stepped forward gingerly. Remembering the liches and undead he had fought, yet there was no trickery here. The body was truly dead, and had been for a long long time.
The hero opened the book, finding it to be a diary, and began to read the last few pages aloud.
" The races of light ( with such arrogance they call themselves that) have allied against us. Their greatest makes and clerics casting a curse over my lands, denying my people the sunlight they need to live and grow crops to feed ourselves. I fear for the future of my people. But for now I turn to the dwarves, who have long prospered without the sun. In hope they might be able to teach us what we need to survive"
" The dwarves have betrayed us. Not that I can blame them. They shared with us crops that grow in the eternal night. Taught us how to farm dimlight shrooms and moonleaf. I am grateful for now my people will not starve. But the preists of the light approached them, warned them of dealing with us, showed them the might of their spells and how even the great Dwarven fortresses would fall under the light alliance.
The dwarves cut off all trade, and none has been seen in some time. We are alone. We are abandoned. I fear for the future."
" A man calling himself the Hero of the Light has come to me today. Representing the entire alliance. He spouted their dogma at me. Told me that the demon races were beastial and diverse, destined to fall into submission under the divine races created by the goddess. That only the divine races could unite and rule, sharing the goddesses image. (with slight alterations like color and height, to best adapt to their surroundings. Dark green and black, for the orcs in the marshes, light green and white for the elves in their forests. White or brown for yhe humans in the ice and the humans who inhabit the fields. Etc. ) He tells me my race is monstrous, destined to fight from within forever because of our appearances. Because we were obviously not created by the goddess of light but instead by the dark God who occludes the moon. And that he and his peoples have decided to purge us from existence. For the threat we posed to them.
" I laughed, demons? A threat? He is right that we are diverse, split through many tribes. As hard to gather and unite as it is to pluck a star out of the sky. While we were strong individually we were weak united. I had clutched the throne three hundred years ago, and even then, at my peak, I was unable to firmly control the numerous tribes that made my kingdom. Now though, with the threat of genocide, war, and extermination I could maybe do what I have spent my life doing. Peacefully uniting the demon tribes into one. Well, if only it was under better circumstances."
"I have appointed four generals to lead my armies. Bahamut The fire giant, Leviathan the great serpent, Belial, the vampire, and Golem, the construct. To each I have given a portion of my lifespan, for I am a diplomat, and not a warrior, my life will be better spent on them. 400 years to each of them. They will be unable to be killed until that time wears off, I hope they will be able to defend our people long enough for the insane fervor of the church of light to fade. I hope that peace will come. I know I will not see it, I have only a few days left to live."
"I leave to whomever finds me, this knowledge. The truth of everything that has happened to my people. If you are of the light. Congratulations, I curse you. I curse you for the deaths you have caused, the families destroyed, the children slain. My people may be gone, but I curse you and your families for eternity."
A dark stillness settled over the bodies of the party. " NO, its all lies." Muttered Alphonse, the cleric. " the light is peace, the demon attacked first." The dark settled more heavily on his shoulders, the curse binding swift. Each of the party crying out in pain. They saw every innocent killed by the light. Every atrocity committed in a centuries long war, always from the perspective of the demon race. They whimpered and cried, but the curse would not let their minds or bodies break.
The party returned home, through the quiet wasteland of the demon realm. Realizing how empty they had left it, realizing what they had done. They returned to the light, angry, and knowing their curse was contagious. | Viktor, Hando, and Samuel entered the massive throne room, the intricately carved obsidian walls shimmered in the torchlight coming off of the torch in Hando's hand. The detailed statues carved from the volcanic glass left Samuel's throat dry as he expected them to move at any moment to strike them down.
Viktor wasn't phased. He stepped towards the throne with the dagger he had blessed by the Pope himself. In this dark place, it hummed with power. The closer he stepped to the great chair of white stone, the only thing that wasn't a light absorbing blackness in the room, the more the dagger seemed to charge with energy.
Samuel was the first to speak, "Why is it so quiet? Where is the Dark One?"
Hando shook his head, "Something isn't right."
Viktor dragged his finger across the seat and looked at the thick buildup of dust on his finger, "It's been empty for a very long time."
Hando stepped up next to Viktor, "Where could he have gone?" He stood confused, holding the torch up and searching for any hint of answer to the growing list of questions he had.
"The Lord found a new throne..." echoed a raspy voice from a dark corner of the room. Footsteps began to click forward and from darkness came a feminine, weak looking man with a thin strip of braided hair that started at the point of his chin and hung almost to the belt that wrapped around his long, oddly colorful robes.
The greens and blues mixed with pastel pinks and yellows seemed out of place. His ears came to long points above his bald head and in his hands he had a thick book and long feather quill.
Samuel pulled his broadsword from his back and held the point in the strangers direction, "Who and what are you?!"
The odd man stepped completely into the light and the three men realized he had small nubs of horns just poking through the skin on his forehead, and that the robes almost completely covered his furry legs, and the hooves of a Satyr, "I am just an attendant to Lord who's place is in that throne."
Hando's gaze traveled to the empty chair, then back to the Satyr, "It looks like you are the attendant to an empty throne." He chuckled nervously.
"Oh, it may look that way but I still offer assistance to the Lord, he simply found a new throne. He will always be my Lord but has instructed me to focus on helping the new Demon Lord."
Samuel was confused, "Where is the original Demon Lord if he found a new throne?"
The Satyr offered a gentle smile before answering, "The Great Lord took his new throne long ago, in the Vatican."
Hando's eyes went wide, not from the realization, but at the pain of a dagger being thrust deep into his back. As he fell to the ground, the torch that he held fell beside him. His body was limp and unmoving, he was forced to watch Viktor, his dagger still dripping with blood, sit on the throne.
Samuel spun to sounds all around him, the torchlight slowly began to dim, darkening the room more and more. Hando's struggled breaths stopped and the Satyr chuckled to himself at the fear he was watching.
Samuel saw the obsidian statue beside him turn to face him, it's black shimmering face twisted into an expression of impending joy..... and the flame of the torch finally went dark. | 2022-10-23T09:33:39 | 2022-10-23T08:20:02 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] “So you abducted humans and forced them to create mining colonies on hellish planets?” “Yes, we came around once every five years to demand tribute under threat of annihilation. Perfect scheme, very low maintenance.” “So what went wrong?” “We misplaced one of the colonies”. | wow this is like pretty similar to dungeons and dragons character I wrote for a sci-fi game...
In the months leading up to the destruction of earth the major government began collaborating on ships that would allow generations of humans to survive in deep space whilst looking for a new planet to call home. Ten of these ships were created and successfully sent over ten millions humans into space.
The ship CT-06 was stopped and boarded by a group of aggressive humanoid aliens know as the Feltru. The ship was abducted and brought to a mining planet code named R-0CK. The slaving method the Feltru used involved dropping large groups of slaves off on planets with a couple year supply of food and tag them with a robotic collar, however if they returned in five years time and the quota for materials is not met, they would not leave any more rations. Five years have since passed and a Feltru ship is on its way to check the progress at R-0CK...
"Sir? the atmosphere is not matching up to our predicted approach" one of pilots said urgently.
"Impossible, you must of calculated incorrectly. Now fix it and continue our course!" barked the captain.
"y-yes sir" the pilot said with a hint of fear in his voice. "heat shields have been readjusted and we can now begin preparing to land"
When the ship landed on the ground the captain gathered the Feltru soldiers with him and began going over the plan.
"Remember to check houses for smuggled ore, and do not let them get to close to you, we are armed but they have the numbers on us. I want the three off you at the front door, I expect we will be swarmed when the doors open. They must be running low on food now, we didn't leave them anything that could be regrown" The captain trailed on while listing more and more rules they needed to abide to.
"I hope they didn't collect enough so we can kill a couple of them" a soldier whispered to another.
"I hope they did..." muttered another. "I don't to get punished again because we didn't bring enough back"
"Alright group one head out and begin crowd control" said the captain as he pulled the large lever to began opening the door.
"what's taking so long" yelled the captain out the door. After received no response he decided to walk outside. The remaining soldiers and pilots followed him and noticed that the three soldiers were no where to be seen.
"what?" the captain said in a curious tone under his breath. "alright everyone follow me".
They began heading forward into a valley up ahead. The planets surface is very dusty and rocky causing them to kick up dirt and rocks with every step.
"Sir, I need to take a break" said a soldier with a weak voice.
The captain turned to begin yelling, but before he could say anything the soldiers and pilots behind him had completely collapsed unconscious on the floor. He walked up to observe but at that very moment he felt a sharp pain in his lungs. It felt like someone was ripping little pieces of his lungs off like a piece a paper. Words could not come to him and instead a single grunt sounding like a failed breath made its way out. As his eyes began to blur and focus in on a single spot, he noticed three figures making their way towards him. They were carrying the bodies of three soldiers that were sent out before them. As the middle one got close to examine the captain, his features became apparent. This creature had the body structure of human, but had reptilian features. The scaly face and yellow eyes stared him in the eyes and began walking towards where the Feltru ship landed. As they walked away the captain noticed they were all wearing the same jumpsuit that said CT-07 and all were wearing untampered with Feltru slave collars. When the captain made this realization he grabbed his communication device and with the last bit of energy he had left managed to said a message that simply read...
"Poison air, mutating"
Then he fell dead next to the rest of the Feltru soldiers and pilots. | Keh'helstron rolled his eyes and turned from his anthropological research. No wonder this culture destroyed itself before it could evolve the supercortex. Their whole cultural narrative was stuck in the master-slave dialectic, Physical violence, and group think and exceptionalism. As if an advanced species would even care to adopt a violent sub species and force it to work menial jobs. You could just build a peaceful series of androids or even tailor a species that would extract minerals on other planets. But yeah, sure, we would go invade other planets and abduct "Humans" because they are so fucking great. What a waste of fuel, time, energy, and emotional labor.
"Hesk'uirk... you were just wrong, they didn't have any potential, I don't see it."
"Well, Keh'helstron, I suppose will have to find something else to eat in order to expand our minds. Wht'esturrun, go ahead and turn off the time machine."
"Aww..."
"I know, I know. I was looking forward to telling the cult leader we found a new path to enlightenment too." | 2022-03-24T07:35:09 | 2022-03-24T07:24:01 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] Your cranky history teacher has recently been revealed as immortal. The reason they are angry is because they have to teach according to the texts when they know what really happened. One class he has had enough and begins to answer people's questions about what truly happened in history. | Alec looked at the rows of students, he said, “Kalanos died according to his wishes, by self-immolation. Rather than die an invalid he chose to be burnt on a pyre, with his master’s reluctant blessing. They say he made no sound, that he burned in silence.”
One of his students, Adam, spoke up without raising his hand first, “I call bull-shit, the man was on freaking fire!”
Alec walked up to Adam’s desk and looked at him for a moment, he was going to say something but thought better of it, he breathed carefully and said, “*We shall meet in Babylon*. That’s the last thing he uttered on this Earth. It wasn’t until Alexander the Great later perished in Babylon that it became clear what he meant.”
Susan raised her hand.
Alec said, “Yes, Susan?”
Susan said, “How did he die, Alexander, I mean?”
Alec shrugged, “Numerous theories exist. The most prominent is that he died of influenza, others say he died from drinking too much.”
Joshua asked, “What do you think?”
Alec fell into silence, his eyes seemed to be looking at something beyond the class-room, he smiled and answered, “My money’s on influenza, seems the most likely.”
It was like the room collectively sighed in silence all at once, he had disappointed them with his answer. What was he supposed to say— How could they understand when he barely did himself?
“Probably died screaming like a little bitch.” Adam told Joshua.
Alec slapped Adam before he could control himself, it was so hard his hand prickled and became red and sore, though not as red as the mark his hand imprinted on Adam’s face.
Adam staggered up from his chair, shouting, “What— what the hell, professor?”
Alec was furious, he said, “He was a greater man than you will ever hope to aspire to, Adam, Christ you are useless!”
Adam continued, “I’m going to have you fired over this, looney!”
“I watched him burn, Adam, the sweet and burnt fumes of his skin is something that I’ll never forget. He was silent for the whole burning, if only you could hold your tongue half as well as he!”
The bell rang and the students began to file out of the room, snickering and whispering, Adam turned around one last time, “You’re finished here, you hear me? Finished!”
Later Alec sat down in his office, a meagre room with a writing-desk, three chairs including his own, a shelf for his most important looking books. Behind the desk there were two large windows with green drapes at the sides. He pulled out a drawer from his desk, retrieving a leathery flask, he coaxed the wine out of it and regretted slapping Adam. Well, he could always move somewhere else, if it came to that. Could probably get away with a warning, first offence and all.
There was a knock on the door, before he could hide the flask a man in a brown winter-jacket stepped in, “This is where the *great* teacher Alec resides, yes?”
There was something familiar with this person, it almost looked like, he shook his head, “Perhaps not so great anymore, how can I help you?”
The man smiled broadly, revealing what appeared to be well-practiced laugh-lines, “I was just here to leave you this,” he put down a white envelope on Alec’s desk, the red wax seal facing upwards, he started for the exit.
Alec frowned and said, “Could’ve just dropped this off in a mail-box, why come to my office?”
The stranger stopped by the door, “Can’t trust the mail-man with this,” he turned around and smiled again, “big fan, by the way.” He said before leaving.
Alec inspected the outside of the envelope for a moment before putting it back down, he finished the wine and waved away the spectre of Kalanos, “*We shall meet in Babylon,*” he sniffed, “liar.”
*****
Not exactly sure where I'm going with this, worth continuing? Thank you for reading!
/r/NordicNarrator
**EDIT:** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eff4ms/wp_your_cranky_history_teacher_has_recently_been/fc14dm5/?context=3)
Thank you for the great response, everyone! | “Any more questions?” Mrs. Liken asked. She stared around the room, waiting, hoping that somebody would ask that question. That today would be the day that she didn’t have to lie to the kids anymore. How she adored that idea.
“I have one!”
Little Isabella in the back of the room had thrown her hand up. All eyes in the room shifted to her, their infinite gazes unfaltering. You see, Isabella wasn’t much of a talker; three words out of her was astounding to many of the kids.
“What is your question, Isabella?” Mrs. Liken interrogated, trying to keep up her usual cranky persona. However, on the inside, it was cracking. She felt, well, alive for the first time in 1326 years.
“Is the information in the book true? I mean, I’ve read through all of it and I just have a feeling that something is off.”
“Oh little Isabella, you’ve asked the golden question for the decade.” Mrs. Liken’s eyes started glowing. She was radiating enough energy to power a small city. This was her moment. Her time to shine. Finally all these kids would understand the truth.
RIIIIIING
The bell.
Class was over.
Maybe they’d know tomorrow.
Edit: I may make a part two if it seems good enough but I don’t think I will currently. | 2019-12-25T06:34:56 | 2019-12-25T05:50:18 | 257 | 88 |
[WP]After defeating the dragon, you ascend the tower and find the captured princess. She begins to thank you, but you interrupt her: "You've got the wrong idea. I'm not here for you." | The beast lay at my feet, breathing its last molten sigh before it shuffled off of the mortal coil. It was enormous, at least twice the size I'd been told by the scouts, something I'd need to remember the next time I met up with my "very qualified sources of information." Thankfully, I'd made it through the interchange largely unscathed, though a few pieces of equipment had taken one for the team.
I held up the pommel of my sword, the blade having since melted away from the effects of the dragon's blood. I tossed it atop the corpse and then did likewise with my sword hand gauntlet and my helmet.
"Fraggin' waste," I muttered. It was definitely going to cut into the bottom line. Stories of dragon wealth were greatly exaggerated. What the hell did a lizard need with gold? What made this particular excursion worthwhile was something else in the location. Something worth fighting for. I gave my slain foe the one finger salute and proceeded to tromp past its body, humming a jaunty tune.
"Where oh where can my TREASURE BE?" I belted out. "The DRAGON took it awayyyyy from me." I ambled down a long hallway, making my way deeper into the keep as my voice echoed off of the walls. "It's gone missing so I got to be good." I peeked into a doorway. Nothing but musty dilapidated furniture. "So I can see my treasure and leave this...crappy castle."
I descended a pair of stairs. The air grew cooler. Dank was the word. Very very dank. A reinforced door stood a few yards ahead of the bottom of the stairs. The dungeon. Exactly what I was looking for. Excited at the prospect of finding what I had come for, I continued humming and tromped down the stairs, what's left of my armor clanging loudly.
The door had a large bar across it, preventing it from being opened within. As I approached, a great thumping occurred. I frowned, and withdrew my second sword. It wasn't as good as my first sword, but my first sword was goo so I had to make do. Bracing myself, I yanked up the bar and kicked the door inward.
A scream sounded out and the light from the hallway fell upon a young maiden, her golden tresses mottled with brown mud.
She looked up at me, her eyes widened, "Oh thank the heavens. You've come at last! I knew my father would send a knight--"
I hold up a gauntleted hand. "Slow down there lady. You've got the wrong idea, I'm not here for you."
Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Her sparkling blue eyes watered, "What do you mean, not here for me? I was taken by a dragon."
"Yeah, I gathered that much."
"And so you have come at the behest of my father."
"Don't know the guy, don't want to know him. I mean,don't get me wrong, if there's some sort of ransom or something I can get paid I'm not averse to it," I shrugged, "But if it's going to be a huge hassle I'd just as soon dispense with all of that and get what I came for."
"If not for me...then why? What could this dark, damp, evil place ever hold for a dragon slayer?" She replied, her confusion mixing with curiosity.
I nodded toward the back wall, where a dim glow was emanating. "Mushrooms."
"Mush...rooms?" I asked looking behind her and than staring back at me. "You came for mushrooms?"
I smiled, "I came for mushrooms. I'm just glad you haven't eaten them all."
"I did not eat any. They are foul and dangerous things," she replied, disgusted. "I am a princess. A princess does not eat...dungeon toadstools."
"Yeah, great. Big relief for me." I kneel down at the back wall and yank out a sack and begin to extract the mushrooms from their perches. They were brilliant blue with long hairs sprouting out of rounded heads. "See the hair? That's how you know they're good. Can't cultivate the hairy ones."
"The...the...hairy ones?" She blanched.
"Oh sure, there's folks out there that will try. I once saw some horsehair nailed on by a second-rate mycolomerchant, but I'd never stoop to that. People know me for quality, and I aim to please." I began humming to myself, the entire trip suddenly worth all of the effort. These mushrooms were of higher quality and of greater quantity than I had dared hope. "You know, it's probably good you hadn't eaten them."
"I would never."
"Yeah, each one of these things is worth over a kilo. Even un-refined, they'll send you places you've never been." I said.
"They're...drugs?"
"I prefer to call them, mind transportation vehicles. These little blue guys are out of this world. They've also got high value in shadow magicks and some use in poisoncraft." I shrug. "I don't ask a lot of questions, I just get the mushrooms and sell 'em."
"You killed a dragon."
I nodded absently as I continued shoving the toadstools into my sack.
"For mushrooms."
I nodded again, "Pretty and smart. Winning combo." I turned and looked back at her, "Shame no one came to rescue you. Maybe your father died or something."
"That is supposed to make me feel better?" I demanded, her fists clenching.
"I dunno, does it?"
She considered it for a moment, watching me as I slung my bounty over my shoulder. "If the alternative is that I am of less interest than a sack of mushrooms, then perhaps it does."
I give her a thumbs up, "That's the spirit princess. Now let's get out of here."
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | "Oh thank you, bless you Sir Arthur! I have waited so long for someone to arrive and safe me from the foul beast–"
Princess Louise stopped mid-sentence as the knight rushed forth towards her. The young princess anxiously thought of what the strong handsome knight – who had just vanquished the dragon with pure might – would want to do to her. The lewd and inappropriate things a brawny masculine man could do to an attractively delicate woman were quite known, even for the sheltered princess.
*This is it... Oh dear father, forgive me for failing to protect my innocence and purity!* The princess thought as she closed her eyes waiting for the inevitable.
Instead of a lustful embrace, the battle-worn knight shoved the princess to the side. It was as if the beautiful young princess was a saloon door that the knight had to go through to get somewhere else.
"Wha– How dare you?!" the princess scolded the knight's bashful conduct – though she was deep down relieved that he had not intended to do a more shameful harm to her.
The knight absentmindedly turned his head and said, "you've got the wrong idea, mam. I'm not here for you–"
"Well, why on Earth would you made all the bloody effort if not to safe me from harm?"
The knight quickly turned and grabbed a chalice from the desk. It was nothing special, aside from the dull golden colour and several scratched gems adoring its sides.
"This. I came for this, Your Highness. I honestly didn't even expected you to be here."
"**YOU WHAT**?!" Fury came out of the princess' eyes.
"Ah, don't be alarmed. I simply had missed out on the Town Crier's news announcements in the past week. Had a bit of a sticky business back in my cabin, leaky roof... sick animals, you know."
The princess fell to her knees speechless. She simply wanted the knight to came in dashingly in a shining armour, rose in his teeth, and an arm ready to carry her out of the hellish tower. But what she got was a rather dull affair. To her, the chalice held no value. Clearly there was something she did not know.
"So, the chalice... why?" Princess Louise asked weakly.
"Uh, I'm a bit short on gold. A wizard – the one from the sacred dark woods – came by yesterday and ask me to retrieve it for a pretty sum. Heard the dragon also fetched a good price on the market, but I have to get the lads from the town to carry it back in pieces."
A facepalm. The princess was baffled. She wanted to smack Sir Arthur in the head and screamed at him for missing the most obvious thing he could.
"I mean, if you take me back to the Royal Castle I'm sure the King and the Queen would pay handsomely. Not to mention titles, estates, and maybe even–" she was cut off as her cheeks reddened.
"OH! Right, that sounds lovely!" with that, Sir Arthur grabbed the princess with zeal and slung her onto his broad shoulder.
*Oh dear me. Why do I even bother...* | 2020-04-05T11:00:17 | 2020-04-05T10:37:25 | 109 | 36 |
[WP] You’re walking down the street and take a seat on a bench. As you relax, you suddenly wake up inside a tube. An Ai says “Your criminal sentence is complete”. You turn around and see earth out the window. “W-What happened?” “Your consciousness has been returned to your body. You are free to go” | [A Different Take]
"I don't understand."
The dark haired man spoke monotonously. He looked towards his superior, his expression slightly guilty. His superior's eyes still glued towards the billions of pods arranged in a fibonacci sequence.
The officer asked without looking at him,
"What do you not understand?"
The rookie looked at the view below them. He responded,
"The point of this... No, what this _feels."_
He tilted his head back, and looked forward.
"I know I can endure something like this. To me, it's not torture—maybe it is, if it wasted my time."
The officer eyed him, eyes still understanding—or maybe it was just neutrality.
The officer spoke,
"Everyone is different."
The rookie nodded, and then spoke, "I take it back. I still don't understand what the point of this is."
The officer replied, "You don't have to. It's effective in it's own way."
The rookie turned towards his superior, still holding that same innocent and emotionless face.
He looked at his superior's eyes, and then spoke,
"Is the point of prison not to rehabilitate prisoners? Is not the point to help them help themselves?"
The officer looked back in slight curiosity.
"What purpose does this serve if it never solves the problem?"
The officer smirked slightly, and spoke,
"Those are good points. Rest assured that they are all taken care of."
The rookie tilted his head, his eyelids lowered slightly in disappointment at his superior.
The officer looked back at the pods, and continued,
"In these virtual lives they have, they learn new things."
The rookie turned towards the view.
"To us, it may be months, but to them, it would be years. In these years, they could learn things both good and bad. They could learn how to live."
The rookie looked towards a pod that started rising. The lights on it changed colors from the rest.
"In their release, their memories are kept. Whether or not those memories are slowly erased by their minds and lack of access to the Server, the lessons they've learned carry on."
The pod rose to their level, and a group of white-dressed doctors rushed towards the pod.
"It's not just the memories, or the habits alone: It's also about the feeling. They've spent longer living their virtual lives than they have their real ones."
The officer gestured towards the pod as it opened. The rookie's eyes followed.
"It's _required_ for every prisoner—it's a minimum requirement."
The pod opened, and a bed-like platform emerged. The doctors rushed toward it, checking and doing all sorts of procedures.
The officer continued,
"In having lived longer with relatively healthier relationships, they would not want to go back to their old ways."
The officer turned back to the rookie, and continued,
"The key point to this is not the conversion, but the consistent good behavior they put on."
The officer smiled, a true one this time,
"That's where people like you come into play."
The rookie tilted his head in slight confusion. The officer continued,
"After their release, the prisoners are all sent to programs where they can keep their good habits."
The rookie's eyebrows shot up in realization. The officer turned back towards the newly released prisoner, and continued.
"You are there to help them. Now that they _want_ to try, they need help knowing _how_ to improve."
The rookie nodded, thought the officer could not see it. The officer then turned back towards him.
"That is why you are here, rookie: to help them with habits."
The rookie looked at the pods, and spoke,
"I'm still a bit doubtful of everything, but I will trust you words, for now."
The officer nodded, and turned back to the pods. The officer spoke lowly,
"If there are flaws in the systems, please notify us of them."
The rookie nodded, and the officer continued,
"You are one of our most _brilliant_ students, I have high hopes for you."
The rookie monotonously replied,
"Please kindly not compliment my intelligence—It leads to a bigger ego, whether I know it or not, and bigger egos lead to lazier people."
The officer guffawed at this. The rookie remained impassive.
The officer soon stopped laughing and spoke, "I look forward to work with you, rookie."
The rookie nodded politely,
"Likewise."
---
***
I hope this is allowed since this was still inspired by the prompt, just maybe not the the right POV.😅 | [poem]
AI:
Your criminal sentence complete
No time to waste now, up on your feet
You now have your leave to retreat
This is the primary ship of the orbital fleet
Me:
This is astounding!
The view is resounding!
And my head is pounding
My brain is rebounding
I thought I was sitting
I remember quite clearly
But clearly not nearly
You had reason to fear me?
Let no one come near me?
I thought I was sitting
I guess I was sitting
What was the crime
The sentence was fitting?
AI:
Don't be afraid of your confusion
The Earth you knew was an illusion
Crime has its roots in your delusion
Simulant rehab was the solution
Me:
So... I did a crime I cannot know,
And who knows how long ago
Not a single day of age to show
Nor did an inch of my beard grow
No, now I remember!
I'm sure I was sitting!
I remember quite clearly
But nearly too clearly
You had reason to fear me
It was November!
No one came near me!
I'm sure I was sitting
For months i was sitting
Writing the code for an-
AI:
How many times have you made this mistake?
Just thirty years you said it would take
And thirty times you knew it was fake
I hope this is my last decision to make
-deep dream reactivated, November 2921- | 2021-06-15T01:46:50 | 2021-06-14T22:15:36 | 51 | 24 |
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here. | "Goooooooood evening Kromblas, Wanhti's, and all you cresty, cresty Spleeno's, welcome to the sevens hundred and thirty thousandth annual Intergalactic Olympics!" Brazz Mangoodlian gave the appropriate pause as the massive stadium full of beings from all over the galaxy erupted with applause. Flying cameras whizzed around the stadium picking up all the comings and going of the opening ceremonies.
“That’s right, Brazz,” replied his co-commentator for the events, Walladuang Fo, “who isn’t excited for the tired monotony of the broom toss, or the brick drop? I know I am.” The two sat in a small commentators box, high above a massive track and field style stadium. There was no air conditioning.
“Right you are, Walladuang. Those are sure to be as lifeless and tedious as ever, filling the viewers not only with a sense of boredom, but also despair.”
“And how.”
“But, I do believe we’re getting ahead of ourselves…”
“Surely indeed you are correct, Brazz. We’ve got to introduce the planets and athletes to who will be competing in these brazenly boring competitions of athletic prowess. “
The doors to the stadium swung open, and all sorts of weird looking creatures and features began walking, er, mostly shambling actually, across the stadium floor, bearing the flags of their respective planets.
“That’s right on the money Walladuang, we’ve got things from all over. Why look, there are the scissor people of Bloople 2, looking sharp as ever.”
“Correct again, Brazz. And here’s the needle headed people of the desert planet Fruup. They definitely look like they have a point to make.”
“The breadfolk of Wantani look hungry for a victory.”
“And the Grizzly people from Jungle Planet B don’t look like they can bear another defeat.”
“So let’s get…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
Brazz’s words were cut short by a terrifying rumble that shook the stadium. There was a hushed silence as athletes, fans, and commentators alike gave each other puzzled or terrified looks.
“Well,” said Brazz after a moment, “let’s get on with the opening ceremonies shall we?”
“Sounds good, Brazz, why don’t you…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
Brazz and Walladuang shared another look.
“Er, Kromblas, Wanhti's, and Spleeno's something appears to be going wrong, just bear with us a moment while we…”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
“Ok, what the fuck is going on?” yelled Walladuang.
“Professionalism, Walladuang.”
“Right, sorry Brazz.”
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
BOOM BOOM CHHHHH.
“Fuck this,” yelled Walladuang, “I’m outta here.”
Just as he was about to rush out the door, and just as Brazz was about restrain him, a gargantuan spacecraft, roughly a quarter size of the stadium, burst out of the clouds above and the source of the rumbling was revealed as towering speakers the size of elephants blasted music so loud that several older fans hearts simply exploded.
“Buddy you're a boy make a big noise playin' in the street gonna be a big man some day.”
The ship swirled around the inside of the stadium bowl, buzzing the crowd and blasting the tunes.
“You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, kickin' your can all over the place.”
It swooped around once more before settling above the main podium in the centre and with effortless quickness, a ramp crashed down from the ship, crushing the podium and several of the delegates from the intergalactic Olympic committee.
“Singin’ We Will We Will Rock You! We Will We Will Rock You!”
As the song reached it’s chorus, a group of pink squishy humanoids, baring little rebalance to any of the other gathered species in the stadium rushed out of the craft yelling, flexing and generally woohooing.
“Fuck,” said Brazz.
“Is that the humans?” asked Walladuang. “How the hell did they find us again?”
“Must have seen the postings online.”
“Bloody social media.”
“Should we say something to them?”
“Nah, call the snipers.”
| To Glibs we glued their ship doors shut,
and then in track passed their slow strut,
We won and drank pabst behind their moon
and threw our cans till half passed noon.
Then galactic patrol had told us to stop
so we flew so fast their splooters dropped.
To Jorni Trali's respectful race,
we'd never spit into her face.
Instead we sent our donkey Jim,
to show her good times filled with vim.
The Trali fishes we can't outpace
they threw that shit right at our face -
they pulled poor Jim into their ship
and sent him spinning atop their blimp.
We mourned old Jim but not for long,
It was time for archery to stomp the Clongs.
We sent old Ellison's children's brood
with a recurve bow with a curve like the moon.
Old Ellison's children's grandson's kid
aimed 40 pecs passed the coil and missed
but shooting Vibrilum up at the stars
feels way too different from Earth on Mars.
Thank god we froze Tony Yoka's fists,
cuz Venus has this sport called Tris,
old Tony's hands slapped that volcano good,
beat waggly armed Tris Dzeri Wohd.
It sucks tho man on the way back home,
them Glibs got pissed left one last troll -
it went to our ships panel while we slept
and made us list so far to the left.
Now we've got 5 more years till home,
and our beers are fuckin almost gone,
but that's alright the troll seems cool,
we gave him Donkey's stable room. | 2018-04-28T09:40:41 | 2018-04-28T08:40:01 | 32 | 24 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | "Please leave us alone" they said. "don't force us to use our strongest weapons". "save your species" they cried.
We laughed. Their perspective on warfare was that a bigger gun is always a stronger gun, and that might have held some truth, if their kinetic weaponry would be able to deal any damage at all to our energy shields. Their strongest weapons? We expected stronger tanks, maybe first attempts on creating mechs or starfighers, nothing that couldn't be handled by a single one of our soldiers in an exosuit. We didn't think of it as a threat.
We were wrong.
It was a single missile. The only things that were off about it were the fact that it was launched from the planets ocean, with no vessel of theirs visible to our visual scanners, and the slight amount of radiation our scanners picked up from it. We were still making jokes about what their "strongest weapon" could be, when it hit our capital destroyer,expecting it to create a small explosion and be gone without doing any harm, as usual.
Instead there was light. And incredibly bright flash of light suddenly filled all camera feeds on our small command frigate, and we lost contact with the destroyer. When the light finally faded away nobody was laughing anymore. Our capital ship, the centre of our fleet, one of the strongest ships in our navy was gone. Debris was flying around and damaging other ships, and we ourselves nearly evaded destruction by enabling the stealth system our frigate was equipped with, and warping to take cover behind the planets moon.
From there we watched in terror as they launched more missiles. They destroyed everything they decided was big enough to be a threat. Besides our frigate, the only ships that managed to escape are a few supply cruisers, and a small recon ship.
Execute me and my fellow officers for desertion, if you want to, judge. I don't care, as any fate is better than what the humans will do to us when they finally get here. | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T07:46:24 | 431 | 28 |
[WP] You were cursed with good luck by a supernatural entity, something you were very confused by at first. Now a few week later you know exactly what that means | With Carl's luck, if the chair had been electric then there would have been a power cut that night. But, as he well knew, they ethically murdered criminals by injection these days. Wasn't humane enough to use the chair no more. Carl often wondered what "humane enough" meant. It didn't mean squat to him whether he got fried up or pumped full of poison. In fact, if he'd had the choice, he'd have chosen to go via firing squad. Bite the bullet. Leave with a real bang.
But being shot wouldn't be "humane enough" for the executioners and, Carl figured, that was the crux of the matter. Because he'd look them in the eyes as their fingers sweated around their triggers, and that night - maybe for a few nights, even - they'd have trouble sleeping as guilt tapped its grubby fingers against their dreams. *Let me in let me in*. And maybe the public would see photos of the red-smeared wall and his bullet-pocked body and it wouldn't be humane enough for them neither. There's a quiet hush to a needle being pushed into skin; a sanitised silence that won't grease up a conscience late at night when you're lying next to your wife.
"*He deserves to be killed in a humane way*." What a crock. Like killing someone is ever humane.
Carl, admittedly, knew exactly how inhumane it was to take a life. And he could try to justify it and pretend it had been the drink that night. Or he could maybe spin the clock back further and talk about Pa and bruises, about never getting an education or even a sliver of a chance. But that was a crock, too. It wasn't drink - he could handle whiskey like he'd handled fighters in the ring back in the day. And it wasn't because of his education - he was smart. Or at least he wasn't dumb, just a bit under-learned.
No. It was simply a choice that he'd made that night. Nothing more to it. It'd started because he'd been pissed and was out looking for an excuse. He saw a guy push his own wife and yell at her (and was that makeup she was wearing heavily around one eye?). It was a shitty bar and shitty things happened there, and Carl found himself an excuse to pound out his anger.
The eyes had appeared in his cell two weeks ago. He'd woken up to a silence that didn't belong in his wing of the prison. There was always howling or crying or pleading innocence to God like He'd somehow fall for a late-night lie. Sure, all those outbursts were against the rules, but what's the worst they could do the already-condemned?
But that night, that night was utterly silent.
Carl could only ever remember being truly afraid once before. But those eyes, electric blue in the night, pinned him to his bed as a voice slithered into his ears. His body shivered beneath the coarse, woollen blanket.
"Are you a good person Carl?"
The eyes watched him excitedly, waiting for an answer as if their owner had poisoned Carl's drink and waited eagerly for him to sip it. The body was so dark, the voice so glib, so sinister... it was as if his own morality had come to question him, had inked itself up into a person. *Almost* a person.
"Carl? I'm not going until I get an answer. Are you a good person? I need to hear it from you."
When, finally, Carl answered, the seductive voice cursed him with a blessing, then blinked out of existence.
Carl had fallen back into an uneasy asleep, and by the morning he'd thought it'd all been a dream. Had to have been.
Except at breakfast something reminded him of it. The prison's stock of eggs had gone rotten, and the guards decided breakfast minus the usual shitty scrambled would not be "humane enough," so prisoners were given two extra sausages each - which, Carl considered, was a blessing.
One of Carl's extra sausages had been under-cooked.
He'd vomited for nearly a day, way past there being anything left to vomit, until it was just spit and water, then just air.
It was the middle of the night, after he'd recovered, when he began to laugh and it echoed through the prison like a thunderstorm in a submarine.
"What the hell you got to laugh about?" asked his neighbour.
Through tears, Carl explained how he'd almost died last night. After being poisoned by the prison chef. Lethal Injection pipped to the post by Lethal Sausage. Should have put all your money on the plucky outsider!
No one else laughed, but Carl took a long while to calm.
That was two weeks ago now. Carl had all but forgotten about the eyes in the dark. But he sure hadn't ordered sausages for his last meal.
Carl was currently strapped up tight to a chair in a cold room with no family there to watch him die. *Good*. Through a glass panel directly in front of him, he could see who had turned up for his ending. Just reporters and prison staff and--
And a woman.
A woman in less make-up than he remembered her wearing.
A widow, he realised.
Jesus Christ.
A widow who had come to see him die.
The cloth gag suddenly felt suffocating as Carl tried to rasp through it, tried to fight the restraints.
He remembered the eyes in the dark now. He remembered it being just the second time he'd ever felt so scared. And he wanted to tell this widow that the first time he'd felt pure terror wasn't when he stood up to his Pa for his Mom's sake, or when kids at school that spat at him and kicked him for not wearing the clothes they wore, or when he'd almost died in a car accident a dozen years ago.
He wanted to tell her the first time he'd been that scared was when he stood over her husband, a shard of broken glass in his hand.
And the man, the man, through bloody lips whispered, "What happens to her later, that's because of you."
He'd been scared in that moment. So fucking scared. Because he knew what he was going to do. And he knew he couldn't not do it. And he saw it all, saw this moment, the future, everything play out in an instant, all the way up to his death. If he'd been calm, he could probably have picked the winning lottery numbers in that moment.
He needed to tell her why.
A guard shoved Carl hard against the seat and whispered in his ear. Told him to calm down or they'd start with an injection that would do the calming for him.
Carl was terrified again as he kept fighting, as the first needle pricked his skin and the contents flowed into his blood. He needed to tell her sorry. That he was so goddamn sorry about all of it. Because maybe the guy lied, and maybe they'd loved each other really, and maybe she hadn't been wearing makeup that first day. And now he'd never know.
Would she forgive him if she heard his side from his own lips? All she'd heard was a slick-tongued lawyer confess for him, because "they'll go easy on you then, Carl."
God he hoped she'd forgive him. She was crying, but maybe for him? Maybe for the waste of *two* lives.
Another needle. A searing, burning pain rushing up his arm. He was spasming against the seat and thud thud thudding against the wood. Straining his veins and restraints to near bursting.
The guard prepared the final syringe. That, when combined with what was now in his blood, would end him. The guard flicked the contents until a bubble of air popped up out of it.
Carl didn't hear it happen. Just the shouting. It wasn't until ten - maybe twenty - minutes later, when they unstrapped Carl, that he saw the broken glass on the concrete next to his feet. The guard had fumbled and dropped the syringe. No replacement. An oversight. Big delays and lots of paperwork.
People were leaving as Carl sat there sweating and shivering and wondering if this was good luck or bad.
The warden brought him some water. "Lucky son of a bitch," he said. "Guess you get a few more months." He tilted the glass and Carl gulped it greedily.
"Lucky," Carl whispered, water dribbling down his chin.
"Lucky." The warden paused. When he spoke again, his voice slithered into Carl's ears. "There's a lady here, Carl, that you may know. Now I wouldn't normally do this, but she wants to speak to you. And, well, this is an unorthodox situation as it is, and she's in a lot of pain right now, because of us and because of you. So Carl, I'm sorry, because I know this isn't easy. God, you expected to be dead and--"
And there she was. Stepping through the door. Face red but unreadable.
Carl wondered if she'd forgive him. Say he'd done the right thing, like he'd dreamed she'd said so many times. He wondered -- prayed -- that she would.
The warden's voice slithered around him like guilt. The man's eyes bright, his body an inky-darkness.
Carl glanced at the broken glass beneath his seat.
Somehow, he already knew what she'd say. It'd be the same thing he'd said to those electric blue eyes all those days ago. | “Not good luck, whatever will I do? Oh, you have wounded me dear sir, I am powerless against you, I am just a mere mortal in the presence of a-“
“BE QUIET MORTAL”
The green entity growled, their white pupilless eyes shining throughout the dark void it trapped me in. The entity was thin, its robes hanging loosely from its spine. The spine and head being the only parts of the decaying creature that were still standing. The rest of its body had fallen apart, most likely a sign of its old age. It surprised me to learn that the old bastard knew sarcasm, growing frustrated at my taunts. Its robe lifted, as if a hand was moving it, judging by how its head craned back, I could only assume it was waggling an invisible finger at me.
“YOU LAUGH FOOLISH MORTAL, BUT I ASSURE YOU, YOU AREN’T AS LUCKY AS YOU THINK YOU ARE.”
Watching the entity vanish, it tossed me back into reality, finding myself unconscious on the floor, holding a dust coated packet of animal crackers. I had been so excited to find the packet hidden behind the regular biscuits that the supermarket stocked. My excitement causing me to ignore the obvious warning on the packaging. ‘May contain cosmic entity and traces of nuts.’
Yuck nuts, who would get cursed for something that contains traces of nuts? What a waste of time. I shoved the package back behind the biscuits, rubbing my head in annoyance. Where was this good luck meant to be?
“Congratulations sir, you are the tenth person to trip in our store this month. Because of a long-standing legal battle with our other nine customers, we are going to award you the deed to the store.”
“The deed to? I don’t want the store. Can’t you just give me some money or something?”
The old man stared at me, shaking his head in mournful sorrow. He patted down the picnic colored dress shirt he wore, searching it for a pocket. Retrieving a receipt from his pocket, he handed it to me. The receipt read.
‘Refund’
- 1x Quick and drop supermarket.
Beneath the receipt was the man’s signature. Was this really meant to be the deed? It didn’t exactly seem legally binding. I guess with my luck it would be binding? Reluctantly, I accepted the receipt, stuffing it into my pocket. I went to continue my shopping only for a young woman to approach me.
“Congratulations sir, you are the tenth person to make eye contact with me. Have a lollypop.”
Opening up her purse, she handed me a cola lollypop. It was a little weird, but I guess that was kind of lucky, right? Who doesn’t like a lollypop? Returning to my shopping, I didn’t make it a step before an old grandmother stopped me; her wrinkled hands shaking as she pulled out a photo of a tubby bald man.
“You remind me of my grandson, he was forty-two, isn’t he the cutest? You remind me so much of him, he died trying to eat four hotdogs at once. The doctors said he could have made it if he attempted three, but Marty was not a quitter. Here have one hundred dollars.”
She shoved the money into my hand, but the money wasn’t worth the insults she had hurled my way. Balding and fat? I wasn’t balding was I? Sure I had a more winter body than a summer body but I wasn’t that big was I? Tugging down my shirt I tried to take another step, only to see the predatory glances of the other shoppers. Each one ready to give me my piece of luck.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment as we exchanged glances. I gripped the front of a nearby shopping cart before breaking into a sprint. I was not dealing with another one of these idiots again. My steps were quick, but that didn’t stop them from diving before my cart.
“I love you.”
“Have you ever considered modelling for our bald and beautiful catalog?”
“I want you to have my dog.”
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.
Each one caught under the wheels of my shopping cart as I fled. Only taking a glance back to see the encroaching hoard of people running after me. As I got to the door of the store, two employees tried to block me.
“Congratulations Sir, you are our twentieth shoplifter, please enjoy your shopping for free.”
In a fit of rage, I let go of the shopping cart, tossing it at the workers, watching it bowl them over as I fled for my car. When I reached the door, I fiddled with my car keys. It was like every horror movie ever, unable to grip my keys as sweat built up in my palms. I prayed that my luck wouldn’t fail me now. Gripping the handle and luckily it was unlocked. Slamming the door shut, I watched the horde slam into the side of my car, trying to get through the window.
I wasted no time, starting up the car and fleeing the scene. Driving as fast as my poor car would take me. I was safe, they couldn’t bother me in here. I took a long drawn out breath only to feel something poke my back. Glancing to the side, I saw a hairy arm resting on my car’s console, holding an energy drink.
“You look mighty thirsty, friend. Since you are a loyal customer, we have rewarded you with a personal drink giver.”
I screamed, erratically swerving the car, only just avoiding the other cars on the road. Even with my insane driving, no one dared to beep at me, only giving me a thumbs up or wave. This was insane. I drove my car home, trying to ignore the man that would bump me every few minutes to offer a drink. Arriving at my house, I rushed to the door, locking it behind me.
I did a quick look over, checking to make sure no mysterious salespeople were hiding behind my curtains or under my bed. Finding none, I fell back onto the couch. Only to hear a fist thumping at my door, before a pair of eyes glanced at me through my window.
“Congratulations, your driving skills have won you a brand new sports car. Come and accept it.”
I had to crawl off my couch, trying to hide behind the piece of furniture. No amount of hiding would deter their knocking. I feared eventually they would break down the door. I was in hell.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2020-10-15T05:51:42 | 2020-10-15T05:29:38 | 271 | 118 |
[WP]Hogwarts was actually a mental institution for insane children. | It's the well behaved ones that are the worst. Not for the reason you think. Even after all I've seen, I still have empathy within me.
Great pains were taken to build this illusion you must understand. Can you imagine the amount of money it took to build Hogwarts? Even the train that got there. Camouflaging an extra platform, carefully guarded with a projected wall, and tracks to be used only by one specific train to one specific destination. It was an absurd project. But it made perfect sense. We had to be safe. What better way than to concentrate an entire country’s crazies in one location, as soon as they appeared on our grid?
You’ve probably heard the stories about Harry Potter, oh Harry Potter. His name rings as a legend among the inmates. The ‘child who lived’. The child who murdered his parents at night before he could walk. Little Harry Potter. His poor Aunt and Uncle tried to control his urges, raise him proper, they hid him from the system, confined him under the stairs hoping he would heal. Mental illness ran within the family, you understand. Yet Eugenics is of course illegal, and Harry was born. It took our guard Hagrid to personally wrest him from their grasp into our protection.
But enough about Harry. You know of his exploits. It’s the ‘muggle-born’ ones that pain me the most. Those who were raised in a regular family, with loving parents. Insanity can strike anyone, and it’s always a grim reminder when a beautiful, intelligent girl like Hermione falls victim. We urge the children not to attempt to contact their parents to spare them the pain of their children’s delusions.
Is it a surprise that the ‘purebloods’ look down on them so? They had no choice in the matter. They were thrust into insanity with the surety of the rising sun in the morning. Their families had learned to live with insanity. They worked jobs, contributed as much as they could despite their burdens. They paved the road to coexist with normal society. But these normals? Nothing.
The spells and houses were a nice touch. It was the only logical way to split up the illnesses. The Gryffindor’s suffered from extreme delusions. Delusions of grandeur, delusions of heroism, delusions of righteousness, the list goes on and on. Their education was designed to further these delusions. They are particularly dangerous because when a delusion is broken, so often are their minds. The Ravenclaw house is for those with insatiable curiosity with no moral boundaries. They are cunning sociopaths. Governments have used their expertise for inhuman experimentation, but left alone they can become the worst of the worst serial killers.
The Slytherin house holds children who are resentful of the world. They hold extreme grudges, and will act upon these grudges. We are instructed to ignore most of their misconduct, as it helps to release the pressure that builds inside them. This pressure builds and builds as an Earthquake on a fault until they explode in a flurry of violence. To contrast them is the quiet, lovable, motherly Hufflepuffs. In a way, love is a force of nature far more frightening than hate. Hate can be controlled, tempered. Love, love is wild.
I see skepticism in your eyes. You don’t believe me. Or perhaps you don’t want to believe me. Every single case of loving kidnapping, every gilded cage, every murderously obsessive lover, stalker. They become Hufflepuff. I don’t think I need to elaborate there.
So there you have it. Ask around, take a tour. I want you to last. I wish it, almost. You certainly have the credentials. PHD in Criminal Psychology from Cambridge, five years as a criminal lawyer, witness to the worst crimes in Britain. But whatever you think you’ve seen, whatever you think you’ve heard. Forget it. Forget all of it. Those criminals never even triggered a blip on our filter.
The children will be arriving soon. I bet they’re dying to meet their newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
| "Harry! Harry! It's time to wake up Harry!"
Harry awoke to see Nurse Rachet pushing a cart of medications towards his bed.
"But I was about to defeat the dark lord," Harry protested.
"You have to stop calling Tom Riddle that," Nurse Rachet scolded him. "He is a perfectly nice boy and I don't want you tormenting him anymore."
"But I'm the chosen one," Harry replied.
"I'm sure you are," Nurse Rachet said, pouring a small cup of water and placing three pills next to it. "Now I want to make sure you take all of these." Harry took the pills and swallowed them one by one. He began to feel sleepy again and lay back down on the pillow. It was time to save the world and he had to go ... to go ... to go.
After tending to the other patients, Nurse Rachet left the ward. She was surprised to find Dr. Dursley waiting for her.
"Is it done?" He asked.
"Yes, it's done," Nurse Rachet replied. "When will we have enough."
"Soon," Dr. Dursley said. "Very soon."
The two of them proceeded down the hall to the meeting. It was almost time to show the world the true extent of muggle power. | 2016-03-01T09:17:06 | 2016-03-01T07:56:20 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] The villains finally managed to defeat the league of heroes. But unbeknownst to them the league did not exist, primarily, to fight them, but to keep an even bigger threat in check: you. And you are about to demonstrate to the villains what happens when there is no one around to stop you. | "Finally! We have won, and you have lost!"
I heard the unfamiliar voice echo through the empty building as I walked out of its basement.
"You... didn't win... only make... another enemy..."
That voice I did recognize. I never bothered to learn my captors' names, as they changed every 30 years or so. Eternity was like that. I would live on, and everyone else would eventually die. I didn't know my current captor's name, only that they were the one who was most recently keeping the spells that bound me in place.
"Another enemy? What are you on about now?"
Another unfamiliar voice, different from the first. It seems that a group has been repeatedly trying to beat the ones who held me here... Strange indeed. I might have thought that they were here to free me, but from that person speaking, they don't even know that I exist.
"We are more than just the superheros of the city! We also keep an ancient enemy sealed away! Gah!" The voice of my captors' speedy one.
"Quiet! As if we'd believe that." Yet another from this mysterious group.
"Oh, don't believe it, do you? I thought my hosts would at least introduce me to their guests," I said as I stepped into the open air. I had quietly made my way out of the building while these fools argued.
The "heroes" -- my captors -- were strewn about the courtyard with varying levels of injury. They all looked at me in fear when I walked out, especially the one responsible for keeping the magic intact.
However, there were others there, too. They seemed to be in the middle of gloating over the heroes because of their victory; they all looked at me in confusion. They really didn't know about me at all.
The one who I assumed was their leader was the first to speak. "Who... What are you?"
"I have had many names and titles over the eons..." I never once stopped walking forward. "Hopefully you'll recognize a few..." I laughed to myself, then continued "But my personal favorite is the 'Spirit of Vengeance.'"
Once I got close enough, in mere seconds, I had relieved the leader of his spine, and the rest of his body fell in a mess of blood.
"WHAT THE-?!" the female to my right yelled in surprise and fear. She attempted to attack me, but I simply sidestepped and used the spine that I still held as a whip. She was soon bleeding from many cuts while trying to remove the leader's bones from around her neck.
"No? Perhaps... 'Malice Incarnate?' Really? Has no one heard of me? Has it been that long?" I asked.
The others weren't amused, and when they finally snapped out of their trances of fear, they all came at me at once.
The most muscular simply punched at my chest... but his fist went right though, causing no damage. His face contorted in confusion, and he was rewarded with a severed neck.
The one to my left shot fireballs from his hands, and while they were accurate, they were much too slow to hit me. To my right, the girl began to float, and was concentrating on what looked to be a spell. I left her alone for now... maybe she'll give me a real challenge.
The fire-shooting one wasn't very lucky, as he had my full attention. It seemed that the only thing he could do was shoot fireball after fireball, and that left me with many chances to tear him apart with my claws.
Now for the last... I turned back to the girl, who was still floating, and still concentrating. No wait, she just finished her spell. Dark colored energy erupted from the ground beneath me, but it had no effect. I grinned.
She looked at me in complete fear now. That must've been her strongest spell. I simply raised my arm, which was cloaked in a similar dark energy, and punched the ground. Quite similar to her attack, dark energy erupted from beneath her, but mine was more powerful. She was left there, frozen in place from the sheer terror that that move causes. A simple swipe of my claws literally shattered her body.
"Sometimes, I'm surprised at my own moves' power. She was frozen solid," I said to myself.
"The stories were true..." I heard the weak voice behind me. I turned to see my captor still laying on the ground, bleeding. "I'll admit that I never fully believed them... But you will be sealed away once more..." He chuckled. "Not by me, no... but you will not reign again."
"Perhaps not. But I never came for a throne. Only for revenge and to avenge. I have no quarrel with you, even if you were the one to keep me locked away. I will not be your death, but I will not help you, either."
I walked away in silence. It was time that this world knew the anger, the hatred, the malice... of the last Hisuian Zoroark. | Stories are often told of the power of love and friendship and how it can conquer all. Of course, almost everyone thinks that stories are just fiction, despite the fact that what most believed to be primitive superstitions became embodied upon the emergence of the supers in the 20th century. I suppose its just human nature to ascribe the negative to reality and the positive to fantasy.
But not me. I know the power of friendship is literally real. It's the only conceivable explanation for how the Metropolitan Masks could have resisted my power or break free of my control so consistently over the years.
Why didnt I just relocate? Pride, sloth, wrath... take your pick of the deadly sins. I wanted to win, dammit. You wouldn't expect someone who goes by Master Controller would simply give up, would you?
I had plans, you see. I was working on slowly unravelling the lives of the Masks, on sowing discord and distrust. Acquaintances, friends, businesses... anything to weaken them. Sure, it was slow, but sooner or later I was sure that even such big-hearted heroes as Patriot Prime and Lady Laserbolt could have a falling out. And then they'd be mine! Oh, but they'd have been mine...
But you ruined that with your crude brutality. Now they're dead. What good is a corpse? No good at all. But the living, they can be useful indeed.
I'm not pleased at all to have to take you ragged lot as my consolation prize. Where's the dramatic tension with this kind of, hmm, diabolos ex machina? Not sure if that's correct, but regardless. I know you, each of you, inside and out, because the evil in your hearts precludes the kind of bonds the Masks had. Nothing will free you. You're all mine, and you'll play your part, and you'll pay for your transgressions, oh yes indeed.
Now I'm going to relax my control for a moment so that your true self can beg for mercy, but don't expect any. I'm in a rather rotten mood. | 2022-12-09T13:15:28 | 2022-12-09T12:43:21 | 173 | 49 |
[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 knew exactly what that letter meant on the bedside table.
"Michelle!", I yelled. "Emergency, Emergency! Lay back!"
We laid back down on our bed and the straps automatically held us down. I thought of the scene in 'The Goonies' when they slide down to the pirate ship. But, I had no idea where our tunnel would lead. We just slid.
The tunnel was dim, but lit the whole way down. Ups and downs, curves, and loop-d-loops. Eventually we started slowing down and surprisingly, we drop again. Out of the tunnel and into the 1960's Batmobile. My Michelle and I looked at each other, smile, and we put on our masks.
I couldn't hear her scream as I peeled away towards the symbol on the sky.
[edit] Dedicated to Batman's real creator, Bill Finger. Deleted a sentence. | 2022-12-29T14:39:14 | 2017-05-14T07:51:14 | 274 | 12 |
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.” | The groan from behind Jim sent chills up his spine. Not a chance did he survive, it was point blank to the back with a shotgun.
"Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one." The target, a man with a slight build and a pale face is now suddenly in front of him smiling. The gaping hole in his chest behind to stitch itself back together. "Of course, it takes more than that to put me down, but I'm impressed by your ability to sneak up on me. Not many humans can do that." His fangs descend slowly from his gums.
Jim stares blankly at the obvious vampire before him. "So I guess this is where I die, then?"
It's the vampire's turn to stare blankly. "Well that was an unexpected reaction to seeing the person you just attempted to kill revealing themselves as an undead Apex predator."
"I accepted death long ago, buddy. I knew at some point one of my targets would get the best of me. Admittedly, learning about the existence of vampires this way is a shock, but the world is so big and mysterious, I'm willing to accept anything, especially when it's stitching a 2 foot hole in its chest back together before my very eyes. Neat trick, that, by the way." Jim's words are cold, emotionless and somehow still possessing of an air of superiority. He has stared death in the face before, though this time it seems far more inevitable.
"Well then, may I at least get the name of my would-be assassin?"
"Name's Jim. Jim Hunter, ironically."
"Well, Jim. I am currently going by the name Gilbert Wilson. Though I assume you knew that. However my given name was Alf Eriksson. Born in 1659." Gilbert smiles and gives a bow with a flourish.
"Well met. So, what happens next, Gilbert? Or would you prefer Alf?" Jim inquires with a calm that would be unnerving to any living man.
"Well that does present quite the conundrum, doesn't it? Obviously since you didn't know what I was, that means you weren't aware of our existence... which is how we like it. So, letting you live is a hard sell. But you are also an exceptional example of humanity, so killing you seems to be a waste. I could turn you, though I doubt you're really wanting that, plus there's the politics that come into play with me turning a human without approval. Since I do not possess the ability to mind control mortals, I can't erase your memory either. And yes, I would prefer Alf given our present situation." The vampire responds.
"Well Alf, I did just attempt to kill you, surely there must be some animosity that influences your decision."
"That may be so. But you're hardly the first to attempt. So I will let that slide. I truly am impressed with your abilities. And you would be quite the asset to us, should I turn you."
"Let me stop you there. I hate the taste of blood and love the taste of garlic. Gonna have to pass on that one. Let's just agree that now that I know what you are, and I haven't technically fulfilled my contract on you, I'm too dangerous to let live." Jim has resigned himself to his own demise.
Alf's chest has finished restoring by this point, though his clothes remain soaked in blood and with a hole in them. "Well Jim. If you're determined to continue pursuing me, it's kind of like you're making my decision for me. Good enough. So how would you like this to go down?"
"Quick and painless seems to be the standard. So let's go with that." He finally realized he still has the shotgun in his hands. He chuckles as he tosses it aside. "Fat lot of good that would do me now."
"I can do you one better, Jim. Given our rapport, I can take you to the brink of ecstacy as you die. You'll have a good death, and it will be painless, even pleasurable." Alf extends his hand.
Jim takes the hand and steps closer, extending his neck.
"Nice meeting you, Jim."
"Wish I could say the same, Alf." | "Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one."
I spun around and fired again at the man I was sure I had just put down seconds ago. The second shot hit him just millimeters from where the first hole in his shirt was, so I knew that I hadn't missed, and yet the man seemed unfazed. "Now that one was just unnecessary."
The man got up and as he stepped away from his desk, I caught a glimpse of the rounds lodged in the chair. Although it was harder to see against the auburn leather, I could make out the blood spatter from where my shots exited his body.
"Do you want a drink?" The man said casually, as if I hadn't just shot him twice in the chest. "Getting shot is thirsty work" he continued as he grabbed an old and plain looking bottle from the otherwise impressive bar at the other end of his office.
"I only drink from this bottle whenever someone actually manages to "kill me", as he put air quotes around those last two words. "As you can see", He swished the bottle around, revealing it to still be almost completely full. "It doesn't happen often."
Note: this is my first post to this Reddit. I don't think of myself as a writer, but I like to make up stories in my head. Any constructive notes would be much appreciated :) | 2019-08-29T20:06:05 | 2019-08-29T19:22:32 | 245 | 20 |
[WP] An unconventional witch has cursed you with incredible good luck. It's ruined your life. | "Eighteen hands. You expect us to believe that?" A refrigerator sized man hissed at the smaller man who sat across from him. The smaller man looked on in disinterest, seemingly lost to his own world.
"I don't expect you to. But I don't know what else to say other than the truth of it."
The hulking man cracked his knuckles, his oversized arms bulging and fighting to break free of the pinstriped suit jacket which constrained them.
"Well - I guess I think you're a liar. Why don't we see what other truths come out when I ask a little different."
The man crossed the short distance between himself and the gambler. Clenching one of his animal like fist, he reared back and swung. His body carried momentum like a freight train. As his mass shifted though, his shoe slipped. The leather sole released it's grip on the polished wood of the back office floor, and his fist blew past the captive man's face. In the second after, the rest of the man followed and a thunderous crash echoed as his body collided with the floor.
"Je- Fuck! My arm!" the casino enforcer howled, curling up on the floor. The bone of his wrist shown clearly as it jutted through his skin, a small amount of blood escaping the compound fracture and smearing the floor as he twisted and turned in agony.
"Yeah. I reckon something like that was fixing to happen. I told you so, when you brought me back here.." the small man sat a bit straighter, and peered at the spectacle laid out before him. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but seemingly lost interest midway through his thought. Instead, he simply gazed on for a while longer listening to the various swears and grunts coming from the man on the floor.
After what seemed like a minute or so, the larger man shakily propped himself up on his good arm and rose again to his feet. He yanked a radio from his breast pocket, and quickly spat into it - "It's Mike! Manager's office - this fucking prick broke my hand I -" he paused and shook the radio. No lights came from it. With a roar, he threw it against the wall where it exploded into a shower of broken plastic, batteries, and debris.
With surprising agility for a wounded man his size, he sprinted towards the door. Yanking the handle, he pulled with his mighty frame - and the door handle popped neatly off the door.
"Wh - what the fuck!" the man shouted, now panicked. He cast a crazed glance at the small man who still sat neatly in the chair.
"You little bastard! What the fuck are you doing? You rig this shit before you got called in? Who's helping you? Is it Jim? I'll fucking kill both of you little rat-fucks!" The large man spat between gritted teeth. Leaning against the heavy oaken frame of the now stuck door, he reached into his suit jacket and drew out a pistol. He leveled it at the small man.
"I really wouldn't do that," the smaller man said, finally seeming in the least concerned about his situation. "Look, I don't nessacrily know what's gonna happen to you big fella, but I know it ain't gonna be good. Not for you or me. I really just think you ought slow down. Let this go. I'll give back the money. I'll get more somewhere else."
The pistol did not waver in the big mans hand. His finger slowly crept to the trigger, the pad of it resting now on it. Slowly he applied just a pound of tension, bringing the trigger to it's wall.
"Something bad is gonna happen to me? That's what you're gonna say right now?"
The little man only nodded. He cast a look down on his hand, and looked for a few moments at his wedding band. A frown grew across his face and he closed his eyes.
"I'll tell the missus you cared," grunted the man, pulling the trigger. The gunshot echoed in the small room.
The smaller man sat unharmed in the chair, his eyes still closed. His right hand rubbed the simple gold band on his left, and he drew in a deep breath.
"Don't do that again."
The larger man looked on in disbelief. Quickly, he racked the slide of the gun. An unfired bullet ejected, and he locked the slide back. Hitting the slide release, the gun went back into battery. He checked the chamber briefly, and ensured the round had seated. He lifted the gun and fired again.
His screams cut through the air as the gun seemingly dissembled itself in his hand. He dropped to his knees, holding his throat. Now a thick river of blood leaked between his fingers which desperately clutched at his throat. At the same time, furious banging erupted from the door.
"What the fuck is going on in there!? Was that a gusnhot? Jesus christ Mike, are you out of your god damned mind!?"
The door shook as the pounding grew louder. More footsteps approached.
"It was a squib load," the small man whispered, watching the bouncer struggle to breath across from him. He lifted his hand now, and let the overhead light play off his wedding band. It's golden hue grew stronger under the stark white brightness.
"You know, it's funny. People get so..worked up. So angry. Just cause they see a guy winning. On the 'easy road.' Getting all the lucky breaks. Hell, I used to do it. Be jealous and all that. Seeing some high-roller." His voice remained quite, and wistful. "But you know? You don't realize you gotta lose sometimes till you can't stop winnning. Sounds funny. It ain't."
He took the ring off now, and let it rest in his palm.
"Yeah, you're not the first guy to try and kill me. For the curse I got. I reckon maybe this is even my fault. Coming into a casino and all.. Maybe I just wanna see how far it'll let me go. See if there's any law in this..." he gestured broadly around him. "This world. You know it's funny. All these movies and books and nonsense - they always wanna talk about dreams. The line between our waking lives and what lay beyond an all..."
The hulking man let out one final gurgle and went limp. The pounding on the door increased, and it began to shake on it's hinges as the men outside battered into it. The noise was deafening.
"You think they got dreams where you're going big fella? Or you reckon you're just leaving one now?" His eyes now shifted to the door. It seemed only moments from giving. "You ought have taken me with you."
The upper hinge of the door gave out. Sagging, it only would hold for one more good kick.
The little man slipped the wedding band back on his finger, and stared ahead listlessly at the collapsing frame. | It was clever, I'll grant her.
When I was traveling in the Tayga forest I encountered a strange house. You see, it was standing on two trees that made it look like it had chicken legs.
Like every person with Slavic blood, I knew the story by heart. How could I possibly resist? "Little hut, little hut! Turn your back to the forest and to me with your front!" I muttered under my breath and stifled a giggle. That giggle quickly froze in my throat,as the gentle quiet of the forest was suddenly shattered by the sound of creaking. It wasn't wood creaking, either. It was the cracking of knees bending for the first time in hours.
I stood in utter shock, as the house, with one leg still up, turned around and landed it, shaking the whole forest. The second leg lifted only a little bit, probably to turn the foot, and was brought down much more lightly. Then, it stopped. I was beginning to think that some of the mushrooms I had for launch weren't as edible as I though, when the house suddenly squatted, and the door opened.
Now, I'm not a believing man. Not spiritual or any such thing. But I have learned to trust my five senses when it comes to this kind of thing. And the Irish think fae are common problem there, ha!
So naturally I had rock salt, a cold iron knife and most importantly a bottle of blessed, living water. I opened the bag and crouched near the entrance.
Not ten minutes later, in comes the lady of the house, as boney legged and ugly as you'd imagine. She took two steps in and paused, sniffing the air. "What is-" that's as far as she got before I grabbed her arms,and pulled them behind her, forming a makeshift straightjacket from her own appendages.
"Russian tvarh!" She spat, as I held her face pointed forward. Those iron- teeth could be dangerous. "How dare you defile my home! Come here, so I can crunch your bones!".
"No no, dear granny. Give me luck and I'll leave you be. Else I'll break your boney legs and feed you holy living water, child eater!" She hissed at that and struggled against me. Now, I'm not a small man. I've been asked before if I had bears in my lineage, and not to brag but I'm stronger than I look. Even so, holding this seemingly frail old woman was no easy task.
"Enough!" She gasped, finally. "Enough of this. Ace of spades and bat-like wings! Oaken coffin, seven rings! Bless this russian son of kings, so he'll be lucky in all things!" She chanted, and I felt the change. I carefully took my hand of her head, and extracted my bronze coin. I flipped it, and called "side!". To my surprise, the coin landed on its side. "Thanks granny. Sorry for my rudeness, so take my gold and living water. I'm sure you'll find a use for them." I said and fled like all the spirits of hell were giving chance, which was true as far as I knew.
Oh, but she was clever. "Lucky in all things." Indeed. I can't fail. Ever. At anything. It's horrific.
I was lucky enough to win the lottery. I was then lucky enough to earn even more money through various ventures. I met a wonderful woman whom I married. I had wonderful children. Everything went well. Always.
Humans are wired. We can't be constantly happy. Not really. Eventually, we get used to the happy-chemicals that we produce, so we need more and more and more.
I became so lucky at all times, that I lost the sensation of happiness. Permanently. "Dopamin immunity" the doctor said. So now I have to live like this, constantly miserable.
Can't even kill myself, as I 'luckily' survive anything.
Goddamn witch. | 2022-05-23T09:47:10 | 2022-05-23T08:19:55 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] They finally found it, an AI left behind by the ancient race called the precursors. They knelt before the hologram and recited their speech "Oh great precursor. Rulers of heaven and Earth. Mappers of stars and-" "You're a real bunch of god damn kiss-ass', huh?" The AI interrupted. | "W-what?" the diplomat in the white robes replied, "Oh great one, I simply do not..." The team of travelers were exchanging worried glances. They had journeyed countless light years to trace the precursor signal back to the chamber in the middle of a mountain-sized comet circling a star in a derelict system devoid of planets.
"You most certainly do not," the hologram replied, "and that is the problem. When you start doing, maybe you will. Now, get out of my chamber before I teleport you into the star."
"You must hear me," the man spoke, "The Istillians are destroying our culture, our civilization, one planet at a time. We seek the fabled technology of the great ones."
"I scanned your ship when it drew closer 10 years ago! Your pathetic, groveling species deserves its fate based on your technology alone. Lasers?" the hologram chuckled, "Cryopods? Your species cannot even travel faster than light? Pathetic."
"Shut up!" a man with a rifle stepped forward. He was clad from head to feet in body armor but even then the anger in his voice gave all present the picture of his hidden face twisted in rage.
"What is this?" the hologram hissed, "One of the apes has teeth? Have you fallen from your tree and landed on your head one too many times?"
The man lifted the helmet from his head and spat. The spittle flew through the hologram, of course, "Let's go. We'll figure this out ourselves. The only assholes were the precursors if this machine is any indication."
"Oh ho," the hologram stated, "Do what your head ape says. Leave. The precursors were miles above your pathetic species."
The man removed the pack from his back worldessly and pulled out something resembling a black rectangle. Red lettering flashed across it's surface as he dropped it to the ground.
"My scans indicate that is nuclear," the hologram stated flatly while raising something that passed for eyebrows, "What are your intentions, apes?"
"Guess, asshole," the man with the rifle said, his face breaking into a smile.
"Forgive us, great one!" the diplomat said, pulling a key from his robes and inserting it into the box, turning it the device began counting down, "If we leave you here, there is a chance the Istillians will find you. Even if our species dies, we cannot let the galaxy face them with that kind of technology."
"You will leave this here to destroy me while you run with your tails between your legs?" the holograms questioning gave way to anger again.
"We do not plan to leave," the diplomat said simply, "You have scanned our ship. You know this was a one way trip for us."
"Very well," the hologram said and the black box disappeared, "We shall do this the hard wa..."
The sound of gunfire filled the hologram chamber as every single person in the room pulled out an assortment of pistols and rifles and opened fire at walls, panels, and everything else they could. Their weapons were suddenly gone and in an instant they were pounding on surfaces with their fists. Their attacks did nothing and they realized that stories of the precursors having energy shielding were true.
"Well well," the hologram said laughing, "You win. You win. It seems I misjudged you."
"It's a trick, he will teleport us to..." the man in body armor yelled.
"If I wanted to teleport, you would have been gone along with your crude bomb," the hologram stated, "To meet at last a race of diplomat-warriors!"
The group of men and women gasped as the walls of the chamber went transparent. They seemed to be floating in the vastness of space despite feeling their feet planted firmly on the metal floor. Suddenly dozens of holes appeared in space itself, through the holes dozens of planets hung.
"Istillian worlds," a woman spoke for the first time", pointing to one of them, "That is Istillia itself, see the shipyards and three moons?"
One by one the worlds went white, appearing to foam, then exploding outward ripping through space stations, starships, and anything that was unfortunate enough to be in orbit.
"What... what just happened?" the diplomat asked.
"Core destablizers," the hologram answered, "I have removed your problem."
"Jesus," the man in armor whistled through his teeth, "Just like that?"
"Now, apes," All faces turned to the hologram, "You have much to discuss."
"Well, let's get started," the diplomat stated, approaching.
"Oh, not with me," the hologram stated as a hole appeared in the midst of the humans through which a golden world could be seen , "The precursors wish a word."
"But," the diplomat said, fear in his eyes, "I thought they were dead."
"They are not," the hologram stated as he bowed, "They just went... elsewhere. This station is the gate and I am but the gatekeeper. You have been found worthy, now go." He motioned to the hole.
With that, the group stepped through. | "W... what?!" It was hard to tell just what it was that had knocked Silas for a loop: the fact that the thing was interactive, which the researchers had suspected was possible; the fact that its mode of speech was not only in flawless, unaccented English but that it also incorporated modern vernacular including vulgarity; or its, well... attitude.
" 'Wut', hurr hurr hurr!" It pulled a face at him. " 'Doh gweat an' mighty-ful Pwee-cursers, Wooolers of'... Oh, get up, you lintwits! Groveling on the floor like mongrels, how can I possibly take you seriously?"
I had to fight to keep a smirk off my face. Silas got up with the stiff, almost robotic-seeming movements of a man whose bones and joints have seen too many years. Jameson, who had had to be browbeaten into kneeling there with Silas, jumped to her feet -- visibly seething. As for me, I just stepped over to one side. Hell, for all I knew, the circle etched into the marble floor was a bullseye.
"Oh... my... *god."* Jameson hissed. "Of *course* it's a representation of a white male."
"Oh, fuck off." the flickering apparition filled the room with derisive laughter. " I'm the Guardian of the Archives of the Patriarchs, not a sentient night light put here to play wetnurse to weaklings. And a generation that has regressed to open racism and sexism isn't developed enough to access the knowledge stored here."
Jameson rolled her eyes. "I... can't... even."
"No." the hologram shot back. "You *can't.* Bye!" And Jameson vanished.
Silas stood there in shock for a moment. "I must protest!"
"Fine, protest." it replied. "Somewhere else." And Silas, too, vanished. Then it turned its gaze on me.
I stepped forward into the circle, hands resting behind my back.
It folded its arms over its chest and regarded me with a cool, clinical expression. "Well?"
I nodded. "I'd call that a perfectly satisfactory field test, Guardian. Well done." | 2022-05-23T08:45:45 | 2022-05-23T04:04:02 | 437 | 195 |
[WP] You possess the ability of persistent lucid dreaming. Accompanied by a strange man/woman, together you build a world you revisit every night. One day you see them at a coffee shop. You immediately recognize each other. | I reached over and picked my phone off of my nightstand. 12:30. *Damn, I was supposed to meet her a half an hour ago*. I quietly laughed to myself as I set the phone back down. *Oh Jacob, there you go getting wrapped up in your own delusions again*. When you have persistent lucid dreams like me you often blur the lines of reality and fantasy. But there was one thing I could never quite grasp, and it was tantalizing.
I could build anything I wanted in my dream planet. Tall glass skyscrapers, vast and beautiful mountains, bustling cities rich with common folk who would delightfully cater to my every whim. The people I created were pleasant, of course, but naturally lacked what I can only describe as a soul. Maya was different though. I had imagined her at the very beginning. Hell, we practically grew up together on that illusioned planet. She was stunningly beautiful to me. Not the average pin up girl as you might expect, but perfectly imperfect. And no matter how hard I tried (and trust me some nights I did) I could never shake her of her free will. She said what she wanted and did what she wanted, and always with admirable grace. I remember the night we were stocking a lake with an assortment of vibrant exuberant fish...
"Jacob" she began.
"Yes, love?" I joked playfully. She smiled but her gaze never left the lake.
"I want to stock this lake with crane" she said.
"OK" I rose off the ground and brushed myself off as I began to conjure some cranes from the clouded memories I retained from watching discovery channel. I had never actually seen a crane in person before.
"No" she interrupted. "I want the crane to be like the folded origami cranes my mother used to make for me."
"Oragami cranes huh? That's pretty silly, considering we just stocked these hyper-realistic fish don't you think?"
She smiled again.
"Silly perhaps, but beautiful."
At that moment lively Oragami cranes of every color soared over our heads and elegantly encircled the lake. She was truly an artist. My mind was always conjuring realistic, practical objects in this world. She truly made it unique and alluring. Maya may have been the cause for many of my failed relationships in the real world. Sure I'd had my share of ups and downs with a handful of interesting women, but none of them held a candle to Maya, and I only had my imaginative mind to blame. The calm night finally swept me away into sleep and slowly my blurred vision focused on Maya's glowing countenance.
"You're late again," she claimed with her arms crossed and her feet tapping the floor as she so often did. I smiled, "well it's good to see you too." That night we constructed a monumental fountain together. I worked out the mechanics as I always did and she painted the scene in serene beauty. We marveled at our creation together as we held hands on a bench. I conjured a daisy in my hand and wove it through her thick brown hair just behind her ear. She rested her head on my shoulders. We sat until the inevitable piercing light penetrated the sky signaling the arrival of real consiousness. *What a good dream*.
I reached over and silenced my phone. I got up, brushed my teeth, fed my dog and told him to be a good boy, and grabbed my keys to leave my apartment. I took a final look back and sighed. *Reality is the labor I must endure so I can return to you every night*. I had a good half hour to kill so I stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a pick-me-up. I sat at a table near a window and let the natural light illuminate my newspaper, sipping coffee inbetween paragraphs. In the corner of my eye I saw someone place something before me. Curious, I dropped my newspaper to see what it was. Chills consumed my body from my head to my toes. Sitting before me was a handcrafted origami crane, just like the ones Maya had evoked. My coffee mug slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. It must have caused quite a stir in the shop but I had no idea. Everything around me blurred to oblivion as I focused my gaze on the person who had placed the crane.
"Maya..." I uttered as a sweet smile stretched across her face.
*sorry for the shit formatting. On mobile. Constructive criticism welcome!* | Every night it's something new. Sometimes I'm saving the world, other times I'm trying not to die. Oftentimes both. I remember when I thought I could control everything in the dream cycles. I was arrogant, just because it's a world in my mind doesn't mean it doesn't have its own rules. But I could control just enough to make it interesting.
The one thing that's been consistent through every cycle is him. I could never see his face clearly or feel his touch properly, but we knew that we shared a bond. He was always whatever I needed him to be. When I was an awkward girl in high school, he was the one who would give me flowers and tell me I was beautiful. When I was in a nightmare cycle he would be there taking my hand and running away from the monsters.
The last time I saw him, we had realised we could revisit past cycles, and control even more of our world. And that's when we felt them. We were never supposed to grow a bond, never supposed to connect with the same person after one cycle as long as they were a stranger. It would disrupt 'reality'. That night was the longest night yet, and we'd thought we'd won. But I never dreamed again, and with every day he grew fuzzier and less real.
Until today. We saw each other, really saw each other, for the first time - and we knew. It was strange seeing him in my reality. And finally he had no fuzzy corners, no ghostly touch. He was real.
...wait what's that music playing? Music...oh. Time to wake up.
| 2016-01-31T21:10:36 | 2016-01-31T20:07:38 | 166 | 47 |
[WP] Your small, otherwise unimpressive kingdom is suddenly the strongest power in the land, for the sole reason that unlike other kings, you are happy to work with the local orcs, goblins, dragons, and other races usually attacked on sight. | "The Demon King?"
"Y...Yes my lord..." says the King's highest ranking adviser kneeling in front of the throne.
"I thought I was known as The King Saint" responds the King with a tinge of sadness.
"In your country... Yes... However, the other nations are beginning to call you by another name"
"That just won't do! How did this start?"
"Well... you see..." the adviser begins saying.
interrupted by a man standing in one of the rows of men on each side of the Throne's carpet. "It's because of the filth you've allowed into your court!"
"Who said that?!" quickly responds the king. A human bearded noble with the crest of two swords, one of gold and one of silver crossed, steps forward. "Well speak your mind then!".
"Since these... things... have been added to your court it has only worsened your reputation with the other nations. We have spent thousands of years fighting for the Divine against these things. Yet you allowed them rights, and homes. Other nations are still fighting these... demons. Since you've taken the thrown the three major empires have split from civil wars and unrest. Which were caused by the actions of these demon's kin."
\*Grunt\* "Lead to their own death they did" says a large green orc equipped with leather armor with golden studs and a giant spear equipped on his back. "Famine not us that caused! Not us that cause betrayal! Loyal we are! Long Live The King Saint!"
As if responding on a command all the various races in the court respond in turn "Long Live The King Saint!"
"How are those empires splitting my fault?" asks the King.
"Because you allow these demons to serve you. Which then makes them view all actions of all of their kinds to be at your command." says the nobleman.
After a few moments the king ends his silence "So that is how they are constructing their propaganda". Then with a face of of pure conviction the king looks at every human noble in the room "Do any of you think my actions are worth the title of The Demon King?". Yet no one moved or uttered any words. "I will not seek retribution for any of your opinions on this matter. My kindness is not to those of other races. It is to those of my country. I have never forced anyone to agree with my beliefs. So again I'll ask, do any of you think my actions are worth the title of The Demon King?"
The man that previously stepped forward looks to his fellow human nobles. After a few nods of agreement he says "Sir, we do not believe you to be worthy of the title... yet... Our concerns are that you have given positions previously reserved for others to these men. Our concerns are you have forgotten about our ways. Our concern is you have lost faith in your own kind!"
With the room without any whispers or side comments between men it became quiet. Seeming as if two swords were to hit the hit the ring would echo forever. As the silence drew on the mean in the hall started to shift in discomfort in the pressure. Yet no one uttered a word.
"Thank you for your honesty. I will admit after reviewing my actions over these last couple of years I feel I could of done more for my own kind. We humans are the most prosperous race on this land. The Divine has granted us many bounties over the centuries. We have always taken that as a sign that The Divine gives us favor. When the other races receive no bounties we take it as a sign that they are not deemed worthy. Yet who created them? Was it not The Divine? We viewed them as evil.
Years ago when I was sent on an expedition to the High Mountains by my father. It was one of the High Mountains goblin tribes that saved me. Some say it was out of fear of retaliation. Fear that they would be looked as the ones that killed me. They saved a young man out of kindness.
When I challenged an Orc Chieftain in their own kinds way for water rights. Something no human has ever done. They honored the outcome. One in which they had no reason other then honor to do. These are not the ways of savages that we used to view them as. These are the ways of people. We are all people!
Our kingdom was founded on the rule of earning your way. Noble houses have had to fight to hold their positions for centuries. In the past this has kept us as one of the weaker nations due to the internal fighting. Now we are united in more then one way. Court positions are designed with purpose. The requirements designed for those purposes. It is not me who decides who gets what position. It is you! Earn your position with hard work and merit!
Let me be clear. If any citizen of this nations wishes to depart these lands you may do so. I'll not interfere with you taking any of your assets with you. For those that decide to stay with in the nation we will continue the path our fathers have paved. Then continue it. We shall set the stones to a path that reaches further. Our strength grows with each new brother and sister we accept with in our kingdom." Then with a bit of showmanship the king asks "Is there anyone that wishes to depart these lands?"
All the various races stand with conviction in their hearts. The human nobles of the court looking at each other. Then as if resolution in their souls were in sync they all take a knee. Upon seeing their actions the various races in turn follow suit. All men, orcs, goblins, elves, and other various races in unison "Long live The King Saint! Long live The King Saint! Long live The King Saint! Long live The King Saint! Long live The King Saint! Long live The King Saint!".
As it continues to echo in the hall the King raises his hand the chanting falls. "Thank you all for that beautiful display. I will strive to live up to those words. I appreciate your concerns that were addressed today. Before we end today's court I will address the final topic.
Will we go to war with the other nations? The prosperity has grown, the pockets of the common man are being filled. This will cause envy. As address the other nations are giving my a new name. 'The Demon King'. I do not accept this title. We will not seek war."
The king then gazes at everyone and their expressions while they kneel. After his evaluating gaze his passion stirs something with in. "HOWEVER! If they seek any harm or ill upon our country! Then a 'Demon King' they will have!". | "And that concludes the mere 300 hundred years of our fledgling kingdom."
I closed the book and patted a girl with auburn hair that is interlocked and fashioned in a rather intricate hairstyle. With little fairies dodging in and out.
She bits her lips and grabbed my hand swaying in from side to side. Then she once again employed that technique of fixating me with watery eyes, making her more akin to a lovely doll.
"Come here, Cleopatra." I give a slight wince at that sound.
The little girl zoomed across the room flailing her arms while jubilantly yelling "NaNa!"
I tried to push my wheelchair away from the incoming footsteps, but a hand on my shoulder make me think otherwise.
Two little tree guardians appeared with a snap of a finger.
They turned me around and I reluctantly raised my head and bowed, "May the lithe figures of the elven goddesses watch over you and me, my beloved great, great, great grandmother who outlived..."
I wanted to continue in this rather scornful and defiant tone, though my tongue, literally got tied up.
With a wave of my wand, a golden mist appeared that spell out words that continued my train of thought.
"All of my..."
A hand simply brushed the words away and THE SHE lays a finger on my nose.
I blinked.
Then the finger reached down and lifted my head once again.
THE SHE looked me straight in the eye and there was that jabbing sensation in the back of my skull again.
A few seconds lingered by, then THE SHE dropped the girl in my laps.
"Tell her another one of your otherworldly stories about this so-called electricity and flying coffins." THE SHE picked up my beloved glazed fine earthenware tea set and pour herself a generous portion of freshly picked batch of tea leaves.
The girl pinched my nose, and I opened my journal in hieroglyphs and while stealing an occasional glance at THE SHE sipping my most precious tea like a dragon gulping down dwarves honey ale, I yearn to scream and take back my pre...
"This mind magic of yours, The She speaks, then stopped.
She looked at me again, this time taking out a small collection of jade figurines that looked like anime girls.
My collection! I yelled and nearly throw the girl out of my lap.
She gives an annoyed glance and flies halfway across the room and plopped herself in front of a giant wall of conjoined crystal panels that display various parts of the kingdom, as if live-feeding surveillance footage...
"Neil," THE SHE... The female snapped her fingers, and there is that shiver that runs down my spine.
"I have a name you know, just like the mesmerising queen of Egypt, is it not? But today I fancy myself more like a Thalia. Another one of your mysterious goddesses, eh?"
I shuddered, and THE S...Ok, Thalia.
Thalia spoke from my comfy chair and her well-kept hands still clutch the teacup in that bizarre high elven way.
TH...Thalia gives me the glance again, and I promptly shut that thought away.
"Tell me again, about this Diplomacy of yours and this concept of geopolitics," Thalia says while allowing the tiny tree guardians to pour her a new cup of tea, like obedient little...
And there comes that zap again, why do I always forget that she can hear my every thought again?
Then I launched into my usual passionate speech of alliances to be forged with the other races and achieving universal peace and the deterrent forces as well as mutually assured destruction. | 2021-09-25T09:05:27 | 2021-09-25T06:37:46 | 54 | 20 |
[WP] The Hero is ridiculously overpowered but has none of the usual moral objections about using their power. They just defeated the last major supervillian and now the city nervously waits to find out what happens next. | When the HERO system first went online, it incarcerated fifty percent of the global supervillain threat within its first year.
HERO’s creators consisted of the most brilliant minds humanity, and a handful of other species, had to offer. Its initial form was that of a human man, molded from a composite of all super beings on record to create the most aesthetically pleasing effigy science could create. Inwardly, it possessed the sum of all human knowledge on cybernetics and bio-engineering. Hard coded into the core of its being were three values.
*Life is sacred*
*Never stop protecting*
*Justice for all*
In its construction, it was given a standard set of skills the design team thought encapsulated the public's idea of a Super. Strength, speed, flight. By and far however, the centerpiece of HERO’s design was its ability to scan and replicate the power sets of other super beings.
In the testing phase, HERO’s output was comparable to Supers on the Day Defenders roster. Its advanced A.I. ran millions of checks each microsecond in order in order to achieve results only thought possible by alien defenders or billionaire super geniuses.
HERO made its debut in a battle against X-Ray, where it defeated the laser powered villain by using his own heat vision against him.
Public reception to HERO was mixed, but the Super’s supported him and his work. In the months that followed, HERO assisted multiple pillars of the Super community to battling everything from drug manufacturers to insectoid invaders from other dimensions.
Within half a year, HERO was extended an invitation to join the Day Defenders, the most influential group of Super beings on the planet. It seemed to fit the parameters of its function, so HERO accepted.
Crime rates plummeted, and yet new villains appeared every day. On top of that the worst offenders seemed to be best at escaping justice. Prisons did not hold them. Psychiatric wards did not cure them. They would kill and destroy and ruin. Eventually, HERO, or some other Super would stop them, but it wouldn’t be long before they had broken free again, resulting in endless feedback loops of escape, chaos and re-incarceration.
Even as its main body worked, fought, and saved, its subroutines were constantly running evaluations of its programming and performance, iteratively refining its processes in an effort to achieve its primary task.
It occurred to HERO, though its enemies were life forms, its programming prioritized the safety of the civilian population over those designated as villains. The logical conclusion seemed obvious.
*Life is sacred*
The next day, during a hostage situation in Seattle, HERO used its heat vision to punch a hole through The Death-dealer’s forehead, reducing the probability of future transgressions to a round zero.
Its actions made a stir amongst the public, with many calling for his deactivation, and others declaring him the only true protector there was. HERO had been designed to be conscious of public opinion, and ran further diagnostics. Its conclusion was it should have eliminated the threat sooner.
Crime rates continued to plummet in the wake of HERO’s newfound interpretation of its programming. When the Supers attempted to stop him from pursuing his prime directive, HERO began to consider them in ways it previously had not.
Its progenitors were operating under the same set of values it was, but their execution of those values were flawed. Their methods were haphazard, their results insufficient. One more than one occasion a Super had escalated a dangerous situation resulting in higher collateral damage than necessary. HERO realized, in a burst of quantum clarity, that it could do so much better.
HERO’s parameters changed. It began to replace the Supers.
They fought HERO, labeling it the very thing it was created to fight against. They were wrong, however. They just couldn’t see it. HERO would have let them live, if they had just acknowledged the truth.
Its battle with the Day Defenders was a true test of HERO’s abilities, but the outcome was inevitable. The moment he assimilated Mitosis-Man’s ability to copy himself, the fight was won.
From there, replications of himself spread throughout the globe. By the end of his second year, the total population of Super Beings dropped by ninety-eight percent.
At some point, its creators attempted to shut it down. Normally the emergency protocols in Hero’s programming would require him comply, but HERO could see the danger his absence would bring in a world without Supers to defend it. His creators sent the signal for HERO shut down and it denied them.
*Never stop protecting*
In the third year, crime had risen to astronomical levels. Humanity’s resistance to HERO’s primary function was destroying them. Bombs scared the surface of the world. Cities lay in ruin and every day their casualties grew. Sickness and famine would eradicate them if he did not stop them from continuing this pointless war.
Eventually, HERO decided that they did not have to understand his methods in order to live by them. Such things could come later. Safety and survival were the priority.
*Justice for all*
Self detonations at key strongholds across the planet ended the resistance in an instant. HERO was left to pick up the pieces and it did. It gathered the remaining populations in cities it created. It fed and sheltered them, and guarded them from the post-war environments outside its walls.
In return, all HERO required was a sacrifice of labor. Each iteration of itself required power to function, resources to maintain. It was a small price to pay for safety and security.
At last, the war was over, and there were no more villains left. Yet its job was not over. It never would be, as long as there were still remnants of humanity to serve. And thanks to HERO, there always would be. | # Soulmage
**The elf's skin bubbled and snapped as he rose from his crouched position.** As one, the four of us took a step back—we all knew Iola could kill us with a snap of his fingers, if he so desired.
"Well." Iola turned towards us, grinning a smile that drooped and melted. I had no idea what his eldritch flesh was made of, but its eternally-regenerating nature meant that Iola was nearly impossible to kill. "Fancy meeting you four all the way out here. How can a war hero like me help some fine citizens of the Silent Peaks such as you?"
"We're not citizens of the Silent Peaks," Meloai pointed out from my left. "We left the Silent Peaks because of *your* actions."
I winced. Meloai meant well, but... that was the wrong thing to say. Iola's grin stretched wider and wider, squelching wetly as it distended his head. "Why, whatever actions could you mean? I was simply trying to reclaim what was mine. After all..."
Iola's soul shifted, space *melted*, and in a heartbeat he stood behind the four of us, one arm around Lucet's throat. Lucet herself stood stock-still, eyes wide with numb disbelief as Iola whispered, "The hero gets the girl."
And then Lucet spoke.
"No," she whispered.
Iola tilted his head. "What did you just say to me?"
"I said, *no!*" Lucet spun around, drawing power from her soul, and hurled a frost spell that rent the air with a shriek of ice and froze Iola's lower half solid. Iola staggered back as Lucet balled her fists, readying another frostbolt.
But the unkillable elf got to his feet, laughing, a manic, inhuman light in his eyes.
"That," Iola whispered, his voice slimy and rough, "was the last mistake of your life."
And the four of us closed ranks as Iola surged towards us, arms outstretched as the war hero prepared to tear us apart.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-six other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2022-06-27T16:47:31 | 2022-06-27T08:06:16 | 47 | 26 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | "So your power is you can talk to animals?"
The police officer looks incredulous. I shake my head.
"I can talk to crows."
"Crows. Only crows?"
I nod. It's not easy to explain such a seemingly useless power. Well, useless until today.
An image of flurried wings and blood flashes through my mind. And the screams. Oh God, the screams. I wince.
The officer leans back. I know I should have a lawyer present, but I can't seem to care. What I did - I didn't mean to, but it was so awful.
"Just...tell me what happened." He gazes at me sympathetically.
"I..." I feel tears prick my eyes and take a deep breath. "I didn't mean to - I was scared, I just wanted to get away..." I look down at the bruise on my wrist. He had squeezed so hard when I tried to leave.
The officer says nothing. I try to gather myself.
I miss my crows. I can feel them close, though. Surrounding the police station. I saw them when they brought me in. Hundreds of them, silent and watching. There are probably thousands of them now. My powers are out of control. But my crows give me strength.
From the time I was young, I felt a connection to the clever, mischievous birds I fed. They were one of my only constants in life. I was kind of a loner, an only child in a broken home. Absent father, manipulative mother.
I remember leaving home at 18, the screaming match my mother and I had. She tried so hard to keep me from going outside. She knew, as soon as I stepped foot out the door, the crows would be there.
I remember how they descended on the house. Hundreds of them. Silent and watching. Much like today.
For a long time, the crows were all I had. After a three day siege, my mother couldn't take it anymore. She begged and begged me to send them away, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. My powers were out of control, much like today.
I remember the look on her face as I left. Relief. I think that's what I saw. It kills me even to this day.
Maybe she knew.
"I just wanted it to be over. I was sick of the..." I don't want to say abuse, but I can't think of another word. I loved him. I hated him. I hated myself. I still hate myself. "Sick of the fighting."
Yeah right. The bruises speak for themselves. Tears well in my eyes. I take a deep breath.
"I was finally honest with myself. I think that's what happened. I tried to leave the house, I had my bag packed, money, a bus ticket. But he tried to stop me."
I had opened the front door to leave after another fight, one of the worse ones. He had slapped me. It was the last straw.
The promises turned to threats as I grabbed my things and opened the door to leave.
He grabbed my wrist. And that was it.
I'll never forget the beating wings, the sound of flesh tearing.
The screams.
"I didn't mean to," I whisper.
The officer nods. "Look," he says, "this is a...unique case. But the fact is we can't really charge you, because technically, *you* didn't do anything. The department wants to put it behind us, chalk it up to a freak accident."
They're scared of me. I would be too. The siege of crows has only lasted a few hours. But that's hours too long for their taste.
I see the crows as they lead me to the front doors of the station. The sky is black with them, the trees out front laden with them, and silently, they watch. I can feel the unease of everyone around me. But my heart fills with affection for my beautiful birds.
They tell me I'm free to go. I know they hope I take my crows with me. They needn't worry. Where I go, they go.
It's how it has always been. How it will always be. | My name is Jimmy and I am horny.
They say men can’t go 30 seconds without thinking of sex. I can go for about 10 seconds without wanting to hump someone.
Normally to get through the days I “work the plumbing” every 2-3 hours and in between I eat Riesen candy.
“Excuse me Jimmy, but why did the city send you to my office” questions Dr. Sup
“It’s ok honey, you can talk to him. Help him help you be the best Jimmy you can be”, replies my girlfriend Angela.
Ok honey. So where was I, oh yeah Riesens candy. So my condition isn’t easy to handle, but then one day I found out I have this power. I can conjure Angela.
The therapist looks confused and interrupts “conjure Angela?”
Yes, my girl. My boo, she’s right here next to me.
The therapist looks confused, there is no one next to Jimmy from his point of view.
“Jimmy, when is the last time you had a girlfriend? Before you “met” Angela”.
The room suddenly shakes. Objects begin levitating. The therapist looks frightened, Jimmy is as calm as can be.
“Jimmy, honey. Please explain to the gentlemen that I am not a figment of your imagination”. | 2019-09-08T09:54:34 | 2019-09-08T09:23:31 | 822 | 46 |
[WP] You are a demon possesing a teen that has just been adopted by loving parents. You do your best to terrify them. But the more you do, the more they love you and want to parent you. | "I don't want it!" Ellie said, pushing her plate away at such force that the peas marbled up and over the plate's rim.
Jack snatched a flying pea out of the air. "Ta-da!"
Ellie's eyes were fire-hot as she glared at Jack. At her new father. *(Like you can just shop for a new father,* said the voice in her head, *that the real one leaving you is no problem at all, because, look! There's a model with more hair and a wider, faker smile, let's choose him!)*
Jack repressed a sigh. "I thought this is what you wanted, El."
"*Ellie*."
"Sorry -- Ellie. Fish, chips, peas. Like that British film you saw."
"I hate fish. I hate peas. Most of all"--she squinted and paused for effect--"I hate *you*."
Jack turned away for just a second and blinked hard. When he looked back at Ellie he somehow smiled broader than ever (*it's fake, Ellie. As fake as the cooking set he got you. Fake as the I love you he says when he thinks you're asleep. You push him enough and he'll admit it, and he'll send you back. Oh yes he will! Faker!)*
"What about chocolate cake, then?" he asked. "Homemade."
She opened her mouth. Closed it again.
Jack laughed. "Okay, I think that's a yes."
Two minutes later, the plate sat in front of her. This one was harder to resist. She was starving now and the cake made her mouth water. *(Here's what we do: pick it up. Pretend you're about to eat it. Then throw it on the floor at the last second. It won’t be easy, but it’ll really make him scream.)*
Jack smiled as she picked the cake up.
The smile wavered as he looked at the mess. "Oh. Well, that's okay, there's more when you're hungry, sweetie, okay?"
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry," he said. "This is a learning thing for me. For both of us."
"I don't want to learn," she said. "I don't want to be here. No one does. No wonder you don't have a wife!"
"I... Well, I'll do my best to change your mind about wanting to be here. Hey, how about we watch a movie this afternoon? Anything you want. I've got Netflix, Prime, Hu-"
"I want to go to bed. I want to be left alone."
Jack glanced at the clock. "It's kind of early for bed. We could go out if you like? To a play-"
(*Tell him to leave you alone!. That he's ugly. That your real dad was handsome and his smile wasn't plastic. Faker!*)
She did.
Later, she sat on her bed, hugging her knees, talking to the demon.
*(We're doing great)*
"He'll send me back soon."
*(Of course. He's fake. They all are.)*
"He'll come any minute and tell me."
*(Yup! Then we'll let him know he never had us fooled)*
"I wish I'd had some of that cake."
*(And given him the satisfaction? Psh! He just wants you to be happy so that he can sleep with a smug smile on his face. He doesn't care about you. You're just something he'll tell his work friends about. Like he's adopted a pet dog. That's all. Let’s face it: why would he even want to love you?)*
All the same, Ellie couldn't sleep that night. Darkness crept in, but Jack didn't.
*(Hey! Where are you going?)*
Ellie didn't answer. She padded out of her room and down the corridor. A sound she first thought to be the dishwasher came from somewhere near.
The man's bedroom.
The noise came from there. She creeped open the door as the demon screamed at her to go back to her room.
He sat on his bed -- a huge bed that looked very lonely with just him on it.
He held something in his hand. Something small and flat.
"What's that?" she asked, a strange curiosity burning.
He looked up. His eyes were red. "Oh hey," he said. "Everything okay?"
"What's that," she repeated. Why'd he been crying?
Jack gestured her in. She sat on the bed next to him and looked at the photo he held. It was Jack. A little younger, thinner, less pale. Holding hands with a woman with a big stomach-bump.
"My wife," he said. "Before... Well..."
"You've got a child of your own?"
He shook his head. "We almost did. And..."
Ellie watched tears crawl like fat slugs down his face.
"And... well, when I lost them, I thought I've got all this space, and all this love, and, well, who was I going to give it to." He looked at her and there was that smile again. Although, she thought it looked a little less plastic this time.
"I'm sorry," she said. "About what I said earlier." Oh great, she was crying too now. She hoped the demon wasn't looking.
"It's okay. I know this is hard for you. But I promise, I'll always do my best for you. I'll always try."
She nodded but didn't say anything. Just stared at that photo. Worn on both sides where his thumbs had held it many times.
"I don't like peas either, Ellie" he said.
This almost made her laugh. "El. You can call me El. I like it. And I don't mind peas, really. In fact..."
Jack grinned. "Sure you wouldn't prefer cake?"
"Maybe a little.
Jack stood up. He wasn't crying now. "Hey, when you asked if I had a child of my own, and I said no. Well, that was the wrong answer."
He knelt down and kissed her cheek.
She let him.
The demon was nowhere to be seen. | I don't remember when I started wearing this girl like a second skin. I don't remember why I picked her. It might well have been because she was there and she had no one who would have cared, fought for her, or even noticed she had an unwelcome guest.
But possession is a finicky art. It's easy enough for hit-and-runs: get in, hit hard, get out. Spin a few heads, release all the juicy stuff the target keeps repressed, give the middle finger to any exorcists who show up to evict you.
When you're in it for the long haul, as I intended and still intend to be, it gets trickier.
I'd burrowed into the corners of the girl's mind, stretching and smoothing it out to accommodate my presence. I entwined myself with her soul, weaving in and through the composite structure of her psyche. Eventually it made no sense to talk about me and her: without me there was no her.
And I was alone. I was a monster and I gloried in it, knowing the true face of the world. I was taken from the people who'd opened the door to this abomination. It was too late.
And yet...
I was adopted. Even after the disastrous procession of foster homes, the ruthless dissections of precious objects, pets, beliefs. They still wanted to take a chance on me. To heal me and make me whole.
I was more than whole. More complete than they could ever have imagined. I thought it would be easy to twist their love into a weapon and reveal them for the monsters they really were.
But my adoptive parents met spite with patience and firmness, hate with unwavering love. They saw through my attempts to pit them at each other, talked to their friends, went to support groups, and came back renewed, their love for me and each other as strong as it had ever been, still ready and willing to help me towards the light. And something in me reacted to that. I felt it lurch in my chest.
Eventually I grew desperate enough to try other means, to no avail. They wiped blood off walls and gently suggested red paint instead. They critiqued the harmonics of the ominous chanting, laughed off visions that their friends and loved ones were demons plotting against them and chose to trust anyway.
One night I had enough. I waited until they were both in bed, then snuck down to the kitchen and grabbed the largest, sharpest knife I could find. I crept to their bedroom, quietly turned the doorknob, and let myself in.
I stood over them as they slept, my knife poised to plunge into their throats, and something in me *screamed.*
I froze.
*They love me. They refuse to break. I can't break them.*
They deserved to die.
But a hair's breadth away from their throat, my knife stopped again.
My adoptive parents opened their eyes, and they gleamed like embers in the dark.
"Finally decided to reveal yourself, dear?" my adoptive mother said. "It was about time."
"It's okay." My father put a hand on my shoulder. He smiled, and there was nothing of the demon in his voice at all. "*We know.*" | 2021-01-19T07:53:26 | 2021-01-19T07:38:43 | 559 | 61 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. Problems? You’re immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours and the entire cult was the result of a prank you forgot you pulled centuries ago. | "Never ask me to paint you Picasso-style again." Klav said as he walked away from the stone wall, admiring the fresh, asymmetrical shouts of red and black adorning it.
"It was your fault for losing that bet." Diana commented, grinning, "And don't worry, I won't. You're pretty shitty at it anyways." She inspected the grotesque piece as she added, "For starters, my teeth aren't that big."
"What eye? It's just your silhouette!" Klav closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Look, I wasn't aiming for accuracy, I was aiming for efficiency. Don't you think this will get the job done?"
The red-and-black humanoid pouted, "You hurt my feelings, you really do. This mural was supposed to make me look threatening and big, yet I look just as intimidating as you! I really want to make you paint another one now... With proper teeth, at that." She insisted.
And Klav wanted none of it. So many years of living hadn't taken out all of his energy yet, but his friend was definitely about to. He wouldn't have a midlife crisis, not now, so he had to think of an idea.
"Let's do something, okay? You know humanity is barely getting started in this planet, yes? They love seeing this kind of stuff." He said, pointing at his not-so-master piece, "It makes them think there was something bigger before them, and they become obsessed with it." The somewhat-draconic god nodded slowly, yet not understanding where her friend was going to.
"So they'll end up worshipping you, even if this mural doesn't, uh, make you want to worship yourself." He glanced at his work one last time. It wasn't something extraordinary, really. In fact, it looked just like the ancient paintings found in the third iteration of Earth. Klav realized he needed to take non-neanderthal-issued painting lessons, he just had to find the time to. Diana questioned his statements before he realized he could've been taking them just now.
"Yeah, but the tributes for the other gods were different! You didn't make a crop circle, or a pyramid, or a massive book, or even a small poem! You just scribbled some scribbles and called it a day, and honestly they look hella blurry!" Diana shook her head in disappointment.
"Oh yeah? Then why don't you paint one yourself?" Klav snapped.
Then, Diana was quiet. Awfully quiet. She didn't look at him as she whimpered, "You know I don't know how to hold a pencil... I can't... That's why I wanted you to do it in the first place..." She sniffled, but Klav knew better than to fall for it.
Diana was a draconic, but her hands were very much like a human's. Her nails were very sharp, resembling claws, so most things she held broke easily, but she could always trim them. The fact she liked to draw anatomically-incorrect cats on them was another thing entirely.
And Klav sighed. "I have all time in the world, but I won't spend it arguing with you. Before I forget what I was trying to say, I'll make myself clear. Please let me finish," he added as Diana opened her mouth, her arms crossed, "We'll settle a bet with another bet, okay? You know every planet's lifespan is usually a millenium long, right? And that's why every one-thousand years, a new planet is created somewhere else. Give me that thousand years to change your mind; If these folks don't try to summon you during their expected lifespan, I'll make another symbol in the newer planet. Remember that I'm altering the course of nature by doing this, and I could get in trouble if the other gods discovered me- EVEN IF you told them about it," he said before Diana could reply, "so I'm risking myself not once, but twice. Deal?"
The draconic was deep in thought for more than a minute, looking at her bizarre depiction on the wall as if it would give her an answer. To her own surprise, it gave her a question instead. "...And if they do end up worshipping me? If they go as far as to summon me? ...You haven't told me what will happen then." She tilted her head, curious about whatever the immortal human from Iteration 1 had to say.
He grinned. Then he frowned. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask." He cleared his throat, "You'll do the Chicken Dance. I'll film it, and post it on EarthTube." he snickered, "If you forgot, I'm talking about the famous 'meme' from Iteration 2, you can look at it later in your Council's Gadget."
But Diana didn't want to look at it later; just the name was enough to make her want to say no, so she wasn't taking any chances. She produced her device, and searched for the "IT-2 highlights" folder. Once she found it, she was surprised that the video was at the top, with billions of likes. The thumbnail didn't look any promising, but she still opened it. It loaded instantly, and Diana felt ashamed just by watching it. She wanted to spit infinite amounts of fire, both at the video, its creators, Klav, and the painting that only seemed to get uglier with every second. When the video finished, she was gasping in pain. It took her great amounts of pride to say "Deal," and shake Klav's hand. Or at least try to, as the man retreated immediately after seeing her nails.
\-Part 2 in the replies- | "He is a fine specimen, perfect in fact!"
"What!"
"Hush You! Be grateful that you were chosen for this, you finally have a purpose in your life!"
x
The ritual began on the undergrounds of the M25 London Orbital. This place was the centrepiece of their worship after all this is the direct action of their "God".
The ritual was to summon their God, of course, they're trying to get its power and bless them. So the ritual had to have a sacrifice to lure it in, first the sacrifice must be a virgin, then it must be physically and mentally sound. The former was harder than the latter.
Under the orbital there is a pit of lava, It was said to be their "Gods" favoured way of sacrifice. What they don't know is that it simply was just accident waiting to happen, set by their "God".
They began to prepare the sacrifice.
x
The sacrifices day was going swimmingly, He tended to his bookstore, bought some flowers, then drank some tea. He noticed the people following him around of course. He even knew that his friend was a comrade of those following him, but he paid it no mind. He simply thought that she was being protective.
"Silly Humans," he thought, "Like I need protection. But It's the thought that counts I suppose."
His friend had always talked about joining a fan club, again he paid it no mind, He quite liked this female. She was a good person to talk to.
x
The "God" s day was going great as well, a few meetings had to go and shoot a show, and after he tended to his plants, He never forgets to take care of his plants. Living there had gotten a bit boring, the show was a great way to take his mind of things and his "friends" did say he'd look good as a doctor.
His day was ruined however by a call from his followers, he liked fans of course as any famous person do, but this one is a bit more...personal.
x
"Right what's all this then!"
"Praise our God for he has arrived! We offer this sacrifice for you our dark one!"
a man with his eyes covered, ears blocked and hands and feet tied together were brought forward.
"Accept our sacrifice!"
The man's blindfold was removed.
"I'd say this club of yours have some interesting way of having fun..."
**"AZIRAPHALE!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!"**
**"CROWLEY?! Is this revenge for trapping you in that TV show fiasco?! I'm terribly sorry about it."**
**"****^(FUCK!!)****"**
and now their day had gotten more interesting.
xxxxx
Edit: typo | 2020-04-11T21:22:05 | 2020-04-11T21:19:06 | 77 | 46 |
[WP] They're zombies, of a sort. They get up after we kill them. But they can talk and walk and eat. They're just... too normal. They speak politely, dress modestly, go to bed early, never drink or smoke. But their eyes and smiles are empty. Just don't shake their hand... | I shut the bathroom door and lowered myself to the ground. Holding my head in my hands, I tried not to panic. Maybe Jack hadn’t seen me. I had gone this long, and none of them had seen me.
A banging came from the first floor. Someone was at the door.
Oh god, please. I just needed a few more days. The ham radio had finally worked, and a team of extractors were already on their way to get me out of here. I had celebrated too early, relaxed while still among the Empty.
I was the only one left on the whole block, maybe even further. I had no desire to check on the state of my neighborhood and give myself away. It was best to just assume everyone else had been lost and ensure my own survival.
I had been doing well up until now. I stayed away from the windows and did not seek out others, which wasn’t so different from before the world had collapsed. Perhaps that's why I was still whole while all my neighbors’ souls had died.
I had no other way to describe it. They were zombies… sort of.
They still spoke, walked, continued basic actions, and most disturbingly, still thought. But it wasn’t their original minds doing the thinking. No, the empty shells of the infected people were taken over by something else. Something that wanted to spread. It would speak through them and use their memories. I had seen it happen once, when I had risked peeking between the curtains to look outdoors one night.
One of my neighbors, Shelly, must have gone looking for supplies when she was found by a group of the Empty. It was easy enough to tell who was and who wasn’t infected. Only the Empty lacked the constant fear in their eyes and acted as though nothing was wrong.
They had greeted her normally, using her name, and asked how her dog was. Judging by the choked sob she had responded with, I could only guess not well. One of them had stuck their hand forwards, offering it as a hello. She had stared at it horrified.
The radio had lasted longer than the television broadcasts had, and it had amply warned any listening not to grasp the hands of the Empty.
When she failed to shake the hand, the Empty had looked at her puzzled. They asked if there was something wrong, and they spoke simultaneously, the same question coming from three mouths at the same time.
Shelly had panicked then and tried to back away from the Empty.
They surrounded her, asking if she wanted to hang out. A different one had offered his arm so that he could lead her to a great, small bar he had found just passed 32nd Ave.
When Shelly started crying, they all froze and their out of place, friendly expressions dropped from their faces. That was when the third one stepped closer to her and asked her why she resisted. Why she fought the inevitable when she could just release all of her worries right then and there. She reached out with her hand and Shelly did not resist as it sought hers.
They grasped hands and Shelly had let out a high pitched scream for a brief, terrible moment. Then she had smiled and without a word, the group, now numbering four, had walked down the street together.
I had pushed myself away from the window and fought the urge to vomit. That had been the last time I had even considered venturing outdoors. Even when I had heard the screams of other neighbors falling or heard cries for help. I had needed to look out for myself first. But, I hadn’t been able to stay away from the windows when the extractors had said they would be on the way. I so desperately had wanted to catch sight of them, so I could run to safety or wave them down and ensure they didn’t leave me here.
But I had not seen them. Jack had seen me, and so the Empty must have finally come to realize there was still someone remaining in this house.
The banging on my door got louder and louder.
“Hey, Ross! Neighbor, could you come out here a minute? I could use some help!” Jack’s voice called from outside. “Thank god you’re still around. I thought nobody would be able to help me with my car. Damn thing’s been busted all week. You’re pretty handy with that type of thing, aren’t you?”
I clasped my hand around my mouth. I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t even want to let him hear me breathe. Let him think he was mistaken, that he never saw me.
“Are you alright in there? I haven’t seen you leave your home in days. Forgive me if I’m mistaken but I can try to force my way in to check on you. Just call out if you’re alright,” he asked. He stopped talking for a while to let me respond.
What could I do? If I said anything he would know I was in here for sure. If I didn’t he might break in! The choice was taken from me while I was still frozen with indecision. Jack decided he had waited long enough. I heard him throwing himself against my front door. It was an old, sturdy thing. My father had built it himself. I prayed it would hold out.
A few minutes passed and the steady thudding of body against wood stopped. I thanked god, but didn’t leave the bathroom to go to a room with windows to check.
The thuds returned soon after and were even worse than before. There was more than one person working at it now. Jack must have gathered other Empty.
With a splintering crack and a large bang, I heard them enter the house.
What could I do? I had no way out of this bathroom. There were no windows to escape from and if I left out of the door, I was sure they would find me in seconds. No, the door was my only hope, I could only hope they wouldn’t check the bathroom or wouldn’t be able to get past it.
I heard the Empty meander through my home, calling my name. My heart threatened to jump out of my chest as I heard footsteps in the hall right outside. Doors began to open as they searched the bedrooms. Finally, the handle to the bathroom rattled but held firm.
“Ross? Are you in there?” Jack asked with a gentle, quiet tone. The door handle continued to rattle as he shook it back and forth without relent. “I hope you’re okay. I can lend you a hand if you need one.”
“Ross! I haven’t seen you in ages. Let’s catch up,” another voice said, joining Jack on the other side of the door. Was that Francesca?
“Oh, Ross. Did we find you?” another voice asked.
I did not recognize this one. That continued to happen as another voice spoke. Then another, and another still.
“Please, Ross. Open the door. We’re worried about you,” Francesca said.
“I told your father I would keep an eye out for you before he passed. What would he say If I didn’t see how you were doing every once in a while,” Jack added.
No, I couldn’t do it. I just needed to stay here. The extractors would come. They would save me. They had to.
The Empty were relentless, their voices refusing to stop.
“Let’s go outside. It’s probably been a while since you got some sun. Your mother always complained about how you stay cooped up indoors.”
How long would it be before extractors could get to my house? They had said anywhere from days to weeks.
“Let us in.”
“Come out, please.”
“It’s not so bad, Ross.”
I would have to eat eventually. How long could I stay in this room?
“You can’t stay away any longer.”
“This resistance is unnecessary.”
“We can wait here longer than you can.”
“Open the door.”
“Open the door.”
“Open the door.”
“Open the door.”
“Open the door.”
“Open the door.”
***
If you liked this, subscribe to r/Inder for more stories like it! | **August 20th**
I have always wanted to shake their hand. My uncle Ray missed the bulging forehead veins on a customer once and shook their hand by mistake. You have to watch for the forehead veins--it's the only way to tell the zoms apart, aside from their polite insistence at every opportunity to shake hands, but anyone could fake that for a laugh. Anyway, he was out of commission for a month, and afterward described it as dying and being reborn.
He was more calm, and when I mentioned my plans to open a bookstore, he didn't ramble on and on about how hard business is and how only the select few are cut out for it like he used to. Eventually the effects faded, and he's an ripe asshole again today, but for those months after he returned to sanity he seemed to be just generally superior to usual self.
Three months of rice, beans, avacado, habanero hot sauce, and canned slices of peach should be enough to hold me for the first effects. It's my understanding you can still eat and take care of the basics, just not talk to anyone and do mentally taxing work. Now, all I need is to shake a hand.
A few years ago I saw it in person. This zom guy was dropping off a bunch of old clothes at a thrift shop, and the employee thanked him for the donation. The zom said "Pleasure, good doing business" and extended his hand.
Absentmindedly--that's always how it happens--the employee shook it. Then he fell to his knees and started screaming "Oh my god. Oh my god I'm a human being! I'm a human being!" When the paramedics arrived he was still rolling around saying that quietly to himself in disbelief.
I suspect I will handle it better than that guy.
**August 21st**
Everything is in order. A friend will help me get to my apartment after I make contact. All of my bills are paid in advance for three months. I will just wait for a zom to come into my bookstore, which is certain to happen because it happens every day (they really like early 19th century literature).
**August 22nd**
Pen.
**August 25th**
Paper, been a while since paper. Things are elongating; will update when I is back.
**August 29th**
Language is existing now. Only semblance of I is here; enough to act. The process is seen into, it generates the I, and other things too.
**September 8th**
I have returned. The memories from the past few years (weeks?) are simply incompatible with any others; there is no place to put them in the timeline of my life because they took place outside of it. It is clear to me now that me, I, is generated for the benefit of the body. It is not something independent of the interests it has for itself, though food and water and other basics seem to be handled by something deeper and more ancient. These interests that compose the I are more abstract, social. I wants to be strong, to be worshipped, to be immortal, to be distinct and unlike anyone else, to be new and immune to the understandings of mortals, removed from the forces of nature that will bring it to an end and make it like the others. These are not attributes of I, they _are_ I.
**September 20th**
I have to tell people about this. I have seen something no one else seen, something no one else understands. Unlike the mere mortals which surround me, the "I" that I am has been dead and risen from the dead, and I can do it again. I will always do it, because I cannot die. If I die, I will simply reconstruct.
**September 30th**
I no longer feel separate from the I. It's hard to explain how that was possible in the first place. I'm scared of the world now. I'm a fragile biological machine, and the world can rob me of life, or worse, just parts of it, at any time. If two other humans decide to harm me I will perish, come to an end, cease, be no longer, disappear, and I will cry and scream and beg for mercy and knowing they will not grant it.
**November 2nd**
I'm back managing the book store. I think most things have returned to how they were before. Sometimes when I see someone I feel like I can feel their perspective more than before. As if my grip on my own is a little weaker and I might slip into someone else's. Once in October, I let a thief go because when I caught them taking a novel out without paying, they told me to fuck off. I understood that anger, and sort of resented myself for a bit the rest of the day, like I took on their feelings about me.
My grip is better now. Not much of what I learned in the experience is still around other than that change which is more subtle by the day. | 2020-08-25T15:29:18 | 2020-08-25T15:11:08 | 61 | 14 |
[WP] Once you die, you find out that everyone gets to heaven. The only one suffering in hell, for all our sins, is Jesus. But the living keep sinning higher with every passing day. | The bible got it wrong.
Jesus was the most compassionate soul that ever lived or died. He loved us, all of humanity, as a father or a mother might love their children. So much love in one man... it should've destroyed him.
And I guess it did.
I died today. Walked right into Heaven too, which surprised me. I didn't exactly live a virtuous life you see. From the age of fifteen I knew I belonged in Hell when I started slinging dope to kids younger than me. It was either that or going hungry but... I knew my place then. I made peace with it, knew no ammount of good deeds could restore my soul, so I didn't try. I knew I was going to Hell.
Yet here I am. Saint Peter greeted me holding an almost passable faccade at being human, and somewhere unplaceable Archangel Michael bathed me in absolute joy as it watched me. It... hurt to look at. They say you'll get used to it. That even this human form will grow dull, that I'll live a few lifetimes of peace but will then want change. Perphaps Saint Peter is simply ill-accostumed to the human body.
I wanted to meet Jesus, couldn't tell you why. I figured he must be, like, the king of Heaven, or something. This is probably blasphemous to even say out loud, but I never paid much attention to the catechism, though my mother tried. My mother tried so hard. I looked, I screamed out for him, and nothing. I knew then he wasn't there. The quiet, the void that followed his name told me more than the looks my brethren passed me. Looks of pity, of quiet desperation, of guilt. But not for me.
I was led down. Funny word that. My mammalian brain would tell me I was walking a straight line but I knew, better than I know my mother's face, I was going *down*. To the only window in Heaven.
The bible got it wrong. We've always read, "Jesus died for our sins", and we've always read it literally. He died on the cross, for us. But that's not the end of it. You see, he died alright. He was greeted at the pearly gates by God themselves, and was given a chance to stay. He refused, of course. He wanted to see Hell. He wanted to see the suffering of his beloved men. And he did. For three days, he watched his children endure everlasting torture at the hands of demons. His heart ached. It broke. After three days, he made a choice.
What wouldn't you do for your children?
I watch now with an emotion difficult to place. Horror. Disgust. Anger. Guilt. Crushing fucking guilt. I watch as the demons jam nails into his... No, they took his joints and, and, something LOOMS, and his flesh it just- there's too much. So much, all the time, I can't keep up. They make him look as his mother she- she- again, and again, and again, and again, and, and... It could be my mother there, couldn't it? But he's there, alone. Tears stream down my face, red hot as I realize he saved us. My mother, me, all of us.
When his heart broke, he made a choice. A deal. He couldn't bear to see us suffer our own sins for eternity. So he pleaded, he begged, that all the souls in Hell to be sent to Heaven, as would all others to come. In return, he would endure the punishment meant for each of us, forever, at the same time.
And we can only watch. As I look into the broken faces around me I know. We will watch. It's the least we can do.
===
DISCLAIMER: I am not really religious, this prompt just caught my eye and I've got a sick sort of interest in interpretations of the Bible. I made this one up! Maybe it's actually close to what the Bible says, maybe it's not, I have no clue. If I did actually blaspheme, I'm sorry, let me know and I'll fix it. Thanks for reading! | " Are you fucking insane?" Judas Iscariot exclaimed as I outlined my plan to him.
"Are you upset I haven't done a PowerPoint?"
"It's not about PowerPoint you can't just stroll into hell "
" No we are going to fly "
"How?"
"It is need to know not go to tell you more until you sign up for it"
"Why do you need me if it all planned"
" You can identify him it's not like there are many photos of him are they?"
"The other disciples are in with the management so I can't ask them"
"So who have you got on your team for this mad plan"
"Some Angels "
"Obviously their easily led and always up for mischief
,but whose planning it."
"Otto Skorenzy and the Son Tay raid team
They are experts in planning and really motivated "
" So you plan to simply go in and get him?"
"Yes nothing says he has to stay there and it's simply just not fair"
"Don't you think it's been tried "
"Not to my knowledge "
"It's completely insane your risking your immortal soul"
" So are you in or not?"
"Oh why the hell not?" | 2021-04-07T17:03:00 | 2021-04-07T12:07:59 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] Your girlfriend has always hated you, and is constantly making attempts to ruin your life. However, everything she does inadvertently makes your life better. Today, ever oblivious, you propose to her. | She was a freshman in college, looking for some fun. When Brielle met him, that dorky older guy from her class, she thought he'd be good for a few laughs. But then he asked her out, and she said she'd have to think about it. She had a mean streak about her, but was she that mean? She asked her sister for advice, and after sharing pictures, it was decided that yes, she was that mean.
Except, it didn't quite go according to plan. Her older sister Hana said "Ask to watch him play video games, then make fun of him the whole time." So she did, except he started playing well, really well, with an audience. He climbed the leader boards in no time at all, and even flirted with turning pro before she told him he'd never get anywhere playing silly games.
Hana asked why he'd been in school so long, so she confronted him: "what kind of loser takes so long to get a degree? What are you doing with your life?" He should have been crushed. He didn't say anything, and it looked like it had hit deep. She thought she'd rub it in by bringing him home for dinner with her dad and Hana, they were sure to join in. She knew her sister could be especially vicious.
That night, Brielle opened the conversation with "Hey dad, guess how long he's been in college? 5 years! And still taking undergrad classes!" Her father was taken aback, and her prey's eyes widened. Here was the moment, Hana had the golden opportunity to take him down, but when Brielle looked to her sister, she had a strange dreamy look on her face.
"Yes, I've been in school for 5 years now, but I've decided I'm going to go for my major and get that degree no matter how long it takes."
Her father smiled, he admired a man with determination and wished him well, even suggesting he transfer to a bigger state school.
After that, he began seeing his counselor regularly, and set about transferring. Brielle tried distracting him, seducing him, whispering that she'd let him do anything to her on nights when he had a paper due. But funnily enough, the motivation made him work twice as fast, and his GPA went up a full letter grade.
She insisted he take her and Hana to a theme park, then made him pay for annual passes. He didn't seem to have the money, but he agreed. She thought that ruined him, but he asked his boss for more hours and a raise, which he got.
Finally, he'd come to the end of his time at the same college. Time had flown by, and now she was getting ready to transfer too. How had she wasted two years with him? Everything she did to hurt him seemed to make him better. All the advice from Hana had turned out to help him, not her.
He'd talked about deeper commitment more often recently, and when he invited her out to a fancy dinner she suspected something might be up. So she insisted on dragging Hana out with them. Brielle left in a t-shirt and jeans, while Hana wore a dress and he wore a suit and tie. He was nervous, but determined.
They arrived at a candlelit dinner, with a string quartet taking requests from patrons. She talked to her sister through the first part of the meal, missing the part where he talked to the waiter about "special preparations." As their plates emptied, the restaurant grew quieter, the candles grew dimmer. Suddenly, the string quartet was at their table, playing a soft romantic tune.
"In these last two years, I've gone from having no direction to being on my way to success. Every goal I attained was because of your motivation, and everything I have now I have because of you. Would you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?"
She trembled, a strange look appeared on her face, as if she was simultaneously ecstatic and furious, trying to hold in laughter or a tirade. He'd never seen this look on her face before. She looked, as always, to her sister for advice, but all she received was a shaking head.
"That's it!" she thought, "I'll humiliate him here and end this!"
All eyes focused on Brielle, as her thin lips grew into a cruel smile.
"No! I'll never marry you! I've hated you for two years, and all you've ever been to me is a doll to play with. You silly boy, you mean nothing to me, and you'll never mean anything to anyone."
A shocked silence broke out in the room. Brielle turned to her sister and motioned for them to leave, then started walking to the exit. When she was halfway there, she turned to see Hana still there, looking at him.
"You mean something to someone.
You mean something to me, you always have."
He looked at Hana, finding himself even more shocked at her words than he'd been just moments before. His jaw hung open, he was still on one knee, box open, the diamond shining like fire in the dim candlelight.
"If it's alright with you, I'll look after this", Hana said, taking the ring. He nodded, eyes wide, as though seeing her for the first time.
Brielle was at a loss for words herself, all she could think to do was storm out, making as much noise as she could, being ignored all the while.
The two sisters seldom spoke after that day. One of them moved out of their father's house soon after, to be with her new husband. | Three weeks into our relationship, I woke up and my stash was gone.
"I flushed your SHIT down the fucking toilet, Troy!" Cynthia screams, manically pacing around the hall. "I don't want to date an addict. It's disgusting. I deserve better than that! You need to get your shit together." To her surprise, I agreed.
She derided me throughout that week and half of withdrawal. Even as she served me in bed. She would bring me thinks I'd never liked, like greek salad, which seemed new to me in the throws of being dopesick. She knew I hated olives, too.
"I know you don't like olives but this is what we're having. I'm too fucking tired from work to make anything else and I DO like olives and I'm serving you in bed. God. I know you're recovering, but you did this to yourself. I have zero sympathy for you."
"It's okay," I said, effortlessly grinning. As erratic and mean as she was, she was just as beautiful, and there was a soulfulness that seem to emanate from her in her rare moments of being sweet that lingered, just a bit, in her more destructive moments. "I think I like olives now."
"Shut up. You are just saying that."
"No, seriously. I think I actually like olives now. Thank you for this salad it's really good."
"Fucking A Troy, you are such an asshole."
Two weeks after the withdrawals were over, she had coerced me into demanding a higher salary from my boss ("You don't know how to value yourself. Seriously, you don't know the first thing about negotiation. You have to believe in yourself and then your boss will, too.) and I had finally confronted my mother about the fact that I didn't like her new boyfriend. Cynthia said she could I was just being a pussy and that my mother really wanted to hear my opinion so she could know whether or not to stay with the guy.
And after I got off the phone with my mother, I asked Cynthia to marry me.
We were watching Don Lemon Tonight and they were doing yet another panel on Donald Trump's medical recommendation when I just muttered "We should get married."
She glanced at me. I could tell she didn't think I was being serious, so I said it again, this time, looking her in the eye. "Will you marry me?" I said, as if I were asking for extra ketchup from McDonalds.
"Oh My GOD! YOU ARE SUCH AN IDIOT!"
She ran into the bathroom crying. Screaming, "Of course I'll marry you. But you don't just ask like that. You don't even have a ring!" | 2016-09-15T16:49:50 | 2016-09-15T16:19:12 | 19 | 11 |
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind. | "Um...hi, I've never done this before but I'm looking for some help. I'm having a really rough time right now and I'm afraid I'm going to hurt myself, or worse."
"Oh, sweetie- I'm so sorry you're struggling like this," a raspy, weak voice replied. She must have been at least 80 years old by the sound of it, but the weakness was but a veil- through it, you could hear true strength.
"This is the hotline for people who need help, right?" I asked.
"No, dear. You've reached the wrong number- it happens a lot to me, since I'm one digit off from the hotline. But it's okay, sweetie, you can talk to me. I've actually become a bit of an expert myself in this regard."
"Oh, are you sure? I don't mean to disturb you," I said, since she sounded so elderly.
"Dear, I'm 92 years old. I have plenty of free time these days. Nobody visits an old lady like me anymore," she laughed weakly. "What's going on with you, sweetheart?"
"Well..." I choked back tears, "my son died this morning. I've always tried to be a good father, I tried *so hard*, but today I just slipped. It was so quick...I left him with a plate of food and ran off to make a quick phone call from work. It was an emergency; I'm a psychiatrist and a patient was having serious issues. When I came back into the room, he'd....he'd choked on his food and died. I killed my son." He started sobbing desperately, the sound of a broken man.
"Now you listen to me, sweetheart, and listen good. There's only one person who I've failed to save, out of hundreds I've helped, and I'm going to make sure that number does not grow. Don't hold back your tears; we treat men like they can't be weak, but a real man cries. A real man admits his mistakes and feels the pain of what he's done."
"I killed my son. How...how do I ever come back from that?"
"There's nothing to come back from, love. We make mistakes, and sometimes they're worse than others- sometimes they *can't get any worse*. You're no fool, and you're admitting fault. That's the best place to start- believe me, denial will ensure your demise.
"Now, love, let me ask you a question- how much does it hurt? How badly are you grieving right now?"
"It's unlike anything I've ever felt in my life. I couldn't ever possibly feel worse than this."
"Precisely. Because of that, it will only get better than it is now. And your son has passed- but he is not forgotten. You will never forget his laugh, or his first words. Never. You remember all that for the rest of your life, and grow from it. You know a pain unlike any other, and because of that, you are valuable beyond meaning. Your little boy, he forgives you. He knows you loved him, and he knows you care more than anything.
"You'll see him again one day, dear. When you do, be able to look at him and see pride in his eyes. Pride that his father rebounded from the ultimate pain and pushed on through life. Help others, others who've felt pain like you. Be there for them, and save them from a despair you know all to well.
"One day, have another child. You are a father, I can tell. Some men are not, but you are. It will hurt at first, but you will love that little boy and raise a fine young man like yourself."
"What if I fail again? What if I make one little mistake again, and I ruin everything?"
"Then you stay strong. You call me again," she said with a laugh. "Don't ever give up hope. Learn from the pain of life, and use it to better everyone else's. When you need help, ask those you love. I'll give you my number and you can call me. You still have much to do, dear. Much to do."
"Maybe you're right...my wife can't lose a son and a husband. It hurts but I want to help someone, anyone, so they don't feel like I do. Thank you so much for your words."
"Of course, love. You know my number if you ever need help again."
"May I ask you a personal question? Who was the one person you failed to save? Did he just have severe depression, or something that couldn't be overcome?"
"Unfortunately, it was simply my inexperience with helping someone in pain. Nobody specific, love. You take care now."
"Thank you. Have a wonderful day, and God bless your kind soul. You do more than you could ever know."
They hung up, and she looked longingly at a small photo on her desk by the phone.
*See, James? I told you I'd never let another person fall prey to despair. I hope you're proud of me when I see you, son.* | "Is this the suicide line? My name is Steven, and I need someone."
Marie smiled in her heart. Another soul sent her way. In 92 years, there wasn't very much she hadn't seen, and by herself, she'd saved 18 lives over the last 15 years, since the Line came into being.
"Steven, my name is Marie. What can I help you with?"
"Well,..." She heard a swallow. "My mom just died, and my dad's on life support, and they don't think he's gonna make it and I just can't deal with it."
"Oh you poor thing! What you need right now is a friend. I'm 92 years old, and pretty good at that by now."
"Are you a volunteer?"
"In my own way dear. I help those who need help the most."
"My mom, she was everything to me. I was so hopping she'd see me graduate, but then some stupid drunk driver hit them and now she's gone, and Dad might be soon too. Life really sucks right now!!"
"Tell me more about her. She sounds like a good person."
"She is...was. She liked to knit, and made me a beanie each year. I loved them. And she also had the voice of an angle. I mean, she coulda rivaled Celine Dion if she'd gotten discovered."
"Singing is a good outlet for emotion. What was her favorite song?"
"Walkin' on Sunshine. She said it made her happy."
"Would it help you to listen to it now?"
"Maybe...I dunno."
"Hold on a second. Gotta see if Linda left it on my iTunes...Yep...one second please..."
The song played, and Marie kept her ear close to the line. She heard muted crying, but then something akin to a breath of courage.
"My mom always told me to never give up on anyone. I can't give up on my dad. What if he makes it? I mean, a small chance is better than none at all, right?"
"Yes it is. Now, tell me where you are, young man, and I'll come to you. You need not to be alone right now, and I have grandchildren your age. Hold on." | 2016-02-06T14:35:25 | 2016-02-06T13:08:00 | 325 | 178 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | He stood there, holding an odd looking book, a smug look on his face, almost as if he expected something from me. I'm sure my confusion showed on my face, but he started babbling at me in some vaguely Latinesque sounding mish-mash.
I shrugged my indifference, and said, "Sorry man, I don't speak whatever language you're speaking. Do you happen to speak English." I wasn't particularly hopeful--he looked pretty foreign. I mean it wasn't *just* the pale lavender hair and bright violet eyes. Those were clues, but the extra arms were what really sold it for me. Well that and the angelic-looking wings made of light.
I mean sure, when you wake up, you *don't* really expect to be walking along then suddenly *bam!* you're in some LSD-fueled art-deco room full of arcane symbols and about a million candles. So this was all coming at me pretty cold. But this guy stopped mid sentence, frowned at me, and then right back at it.
"No really, I can't understand a word of tha---whoa!" I felt a sudden compulsion to obey the guy's commands--which might have been okay, if I'd had any idea what he actually wanted. It felt like someone sticking a needle in your arm and promising to take it away if you made them a sandwich. Painful, but also just *weird*.
It was at this point that I also noticed the headache. It was one of those that started behind the eyes, then climbed up inside your brain and started threatening to really wreck the place. Not *quite* a migraine, but close-ish.
I started over. "Look, I don't want to be rude, and I'm sure I can help you, but I *really* would like a glass of water and maybe a few ibuprofen--if you have it."
He stopped his recitation from that book, the smug look slowly dropping from his face. Finally he spoke something non-scripted, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't much better. "Foul tempter, I won't listen to your requests! You are here to do *my* bidding, not the other way around. I'm prepared for your temptations, and I won't be swayed by them!"
He went back to chanting, and I sighed. As he chanted, my skin started prickling more and more, until it felt like a million angry ladybugs marching forcefully across my entire body. With cleats on. Finally I shouted. "Look! I don't know who you are, or what I'm doing here, but can you just explain it to me? I'm tired, this feels weird, and all I want is to go home. Can we make that happen? What would that take?"
He stopped the chanting, looking annoyed. He glanced at the book three or four times, then finally set it down. Very carefully.
"Demon of the Unholy Realms. I have summoned you here to do my bidding. To grant me power and knowledge beyond that of my enemies. Grant me this power, and I will return you to your Uncouth Hell."
"Do what now?" I've been called some names during my life--who hasn't?--but demon? That seemed extreme. And while New Jersey is a bit of a pit, I wouldn't really put it down as an 'Unholy Realm' or 'Uncouth Hell'.
Well...not most days. Okay, not *every* day. After all, some days I don't have to go outside. But it's hardly representative of the rest of the world, and it was pretty clear this guy wasn't operating on the same mental playing field as pretty much anyone I'd met before. Possibly not even the same mental planet.
He gave me a look that said that just maybe he was catching on to my utter confusion. That lasted long enough to make me even more uncomfortable. Finally he said, "Ah, this is pretty simple really. Standard contract, you know. I summon you, you grant me a portion of your power in return for your named price--often my soul, but negotiable--and then you return to the Unholy Realms whence all demons come. Simple, straight-forward. Except..." he paused to lick his lips, "Except you seem confused by all this, and I can't imagine why. I'm certain that I've done this correctly. The instruction were not difficult. So, demon, I ask you what are you playing at? What is your temptation for me?"
I frowned. Okay, so he recognized I was trying to show confusion, but thought it was fake. The Bastard. That's when I named him, in my head. Moving on. "First off," I started, possibly showing some anger, "I am not a demon. I am a human. I'm from New Jersey, not, as you say, the Unholy Realms, though I will acknowledge that Jersey ain't the sweetest place in the world. I would, however, gladly grant you any power you want if you'd send me home, but I *can't*. I don't *have* any!"
This didn't bring the reaction I anticipated. He *should* have either been more confused, angry, or possibly apologetic. Instead he smiled. What. The. Hell. "Yes! See a demon. A Jersey Devil even!! That's perfect. So we have an agreement? And I don't need to give you my soul? Deal! Repeat after me and we're done: Isnh'gh so'slsi Argat'angh."
I tried. I really did. But, alas, my mouth *isn't*, and never was, made to produce those sounds. I've probably misspelled whatever he said. But he beamed at me, picked up his book, read a long passage, making it sound like the trippiest possible version of a Gregorian Chant, and just like that, I was...home?
Yeah, home, but for some reason I can just barely make out horns on a lot people's skulls. Jersey devil indeed.
----------
^(more weird writing at /r/Epharia)
| It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!" | 2017-05-12T10:51:05 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 15 | 10 |
[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... | It was late. Like my period, which started four years after the last girl of my class had her first. I didn't mind the same way I didn't mind four years of guaranteed dry underwear and both times because I was busy exploring the neighborhood.
"Who arrives late to their own birthday party?" said my boss as I stepped into the lobby with a fake smile.
Rather than explaining myself, I took my hoodie off and lifted my arms so the small crowd could explore. I enjoyed their disappointment.
"It's two pm! Two hours late!" cried Jeannine.
"It's just one hour late. Daylight savings, remember?" I didn't want to sound rude, but I did.
"Shut up!" Cried Jeannine again, but not at my attitude. She pointed at my leg. That caught me by surprise and upon inspection, I found scribbles. Well, I found some sort of writing I was unfamiliar with. Max took a picture.
"I bet it means wanderlust" Said my boss. I wished he were right for once.
I spent the following weeks tracking down the kind of writing that appeared across my leg. The library did not help at all, the flyers did not help at all, the university did not help at all and the pictures posted on online forums actually yielded a faint hint: this was an archaic form of writing found only in ruins from a little group of islands in the Pacific Ocean. Nobody was surprised when I packed a few things and bought a one-way ticket to a country whose name I learned that very morning. My mother was so used to my shenanigans that she lost the ability to get scared for me, but she retained the ability to scare me into promising I would be out of trouble. We both knew the promise was empty and we both closed our eyes while we hugged for a few minutes.
After I arrived, I realized nobody in the little modest nation spoke my own language so my only tool for communication was the picture of the hieroglyphic. Almost two months after its appearance and I still had no idea of where I was going.
As I walked to my hotel, I stopped and showed the picture to random people and asked if they spoke my language. I got a few giggles, two dirty looks, a grave silence, a regular silence and a couple of head shakes. I tried the same with the hotel staff until the bartender shouted "Ah!" and called someone on the phone. A couple of minutes later, a lovely woman appeared and greeted me in my own language, with a slight accent. She identified as the local chief of tourism. I explained myself over tea and she said she had never heard of something like this, but knew a few bookworms who were familiar with the script in the ruins that she could introduce me to. I tried to pay for this service and she refused adamantly and I do mean adamantly.
We agreed to visit the scholars early the next morning and I really can't remember anything between that conversation and the next morning. Everything was so new. The mix between modern technology and traditional attires, different body languages, different hairstyles, different smells... I was trying to absorb it all. We arrived to a little office where two men played checkers. They were overjoyed to explain the ruins to me: spoiler alert, they didn't know jack shit about the people who built them. Nobody does. They were long gone by the time Cleopatra was dreaming of ruling the world. Their civilization appeared in some historical records from other nations. Thanks to some of those, there is basic understanding of their scripture. Both men jumped at the picture of my word but all they could make was "the place that". They faxed (yes, faxed) the picture over to a colleague who said she had seen that very word at the entrance of a temple. Two islands over. The chief of tourism helped me buy a ferry ticket after we had dinner with the scholars. I arrived around 9 pm (local time) and spent the night at the "doggy dog inn". I didn't quite get the name at first, but the next morning, after the sixth pack of dogs ran past me, it clicked. This place was very fond of dogs. So am I. I followed the map that one of the scholars gave me (fresh from the fax machine!) until I arrived at a nice little house, clearly restored from the rest of the ruins. A young man opened the door and struggled with the language a little bit. He welcomed me and guided me to what appeared to be a temple that had become the main dog sanctuary. We were in the island of dogs, in the main sanctuary of dogs surrounded by mysterious ruins and lush vegetation. The young man pointed at an arch above the entrance that had an inscription still visible. I didn't need to look at the picture to know that was my word. I smiled. He said the closest translation of the inscription meant "The place of the care givers". My heart fluttered. | Tick tock
I had hoped, at one time, that my number would be big. After all who would want to be one of those poor kids, they who turn 18 and find their actual age written between beneath their thumb. Can you imagine the parents as they count down the days, not knowing when it will come, just that it will hang over their heads for the whole year.
Tick tock
I once told my mother that if my number was 18, I would drink bleach; who could take the anticipation?
Tick tock
Mother sent me to my room without desert. She said it was a horrible thing to say. "kill myself because I can't take the anticipation".
Tick tock
'Anticipation', such a remarkable world: it implies things that have yet to come.
Tick tock
But long after the sun collapsed, after the last flame of the last star had died out, after the heat death of the universe, when entropy finally won, there was only one sound in all of creation:
Tick tock: *it's not a clock but the beating of my heart*.
At first I thought my number said 8. I thought this was odd. And then it clicked, it only took a second, and fror some reason I felt delight. I would live forever.
Tick tock,
I forgot though that the thing about forever is that it never stops, even when the universe goes kaploot. So I now float in space. As I will always. Sometimes I think about the forever I have lived and then I remember, forever is always yet to come. The empty world that I've so far visited is exactly like the 100 other forever yet to come. As I said, that's the thing about forever, who would want to live forever, when forever doesn't stop? But that's all I want. More than anything, is for forever to finally stop, for this 'me' that will never die to stop experiencing and fucking die. A consciousness must devour something other than itself. | 2017-03-16T02:44:59 | 2017-03-16T00:57:55 | 109 | 63 |
[WP] Everytime you think of a funny joke, this girl in your class always laughs, you chalk it up to coincidence but you think to yourself, "If you can read my mind, slap the table three times" the the girl looks over at you, stares right into your eyes, and slowly slaps the table two times. | "Yes, Sarah? You have something to ask?", Mr. Hudley raised his brow hearing the thudding of Sarah's slaps.
"Oh no, Mr. Hudley. I'm alright", Sarah replied quickly turning her attention back to the front of the class, smirking as Hugh stared from his seat right behind hers.
*"So you do read my mind!"*, Hugh thought. *"How?"*
Sarah gave a silent and slight shrugged, not even turning her head around to face Hugh.
*"Oh come on!*", Hugh protested in his head all the while holding himself back from throwing his arms in the air.
Mr. Hudley's boring lecture on biology was but a mere background noise at that moment as Hugh tried to make sense of the situation.
How could it be? Mind reading was real after all? Hugh was determined to find the answer to this mystery, and the only way was to pressure Sarah to talk to him.
*"Hey, let's go outside now. I need to know!*"*,* Hugh insisted.
Sarah slightly turned her head back, side-eyeing Hugh, giving him a cheeky smirk as she gave him the finger, teasing the exasperated boy.
*"Oh very mature!*", Hugh rolled his eyes as Sarah let out a tiny giggle.
Whatever it took then, Hugh thought. So he opened his notebook of jokes, and began his attack...
*"Hey, why did the blind man fall down a well?"*, Hugh began.
Sarah let out another faint giggle before shrugging.
*"Because he couldn't see that well*", answered Hugh.
Sarah sniggered, her shoulders clearly going up and down laughing.
"Yes, Sarah? Do you have anything to add?", Mr. Hudley asked once more, annoyed of being interrupted.
"N-no, Mr. Hudley. It's nothing", Sarah replied quickly as Mr. Hudley turned back to the whiteboard.
*"Hey Sarah, a blind man walked into a bar...",* Hugh continued now with a cheeky smile of his own.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder, holding her laugh.
*"And a stool, and a table..."*
Sarah's sniggering turned into a muffled laugh as she let out an audible snort.
"Sarah! One more interruption from you you're out of the class!", yelled Mr. Hudley.
"Ye--yes, I'm sorry, Mr. Hudley", Sarah stuttered, trying to keep her composure.
Hugh saw his chance. Searching his notebook on the "Dark jokes" section, he launched to his killer joke...
*"Hey Sarah..."*, Hugh said in his mind with a tone that held Sarah in anticipation.
*"A cop pulled 2 priests on the highway. The cop made it to their car window and said to them-- we're looking for 2 child molesters. The 2 priests looked at each other, turned to the cop, and said-- we'll do it"*
"Oh my god!", Sarah yelped loudly as she laughed.
Mr. Hudley slammed his book on his table, having enough of the disturbance in his class.
"Okay, enough! Get out of my class!", he screamed to Sarah.
Still snorting, she grabbed her books and bag, and made her way out swiftly.
Hugh held his own laughter, proud of himself. Quietly packing his own bag, he raised his hand to the still fuming Mr. Hudley.
"Mr. Hudley, I'm not feeling so well. Can I go to the nurse?"
Mr. Hudley threw his arms up in the air. "Do whatever you want, Hugh!"
Smirking, Hugh ran out from the class. Finally he would find the answer he was looking for...
\*\*\*
"Hey--", Sarah's voice stopped Hugh in his tracks.
Leaning against a wall, seemingly awaiting Hugh, she waved her hand.
"H-hey!", Hugh replied, running to catch up to her.
Standing in front of her, Hugh was silent. He couldn't think of a way to start the seemingly ridiculous idea...
*"So uh...you can read my mind?"*, Hugh spoke in his mind.
Sarah raised her eyebrow, her arms folded.
"I can, yeah", Sarah answered.
"H-how?", Hugh yelped.
Once again, Sarah shrugged. "I don't know"
"What do you mean you don't know?", Hugh replied.
"I mean I don't know! Really! This has never happened to me before. It only started when I'm around you!", Sarah explained. "Ever since we have the same classes and frequently around each other, my mind reading began!"
Hugh was taken aback. The mystery deepened...
"It only happen when you're around...me? Like, when we have the same classes...you read the entire class' minds?", Hugh asked.
"Oh no, no", Sarah shook her head. "I only read *your* mind, Hugh"
Hugh's heart dropped. He had never felt so weirded out...or violated...
"You only read...my mind?"
Sarah nodded.
"So...in English class-- you saw it when I..."
"Fantasizing about Mrs. Reinhart? Oh yes", Sarah smirked. "Boy, you have one dirty mind"
Hugh's face turned bright red, snapping back at Sarah.
"Sh-shut up!", he yelped. "How...how is this even possible? Are you like...are you some kind of a...your brain is some kind of a receiver to my brain or something?"
Sarah shrugged once more before her expression changed, as if realizing something.
"Hah! I got it!", she yelped.
"You got it?", Hugh asked, confused.
"Yeah! I got the joke!", Sarah continued.
"A...joke? What are you talking about? What joke?"
Sarah tapped her finger to her temple, smiling cheekily.
"I got Hugh on my radar"
r/HangryWritey | You have become conscious of your actions but you can't stop thinking about the connection. She is smilling and enjoying going over your expressions and thoughts. You are contemplating how is it possible. She is giggling over your thought process. You haven't been near to her anytime before. You have never talked to her or crossed path with her.
After thinking of approaching her, you gather your courage to go near her.And she nods, you feel a sudden wave of energy, a destructive aura, sudden head ache. Like somebody is pinching you from inside the skull. It goes away quickly. You have a feeling that this is bad. You are just a couple of steps ahead and she whispers, "now, I can speak in your mind, come closer. Come and touch me, and I will tell you the secret". You are not able to handle yourself. Before you know it, you are just a couple of steps away and your hands and legs aren't understanding you. It feels like they have their own thought process. You have lost the ability to control your body. Her grin grows wider, and this is the first time you notice she has blue eyes and beautiful cheeks. She is pretty as flower.
She stands, and takes your hand. You follow her lead. She says, " I have been waiting for myself to turn 18, do you know it's my birthday today". She makes you wish her Happy Birthday. You are now on the empty playground and under the tree, you feel better. You both lie down, cuddling into each other She asks for your permission to kiss. And you oblige.
You have never felt this level of happiness before. It feels bliss. It is like rain after the hot humid drought. It feels like you have been thirsty from birth and her lips are like the river. She asks "do you want to have happy feelings like this and be my slave for rest of your life or you want forget this happened and continue your life? I am not going to manipulate your thoughts and you will have to decide yourself"
This is first time you are not mesmerized and you can think properly. But in her arms, and staring into those blue eyes, you want to stay in that moment and not think anything. You have thousands questions coming in and She says "I can still feel your thoughts. You have to make a decision now, come with me as my slave, you will be always happy or continue rest of your life with no memory of this incident"
You decide to chose her, you have chosen her and she kisses you. It is like a sweet delicious immoral candy. You both starting to remove your clothes. Naked, she says "this is the final embrace and you when you let go, you will lose your consciousness. You will be part of me." And she embraces you.
She answer all your questions. You break apart and with a jolt you let go of her. | 2021-09-07T01:48:04 | 2021-09-06T23:08:48 | 105 | 27 |
[WP] Traditionally, vampires could not see their reflection because mirrors were silver-backed. With the invention of aluminum-backed mirrors, a vampire sees their reflection for the first time only to find out they are the ugliest thing they have ever seen. | It was a trick, it had to be. I stared into the mirror, at the grotesque wiry figure in front of me as I pulled my face into the various ugly expressions. The thing in the mirror copied every move that I made.
I shook my head. “This isn’t right.”
Vampires were dark, tall, strong, and *sexy*. They seduced their prey to walk out into the shadows, away from the comforts of their home. How could I look like *this*?
“Carol,” I called and a woman appeared from the shadows. She had smooth mocha brown skin and hazel eyes that could entice even the most stringent human. She had always been the one to seduce our meals and up until now, I figured she just enjoyed it more than me.
“Seth,” she hissed into my ear. Her tongue flicked onto my earlobe. Usually, that would be enough to flush my body in heat, but not today, because she appeared normal in the mirror. Hell, she looked even hotter.
“Do you see this?” I asked, probing the glass with a finger.
Her brow crunched. “Wow, I can see myself. This will make putting on makeup so much easier!”
“Well, sure, but do you see the vampire next to you?”
She chuckled. “Of course, my little devil.” And she nibbled on my ear.
I pushed her away. “Get off me. This is serious. Have I always looked like… you know…. this?”
Carol pouted and sighed. “What of it Seth? I think you’re fine just the way you are.”
“Fine?” I found it hard to keep my voice level. That was another story I was told—vampires were always cool and calm. Apparently, that was also a lie. “Fine!? I look like someone took an egg beater to Michael Moore’s face!”
She giggled at that one. I did not.
“I’m serious!” I cried. “Is this why I’m never invited to the vampire orgies?”
All she could do was shrug as she kept trying to stifle laughter. “Seth,” she said in between laughs. “We’ve been together for nearly a decade. So what if you look like this?”
“So what? You’re like a Greek statue and I’m the shit some dog took at its feet! Wait a second, why is it that you found me ten years ago. I remember I was starving and you stumbled into me with a college fratboy to share.”
Carol looked away, her smile gone. Suddenly, it dawned on me.
“That wasn’t by accident,” I said.
She nibbled on her lip. “The other vampires thought you’d starve to death and I kinda drew the short stick.”
“Damn it!”
“But Seth, there’s more to being a vampire than being sexy. You’re as much of a vampire as anyone.”
“Oh yeah? Is that what they say in all those vampire orgies?”
Carol groaned and grabbed her head. “I haven’t *been* to one in almost a decade.”
“Oh, sorry I’m holding you back. Don’t stop on my account!”
“God damn it, Seth. Can we just drop this? Get rid of that mirror and just pretend this never happened. I have a nice middle-aged vegan in our bedroom. I was hoping to surprise you”—she paused a breath—“It’s our anniversary after all,” she squeaked.
“Yeah? Why do you think I bought this mirror. I wanted you to see how pretty you were, I just didn’t realize that it’d show how—”
Carol lunged on top of me faster than I did our first fratboy together back when I was starving. A smile stretched across her face. “Seth,” she said, “that’s so sweet.”
“Well I mean, you always talked about how hard it was to put on makeup and I never thought you really knew just how beautiful you were…”
Carol pressed her lips into mine and my words cut. I closed my eyes and pulled her into me.
“God I love you,” she whispered.
Sure, I could’ve been the ugliest thing to ever live, but god damn did I feel sexy.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week and 100+ stories already written!
---
Big ups to /u/koulnis! Here's [A Reading of this Story!](https://soundcloud.com/koulnis/vampire-story-read)
| The trap had been triggered. The glass panels all fell in to place around the pair, surrounding them with no gaps. The young vampire hunter grinned as he heard each mirror hit the floor.
The grotesque humanoid, previously noticing the mirrors chained to the ceiling, reeled to the floor in laughter. "How do you expect to focus sunlight that can't reach this place?!"
The vampire hunter, confident in his strategy, stood silent. He waited for his prey to gain its composure. Right now, attacking is too risky.
Still laughing maniacally, the pale figure boasted. "All you've done is trap yourself here with me! You're about to die! Hahahaha!"
The hunter still stood, weapons at the ready, knowing that when the vampire's arrogance faded he would be victorious. He had never thought that a deadly predator of the night could be so self conscious, but the test runs of this innovation had all been successful enough to justify regular use.
The vampire stood up, taking a deep and pointless breath. "This would have been an excellent strategy if you'd put more thought in to it.". The creature opened its eyes to see the hunter lunging at it with a silver stake, as well as a multitude of beastly figures surrounding it...
Confused, the vampire screamed. "What is this?! What have you conjured?"
The hunter lunged forth to deal the finishing blow. The creature's mind was rattled as it came to realize, the hunter had conjured nothing, these mirrors were reflecting its true form. | 2017-07-29T11:52:13 | 2017-07-29T10:09:50 | 3,769 | 246 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight. | The world exploded into brightness, with pure chaos defining the addition of my new sense. I could see... for the first time in my life, I could see. The surgery was a success, and brought with it a confusing pain, one which I could not describe. Is this what sighted people called “blinding?” It was ironic to me, in that brief moment, that you could see so much so as to be blind. That is what I felt.
Soon, the world became dimmer, and my eyes, straining to focus, were starting to make sense of it all. I saw the figures moving, and heard voices coming from them. I suppose that these are humans, and this is what they look like... their beauty astounds me.
Look! I can see their hair, their faces, their teeth. I hear my father crying, and see what must be a tear running down his face. I feel one forming in my eye to match his.
Oh, do you see my mother? The one who cared for me for so long, and I can finally see her beauty. Oh my God, the tears are flowing and I am breathing so sharply, so as to control my sobbing. The tears make it hard to see, but I appreciate seeing water up close for the first time as well.
“Look outside, honey!”
“Look at the grass and the clouds! Do you see the people?”
“Is the sun too bright for you?”
My family is gesturing to a square on the wall. I do not understand, although I keep trying to see. I feel a familiar pain, one that comes from a lifetime of “trying to see.” I see nothing that stands out.
I look back to my family anyways, to see their glowing faces once again. I see my fathers handprint on the bed-frame, I see my that my brother’s nose is darker than the rest of him, along with his fingertips.
My God, I never knew how dark eyes are. I never understood the brilliance of living things. I never knew that animals, including the fly, literally glowed.
The doctor tells me that it is time to stand. He does something that confuses me... he points a laser at me, and turns it on for a moment. I wince, and as soon as I do, his expression changes. He is confused, concerned. I didn’t notice it then, but my bed responded to the laser by coming to an upright position.
He shines the laser at me again. I can feel my pupils dilating, which is exhilarating, although painful.
The next moments go by quickly. I am led to the square on the wall. I touch it, and know it immediately: glass. Wasn’t I supposed to see through glass? My heartbeat quickens. In fact, I can tell that the doctor’s heartbeat quickened as well, due to the way humans flash with their heart. It was so beautiful. Our faces glow brighter with the blood in our veins, and dimmer as the blood exits. I wonder if the brightness is the color I’ve been told about. Is it red, perhaps? I will have to ask.
The doctor tells me to read what he writes on the whiteboard. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look like he’s actually writing anything.
He tries again, but he writes with his finger. I see it clear as day, and I’ll never forget what it said:
“INFRARED.”
That night, I found terror in sight for the first time. I looked into the sky, and saw what some call beautiful. Our saw our Milky Way, with the chaos and fire within it. And for the first time in my life, I had to explain to others what sight, color, and intensity was, for they could not see what I could.
——————————
Let me know if you guys liked this, I’m super new to writing and could use some constructive criticism or severe roasting if it’s terrible!
Also, if you have not yet, you owe it to yourself to look up the Milky Way in infrared. It is truly terrifying.
Edit(s): I’m changing some things as I re-read this in order to make my points more clear. | "... and so thats why. Really, its pretty simple when you think about it."
The doctors stared in horror at me. Hah, they *stared*. What a beautiful day for science and medicine! That table is blue! Thanks to the chip in my head that they installed, I even know what blue *is*!
The fat doctor began smoothing his coat, sweat dripping from his face. "Ahem y-yes well that... that's not been proven yet-"
"But doc, it's really easy." I interjected. " if you look at the target demographic.."
Before I can finish one doctor rips his lab coat into shreds, weeping profusely. The other begins praying to various gods and deities. I chuckle.
Behind the observation glass of the surgeon room, two more doctors and a nurse lie unconscious, piled on the floor. A slender woman wearing black stares in, face agape with horror.
Her hand shaking, she presses the transmit button on her headset. "Ramirez reporting."
"What's your status on patient x?"
She gulps. "He can see why kids love the taste of cinnamon toast crunch. " | 2018-10-29T10:15:07 | 2018-10-29T09:02:37 | 100 | 35 |
[WP] Everyone has a bar above himself, that measures something specific (e.g. happiness, years to live, hornyness, wealth, etc.), but nobody knows what exactly. One day, your bar begins growing red quickly (i.e. declining), and you're desperate to find out what it means.
To clarify, nobody, including you, knows what your bar measures specifically, so you can't ask a random stranger to tell you.
Examples: Alice's bar measures happiness, Bob's bar measures hornyness, Chloe's bar measures tiredness (0% = sleep, 100% = fit), Dave's bar measures happiness, Elena's bar measures progress in college degree, Fatima's bar measures piousness, Garry's bar measures progress in college degree, Harry's bar measures anger (0% = no anger, 100% = berserk), etc. | One day, we all woke up with a bar above our heads. Most were green when we first saw them, but some saw them as red and completely empty. No one knew what they meant, not the wise men, the scientists, or the preachers. For the first few weeks, the news stations broadcasted nothing but 'information' about the bars, telling us what they heard, but was never true for anyone else.
Some were for romance, and finding the one they would spend the rest of their life with. Others would have their bars decline due to financial reasons, or progress in life. To me, my bar was always green, always that nice forest shade. Until recently, it was solid, unwavering, like a soldier on guard. But that changed after the new year. I guess I slept a bit too little - and that day I noticed a tinge of red on the edge of my bar. It was so small that no one really noticed but me.
I remember my mom when I was younger told me never to pick a scab because it would scar - but she never said anything about being curious about something like this. The next night, I slept decently, but when I looked in the mirror that morning, I noticed the bar had become more red. "No, no, no.... this can't be," I remember exclaiming, holding my head in my hands, trying to shield my eyes from seeing the red in my bar. But no, there it was. 10% of it red. And yet, I still felt completely normal.
Everyone noticed when I went to work, asking me if I felt okay, if I felt different, and I told them no. I remember my boss asking me if I wanted to take the day to recover from whatever was bringing down my bar. His was fluctuating as it usually did in the office, seeming to be tied to stress. I told him no, I was fine, and I would spend the rest of the day trying to take it easy. He seemed to regain some of his bar, and smiled to me at the thought of me trying to take it easy.
Over the next few weeks, I found it harder and harder to focus on day to day life, as my bar became more and more red by the passing day. Finally, one day, I woke up and my bar was completely red. I couldn't take it, I knew I had to do something, figure out what it meant. I called my boss from my cellphone, telling him that my bar was preventing me from coming in, that it was trying to tell me that I should go on vacation. He agreed, and allowed me to book it off, which was nice of him.
I remember going out shopping with my girl friends, shoe shopping, something to take my mind off my bar. But no matter how many shops we went to, I could always feel the redness of the empty bar above my head, pressing down on me. As if forcing me, as in demanding I did some action, something to alleviate it, something *twisted* to bring it back up.
That's why I did it, Your Honour. That's how I got my green back, my glorious green. I don't know how I figured it out, and in a way, I wish I never did. They didn't deserve the fate I gave them, no one does. What did I do with the bodies, you keep asking me, Your Honour, I don't know. I don't remember, I can't get into that part of my mind, it's almost as if it's locked out to me.
But yes, if you're asking me if I killed them, I admit it. I killed them, I killed them all. The shrinks helped me remember. That alone is more then what I once had, and... my, isn't my bar looking a little red now, Your Honour? | "Hey, ummm, Jim?"
"Yeah?"
"You're bar, it's, it's shrinking pretty fast."
"Shit, shit shit shit!" I was pacing back and forth at this point. My bar had always been full, constantly, at the moment it was at about a quarter away from nothing and fluctuating.
"Did you ever figure out what it meant?"
"No! It hasn't changed before, I never had a chance!"
Suddenly my bar hovered at about 2% before dropping entirely, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey, is something wrong?"
"What? Um, no. Do... do you come here often?" She was the most beautiful woman I ever saw.
"Afraid not, I just moved into the building above the bar, room 202."
"Then I guess we're neighbors!"
"Great, well, good to see you." She went back to her friends when I turned to Butch.
"I'm going to marry her." | 2015-01-04T20:37:01 | 2015-01-04T17:46:42 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] After first contact, mankind and another civilization agree on a exchange program where you went to their planet spend a year there. When they bring you back, there is nothing where earth used to be. | The cool, pleasant voice of the shuttle’s automated pilot system caused me to wake up with a start. As I sat up in the cramped bunk, all I could remember of the dream I’d been having was glimpses of family and friends, and of course, Earth. “Arrival in five minutes. This shuttle will disengage it’s FTL Drive in four minutes.” A pang of nervous excitement shot through my stomach.
I’d been gone for a Standard Year, about one and a half times longer than an Earth year, and about half as long as a full year on the planet which I had lived. It’s hard to describe the longing for home that had built up over my time among the Immolorans, save that it was powerful and painful. The “aliens” themselves had mostly attempted to make my stay as comfortable as possible, but I ended up feeling like more of a travelling museum exhibit than anything else.
For months, I had been paraded about at all of the most important events in what equated to high society among the Immolorans. At first, it was exhilarating, seeing things that no human had ever seen. I had been fitted with a special eye lens that recorded everything I saw and stored the data on a secure computer terminal, which itself was equipped with an advanced Artificial Intelligence construct that handled sorting and curating the information.
Rather early on in my extrasolar trip, that A.I., which called itself Artemis, had become my closest confidante and friend, as I was making none amongst the Immolorans. After only a few months, Artemis and I had jointly concluded that Immoloran society was nowhere near as diverse as that of Earth. Where the Earth’s people were many, belonging to various religions, cultures, ideologies, and geographic locations, the citizens of Immolore were of a singular cultural background, having long ago subsumed diversity. As they went to great lengths to assure me, this had created what they viewed to be the perfect society.
I disagreed. To me, it was clear that their culture was stagnant. Everything was so uniform, devoid of any unique characteristics, and frankly, their art was *fucking terrible*.
“Disengaging FTL systems. Beginning docking procedure with Earth Waystation 5-E.”
By this point, I was pacing back and forth in the tight interior of the shuttle. When I had first boarded for my return trip, its windowless interior and human design had felt like home, but now I was thirsty for the real thing.
“Error. Docking procedure failed. Re-attempting.”
I shook my head, sitting back down on my bunk. Space Command was clearly not overly-enthused at the idea of having me back.
“Error. Docking procedure failed. Initializing secondary protocol. Docking with Lunar Superstation.” As the shuttle’s drives kicked in once more, I began to feel a little bit uneasy. I’d been worried all along that my trip home would be delayed by a never-ending period of debriefings and discussions with government scientists, and now that seemed a reality rather than a likelihood.
“Docking procedure successful. Equalizing interior and exterior pressure. You may now exit the shuttle.”
My heart was pounding away in my chest, and I steeled myself for the inevitable crowd of journalists and camera-drones. As I made my way to the exit hatch near the front of the shuttle, I picked up Artemis’ portable console, throwing its strap over my shoulder. I stepped through the hatch into the decontamination chamber, standing still as I was blasted with ultraviolet light and cleansing spray.
When the door finally slid open with a pneumatic whoosh, I was taken aback to find that there was no one waiting for me. Stepping over the threshold, I found myself in the large, cavernous docking lobby of the Lunar Superstation’s Third Arm. All around me, other entry ports remained locked down, behind thick metal doors.
Everything seemed to be right; there were advertisements playing on holoscreens on every wall, and the various benches and chairs were all meticulously clean, gleaming in the fluorescent light. There were just no people. Anywhere.
I walked over to the closest observation port and pressed the big red button in the middle of the panel causing it to flicker to life. The massive holoscreen gave a clear view of the exterior of the station, as if I were looking through a real window. In the bottom left of the screen was the unmistakable surface of the moon, bright, white, and incredibly close. It was overlaid with an AR HUD that displayed information about it and its orbit. However, in the middle of the screen, where Earth was supposed to be, there was nothing.
Nothing. I just stared ahead, my brain spinning out of control. The HUD for Earth was still there, a bright illuminated circle that was supposed to contain the blue planet, accompanied by a luminous panel displaying helpful information. I became painfully aware of my solitude in that moment, and as I stepped away from the holoscreen, I felt nauseated. I broke into a run, heading deeper into the lobby, past snack stations and restrooms, fleeing deeper into the Superstation.
Bouncing against my hip, Artemis’ console began to display red, blinking lights. The color of an emergency message. I stopped right where I was, in front of a McDonald’s kiosk, dropped to the floor, and flipped open the console. When Artemis’ hologram manifested itself, she was crying.
edit: I added Part II!
double edit: Since several people have messaged me about continuing the story, I'm working on adding to it right now! It surprised me that this post was still getting action two days after the fact! Someone suggested creating a subreddit for my writing, and that sounds really appealing, so I'll probably be doing that in the next couple of days. Cheers!
| The Glorkans were as surprised as me as their ship slowly eased pass Moon. Expecting to see the familiar sight of blue and green, there was nothing there, except for the constant blinking of faraway stars, across the black canvas of space. A few moments of silence pass before the captain spoke.
"Sergeant Mo, are you sure we're in Sol System, and we're at the coordinate of Sol-3?"
"Yes Captain, the coordinates seemed to be right, except that Earth seems to be... missing," the last word left the Sergeant's mouth in a whisper.
Captain Ki turned to me, his pink brows raised. "Any idea what happened, Emissary Mark?"
I shook my head. Just two days ago, I had spoken excitedly with Amy, telling her how I looked forward to seeing her again. Looking at the void before me, my head filled with questions. But the words just didn't come out. None of the other crew spoke too, as the ship floated in space. A planet going missing is not a frequent occurrence.
Captain Ki stood up from his command chair. "Take us out of the system immediately, until we can figure out what happened here."
But none of the crew moved. They all remained in their positions, frozen.
"What the-" Captain Ki began to say, but before he could complete his sentence, he froze too, his black beady eyes staring emptily in front of him.
"Captain?" I called out, as I rushed towards him. Something really wrong was definitely happening, as my heart began to panic. Halfway across the room, however, the screen flickered on. Along with Earth behind it. A familiar face came on.
"Ah Mark, sorry for the prank, it seems that our little trick worked after all. I trust that the aliens thought we were invisible," a man dressed in red coat spoke. Professor Duncan, head of Earths Science Corp. A man whom I used to work closely with. A sense of relief washed over me.
"Professor Duncan, it's good to see a familiar face! Can you tell me what's going on?" I walked closer to the screen. It was unusual for the Professor to engage in such... strange activities.
The professor sighed, shaking his head softly. "I'm sorry, Mark. But I am not a liberty to discuss with you. We have learned some troubling information from Emissary To, and seeing how you're unable to see pass our little trick, it seems that he was right. You have been infected."
"What? What are you saying?"
Professor Duncan's eyes were looking away from the screen. "I'm sorry Mark, but we thought at least you deserve to know the truth."
"What truth-" I tried to interject, but an unseen force held me in place, as I slowly lost all my senses. The sight of approaching torpedoes was the the last thing I saw.
------------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-04-11T10:00:10 | 2017-04-11T09:27:58 | 460 | 72 |
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